It wasn't exactly the easiest thing telling my parents, mostly my mother, that I was going to have to go back to L.A. I could see how much it broke her heart, even more so now than when I said I couldn't do family time; it broke her heart to have her son leave pretty much as soon as he got there. She gave me the excuses of not spending enough time with me when I was younger and that I barely see her anymore because I'm in college, like any mother would. First off, I spent pretty much my entire childhood with this woman-both at home and when she was teaching in her college classroom-except when I became about fifteen and didn't necessarily want my mother babying me anymore. 'Rebellious Teenager' is what she liked to call it, though I had nothing to exactly be rebellious about. I was always that good kid in school, the nerdy one, the one that actually gave a shit about my education. And then secondly, the whole reason of me picking out my college in California was to get away from the same old small house we had. It was one floor with an attic, which is where my bedroom is. And its not all that comfortable either. I like to warn everyone not to enter if they have any form of claustrophobia, its that small. For a family of four, that is. And for someone who was over six feet tall, the attic wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to set up my room. The roof of the house was that triangle slanted shape, so I was only able to straighten my back if I was standing directly in the middle. Even then, my head would graze the ceiling. Probably the only reason why I was ever up here was for sleep or when I needed quite when studying or playing my bass.

But it is what it is. I've had to live with it for almost my entire life, and I wasn't wanting to spend time in that tiny attic space any longer than I needed to. And the sooner I can leave, the better on my behalf.

"Shitface!" Rosie poked her head through the entrance to the attic, or in other words-my room. A look of curiousness was spread across her pathetic teenager face. I knew what this meant already. Whenever she wanted something from me, this is the look she would use. It was like second nature with siblings. The more you grow up with them and pay attention, the more you realize their what 'tricks' are.

"What do you want?" I reply to her, currently re-packing my suitcase and duffle bag. Something that I definitely won't miss as soon as I get back to L.A. is her.

"You should take me to California with you." And there it was. She climbed the rest of the way up and sat on the ledge of the floor opening.

"And why should I do that?" I scoffed. I knew it was coming, but the bitterness in my voice took over.

"Because I wanna get out of this fucking house. Live a little. Party in the big cities!" She threw her hands up in exaggeration. "Maybe get a little drunk and have a good ol' time with a few guys." A giggle escaped her mouth.

"Rosie, you're seventeen." I replied simply. I was prepared for this argument as soon as she showed her face. My sister won't give up until she has her way. Or at least that's how she is with our parents. Me, not so much. A few short words, and she would be gone.

"And?" I looked over at her, her eyes narrowing downward.

"And you're seventeen, still finishing high school." I turned back to the folded clothing on my bed. "You can't just up and leave. Besides, you're too young to be going to parties to get drunk and have private time with boys." The overprotective brother inside me kicked in. Though I hated her with every fiber of my body, I couldn't help but to watch out for her. It honestly bothered me to a great extend. As much as I would love to strangle her to death sometimes, she was my sister. And I've always looked after her.

And in order to get her off my nerves, I had to start with the smaller things. It always got her pissed off at me enough to leave the conversation all together.

"Sure I can." Her arms crossed over her chest, signaling to me that I was starting to annoy that absent minded brain of hers. Which was always extremely quick. It greatly helps when she hates your guts just as much as you hate hers. "You used to go and get drunk at parties and have 'fun' with boys." I winced at her remark. I forgot she knew about that.

"You're going to go to college for art on the other side of the country. You already got accepted remember?" I pointed out to her, changing the subject away from that. And it had slipped my mind of what the name of her school was, but all I did know is that she was going. Mom wasn't gonna tolerate her defiance as soon as she was finished with her senior year of high school.

"Nah." She replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. "I'm not gonna go."

"Uh yeah. You are going to this college." I turn my entire body in her direction. "Rosie, you're not coming with me. So get it out of your head."

"Ugh." She slammed her fist on the hard wood floor. "I fucking hate you. I hope you remember that." She began to climb down the ladder steps.

And that is how Dallon wins fights with his sister. Simple yet frustrating for her. I love how irritable I can make her.

"Oh, I'll never forget it!" I yelled down after her. And all I got in return was a groan of annoyance as she walked away.

There wasn't much left to pack. I hadn't even finished unpacking officially yet, so it was a little easier on my part and only took about ten minutes to get everything together again. I still had most of my stuff at my apartment in L.A anyway.

Speaking of L.A, I needed to figure out when the next flight out there is. I don't want to end up missing it.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting for my laptop to load up, I was finally able to determine that I needed to leave immediately if I wanted to get my plane ticket. Otherwise I would have to wait until about eleven at night. And I wasn't up for dealing with family until then, though it was only a few hours time.

