"Marco Diaz, was it?" Heinous flipped through her clipboard of papers, shifting her reading glasses up on the bridge of her nose. She raised an eyebrow before raising both and nodding slightly when she got to a specific page. "Ah, yes. Patient 426, room 254. Follow me, honey." With that, she left her rounded front desk of the main hall and I did as she said.

The asylum itself was a castle that had seen better days. The place was a dump. The hallway's fluorescent lights would often flicker, struggling to sustain their lives. Not only that, it was as if their was no janitor in sight, considering some windows were shattered and the floors looked like they hadn't had a proper washing since the dark ages. Even the walls had become a strange, filthy substance with the Victorian styled, vintage wallpaper tearing and becoming less and less. I've seen a few cockroaches scatter during my visits back and forth to the building, and I've got to admit, this hospital wouldn't be anyone's first choice to take care of their family members.

I hear the rest of the patients as I go by. They mostly sit in their wheelchairs with their clothes covered in belts and tightened buckles, mumbling, and sometimes screaming, to themselves. Yes, they are all the same hopeless cases, tossed aside by their families and loved ones like a lost cause.

On top of that, the whole freakshow was run by the warden herself... Heinous. Unlike the rest of the unstable patients she was constantly surrounded by, she seemed to be the only sane one. However, I learned she had rules, rules like visits can only last five minutes long, visitors cannot bring any gifts with them and to not ask any questions at all about the asylum itself like, "So, do the patients come sane and then you drive them mad here through painful procedures and hours of neglect?" or "Why don't your ever fix this place up? It looks like it is run by the patients themselves."

These questions, I've been dying to ask her, yet was too nervous to, worried she might give me one of those belted suits too and throw me in a padded room or whatever her punishments here were. I couldn't even bring my wand without her confiscating it so I started leaving it at home.

To sum it all up, she is a strict, immovable and sadistic lady who's sanity thrives off of other people's pain and suffering. I guess that is also why she kept the scenery an eyesore, like an eery and unsettling nature. It was a place that made you feel the need to watch your back with every step. Just standing infront of the worn down asylum would make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It was the kind of place that promised impending doom to those who dared enter through the front doors.

The first floor was meant for the elderly who have their own specific needs and treatments. They all have their own hospital rooms. The second floor is for the kids, mostly teens. The age groups were pretty much separated for whatever reason, which was probably to organize everyone.

We reached the rickety spiral staircase and from there, went up. On my way, I noticed that the hallways were suspiciously bare, like all the patients were better off in hiding than showing themselves.

It gave me shivers everytime, that asylum. Everything was just... off. My gut always felt tangled and awkward, telling me to scatter the first chance I could. The only reason why I stayed was to visit Marco. He didn't belong here, I knew that. But, just like everyone else that got stuck here, his parents were desperate. They were desperate to get him help.

There was nothing wrong with him at first. He was fine. Then, one night, I woke up to him hitting me and screaming. I'd never seen him so hatred-filled or violent. The worst it had ever gotten was the night he took his hands and squeezed on my throat until the air was locked in and my eyes teared up. He tried to strangle me. That was the time I had to use my only weapon, my magic wand. I had panicked so bad, I summoned a spell that sent Marco crashing into my bedroom wall.

His episodes would get more often, and the more often they would, the more I knew something had sickened his innocent mind. Something had corrupted him in his head. All the doctors we have met told us that he really was sick and as long as he took the medication they prescribed him, he would be fine. The truth was, however, Marco knew what was wrong with him. He knew he wasn't mentally ill.

He knew it so he would fight against his parents everyday over taking his medication. They would watch him swallow his pills only to later spit them out when their backs were turned. He would hide them under his tongue, then spit them like an already been chewed piece of gum. He told me not to tell his parents he did so and since then, I haven't told a soul. I believed he knew what was wrong with him.

But as time went on, he would continue to beat me and bruise me every night. His parents would have to always pry him off of me, though he would always say it wasn't him. They didn't believe him, but I did. I was the one that would see his shaken pupils steady themselves and grow as each of his episodes was over. I was the one that saw him come back to his senses and realize he was hurting me. He would just say it over and over, too, "It wasn't me. It wasn't me, Star. I... I would never..." Then, he would curl up on the floor and cradle himself, crying.

While we were all having dinner one late afternoon, I noticed how silent Marco's parents had gotten. It was almost ominous as they gave eachother concerned stares. I remember Rafael holding tightly onto Angie's hand, as if something was really disturbing them more than usual. I turned to Marco, who was sitting to my right. He gazed up from unenthusiastically twirling his fork in his spaghetti and noticed me watching him. He had had a rough and grueling couple of weeks and began to stop talking to his parents out of anger towards them. He remained quiet and stubborn towards them, but that night, he smiled at me. He may have hated his parents during the time, but he surely didn't hold any grudge with me. We were always as solid as we could ever be.

