The dark haired woman asks if I'm hungry, and I say I am. She leads me to a small office you'd expect to belong to a psychologist. The large room smells faintly of rubbing alcohol. It has a long, leather, maroon couch for patients to sit on, and spill all their secrets, some that aren't even theirs to tell.

That's how shrinks get into your head: They make you betray your friends and family, then they tell you that you did the right thing. So when your friends and family get mad, you don't understand, so you tell the shrink more stuff. Your loved ones get angrier. The cycle repeats until you can only talk to the doctors, and thus making you continue doing what's 'right'.

I've never believed that stuff. Or... At least I don't think I did. The more I try to think about my past, the more I fail. The more I fail, the angrier I get.

I take another look around the room as I walk inside. There's a desk with a lamp. A young woman, probably just out of medical school, sits, writing swiftly on a piece of paper, ignoring my presence. Her dirty-blonde hair is falling out of her braid. She finally looks up, and gives me a great big fake smile.

She gestures for me to sit in the black leather chair across from her. I obey, finding no real reason not to. When I sit, I fold my hands in my lap and stare down, looking up occasionally. She's still smiling. I notice the other woman is no longer in the room.

"What would you like to know?" she asks me kindly.

"What's my name?" I ask, wanting to get that out of the way.

"Ahh..." she says, getting a green folder out of the filing cabinet behind her. After that, she takes a packet of paper with printed words- probably about me- on it. "The basics." She lies the packet on her desk, then looks at me and bites her bottom lip.

"Your name isn't something I can tell you yet. Well, I won't be telling you. But my name is Karen Waster. You can call me whatever you feel comfortable with. You're five-foot-five, and you are sixteen. You turned sixteen this morning at nine forty-two. Happy Birthday, sweetie." I glance at the digital clock on her desk. It states it's eleven-eleven am. It also says it May fourteenth. That's my birthday.

I want to know my name, but instead I ask, "Where am I?"

"An asylum. The Reality Asylum." she says, more bubbly than I'm comfortable with.

"Why?" I ask as soon as she says 'Reality'- a word I still don't like. I feel my temper rising like a great, wild, red monster. Anger.

She sighs, but says "Why is anyone in an asylum?" She looks towards the ceiling. "You are insane. Dangerous. Someone could and would have gotten hurt if we hadn't stepped in. Including yourself."

I feel tears stinging my eyes, yet not once falling over. I hate this woman for accusing me of something, even now I know I couldn't have done. I clench my teeth and look at her. "What did I do?"

"Witnesses stated that you held a gun to you and your mother's heads."

I know it is vital for me to keep myself together now, but my eyes cloud and I can't see straight. I can feel my arms and legs vibrating and it takes everything in me not to flinch. Or lunge at this... person.

After a couple minutes I ask, calmly, "What was my family like?" I want to calm down and think of something better.

"It was just you and your mother." she says, but something inside of me tells me that that isn't true. I'm done. I'm just so done right now.

She's hiding something from me. And I intend to find out what. "Is that... the truth?" I say as creepily as I can manage while still being believable.

"Of course it is." she says as if I'm just a confused child who offended her. And I won't allow her to treat me like that without my consent. I don't give my consent.

I watch her mouth something to someone in the corner of the room, and a black, male nurse grabs me by my arms as she tells him to sedate me.

"SEDATE ME? WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!?! I'M NOT DONE HERE." I try as hard as I can to jerk away, but he has me restrained. "WHAT ARE YOU HIDING FROM ME? WHAT AREN'T YOU TELLING ME?"

"Schizophrenia wasn't the only thing you were troubled with." she says, standing up and walking towards where I'm being held.

She grabs my face in her perfectly manicured hand and speaks with hatred and malice, but I close my eyes and turn my head. "If it wasn't for your temper your boyfriend might have been able to save you. But you couldn't control yourself could you, dear? Do you see where that got you?" She looks at the man. "Judan, take her back to her room.

I want to continue screaming, but I know it's no use. Besides, maybe she's right. Maybe I am a monster. A dangerous, psychotic, monster.

***

When I reach my room, I find a metal tray with hot scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I rip my arms away from Judan, stumbling onto the floor, and scratching my elbow and hurting my ankle so I can't stand.

I mumble at him. Something about him being a jerk. He grunts in response, then closes the door. Leaving me on the floor alone.

When I'm able to, I run to the door and pound my fists against the metal. "Let me out! I don't belong here!" I scream for a while, but then, when no one comes, I back away from the door whispering apologies. Why am I apologizing? They locked me in here! I don't need this! I don't want it.

I sit on the bed and imagine my anger. My illness. My insanity.

It's giant and red. It's cold and merciless. It's wild and untamed and uncontrolled and... and just bad.

And that's what I let it be: a monster in my mind. A demon. An illness that I can't control. Not me. Not my fault. It can't be my fault. I can't be that.

I think about one of the last things she said. If it wasn't for your temper your boyfriend might have been able to save you.

Boyfriend? I did something to stop him from saving me? Did I even have a boyfriend? Did he love me? Did I love him?

I cover my eyes with my hands and breathe. I fall back to the ground and scream because I don't care that they can hear me. If I'm going to survive then I have to be free to at least cry. I lay my hands on my head to get the memories out of my head. I scream for the thought to get out!

And then, they're out.

The memories numbed.

I sink onto the white mattress, and stare into the open space, thinking. I imagine I'm on a beach; I can even hear the faint sound of the currents washing up on the shore. I see the blue and green hues of the waves; Smell the salt from where I imagine I'm standing. The heat of the setting sun burns my shoulders and face, but it still feels incredible. Especially in comparison to the sterility of this building.

The vividness of this fantasy hints that I have visited the ocean. Which means they took the memory, but not the knowledge. That, I'm sure, they can't take.

They can take my memories but not my knowledge. Knowledge is all I have left. Knowledge is power. I smile for the second time today. Maybe I am crazy.