Miserable. If I had to sum my life up in one word, that would be the one. I was stuck in a fucking institute, after all of my efforts to stay out. Here I was, locked up like an animal, and I absolutely fucking hated it. I could feel my self spiralling into a depression, and I didn't have the energy to do anything about it. I knew the staff were concerned, but I couldn't care less. If they were that worried they'd let me out, but they didn't. Oh, I'd tried to make them. My first few days here had consisted of argument after argument with every member of staff who'd stand still long enough for me to plead with them. All in vain, however, because they were all running on the same script. No matter how many times I told them I didn't belong here, they fixed me with the same comforting smile and assured me I was in the right place, a safe place. That, or they told me to discuss it with my doctor. I still saw Dr Lee, I had a session with him every week. There was another doctor, now, too. Dr Ballato ran our group therapy sessions and she was also kind of my go-to lady, in theory, there if I needed to talk while Dr Lee wasn't around. I rarely did go to her though; I didn't trust her, either. She seemed nice enough, but I knew enough about doctors to know that they were never as they seemed. Hell, I didn't even trust the other staff here. Supervisors, chefs, cleaners, the dude that came and took the trash away once a week... They were all the same to me - they were all employed to maintain this hellhole and the people in it. That made them assholes, to put it bluntly, and I hated each and every one. And then there was the patients. Real crazy people, people who actually needed the place they had here. Only two of them are worth mentioning, because I didn't speak to anyone else. Dana was a woman in her sixties who had been admitted a few months ago. She wore funny flower-print dresses and worn brown leather boots, and she drew her eyebrows on every morning. More often than not, she smudged them so they streaked up her forehead. I didnt quite know the full story of why she'd been admitted, but from what I could gather she had suffered some form of gang attack that left her mentally scarred and damaged. She lived alone in a small house before she came here, and she had spent pretty much all her time wandering the streets all day and picking up all the litter until someone had her admitted. She was a sweet woman, and when I arrived she took on a very much mother-hen attitude towards me. She didn't always make sense when she spoke, but still, she was a nice lady. My other acquaintance here - I say acquaintance because I didnt consider anyone in the institute to be my friend - was Bob. Bob was a similar age to me, and he was pretty much a loner, also like me. It was because of this that we became acquainted, because both of us sat alone and kept to ourselves. The staff saw this and had the genius idea to, well, shove the loners together. We were put in the same group sessions and enouraged us to spend our mealtimes and free time together. And I suppose, after twi or three days, we began to appreciate it. Bob wasn't like some of the other people here. He was probably the most sane - besides me of course. He had been put here to recover the manic depression that he'd sunk into after the loss of his parents and two siblings. He'd been the only survivor of the car wreck. I valued his company, to be honest. We both shared a dry sense of humour that often had us exchanging smirks and glances at the expense of the people around us. Though we didnt speak a great deal, we gre comfortable around each other. That was the only semblance of comfort I had, though. I spent my days in the institute riding an emotional rollercoaster of anger, sadness, pain and fear. I hated where I was, and I wanted Frank. I didnt forget about him, not once, I sat around and thought about him. I drew him more than once, which sounds incredibly stalker-ish, but I did it. I managed to get a pretty accurate copy if his face from memory, of which I was proud. I kept the drawings safely tucked away in my new sketchbook - my old ones were still at Frank's, and since we were denied contact with each other I didn't exactly get to ask for them back. I knew Frank would take care of them, though, and in all honesty it wasn't the bookd I wanted. It was the man who now held them in his home. I wondered if he thought of me as much as I thought of him - I doubted it. I doubted a lot, actually. Would Frank really still want me now that I was a patient in here? My mind answered that with a resounding no. But my heart, it was less sure. I love Frank. Did he, would he, still return that love?

Notes

Sorry for the wait, my hands have been tied with other stuff. Not much happens, I know, but I had to set the scene of the mental institute. I hope you guys like the new characters. Dana is based off someone I know. there really is a sweet old lady in my area with smudged eyebrows who walks around and cleans up all the litter. I used to talk to her everyday after school - I always saw her on my way home. She is lovely, although a little strange. Anyway, this is all irrelevant. Enjoy the chapter and I really wanna thankyou all - again - for the level of support. The comments, of course, but also the tweets, the tumblr asks, and the stuff on ask.fm. It really makes my day. Paranoia Violence out xø