I spent almost the entirety of my youth in mental institutions.

Psych wards, hospitals, and eventually an asylum when nobody else could help me. It's not a mystery what goes on in these facilities, and I guess I can't blame them, to an extent. There's no excuse for how I was treated when I was a child, but near the end of my stay, violence towards me wasn't uncommon or unreasonable.

That said, I did try. I did my best to follow their rules, everything I could to remain on the doctors' good sides in hopes I'd be let go and released to my family. I didn't understand that people like me didn't ever leave places like that, and my parents didn't want me, anyway. They were ashamed of me. I was widely regarded as a disgrace, as the relative you don't bring up at family gatherings.

It wouldn't take long for me to figure it out, though, and once I did... there was no controlling me. The excessive force used to keep me compliant was no longer unnecessary. I knew I didn't belong there. I knew it was unfair, I knew everything I saw was real. It felt real, it sounded real. Who were they to tell me I was crazy?

The only doctor who ever believed me, the only one who cared, the only reason I kept my sanity as long as I did, was Dr. Carlotta Hayes. I knew her for eight years. I met her when I was ten, and she was my stability, my sanity, until I was eighteen.

"No medicines are working, no discipline is enough, and nothing has even come close to convincing him he's hallucinating. Nobody can get through to him, why do you think you'll be any different?"

I don't think the doctor had any idea I could hear him. Actually, no, he probably did. It's not like anybody ever watched what they said around me. I looked younger than I was, but I don't think that truly mattered. I don't think it made a difference. They'd have said the things they did whether they believed I'd retain it or not.

"Because," now this was a voice I'd never heard before. Female, soft, and there was an underlying kindness laced into it like a melody. It was enough to make me turn and look at her, I'd never felt so randomly comforted in my life. "I don't just hear, I listen. You ought to practice the difference."

Her skin was light, more fair and bright than I could ever remember seeing in this grim place. Her white-blonde hair was pin-straight, and it spilled over her shoulders like frosting on a cake. The woman's eyes were so light I couldn't even tell the color for a brief moment. Somewhere between blue and green.

She noticed me staring, and I watched the expression on her face brighten. She was immediately changing direction, focus entirely on me, the other doctor—Dr. Weston—forgotten entirely. The click clacking of her heels reminded me of the clock in my cell, which I could spend hours seated in front of. Entranced. The same likely applied to her, too. She was unlike anything I'd ever seen before.

Everything about her was light, like snow, but I felt the opposite of cold. There was a warmth radiating from her that comforted me more than any candle in the dark ever could.

"Good morning, Honey. My name is Dr. Carlotta, I'll be your new Reina."

Dr. Reina sucked. I hated that bitch. I was on my typical best behavior, being a model patient. For no reason other than being the absolute worst, she stormed out of this room one day and I never saw her again. It was fine by me. "I fucking hope not."

Dr. Carlotta took a seat directly across from me, a patient smile decorating her already perfect face. She was mesmerizing. She was an angel.

"Then I'll be better."

For the first time in my life, I experienced kindness.

I didn't treat Carly anything like I did the other doctors. It was only fair, since she was good to me in a way the rest couldn't even comprehend. She treated me like a person from the very start. The first one to do so, and she kept that promise she made on the first day. She listened to me. She was better.

I told her my hallucinations were real. I told her I wasn't crazy, I told her that I knew what I fucking saw, and she believed me. At least, she acted like she believed me. She treated my nonexistent illness like it was her and I against it, like it was an enemy to defeat. Even if I wasn't sick in the way everyone thought I was, there was still work to be done.

I had to agree. Unfortunately, even at only ten years old, that hellhole was changing me for the worse.

If it wasn't for Carly, I'd have never gotten out of there.

We'd go on like that for a year, before she'd finally figure it out. Well, she wouldn't figure it out, necessarily. She'd just witness something peculiar, something... familiar. Something that would give her an idea, which would turn into research, which would eventually give her a diagnosis. A real one.

It was just another therapy session, where we'd discuss my journal entries and visions and things of the like. Where I'd tell her I wasn't insane, and she'd believe me... to the appropriate extent.

Then, I heard the door open.

It was done aggressively, slamming against the wall and making me jump from the resounding bang. I turned around to find two different men. One was dressed in the typical hospital clothes we were issued, though it seemed different. The design was a little off, the logo somewhat skewed, but aside from that it looked normal.

The man who opened the door, however, was clearly a doctor. His eyes were wide in panic, dripping red crimson outlining the contours of his face, stemming from a wound on his forehead. The look in his eye was pure, mortal fear, and it wasn't difficult to see why.

