I loathe being here. The vile, pungent tendrils of disinfectant sent me to my knees in the bathroom. The flickering fluorescent lights that reflected off of the dull white walls, blinded me as I walked down the halls. Them, the people, the others. I hate this place and everything in it. I never understood why I was even here in the first place. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

I was not a person here. Not to them. Here, I am nothing but a number. A fragile body without a face. Maybe a blurred water color canvas for some. But still just a number with a torn frame. 

 

 

I wonder if there's a way out of here. I know there isn't, but that doesn't stop me from imagining. I lay in bed at night, just thinking of all the ways I could escape. It's not like I slept much anyway. I could jump out of the window and into the waters below. I could make a break for it when I'm on my way to lunch. I could even kill some of the others. I've thought about it a lot. I don't think I used to be so violent before. But thoughts don't always lead to actions. Not here. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

They only let me out of my room for recreation, once a day. I hate it. I was a very sociable person before I came here. I had so many friends and acquaintances, one would think it impossible. A social butterfly, one would call me. I guess I fluttered my wings too much. You'd think my once a day outings would make me happy, but they didn't. Mostly because I knew it was only temporary. I knew in an hour after being let out, is be right back in. 

 

 

My outings always lead me to the garden. I don't know why they think I would like that place. I hate flowers that smell up my clean air. I hate the trees that pollute the sounds when the wind blows. I hate that wind too. It makes my hair go all over the place. I used to like being outside. I wasn't a nature person, but I enjoyed a nice walk in the park. 

 

They would sit me on a bench, under a damn tree, next to a flower bed, in the particular spot that feels like I'm experiencing gale force winds. I just sit there, counting the seconds until they would trap me back in. Sometimes I let my eyes travel the garden. The others would be there, but I didn't care. They were just there, as I was. The Garden of Eden, as I liked to call it. I came up with that one of my first nights here. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

During the day, they would give me some paper and pencils, letting me write whatever I wanted. I see no point in it, they don't care about my thoughts. They collect my thoughts by the end of the day and leave me to really think. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

Nighttime. Nights were the worst. At night, there would be some screams. The others that had their little 'bad dreams'. Those people pissed me off. Always complaining about how they couldn't sleep properly. Inconsiderate s, I'm the one who couldn't sleep at all. They're lucky. Others would cry and whimper, I hated them too. They get in the way of my thinking time. Nighttime was thinking time for me. The time I planned my great schemes of escape, what is do when I get out of here. 

 

 

I never understood why I had so much trouble sleeping. It's like only at night, my mind comes alive. I'd be helplessly tired during the day, but thoughts of the inevitable and delusional whiz through my head at night. I lay down, close my eyes, slow my breathing, but nothing. I've never had my thoughts connect. They always start at one street an end up across the ocean. My mind goes all over the place and the next thing I know, it's morning. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

I was out in that damned garden when I saw something for the first time. I don't notice others here, but she was different. I saw her and she didn't look like she belonged here either. 

 

She had pale, radiant skin. It reflected the sunlight, like the walls, but I didn't mind that. Her hair was a pale orangey color, but it had this depth to it. Her eyes were this deep, rich Belgian chocolate. They were so strong, but I could have sworn there was an inkling of fear in them. Her face was a like a doll's with that pale, perfect skin of hers.

 

 

She sat alone on the other side of the garden, by the roses. The wind nestled in her hair and spun it about as she stared at the flowers. She looked like such a vision. Perfection with a slight imperfection, that glare. That glare of hers could send Alexander to his knees in surrender. I wasn't intimidated by it though, I thought it endearing. Her glare was there for a reason, a reason I wanted to know. 

 

 

I had spent that entire hour sketching her into my mind. When I left the garden, I turned my head and saw her glance at me. I did a little victory dance and giggled to myself in my room. I fell asleep that night thinking of her. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

I couldn't summon the right mind to speak to her until a few weeks later. I walked through the garden, mumbling to myself to calm my racing heart. Damn thing would just not calm down. She was sitting in the same spot she had been since the first time I saw her. She didn't look surprised to see me so close, I've only been staring at her from afar. 

 

 

I sat next to her on the bench and looked at the roses. I hated those things until I saw them near her that first day. I was envious of them, being able to hold her gaze for so long and their proximity. I turned slightly to look at her, impassive, but I would change that soon. "I'm Tiffany," I introduced myself. She nodded, but kept those chocolate eyes on the roses. 

 

"I noticed you." I hoped that was better than, 'I've been watching you.' She only nodded again. That was starting to bother me. Why wasn't I good enough to look at? What's so great about those damn flowers?

 

I kneeled off of the bench and scanned the roses. I needed to find the one she was paying the most attention to. I saw it, the one nearly dead, hanging limply from its stem turning black. I reached out and plucked it, just the flower. It was a deep red, and black around its edges. Why this and not me?

 

I sat back on the bench. I knew she was glancing at me now that I've taken her little eye candy. "What's so great about this thing?" I asked as I held it up to the sun and looked it over. It was just a dying flower. 

