The Words on the Walls

VI

He was confused. But he tried to hide it. His face was easy to read. Well, sometimes. Other times it was simply blank.

"Of course you know what I'm talking about." The guard's face was questioning now.

"No. No I don't." I stated cleanly.

"B-But we just t-talked about this. That y-you have two more reading s-sessions today. And- And you have also y-your first support group meet-meeting. Since your-your record has been g-good." His stutter had returned.

I was lost. At first. Then I noticed his glances over my shoulder every couple of seconds. I looked over my shoulder slowly. Cautiously. A handful of guards were standing in the entrance to the cafeteria. They were watching carefully. Not trying to hide their obvious stares.

I turned back to my guard. "Support group?!"

"Y-yes. Like I s-said, your record has been g-good, so you are eligible to go-go to a support group. Right after breakf-fast actually." He was staring at me. His eyes betrayed the fact that he was hurt. And scared.

I was confused.

-

My guard stationed himself by the door inside my new support group room. I took a seat on the other side of the room, facing the guard.

The room looked like an empty classroom. Chairs were arranged in a circle. The plastic chairs were painted bright colors. There were already four other people in the room. They were sitting in consecutive chairs next to each other on the other side of the circle from me, with their backs to the door. The social worker, who I assumed was the instructor for these support group meetings, was sitting next to them.

They were staring at me. It took me awhile to realize why. Having a permanent guard was kind of a big deal. I decided to go with the whole 'creepy girl' act and stared back at them. They were all about my age. A frizzy redheaded girl with big, round, hazel eyes. A small and twig-looking girl with bleached blonde hair. A boy with a black beanie and blond hair that kept falling into his eyes. A boy with fierce grey-blue eyes framed by thin, blacked rimmed glasses and brown hair. The support group supervisor was sitting in a chair directly across the circle from me.

I stared at everyone until two other people walked in the room. Two boys. One with shoulder-length dirty blond hair and the other with a ruffled mess of black hair. The black haired one sat next to me. The long haired one sat next to him, closing the gap between me and the other people in the room.

I groaned inwardly. My guard was chuckling softly. I glared at him. He put his hands up in defense.

"It looks like everyone is here, so let's get started!" The instructor's voice was artificially cheery. "First of all, we have a new member to our support group." Everyone turned to look at me. "1401, why don't you tell us about yourself." She smiled a huge, fake smile at me.

"Um." I shifted in my seat. "I.... I like hamsters." I smiled a small, equally fake smile. I'll just lie my way through this thing. My guard was trying desperately not to burst into bouts of laughter.

"That's nice. It's always good to have something in life that you love. Did you have a hamster back home?" She kept smiling. She never seemed to stop.

"I- " Suddenly it dawned on me that I had no idea how to answer this question. I saw my guard shifting uncomfortably and leaning in closer, no longer amused. He wanted to know how I was going to answer this question. He was curious. And scared. About what my answer might be.

"I- I don't remember." I answered honestly. I couldn't lie about this.

"Yes, it is common for people to suffer shock at being placed here. Memory loss is a common result. Don't worry, you'll remember eventually." She was talking automatically. The guard looked upset. Mad even. "To help trigger the return of your memory, can you tell me about your first day here?"

The guard leaned forward in his chair again. His eyebrows were scrunched together.

"No, I can't." I was getting impatient. I hadn't planed on speaking a lot at this meeting.

"Can't or won't?" Asked the black haired boy next to me.

I stared at him for a few lengthy moments before answering.

"Won't."

Everyone was silent.

"1401, in support group, we help each other. We're a team. Anything that is troubling you can, and is encouraged to, be discussed. I guarantee it will help." The social worker stated earnestly before smiling sweetly at me. The small blonde girl nodded. Maybe she was brainwashed to believe everything she was told. Everyone else just rolled their eyes or continued to stare at the floor.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly. I exchanged glances with the guard when I wasn't staring at the floor. Genuine concern was flooding his face. I wondered, yet again, what his story was. Why he seemed to know me.

I learned the names of the other group members. They each told me a bit about themselves, as an introduction of sorts.

The blond haired boy with a beanie was named Danny. He was a singer and songwriter. Chile was the small, brainwashed girl with bleached blonde hair. She liked to bake muffins. She didn't talk much but nodded at everything everyone said. The frizzy redhead was Carrie. She liked to paint. The boy with the grey-blue eyes and black glasses was Div. He wanted to become a movie director someday. The boy with long, dirty blond hair was named Kay. He was a pyromaniac. The black haired boy sitting next to me was named Leth. ''As in 'lethal'," is what he told me. He liked to learn about murders and murderers. And death.

One thing I realized when they were all talking is that they all liked doing things or wanted to be someone that people aren't allowed to do or be anymore. Maybe that was why they were all sent here. For doing illegal things. Or wanting to become illegal people. Or thinking illegal thoughts.

Well, except Leth. Death isn't illegal. Neither is murder.

After the support group, I had another reading session, then lunch, then a third reading session, and then dinner. I could tell the guard wanted to talk to me, but I kept reminding him that he could do all that without as much risk later tonight. I had decided I would go. He shouldn't go through all of his risky camera-disabling precautions for nothing.

"I'm tired. Can't wait to go to sleep tonight," I stated after lunch, putting emphasis on 'tonight'. After that, he stopped clearing his throat and reaching for my wrist in doorways and while turning corners, and pretty much anywhere else the cameras couldn't see us.

Finally, after dinner, he escorted me back to my room for the last time that day.

-

I was laying in my bed, the vibralarm set and clamped to my wrist. I couldn't fall asleep. My mind involuntarily and unstoppably reflected upon the day's events.

My guard disabling the cameras. Support group. Already making the support group supervisor dislike me by not talking about my first day here. The guard's face as I told everyone that I wouldn't talk. How he seemed scared and confused.

The way he acted almost made me dislike him. Despite how I seemed to trust to him. Despite how he seemed to know and trust me.

I finally felt myself drifting into a restless sleep.

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a/n

I've got way too much stuff going on in my head.

Never, ever, EVER write before bed. now my thoughts won't let me get to sleep. >.< ah well.

I sorta proofread this. but I don't know how trustworthy my half asleep/dead head is right now. so sorry for any errors.

new characters though!