I'm Not Making Any Sense

Chapter 1

They really needed to turn the heat up in this place. I was freezing to death and no one who came in seemed to care. Not that many people actually came into this place anyway. Only one guy, and he just came to hand out food and medication.
There were four of us in here. Six cells but only four people. Sorry, patients. We didn't really count as people anymore, did we? Brendon was in the cell next to me and I was pretty sure he was the craziest one in this joint. Alex was diagonal from me but he barely spoke. I had actually never seen Brendon before, I figured that he either looked like me or Alex. I only guessed that because of his tone of voice, and, man, did he talk.
Alex, on the other hand, kept to himself. I was lucky to get one conversation in with him one time every week. He was taller than me with skinny arms and nice brown hair that he constantly had to flip out of his eyes. I knew that pain with my black hair. He was here because, well I'm only guessing, he had terrible anxiety and had black outs. I felt bad for him, knowing what anxiety was like.
Brendon was a schizoid. The guy was constantly yelling at random times of the day, but would say it was nothing. He was an odd guy anyway. I remember hearing him try to punch a whole in the wall one night then whispering something about jack-o-lanterns. Poor guy. I didn't know how to react when he spoke to me.
And then there was the other guy. He spoke less than Alex. Actually, I think I only heard him speak when Brendon asked his name, and it was just one simple word, being only his name.
Patrick.
But other than that one time, he never said a word. So, I didn't know what was wrong with him because I could never ask. He was in the cell across from me and barely even moved, except to eat or take his meds. He was short and built in a boyish way that he might never outgrow. He wore glasses and a hat that covered his strawberry blond hair. He seemed too normal to be here.
But then again, anyone crazy thought they were sane. I knew better; I knew the insanity that lived in me. Smile and act like there's nothing wrong, even if everything in my world seemed to crumble down around me. Depressed low level schizoid with bad anxiety and suicidal. That was me. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third. But call me Pete.
This joint really did blow. I had been here for two months. Bredon was here before me, having been here for one month before. Alex showed up the week after me. Patrick was brought in at the start of the month.
A cloud hung around that kid. An odd cloud that seemed electric at first but turned out to be a misfire. He was a happy seeming kid but that cloud just hung over him and kept him down. I wanted to know what was wrong with him; why he was here.
At that moment, he was playing with the hem of his white shirt like it was very important to him even though it obviously wasn't. Everything he wore fit him loosely. I had the same out fit but it fit me a lot tighter. Basically, my outfit showed me off while his left things to mystery.
Brendon slammed something against his bars and Patrick jumped. Paranoid. He was obviously very paranoid.
"Like a jumping bean!" Brendon chuckled and slammed again.
Alex jumped a little too. I watched from the floor of my cell near the bars as Brendon continued bar rattling and the two jumped.
"Hey! Brendon! Cut it out!" I called out after he started making the noise louder.
Patrick was looking down but I could see his face twisted in pain. Alex was watching Brendon still, waiting for him to do something again.
Bredon was probably trying to look at me. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"
"Break your fucked up face."
He was quiet for a minute and then I heard the sound of his bed creaking and knew I had won. Then I heard him moaning about someone named Ryan and spoons.
I rolled my eyes and looked over at Patrick. I saw him crack a small smile when I had threatened Brendon, but now it was gone.
"You alright, Patrick?"
Patrick looked up at me, astonished that someone had acknowledged him. I think that was the first time any of us had said his name. I was waiting patiently for him to respond. Speak hopefully.
But Patrick only nodded. Dammit.
"Alex? You good?" I didn't want to seem too upset that Patrick hadn't spoke.
Alex came closer to his bars to look over at me and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."
Brendon groaned loudly and I heard a thud. Alex looked over and shook his head disapprovingly.
"Maybe Pete doesn't have to break your face. You can do that by yourself." He turned to me. "He rolled off the bed and fell on his face."
I smirked. And, suddenly, there was a sort of snickering noise that was a little hysterical. I looked over and saw Patrick smiling and staring over at Brendon's cell. He was laughing very quietly to himself. Thank, God! He hadn't become mute!
I smiled. "Apparently, the floor is capable of doing my job."
"Dude, anyone one could do your job and they would probably make an improvement," Alex smiled, returning to his bed and sitting down, starting to fool with his hair.
Patrick started to bust a gut then. He was on the floor with his arms wrapped around his stomach and his legs bent in the air. His laugh was infectious and very, very sweet. I began to laugh too and soon Alex joined in. The only one who didn't was Brendon.
"You dumbfucks laughing at me?" Brendon exclaimed, his tone suggesting that he wanted to kill all of us.
"Naw, man. Don't worry about us." I calmed down enough and got up and went to my little desk.
Patrick calmed himself down and got up too, but he just started wandering aimlessly around his cell. He looked so sad again. No! Come on, Patrick! Don't do that. Bipolar maybe?
I shook my head sadly and went to my paper in front of me. It had a few lines of words on it but I, of course, thought they sucked ass:
/This has been said so many times that I'm not sure if it matters
But we never stood a chance
And I'm not sure if it matters
If you are the shores
I am the waves begging for big moons
I'm mailing letters to addresses in a ghost town. No.
Your secrets out./
I shook my head and continued writing but occasionally glanced up to see if Patrick was alright. The kid really worried me. But, then again, so did Alex.
Patrick's laugh was embedded in my head now. It was a good, whole hearted happy laugh that we didn't get to hear much anymore. I wanted to make him laugh again but didn't know how.