Two weeks, nursing a bruised rib and a biting pain in my arm. Two weeks, talking to doctors who were just dying to know what would make a girl like myself scale the roof of her university, why someone who had so many opportunities might become a danger to herself and others. Two weeks, choking down pills that soon caused me to feel constantly sick to my stomach, as well as gain five or so pounds.

Two weeks in the first hospital before I was passed over to the next, - the latter being a loony bin.

Even now that I have all my things packed up and placed in a room at St. Jude's, I still have the nagging feeling that this must have been some huge, horrible misunderstanding. Surely, this isn't how my life was meant to turn out.

I was having an off day, that day up on the roof. A sudden burst of emotion, offsetting my usual apathy, causing me to seem just a bit off my rocker. I should've been back in my dorm, - working on a paper with a record on, chugging coffee and perhaps swallowing Midol caplets to help even out my mood.

Maybe I just did everything in an odd order.

Maybe, if I hadn't read that poem over again, the day would've gone differently.

Maybe I should have gone to the cafeteria for breakfast, eaten with my classmates, reminded myself that the semester would be over soon enough, that everything passes eventually.

Maybe, if I hadn't allowed myself to give into the curiosity of finding that door and scaling those stairs, I would be beginning another boring week of coursework right about now.

Maybe, I could have just continued ignoring it, just like I had been doing since high school ended... or had it been before?

Whatever the case, I find myself snapping back to reality at the sound of a woman's voice. "Are you Dorothy Walker?"

I stand up from the plastic chair I had been sitting in, smoothing the skirt of my T-shirt dress over the tops of my thighs. I clear my throat before meeting the woman's dark eyes. "Yes," I tell her. "I am."

The woman, - a middle-aged black lady wearing magenta scrubs, - eyes me warily. Finally, her gaze settles at my side, where I hold the suitcase of the things they sent for me from my dorm room.

I have no idea what's inside, truly. I can only assume my belongings have been thoroughly combed through, everything that I might cause any sort of harm with tossed out and sent God-knows-where.

The woman's eyes return to mine before she gives me a quick nod. "Right," she says, though I have no idea what she might be confirming. "Well, let me just get you the papers to fill out real quick..."

"Thanks." I wait as she walks behind the front desk and extracts a pen and clipboard.

Soon, she walks back around and hands the items to me. "There you go, love."

I nod, filling out the form as quickly as I can with my shaking hand before handing the clipboard back to the woman.

She gives it a quick cursory look before giving a hum of approval. "Well, then..." She places the clipboard back on the counter. "Welcome to St. Jude's, Miss Walker. Now, follow me this way..."

-

The nurse and I take the elevator up a few levels. The only sound all the while is the mechanical noises coming from the metal box. As it slowly pulls us upwards, I can't help but wonder what would happen if it came crashing down. Now, wouldn't that just be so sickly ironic?

"Miss Walker?" Everything goes still. A gust of cool air greets me as the doors open.

The nurse blinks at me. "What are you grinning for?"

I shake my head, reaching up to tuck a lock of loose hair behind my ear. "Nothing," I say. "Just remembered something that happened back at home..."

She frowns. "Well, it's best to keep at the task at hand, isn't it?" She steps out of the elevator. "Come along, now. You've got an open room waiting for you."

I follow her down the long, brightly-lit corridor. Though I try my best not to stare, I can't help but notice the presence of people all around. There's a new room every few feet, most with their doors ajar.

In a way, it reminds me of the retirement home I volunteered at a few years ago, - a realization that feels like yet another gut-punch to my dignity, although I suppose that being treated like a senior citizen at the ripe old age of nineteen really shouldn't be anywhere close to the most embarrassing part of the situation. After all, two weeks ago, I was standing on the top of a roof, attempting to beat up the faculty member who decided to play Good Samaritan and prevent me from offing myself.

"Here we are." The nurse pushes one of the closed doors open.

I follow her over the threshold, only to be surprised by the set-up before me.

Right off the bat, I can point out several differences between this room and my previous hospital room.

The first would have to be the walls. As opposed to the blinding, clinical white of the ones back at the general, these are painted a shade of dark beige. I can't decide if this is more comforting or off-putting, - it feels like some sort of attempt to make this place seem like something it's not, likely a desperate effort to create a homey atmosphere.

