Little Dark Age by MGMT

Horrified on stage, my little dark age, giddy with delight, seeing what's to come, the image of the dead, dead ends in my mind.

Paris.

They think I'm insane. They genuinely think I lost it and killed someone. I'd rather they just told me they didn't believe me about the whole stalker thing. At least then I would've known it was true. Instead of the whole concept of doing it to myself and being so insane that I've somehow blacked out and threatened myself. Because now I don't even know what's true. 

The room I'm in is filled with white walls. It's not padded like in the movies, just plain white walls. I'm not in a straitjacket, I'm just wearing grey sweats. I'm not chained up or being experimented on. I'm just left to my own devices in my room. 

I have a certain amount of socialising time each day so we don't go even more crazy, but to be honest I'd rather be in my room. The people here creep me out.

I have things I can do for fun. I can paint, garden and exercise as I wish. The one thing they make me do is group therapy. 

I've spent most nights crying. It's better than the people in the same hallways as me wailing throughout the night. 

I'm in a therapy group with 9 other people. It's a new group, just assembled today with one therapist. We're in the social room, each building 'block towers'. My tower is significantly non-existent. 

"Tom, why are you here?" The therapist asks despite her notes clipped onto her clipboard. 

The boy beside me looks ready to pass out, sweating and fanning himself. "I see dead people." He says simply as if it's no big deal. "Welcome Tom!" Everyone echoes. 

No Tom, you aren't fucking welcome. Please take your dead people and fuck off. 

"And Paris, why are you here?" The therapist asks with a supportive smile. "You tell me." I snarl. 

"Well here in your notes it says you believe you have a stalker and have been self sabotaging in this 'stalker' alter-ego. It also says you killed your friend." She tells me. 

"Let's go back to Tom and his dead people, shall we?" I scowl at her, refusing to say one word to a bunch of people who think I'm crazy.

"I see her. Your friend." The blonde boy squirms, slowly looking at me with bulging wide eyes. "She's pretty.. just like you." He says manically. 

"No Tom. She isn't." I furrow my brows with complete disbelief I'm categorised as someone as insane as him. Maddie was pretty. Extremely pretty at that. But to let him know that is to fuel his hallucinations.

"Fair skin." He tells me, staring beyond me at the supposed dead person. "Red hair." 

Those two words make my heart stop in their tracks. Surely not.

"Emily?" I whisper, my voice cracking. He nods.

I feel a cold chill and my entire body goes rigid. I know that I'm not actually insane and they just put me in here because they didn't believe me. Could he be the same? 

Holy shit. He can see ghosts. He can actually see Emily fucking Laughlin.

"She was a kind girl who says she hopes you're okay" He says. That's when I realize this guy is full of shit. My shock and disbelief fades to realization. "You're a pretty good guesser, Tom. But I didn't meet Emily. 

"She misses you.. She- she misses her best friend" He starts trying to reel me back in. 

"Wrap it up Tom. You're clearly in here for a reason." I snort. He sighs with annoyance, unhappy that I ruined his 'ability' which was really just a guessing game.

"Okay Daniella, why are you here?" The therapist interrupts before it can continue. 

"I killed every pet my parents got me growing up and feel absolutely no remorse." She shrugs unfazed. 

An uneasy wave washes over me. I blink at the girl directly across the circle from me. 

"And I feel the urge to do something bigger. A human." She states, meeting my eyes directly. 

"Don't even fucking think about looking at me. You know damn well I'd whoop your ass." I scoff at her. "Don't test me." She growls like an animal. 

"Shall I make it easier for you? Meow?" I smile innocently.

The girl bounds out of her chair and lunges my way. I don't allow my heart to pound. I don't let myself stress or feel anything. I've trained for self-defence. I know I can't let her hit me. I get to my feet and land a punch before she can lay a finger on me. By which point we're already being detained by the security guards who jogged over.

The security guards escort us each out calmly, not without yelling at me for 'fuelling her'. I don't put up a fight, so they don't drag me. But she tries to break free and come in my direction so she is gripped firmly and pulled along the corridor.

I'm back in my room, drawing with crayons. I'm not sure what I'm drawing but it's the same thing I've been drawing since I got here. 

I think a part of me knows who it is, but I'm yet to let it sink in. I won't allow myself to think of him because it'll sting more. So for now I'll just subconsciously sketch different parts of him while thinking about happier things like the weather and Taylor Swift. 

I tape this picture up beside the others. I've got his watch, his suit, his rings, his lips, his eyes and now a new addition; a weirdly accurate portrait of his body outline, shaded in abs and everything. 

I'm not much of an artist because I struggle to visualise pictures. But this is different, I could describe every aching detail of his body at any point in time.

"Paris Rooney?" The guard patrolling in my hallway asks. I nod sheepishly, coming to the plastic-glass wall and speaking through the small communication holes. 

"You have visitors." He informs me. "No I don't." I reply. "I can request the list should you ask for it?" He suggests. "I don't care who it is, tell them to fuck off." I bark. 

"I'll tell them to come back later." He corrects gently. "You'll tell them to fuck off. And that's an order." I demand. He raises his hands in mock-surrender, "Yes Ma'am, 'fuck off' it is."

(a/n. Lowkey hating this plot line. I love it cause I thought of it ages ago and wanted it to be the same, but it just feels so off-track. I swear next chapter it'll be a little more important. At this point this book's just my own Riverdale where I can dump all my shittiest writing ideas and for some reason you all just put up with it. Enjoy)