"Mom! Dad!" I threw my suitcase down the ladder as I climb down. "I'm leaving!"

"Are you sure you can't postpone this meeting for another week?" My mother walks through the living room opening. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face fell into a frown.

"No mom." I picked up my suitcase from the floor and made my way over to the front of the house. "I need this. This could potentially be a job if I get this. I've wanted something like this for a long time."

"I know." The corner of her mouth turned upwards in a small smile. "I just wished you could stay a little longer. Its strange only having one teenager around."

"It's not like I'm going to be gone forever, mom. I'll still visit." I wrap my free arm around her tightly in a hug.

She pulled away and smiled once more. "I'll go grab your father to give you a ride to the airport."

~~~

"Hey man, thanks for picking me up on such short notice." I get into my friends tiny beat up car. It was nice to finally be back in L.A. As much as I liked being with my family, this is where I feel most at home.

"Ehh, its not like I have anything better to do today." His dark brown hair strewn about atop his head in all different directions. It was as if he didn't brush it at all today. It honestly wasn't much of a surprise, since he rarely did unless he were to go out in public. Even then he didn't care all that much.

"I would have assumed you'd be sucking faces with Linda by now." A smile forms as he shakes his head, trying not to laugh.

"Thought I'd save that for when you were around." There was a chuckle that escaped his mouth when he playfully hit my arm.

"Oh what a lovely friend you are, thank you Spencer." I roll my eyes, and buckle in my seatbelt as he begins to drive off from the airport.

The entire ride back to our apartment was quite eventful. There were continuous jokes between the two of us. And Spencer even went on a good twenty minute rant about Rosie and how much she got on his nerves. Honestly, I felt the same way. He's just lucky that he didn't have to live with her for the seventeen years of her life.

"Thanks again for the ride." Spencer parked his car in the communal parking lot of our apartment complex. I take my suitcase out of the backseat and follow him up the front steps.

"Like I said, I had nothing better to do." He just kind of shrugs it off as if it were nothing. He took his keys out of his pocket and fumbled around with them until he found the correct one to our apartment. I dont know how it doesn't frustrate him. But he just refuses to get rid of them.

"So why exactly did you come back so early?" He plopped himself down on the leather couch in our living room, TV remote in hand.

"I got a call for an interview tomorrow." My suitcase make a loud thumping sound as I threw it into my bedroom. I'll deal with unpacking it later.

"Wait you applied for a job?" Spencer sat up from his position on the couch and turned his body to face me. A look of shock spread across his face. Whether or not he was being sarcastic, I couldn't tell.

"Well," was it really going to be a job? "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?" His eyebrows shifted downwards into a frown.

Spencer was the friend that was always curious about everything. He was always the one that needed to know everything. But even then, he was the type of friend that wouldn't ever tell another soul with a secret, for example.

"So I got a call this morning." I grabbed a Pepsi out of our refrigerator before making my way over to the couch to sit next to him. His eyes never left me as I open the soda can. "And remember when I was applying to work with people in the hospital?"

"With the crazies? Yeah, I remember." He replied while I took a sip of the soda in my hand. Spencer didn't exactly agree with my decision to want to work with mental patients. His reasoning was something about how they could 'get in my head'. But I wasn't too worried about that.

"Well I'm meeting with the head doctor at the Gateway hospital." I take another sip of the soda. Spencers eyebrow slightly raised upward as if he were confused.

"I don't follow." And there was the confused aspect. "You know I never paid attention to you listing off names of mental institutions right? Not to be rude."

"The one that's downtown. Its about a half hour from here." I roll my eyes at his response. But that was Spencer for you.

"Oh." He looks away for a second. "That one. I think I know where that is." His attention is directed back towards the television, now indicating that he was no longer interested in our conversation. I swear this man has the attention span of a goldfish sometimes.

~~~

"Ah, Mr.Weekes!" Dr.Sheynman stood up from his leather chair as I walked into his bright and well furnished office. He wore a wide smile on his face and extended his arm out towards me. I take his hand in mine for a handshake. He was definitely on the older side, his hair slightly grey and he had wrinkles under his eyes.

"Here's all my paperwork." I hand him a folder filled with papers such as my resume and previous work arrangements. I wasn't exactly sure as to what I should bring to this interview. So I assumed it would be like any other job interview.

He took the folder out of my hand and opened it up, scanning each piece of paper carefully. His eyebrows narrowing downward as he did so. My pulse quickened at the sight of this. Was he unimpressed? I mean, my life up to this point wasn't very impressive in the first place, but I just hope that it was interesting enough to grab his attention.