The other glaringly obvious difference is the fact that there seems to only be one bed.

I turn to the nurse, certain that I must be missing something. "Do I not have a roommate?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says. "They kept you holed up with other people long enough at the last place. Besides, they wouldn't send you here until they took you off suicide watch, which was done a week ago, as I understand it..." She points at the bedspread, which is nearly the exact same shade as the paint on the walls. "You can sit your suitcase right there."

I obey her previous order before allowing myself another glance around the room. The more I look, the more confused I am, - especially when my eyes fall on the large window on the rightmost wall.

Before I can censor myself, my mouth falls open. "No fucking way."

I approach the window, feeling something like a wayfaring traveler, staring down a mirage in the middle of the desert. To my surprise, however, this window certainly seems real, offering me a perfect view down into the hospital parking lot as I pull back the curtain and press my fingers against the cool glass.

"Miss Walker?" the nurse calls.

I turn around to face her again. "This is a psych ward, isn't it?" I ask.

The nurse frowns. "Of course it is."

"Then why does it seem like you've rewritten all the rules? One bed, no roommates..." I motion towards the window. "And, of course, there's that. Y'all did get the memo about me trying to jump off the roof, didn't you?"

"Miss Walker," the nurse repeats my name, seemingly unfazed. "Calm yourself, please."

I laugh bitterly, coming to take a seat at the edge of the bed. "I just think it's a little bit ridiculous," I say. "I could just as well be living on my own again, with the amount of leeway you seem to be giving me here. I mean, I've already been kicked out of school, the doctors have me heavily medicated, they've taken me off suicide watch and given me a room with a view... So why can't I just go home?"

"Rest assured, Miss Walker, you will be extensively monitored." The nurse opens up my suitcase. She rummages around a bit until she reaches the bottom before finally nodding and pushing it away. "I see you don't have any sharp objects on you, mercifully. That's square one."

I huff out a laugh. "Square one. Okay. And what are the other squares?"

She looks up from the suitcase as she places my clothes back in my case. "Well," she begins. "There's an open door policy at most hours, and the window in the bedroom door. No locks, except for after lights out."

I nod. "Limited privacy. Right. What else?"

The nurse frowns, redoing the locks on my suitcase. "I would watch my attitude if I were you," she warns before continuing her explanation. "We also keep the patients on an extremely regimented schedule. Bedtime and meals come like clockwork, - as well as medications, of course. Although we do have the occasional straggler who doesn't take too kindly to the rules..."

"Not me," I state. "I'll do whatever it takes to get me out of here as quickly as possible."

"I can promise you that you aren't in the minority there, Miss Walker," the nurse says. "But it all depends on stability, you know, and recovery takes time."

"Yes," I chime in. "Yes, I understand. And recovery will certainly be something that I strive for." I smile at her, hoping that the grimace will be convincing enough.

Her unchanging expression makes it quite apparent that she doesn't buy it. "Good," she says. "That is the goal, after all. Speaking of which, a few pointers... extra points go to you for healthy participation in activities, constructive interactions with others, and, first and foremost, good behavior. Think I can trust you with that?"

At this point, I'm not quite sure of how much I can trust myself with anything. Still, I swallow and nod. "Sure."

"Excellent." The nurse pats my knee, - an oddly causal ending to a rather tense interaction, before heading towards the door. "I'll leave you to get settled in, then. My name is Isabel, by the way, so that's the name you need to shout in case of any emergencies. Oh, and remember to come down for supper and medication at 6:30, - it is absolutely imperative."

Though I roll my eyes as soon as I know that her back is turned, I offer Isabel what will likely turn out to be an empty promise, whether the disappointment arrives sooner or later.

"You can count on me."

-

I pass most of the rest of the afternoon lying on the rather stiff mattress in the center of my room, listening to the clamor in the hallways whilst staring at the ceiling.

If nothing else, St. Jude's definitely meets my expectations of what a mental hospital would sound like. Paranoid, indistinct yelling. The sound of someone steadily sobbing. Loud, disjointed conversation that I can't manage to make heads or tails of for the life of me.

The combination of the cacophony outside and the nothingness in my own little space makes me terribly anxious. I dig my fingers into the bedsheets, listening to the combination of a woman's hopeless whimpers and a man's belligerent shouts.