The house was dead silence for that moment before the hard knock at the door had bolted Rafael and Angie both upright. They shared the same pitiful expression on their faces. It took Rafael a while to move, but when he did, he headed towards the door. By now, Marco and I were both puzzled as soldiers from Saint O's had approached Marco. They each grabbed both of his arms and lifted him out of his seat, making him panic and squirm in their grip as his chair knocked over and chaos broke out. Marco was yelling and wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Mom. Dad. What's going on? Let go of me!" Rafael had explained with sad eyes that he and Angie had found an institution that will help Marco get better. His mom's last words to him were, "I'm sorry, Marco. It's for the best."

The soldiers hauled Marco out with their bare hands as he cried out and tried to struggle himself free. I followed him out, not being able to let him go. "Star," He demanded, tears filling his eyes. "Don't let them take me! I'm fine, I really am! You know that! Tell my parents I'm fine!"

All I could do was hug him. I felt so helpless. I couldn't do anything. Instead, I witnessed him get pulled into a portal and then he was gone.

Saint Olga's Insane Asylum for Troubled Minds promised they could "fix" Marco. They made his parents think that he was going to be okay, that there was hope for him. They promised Marco would be back "good as new", but it has been more than a month now and with every visit, Marco's health seems to be deteriorating rather than progressing. I've asked Heinous when Marco will be able to go home and every time, I get the same answer. "When he is well."

I don't know if I look it to her, but I was smarter than that, probably smarter than all the other blinded, ignorant families who have brought their troubled people here, to a place where even the sun doesn't dare to shine and where people check in, yet never seem to check out. Still, I wait anxiously for the day Marco can finally come home.

Everyday without him is agony. Getting up in the morning to go to school is harder than it used to be. I get dressed slower. I skip breakfast, too knotted up in my stomach to have an appetite. I get on the school bus and sit alone now. Multiple times, Jackie or Janna would try to sit with me and talk, asking what happened to Marco and if he's okay. I became mute at school. I just simply didn't have the energy to talk or do anything. I would drag my heavy feet around as if I had been chained to anchors.

During lunch, I would go into the girl's bathroom and silently sob to myself. I would try to hide from people that I knew when I walked down the halls. When it was time for class, I would scavenge for a seat in the back of the class, watching people's wondering eyes follow me to the back of the room until I sat down. One day, I had missed Marco so much, I even wore his hoodie to school for comfort.

After visiting him after school at the hospital, I would go home. His parents would act as if Marco hadn't existed. They would be cheery and uncomfortably chirpy as they set the table for dinner, making three dishes where there used to be four. They would ask how my day at school was even though I wouldn't answer. I would just sit there, stabbing my chicken with a fork repeatedly, then listen to Marco's dad say, "Now, Star, eat your dinner. It won't stay good forever."

It was like I was their only child, like I had become the replacement child for their son. It was sickening to me. How were they so good at not focusing on the fact that I wasn't their daughter and that their real son was locked up in a madhouse?

Everyday became the same quickly. Everything was mashed together, all grey days. Get up, go to school, hide from the outside world, occasionally visit Marco, go home, have dinner, go back to bed, repeat. It was an exhausting cycle.

Since Marco's absence too, I've been sleeping in his bedroom, yearning for the smell of him that smelled like musk and a slight shampoo-like scent. It was a smell that always oddly calmed me. I guess I associated his scent with a sense of security because when he was around, it was like I was actually safe. It was the smell of Marco and Marco always made me happy.

Marco's parents never visited him which made me the only one who did. This was my fifth time back here. In fact, now that I had thought about it, I didn't see any of the other patients recieve guests. Still, I would come visit him more, yet it just pained me too much to watch him suffer. Every single visit, I would hope to see his smile that told me he was finally okay, but I was always let down when I walked through his hospital room's door.

Just like now. I had been wandering around in my dark thoughts when I realized that, after watching and following Heinous's feet infront of me, she had ceased in her tracks. That's when I had finally lifted my eyes and looked up at her. She turned the door knob's lever and opened the door for me. "Remember, dear," She recalled. "Five minutes and only five minutes."

I nodded and from there, slowly staggered into the room. I didn't want to look up at him. I stood a fair distance away from his hospital bed where he was, yet didn't want to move closer. The room was dark. I had to readjust my eyes to see past it. When I looked up at last, Marco's figure was a silhouette as the two giant windows infront of him gave off the glow from the white clouds and rain hitting the panes. Behind me, Heinous had shut the door just as sternly as she had swung it open, making me jump as the door closed loudly with a thud.

I had lazily thrown on Marco's same red hoodie again, not even worrying about zipping it up. It shielded me somewhat from the rain on my way that afternoon as my floral overall dress didn't really cover me up that much. I always tried to look nice for Marco if I was visiting him that day. I wanted to show him that I was doing okay without him and that his absence from home hasn't affected me. I wanted to dress nicely to give him some tranquility and happiness in seeing me when I would come. He never really seemed to appreciate it though, probably because he was too busy losing his mind to even notice.