"So," Dr.Sheynman placed the folder down on his organized desk and looked up at me, that warm and inviting smile was plastered on his face again, "Dallon. Take a seat." He extended his arm out and referred to the metal chair behind me as he sat down in his leather one.

I did as I was told and grabbed the chair, sitting up properly. 'Good manners while at an interview, Dallon. Dont look like a slob, or they'll second guess their decision to hire you.' My fathers words rang in my ears. He was always the one to be straightforward in these types of situations. And he told me to always dress formally in events such as these. So a black suit and a tie was what I went with.

"Tell me about yourself." He folded his hands on top of his desk. "What gave you the inspiration to want to do this?"

"Well," I prepared myself for this question ahead of time, but it all seemed to disappear from my mind, "I've always loved music. Ever since I was a child, I taught myself how to play and read music and it was just an amazing time. So I wanted to try to help out some patients and see if music brings them as much joy as it did for me." That sounded good right? I hope it didn't seem as though I was buttering him up.

"Perfect response, Mr.Weekes." His smile never left his face. "I'm actually really glad that you want to do something like this. I think it'll definitely help out some of our patients. And I've got a few in mind that you might be able to help."

I smiled back as he stood up from his chair. He likes what I want to try and do. This interview is going amazing.

"Come now." He stood over by the door to his office. "Follow me, I'd like to show you who I think you would be compatible with as a music teacher, let's say."

"Oh." I stood up and followed him out of the office. "Okay. Sure."

"And next time, loose the suit. No need to be dressing up like that." He turned a corner and we started walking down a long hallway.

"Next time?" I asked. "So does that mean I have the job?" Fuck, Dallon why? You never ask that in an interview.

"Indeed you do." He patted my back. "I like your intentions."

"Well thank you sir." I tried to keep my composure as my insides were screaming with joy.

There was no more conversing after that. I followed him down the long hallway and glanced at each of the doors on the way. They were wooden doors with glass windows. And in the glass there were word etched in. For example there was a door that said Emergency Care and there was one that said Art Room.

I'm only assuming that those are rooms that the patients go for special reasons?

Soon, the doctor and I reach a set of heavy looking metal double doors. The closer we get, I notice that there was a small key hole on one of them. The doctor ended up taking out a set of keys and unlocked the doors. Was this really a necessary thing?

"May I ask why these doors are locked?" I glance over at him as we walked through.

"Just to make sure that the patients dont walk the main halls during wandering hours." The words fell out of his mouth so casually. This whole set up was strange to me. But at the same time, I could see where he was getting at.

We walked a little ways into another hallway but this time, you could hear talking and screaming. I assumed those were some of the patients. The doors in this hallways were a bit different that before. They were metal and had a little window up near the top, with a set of bars. And each door hand a number engraved into it.

All of this made my stomach turn. I felt uneasy about this now. I dont think I ever listened to Spencer when he said that they were 'crazies'. But now that I was seeing all of this, I was starting to believe him.

"There were a few patients that I had in mind, that I think you would work well with." The doctor stopped in front of one of the doors. "But this one stood out to me the most. If I do recall, he's been here the longest." I look at the door, my stomach still doing flips. "Number 412. He has Dissociative Identity Disorder."

Something inside of me told me to peer through the window of the door. And before I could stop myself, that's exactly what I did.

There was a man in there, sitting on the floor, holding his knees. He was wearing a pair of black pants and a white tee shirt, and an old pair of these slipper looking type of shoes. His hair was shaved on the sides and a complete mess on top. Every now and again it sounded as if he were mumbling the words, 'Get out'.

"Orzechowski!" The doctor called down the hall, startling me, and causing me to jump back from the door.

A woman, no older than twenty five walked up to us. Her jet black hair was up in a messy bun and she wore this awfully bright pink set of scrubs.

"Yes Doctor?" Her voice was higher pitched than I had imagined.

"I have work to do, but I'd like you to explain to Dallon here, more about what goes on in this place." And with that, the doctor walked away, leaving me with this lady.

"Right," She mumbled under her breath, "I'm Nurse Orzechowski." She holds out her hand for a handshake. I quickly take it in mind, not wanting to be rude. "But call me Sarah. Everyone but the doctor does."

"Hello Sarah." I reply. "I'm Dallon."

"I gathered." She let out a light laugh. "The doctor already told most of the staff about you. He's really excited about this. And he chose 412 for you to start with?"

"Uh yeah." All of this was a little much to take in.

"Well, due to his disorder, he might try to tell you otherwise while he's in that state of mind, but his name is Brendon. Brendon Urie."