I squeeze my eyes shut, try to imagine that I'm anywhere but here. Still, all I can think of is the university roof, all those people below me yelling not to jump, the feeling of my body making a dull, useless thump, unfortunately saved.

At that thought, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

I can't just sit here, feeling myself slowly going crazier. I have to move, go somewhere else to clear my head.

I stand up, cautiously walking into the hallway. I'm not quite certain if wandering would be considered 'good behavior' for a new patient in Isabel's eyes, but I'm not sure that I care. I'm restless, bordering on panicky, - I know that I have to move, walk around for a bit, ground myself.

That doesn't seem like it will be too easy, however, considering that the hallway seems to be identical on each side.

The corridor seems to stretch on forever, endless doorways, some open, others closed. A man in a black T-shirt pushes a man in a wheelchair past. I step back into my bedroom, hoping he hasn't caught me in the act of my potentially illicit escape.

Once he's gone, I glance back and forth again, pondering which way I should go, and exactly how the hell I'll find my way back.

Giving up on mapping it out, I step out onto the floor and begin my stroll.

For a long while, I simply focus on turning corners, - which there are many of, as I soon find out. The wing seems to be set up like some sort of maze, - not an excellent layout for the scattered maniacs who wander these very halls, I note.

Each of the rooms look the same for the most part, save for a few variations in paint colors. As I head towards yet another turn in the floor plan, the wailing that had set me off earlier grows steadily louder.

The sound prompts me to pick up the pace a bit. In the moment, all that I want is to get away from that awful, anguished sound.

I attempt to choke down the lump that rises in my throat in response to the noise.

Had that been how I sounded on the roof, when I knew that I couldn't go through with my plans? Had the witnesses felt that same anxious feeling that was beginning to crush down on my chest in response to those cries, - the sickening helplessness of knowing that someone is too far gone to be helped, any shot at salvation that they may have being nothing more than a mere game of chance?

I keep walking. The hall keeps stretching on with no end in sight. I can hear every footstep, along with my own ragged breathing and the unsteady rhythm of my heartrate, speeding up, faster and faster...

"What is it you're running from?"

In spite of the fact that my heart feels as though it's about to burst, I find myself freezing in my tracks.

There are quite a few possibilities here, and none of them are good.

The most concerning would surely have to be that I've begun hearing voices.

I turn around in the direction of the voice quickly, only to meet the eyes of a man.

Well... maybe man isn't the correct word.

The guy in front of me hardly looks like anything more than a boy.

Though he's certainly tall enough, he has the air of someone who is constantly unsure of himself, - slouching despite his impressive stature, hands jammed into the pockets of his blue jeans, too-long hair falling over his eyes like some sort of shield from the outside world.

He looks relatively harmless. Then again, I imagine that appearances don't count for much around here.

My mouth remains firmly shut, - partially due to the sense of dread that is steadily filling me, and partially as a defense mechanism.

This guy could really be anyone. A young staff member, dying to rat someone out.

Or worse, another patient.

A sociopath with murderous tendencies. A pyromaniac, kleptomaniac, nymphomaniac... Well, any sort of maniac, really.

Regardless, he's likely bad news.

Someone I have no desire to interact with.

I avert my eyes, turning them back towards the floor. With that, I continue walking.

It's as though I can't hear him.

As though he isn't even there.

If I ignore him completely, he'll be more likely to leave. Of course he won't take much interest in talking to a brick wall. Right?

Wrong, apparently.

"Oh no, - I snuck up on you, didn't I? Sorry, sorry, - oi, where're you goin'?"

Heavy footsteps, trailing behind mine. His voice, not too far behind.

"I didn't mean to scare you! I've been told I'm too fast, - move too quick, talk too quick, live too quick. Makes other people uneasy. Then again, you don't seem to be the slowest, either, - hey, wait a minute!"

More footsteps, even louder.

My heart jumps into my throat.

What the fuck?

He's chasing me. This guy is fucking chasing me down the halls of a mental hospital.

He has to be absolutely unhinged. If he had any semblance of his sanity, - even the smallest bit, - he would get a clue by now.

Unless he's a member of the staff. But if that's the case, why isn't he exercising any authority? Calling for backup?

"Not much of a talker, are you? That's okay. Lot of people here aren't. Then again, bunch of 'em are catatonic, and I know you don't fall in with that lot because, - wow, you can move!"

