Black Heart//l.h.

2

Open Your Eyes - Snow Patrol.

I sat alone in my own little room that night, reading Lord of The Flies in the dim lamp light.

I only shared my room with a girl named Candace. She was really pretty and really nice, and the reason she was admitted was because she was suicidal. That kind of scared me a little, but she said she was recovering well.

Candace was sleeping, her back facing me as her chest rose up and down again every few seconds. For a while, I watched her, wondering what it was like to get sleep. Proper sleep.

I usually only slept for about half an hour, an hour at the most. It was all because of nightmares, or just screaming for no reason. I knew Candace didn't mind too much, since her mom used to be a schizophrenic as well, but she's fine now.

I also took sleeping pills, but they never worked, and if they did, I would only sleep for a couple of minutes until they wore off. So I read. I read a lot in the hospital. It was the only thing that kept me going throughout the day, the only thing that could distract me from the things I saw. It helped, I guess.

I mostly read novels, novels like Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, Little Women, The Scarlet Letter, etcetera, etcetera.

I put down my book and laid back, just thinking about Luke. The boy with blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a black lip ring. The boy who always wore black and was always told he was insane. That made no sense to me. I think I spent about an hour trying to wonder why he said "I was told I'm insane.". He did seem like the crazy type to me, but I didn't get how people had to tell him he was insane. I knew that if you were seeing things, talking to yourself, or just plain crazy and you didn't realise it, you had to be told. But that wasn't it.

I decided to forget about it and try to go to sleep. In the end, I fell asleep for two hours, which was a big improvement, before waking up wide eyed and screaming.

That was the thing; I could never remember what I saw in my dreams after I woke up.

"Good morning." Candace mumbled, her back still turned. I rubbed my eyes, looking around the room.

"Sorry."

She sighed quietly. "It's fine. I just had this weird dream, that's all." I nodded even though she couldn't see me and got out of bed, pulling on some fresh clothes and washing up.

I skipped breakfast and went straight to the library, looking for my next book to read.

I walked in the empty library, turning into a corner which led to the other classics. I smiled a little, skimming through the titles, occasionally picking up some books, studying their covers.

When I put them away, I decided to go see the other books, not just the classics. My mom always told me to "expand my view of literature", whatever that meant.

I looked up and saw a mystery series that looked good. Before I could do anything else, I heard a deep voice behind me say, "Olivia Johnston. Surprised to see you here."

I turned around and saw Luke flipping through A Midsummer's Night Dream. "Hey." I said, watching him frown at the pages.

"What are you doing here?" Luke asked, still not looking up.

"Uh, well. I skipped breakfast to look for some good books to read." I told him, shrugging.

He looked up and smiled a little, closing the book and leaning back in his chair. "My friend told me to look for something to read. Says I'm always staring out the window as if I'm waiting for something."

I nodded, leaning against the old shelves. "But what if I am waiting for something, Olivia?" He continued. "Like, a miracle or something. A miracle to get me out of this hell hole."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know. A big garbage truck or something. Anything, really."

I laughed a little at that. "You get used to it, and once you do, it's not half bad."

"Says the girl who's lived here for-sorry, how long?"

"One year."

"A year." He finished, looking proud. "Obviously you'd fit in."

Fitting in. I always hated that.

"Actually, no. This isn't a place where you fit in-"

"So, wait. Like, a place for misfits or something?"

"Would you let me finish-oh, wait, yeah. Basically." I shrugged, crossing my arms. Luke smiled.

"You always know what to say."

"More like you always know what to say." I nodded, turning back to the books.

"Well, yeah. Everyone tells me that." I could still hear his smile.

"Okay." I said.

"Do you think we've reached the friendship stage?"

*

Support group wasn't on that day, so later, I went to the art room. When I entered the bright room filled with one or two people, I saw Luke again, sketching something alone in the corner.

I took a deep breath and walked over, sitting on a plastic yellow chair across him. He looked up, curious, but also half smiling. "Hey."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

I bit my lip as he looked down again and continued to draw. "Uh, what are you drawing?"

Luke looked up again, tilting his head to the side a little. "Don't move." I frowned but stayed still anyway, being able to move when he looked down again.

"So, uh, do you do anything else except draw?" I asked, trying to break the awkward silence between us. He shook his head, still looking down.

"What's there to do in a place like this?"

"You were in the library today. Were you looking for a book?"

"Not-well, yeah. I always found reading a little pointless, but then I saw you reading, and wanted to know what was so...interesting about it." He answered. "Turns out I'm just not a reader."

I nodded, looking out the window. I wanted to ask him a lot, about his family, where he comes from, what's his favorite color. Those kind of things. But instead I asked this, "You're new here, right?"

Luke nodded a little. "I was admitted two days ago. They suggested support group the day before I saw you."

The day before he saw me. Didn't he mean the day before he actually went to support group? Why did he say me instead?

"A rose." He said after a moment's silence.

"Excuse me?"

"A rose," he repeated. "symbolises balance. The beauty of this flower expresses promise, hope and new beginnings. The thorns symbolise defence, loss and thoughtlessness."

I sat staring at him in silence, not knowing what to say. He stared back at me. And then it turned into some kind of game.

"Why'd you say that?" I finally asked.

"You seem like a rose type of girl. And, before I ended up here, I got bored and memorised the symbolic meaning." He told me, closing his notebook and putting it to the side.

"Well, thanks, I guess." I nodded.

He half smiled.

And little did he know, roses were my favorite flowers.