The patient behind him was wielding what used to be a fork, but had since been sharpened into something much more deadly. The patient's eyes were locked on the doctor, who accidentally cornered himself. Quite literally. He turned away from crevice where the walls met, a liquid stemming from around his thigh and spreading across the fabric of his pants.

Just seeing the terror on the man's face was enough to have me shaking and curling in on myself. My eyes welled up with tears when the patient rounded the table I was seated at, making a beeline for the petrified doctor with an expression of malice twisting up his features.

The man drove the sharpened fork into the doctor's abdominal region, and I had to look away. I fully curled in on myself, feeling someone touching me and repeating the same comforting phrases in my ear. I just covered my face, sobbing and trying to block out the agonized screaming filling the empty space of the room. Surrounding me on all sides, suffocating me. I could practically feel the man's pain.

This vision wasn't like the others. This time, when I explained it to Carly, she already knew. She was finishing my sentences. The exact event I was describing, down to the physical appearances of the people in the room, had happened. It was years ago, back when Carly was still somewhat new, but she remembered it.

I didn't know it at the time, but this would set everything in motion. This would be the event that would drive Carly to look further into my condition. This time, when I'd have a hallucination, she'd request I describe it in vivid detail. Much more pressure than before, then I'd watch her research.

None of this made sense to me at the time, but I eventually grew used to it. It wasn't until a week before my thirteenth birthday that she found her missing piece, whatever was keeping her stuck. She had an answer.

I wasn't ill. I wasn't sick, or schizophrenic, or insane.

I was super.

People are born with special abilities every once in a while. There's no pattern to it, it just happens. It's always been that way, and it's always been growing. Back then, only about 10% of the population was affected by this miracle. So, it was common enough to be known, and it's only grown over the years. Now, I'm pretty sure it's closer to 12%. Some better than others, most abilities aren't all that extraordinary.

The things I was seeing were real, just not always at the same time I saw them. My visions were of the past and future, a replay of a scene that happened years or minutes ago. Or, a prediction for what was to come, which was always changing, never set in stone. I'd see it all, completely at random, in real time.

Carly instantly went to The Director, who didn't care. He did nothing, telling her she'd need to present substantial evidence to release 'that feral psycho' from the asylum. So, she set out to get it. She worked day and night on my case, on proving there wasn't actually anything wrong with me.

Unfortunately, she'd never get to finish it.

I knew she was going to die before she actually did. It wasn't until I was eighteen years old, until I'd spent almost half my life with her as my caretaker, when it happened. I saw her in the hallway one morning, waiting for her to arrive to the room. She made it just in time, and it was everything in me to act natural at the sight of her.

There was a large, red gash across her neck. It was leaking blood all over her shirt, her eyes glazed over. I couldn't help my slight gasp in fear, freezing up at the horrific sight. Over the years I'd gotten more used to the gore and general insanity I'd see on a daily basis. This was different, though. This was Carly.

This was the only person who kept me safe from the other patients and doctors, all these years. The woman who raised me all this time, the only person who ever believed in me.

This was my mom.

No. No, no, this wasn't going to happen. I refused to lose her, and my visions of the future could always be changed. They were the most probable outcome for the path everyone was currently on. Specifically at the time I was seeing it. That was always changing, so it was quite easy to keep my hallucinations from happening.

I just had to be careful. I just had to protect her, just like she'd protected me throughout my entire childhood, or at least until I could fight for myself.

The man who killed her was named Theodore Johnson, and he did it right in front of me. I pissed him off, because everything pissed him off. He, in turn, decided to comment his thoughts about me thinking I'm special, as well as implying that Carly and I's relationship wasn't that of family, but something more. It immediately turned physical—as did most things with me—and I almost won, but then he pulled out a shard of glass. I backed away.

Where he got it, I'm not sure, but it gave me my first dose of real fear in a minute. I didn't have time to react further before Carly was in between us, arms out in a protective motion. Keeping me safe, just like she'd always done. Theo didn't hesitate, and the middle aged man smiled as he did it. He put the glass up to her neck, slid it across her throat deeply and resolutely, then let her drop.

Security finally grabbed him, after that, but it was too late. I caught Carly before she could hit the ground. We still ended up there, her lying on the cold, unforgiving tile of the hospital. Me, kneeling over her, doing everything I could to stop the bleeding with my hands. It did nothing.

Carly was choking on her own blood as she died on the tiled floor of that hellhole, and I was sobbing. Chaos surrounded me as security tried to restrain him, screaming resounded through the halls and a few more people got hurt, non fatally. No, Carly was the only casualty of that horrible event.

Despite her state, before finally stilling for good, Carly was able to manage four last words:

I love you, Harlan.

I told her I loved her too. I screamed, I cried, I was inconsolable as the only person who'd ever mattered to me—my mom, my only family, my role model—died in my arms.