For the first time since I arrived at college, I find myself doing something that I thought I was long since done with. That being sending out a quick prayer.

Please God. Please, please make this lunatic leave me alone.

Of course, as per usual, my prayers go unanswered.

Without warning, the entire floor seems to end. I stagger to a halt, only to find myself staring down a steep staircase. Like the hallway I had just run down, it winds and turns with an uncertain destination, several flights connected by decently-sized landings. The stairs, however are an entirely different animal than the hall.

If I took off down these, one could automatically assume I was...

"Good God."

The footsteps stop. He's right behind me.

"Are you trying to make a run-"

Trembling, I whip around to face him.

"Stay away from me!" I shout, jabbing my pointer finger in his direction in spite of my violently shaking hand. "Don't get any closer, or I'll-"

"Take it easy!" He throws his hands into the air, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm not tryin' to hurt ya, - wouldn't dream of it, not in a million years. I'm not that kind of-"

"Stay back!" The words are bubbling up against my control now, - not unlike how they did on the roof. "Don't you dare even think about laying a finger on me, or I swear, I'll scream for help."

"Help?" He echoes that word, as though the concept confuses him. "Do you need help?"

The distance between us begins to close in as he approaches, reaching an open hand towards me.

"Is there something wrong? Some sort of emergency?"

My eyes dart around the small space.

The narrow hall, being blocked by this lanky, mentally disturbed idiot. The staircase, - at once tempting and a sure way to get myself into a bigger mess than I'm already in. That woman down the hall, still wailing, her voice like a siren, - God, can't someone help her?

Would someone help me?

A large, open hand nears me, - too close, much too close, another voice over the complete chaos overtaking every one my senses.

"Help? How can I-"

Suddenly, over the maddening cacophony, a blood-curdling scream rings out.

It hangs in the air for a while, echoing down the halls, bouncing off the stairs, causing the guy in front of me to go stumbling backwards, his crazed, good-natured expression quickly morphing into one of complete horror.

Eventually, the sound dies down, only to be replaced by a terrible ringing in my ears. Feeling faint, I slide down into the floor, pulling my head between my knees.

My pursuer stares down at me dumbly, mouth hanging open. "What the-"

"Good Lord!" The feverish sound of shoes hitting the linoleum. Suddenly, the guy standing before me is pushed aside, only for Isabel to take his place.

As soon as she sees me with my back against the wall, her expression changes from one of panic to anger.

All in all, however, her frustration isn't directed at the person I might expect.

She whips around to face the tall boy, quick as a rattlesnake pouncing on a mouse. "Bloody hell, Campbell! What did you do-"

"Nothing!" he defends himself. "I swear to you, Isabel! She just came tearin' down the hall, like a bat outta hell..."

"So you chased her?"

The boy's mouth clamps shut, his face dropping. He stuffs his hands back in his pockets before beginning to rock back and forth on the backs of his sneakers. "Well... I didn't really think of it as chasing... I was just trying to make sure she didn't get away..."

Isabel holds a hand up. "Enough," she says decisively. "Now, if you have any hope for keeping your television privileges for the week, you'll go down the hall and find Stewart for me. Tell him we've got a bit of a situation down by the fire exit."

The boy nods at her. "Of course, ma'am." He turns on his heel, beginning to take quick, loping steps down the hall.

Once he's out of her line of sight, Isabel turns her attention back to me. She lets out a shaky sigh.

"Jesus Christ, girl," he says breathlessly. "What are we going to do with you?"

-

I wind up being wheeled back to my room by a rather intimidating man, sporting a ponytail and a Metallica T-shirt, - which might have been amusing, in any other circumstance.

Isabel helps me out of the chair and into the bed, where she tucks the sheets just below my chin. "Reckon I'll be bringing you supper tonight..." she mutters, nervously straightening out the blanket.

In the midst of her steady fussing, she pauses. I flinch as she brushes a hand across the side of my face, though the action certainly doesn't seem to be unkind. In fact, it's just this side of motherly.

She pulls back with a slow exhale. "Those eyes..." she says. "You must've been frightened half to death... not that I should excuse an escape attempt..."

She gives me a long look before reaching the verdict.

"Looks like it'll be a night for tranquilizers."