 

She reached for it, but I moved it quickly behind me. Her face was stone cold, but her eyes flickered to a displeased look. "Why does it matter?" she whispered. 

 

Oh my, her voice just sent a fire down my spine, stimulating everything. It was so light, so delicate, so fragile. Familiar. Why was her voice so familiar?

 

"Because it has your attention, and I want it." I was being honest. She looked at me skeptically. How many emotions could I get her to show me today?

 

"Why would you want that?"

 

"Because I think you're beautiful. I've never seen anyone or anything like you. You're too great to be true, you know?" She blushed. Oh, how cute. 

 

"Anything?"

 

"Yeah, I don't think you're from earth."

 

"An alien?"

 

"Otherworldly sounds more romantic," I grinned and saw her blush more. So cute. "Are you just going to answer my questions with more questions? If so, I'll tell you right now, I have an arsenal of them at my disposal."

 

"Ahh... Sorry," she whispered. Does she know the effect of her voice on me? Is that why she's whispering?

 

I smiled, "Don't be sorry. Just tell me your name quickly, they're calling me back."

 

"Jessica."

 

"Well Jessica, I hope I get to see your otherworldly beauty tomorrow." I stood up to leave, but before I did, I placed the rose on her lap and whispered, "Because it's like you."

 

As I left, I could barely here her gentle voice answer, "No. It's like you." how would she know that?

 

 

 

******

 

 

During my writing time, I decided not to write to those people. They didn't care. I instead, wrote to Jessica. A letter. A love actually. I poured my feelings out until it was time to go see her. 

 

 

She sat in her usual place. As I walked up to her, more confidently this time and smiling like an idiot, she glanced at me. A glance, but at least she acknowledged me.  I sat down and handed her my four paged confessional. I sat patiently as age read it word by word. 

 

 

When she was finally done, she looked at me with the softest smile I'd ever seen. "Thank you for telling me, Tiffany."

 

"Thank you for existing." I was being cheesy, but I couldn't help it. 

 

 

We sat and talked happily for the rest of that hour, and every other for hour some time after that. I talked mostly, but she would interject when she wanted. It was nice, having her there. She was calm and collected, unlike the rest of us, unlike me. I slept a little more every night after I talked to her. Jessica was my sedative. 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

We were conversing in the garden with playful banter when I started to feel my head hurt. A migraine. The blood flew to my head, pulsating and hitting my cortex like tidal waves. I could feel my eyes water from the light, I had to close them. It was too bright, the light made it worse. My hearing became so acute, picking up any sound, my spitting brain interpreting it as a nuisance. I cradled my face in my hands, it hurt so much. I heard Jessica's soft voice, 'Tiffany! Tiffany!' she called. It was relaxing, it sort of coaxed me back, but it wasn't enough. 

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

 

"Tiffany! Tiffany!" 

 

 

I opened my eyes and closed them again. It was too bright. My head still hurts, but it had dulled. It felt like a blunt object was being dragged along my temples. The disinfectant smell was overwhelming and it sent me looking for the bathroom. I sprang out of bed and to the toilet.

 

 

Back at my bed, with my eyes still closed, I tried to block everything out. It was all too over stimulating; the bright lights, the pungent aroma, the sounds of whispers and murmurs. 

 

 

"Tiffany." There it was again. Her voice. "Open your eyes, please." 

 

I did, because she was the one asking me. She was so beautiful. He hair was a perfect, her face was perfect, her eyes were focused only on me. I liked that the most. "Hey." I couldn't bring myself to say more because I knew what she was going to say. 

 

She smiled softly, like it was a relief to her. "Do you know where you are?"

 

"Saint Jude's Psychiatric Care Center."

 

"That's good. Can you tell me who you are and why you're here?"

 

"I'm Tiffany Hwang, 23. I'm here because I..." I didn't want to say it. She'd judge me like the rest. 

 

"Yes, go on Tiffany." There she goes coaxing me again. Were it anyone else, I'd have hit them already. 

 

"I had a mental breakdown last year, after my mother died. I beat up a coworker when they said something that just made me snap. After, I cried like a baby and called out for my mom. I've been here since the court sent me here."

 

"Very good. Now, who am I?"

 

"You're Jessica Jung, my doctor."

 

"Yes, I am. Do you know what happened?"

 

"I had a migraine last night, so I took all of the sleeping pills I managed to hide. I woke up, and there you were."

 

"You overdosed, Tiffany. We had to pump your stomach. That was very dangerous."

 

"Yeah, but it got rid of the pain, at least for a little while."

 

"We're going to have to keep you in the ward for your safety, okay? I'll be back to check on you later."

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

I knew it was too good to believe. It was just a dream. My delusions o having a normal life, infected my dreams. Jessica's my doctor, not my lover. The writing I did in my dream was part of my therapy. The garden is really where she took me or fresh air though. My aggression has to be managed by rooming me by myself. Jessica didn't it in this place because she was a doctor, not a patient. 

 

 

 

I laid down and closed my eyes to do more thinking. I really loathe being here. 

 

 

 

 

 

__________________________________

A/N: I just wanted to try my hand at something like this. I could definitely improve, but I hope you liked it. Thoughts?