Putting holes in happiness

New friends?

"So how long do I have?"

"Tomorrow at noon," he answered.

"Why so soon," I groaned.

"They think you're a menace to society."

I couldn't help but laugh at that, "maybe I am."

Manson turned and looked at me, his right eyebrow raised (he's currently growing them back for the first time in 12 years, for the Lewis Carroll movie originally, but he decided he wants to keep them), "don't start that at the mental institution. I need you back as soon as possible. What number are we on with you being sent to the psychward anyway?"

I laughed ironically, "I've lost count."

"It couldn't have been that many times?"

I counted off on my fingers, "well. . .that one time when I was 7. I was in for three months. Then again later that year for a month. I spent my 8th birthday in a psychward. Then, five more months after that. Then, no more issues until I was ten. Then, back in for another three months. So, it goes on like that until I turned 15 and got to live with you," I took a moment to smile, "then it was only three times that I had to go away after that."

"This'll be the last time," he promised me, squeezing my hand. I was naked besides his suit jacket being draped over me, and I noticed a breeze drift in, giving me shivers.

"My Leonore," Manson mused, "she is cold." He held me closer to him.

"Your Leonore, she is also naked."

"Let me take you to bed," he suggested, putting his pants on and grabbing his Where the Wild Things are t-shirt. I threw my nightgown back on and leaned against him as we descended the stairs.

Once in Manson's bed, I curled up against him and slept almost peacefully until 11 a.m. when Twiggy woke us, a grave look on his face.

"Should I pack," I yawned, rubbing crust out of my eyes.

"What," Twiggy replied, "you'll be getting so much free hospital stuff."

Manson laughed, "Free hospital stuff?"

"Yeah goody bags," Twiggy explained, "just think of it as like summer camp, only. . .no bugs!"

"Did I hear something about free stuff," Rudy asked, walking in.

"Only for Leonore," Twiggy replied.

"Oh," he frowned, looking disappointed.

I ended up packing some facial soap, a robe, and a fleece throw blanket because hospitals are cold and they never give you enough blankets! We didn't end up leaving until half-past 12, and the police ended up calling us, wondering where I was. They threatened to come escort me if I was not there by one. Twiggy drove with us, sitting in the back with me, and Manson in the front, Arvin driving. It was quiet, except for Arvin's constant coughing and throat-clearing because he had a head-cold. I stared silently out the window, counting palm trees and women with fake boobs.

"Ugh," I finally groaned, "fuck this!" and then I started crying again.

"No more fights in night clubs," Manson lectured me, reaching back to rub my arm lovingly. I ignored him, and jerked my hand away, but immediately regretted it, and grabbed his hand.

Check-in was bad. Really bad. They had to drag me in, because I would not let go of Manson and Twiggy. I had to spend the rest of the night in isolation all alone. I missed my doggy. I missed the cats rioting in my bed, while I was trying to sleep. I missed Rudy's strange lab experiments which resulted in the entire house smelling of ether and us all getting high on the odor. I missed Fred and his love of soup. I missed Twiggy's random serenading. Most of all though, I simply missed Manson. Fuck my life.