My floral dress was something that Angie had bought me in the past week. I had tossed it in the depths of my closet, disgusted by her overly happy expression when she came in to give it to me. When Marco's dad wasn't pampering me, his mom was.

She started buying me dresses like she had always wanted a daughter and now had one. I never asked for the clothes she would spontaneously come home with so I never wore them. Until now, I decided to put it on, only because it was a nice dress afterall and I wasn't going to let it go to waste. I wore it also for Marco to see.

I couldn't make it out of the door that morning either without her spotting me and seeing the dress' flower skirt sticking out from underneath Marco's sweater. She squealed and begged to do my hair. So, I bit my tongue hard and gave in. She had given me a pair of long braids, though some of my baby strands of hair dropped in my face and hung over my ears.

The room was not only dark, but quiet. The only sound was of the old clock hanging on the wall behind me as it ticked every second. Just like every other time I had visited Marco, I didn't know how to approach him. He would always do something unexpected, probably because I didn't know exactly what to expect.

I stood there, staring at his silhouette. His back was turned towards me, sitting at the edge of his hospital bed and I wondered how long it would take until he noticed me. I started to count the ticking of the clock and got to seven seconds before getting the courage to let his name slip from my lips. "Marco?"

The pit dropped to my stomach when his head jerked up, almost like in bewilderment. He didn't answer. He didn't even turn around to face me. He just looked out the foggy window infront of him. Only then, did I know I had to make another move, so I steadied closer. My footsteps were soft and cautious. When I reached Marco, I laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing him to jolt a little like he was startled. A bit startled myself, I jerked my hand away, thinking my touch was toxic to him.

When I came around to see his face, I saw his deflated, absent, yet, widened eyes. Not only that, his eyes were circled with darkness as the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in weeks, not able to even get a second of shut-eye. He sat up straight, nails digging into the side of his bed, his hair a mess, but still secretly cute. His face was a bit pale too. The nurses had also given him a hospital nightgown to wear, yet he hadn't put it on, leaving it folded the way it was on the side table. Marco, against all the hospital's orders, wore his own regular grey T-shirt and black jeans. When he had first come to Saint O's, he believed he wasn't a patient, that he wasn't sick. Now, I'm not so sure what he thinks.

He stayed still, showing no response to me. He just kept watching the rain through the window. I slowly took a seat down in a wooden stool next to him and just watched him. It got harder and harder to watch his face so I dropped my eyes and fiddled with my hands and the strings of the hoodie. I gazed up subtly once more to find he hadn't moved a muscle since the last time I had looked at him. My head fell and I tried to swallow the hard rock forming in my throat. I began counting the seconds of the clock again to keep my tears at bay. After twenty-three seconds of the clock ticking, I looked up at Marco. He was as frozen as a statue. He still hadn't moved, let alone look my way.

"Marco." I managed to get out in a frail voice. "Look at me. Don't just ignore me like that!" My voice began to rise in volume with every sentence and I could feel the tears forcing their way through now. I stood up, discovering my legs to be shaky and unstable. I covered my face with the sleeves of the red hoodie, trying not to cry as hard as I could. "Marco, it's me! C'mon, look at me! I'm right here! It's your best friend... don't you remember?"

My tears had come down now and my lip wavered in a frown. I shielded my face again, trudging away quickly so he didn't have to see me. He just kept there, still not moving.

My hand landed on the doorknob and turned it, before I heard a voice that stopped me right in my tracks. It was faint, but there and as I spun around, I found Marco's head lowered again. He was looking down on something.

"W-what?" I mumbled.

"Star." He said a little louder and clearer. He said it as if my name was fragile and the name of a curative medicine to take him out of his crazed state. "You're... Star... I-I think."

Now, my tears came barreling down my face. I hurried over to him and squeezed him into a tight hug. It was so tight, in fact, that I almost took Marco down. He had to catch himself on the bed and there, I sobbed hard onto his shoulder. I cried like a baby, like I hadn't cried since I was a baby. Marco didn't hug back, but I didn't care. All I knew was he remembered me, something I was afraid he couldn't do anymore.

When I pulled away from him, I noticed his face was a bit baffled. He stared down at his left arm and finally, I saw why he had recalled my name so well. Imbedded deep in the skin of his arm, were cuts. They looked fairly new, considering I've never noticed them before. There, he had four letters, big letters, scratched into his skin. "If I wanted to... remember anything... it was... it was gonna be Star." He muttered.

(My original AU)

Wow! So many emotions and yeah sorry it's long, but to be fair, there was a lot of back story in this to lead up to everything so yeah. I tried to recapture Heinous's sadistic mind and school and transform it to experiment to see what it would be like as an insane asylum so yeah that was really fun to write!

PART 2 IS COMING SOON BUT I JUST WANTED TO LEAVE IT OFF HERE I'M ALREADY AT 3407 WORDS OH LOOK AT THAT IT JUST WENT UP TO 3419

STAY TUNED