This is bullshit. 

It’s the middle of the night and I’m being dragged to some dodgy mental institution to “get help.”

If only my damn foster parents hadn’t returned home early last week- they wouldn’t have found out about my cutting or ganged up with my therapist to pry other damning information out of me.

Assholes.

There’s not much to see when I stare out the window. The dark midnight sky is obscured by a thin blanket of fog from a rain shower earlier in the night. My phone screen lights up as I skip the current song playing. I loop a song to drown out my surroundings as I grow impatient with the situation.

“Skyler, are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

I stay quiet and continue to ignore her words whilst I turn up the volume of my headphones. I’d much rather listen to my music than my foster mum’s endless lectures- Brenda tends to go in circles when she’s pissed at me, which, in comparison, makes the incoherent screams of the currently playing song make sense. In response to my disregard, my foster father waves a hand up to speak, because of course he also has something to say. 

“Take those damn headphones off and quit acting like a child. We’ve had quite enough of your antics.”

“Well maybe don’t wake me up in the middle of the night next time, Bryan.” I retort, shooting him a glare. He’s always irritated me- he always bosses me around in an attempt to act like a father figure when he knows damn well I don’t need nor want one.

“Skyler… Your mum and I really don’t want to have to do this… But after loads of discussion, we recognize now that it needs to be done after your little incident on Thursday. You need help.”

“I don’t need help, Bryan, and I’m not going to this stupid place! And she’s not my mum, so shut up already, will you?!” Hugging my knees in annoyance, I mutter to myself. “...Bloody hell.”

“You know better than to backtalk your father, Skyler— We just want to help you with your issues. You’re hurting yourself, having delusions with your ‘gender identity,’ and drinking irresponsibly!” She sighs, sniffling into a tissue.

What a pity party.

.

.

.

After a long drive of painful silence, we pull up to a large gated entryway. The building ahead of us is fairly tall– around two stories high with dark grey brick walls and obscured windows placed sparingly along them. Greenery lines the edges of the building in a repeating pattern of trimmed trees, bushes, and yellow flowers. Above the main yellow entry doors is a sign which reads:

THE SANCTUARY

“...Do I really have to do this, Brenda?” I groan, “This is stupid.”

Bryan sighs and opens the back door to his car, Brenda quickly appearing behind him from the passenger seat to give me a tearful look.

“There’s no getting around this, Skyler. The decision is final. You heard what your therapist said– you are a danger to yourself and others, so she sectioned you.”

After shooting a resentful glare at the two of them, I once again cross my arms and remain seated in the car. Bryan’s face shifts into one of frustration before he grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the car, slamming the door shut with a loud thud. I make an attempt to pull from his tight grip, but I’m forcefully dragged from the car to the main entrance of the facility.

Upon entering the building, we’re greeted to the interior of a lobby. A counter sits against the back wall, which has bright yellow patterned wallpaper that pops against the dark tile floor. Picture frames holding abstract black and yellow paintings adorn the side walls in batches of four.

Not dodgy at all.

A lady sitting at the front desk ushers us over with a cheery tone. She’s quite pale and wearing a bright yellow blazer on top of a collared white shirt. Though, something about her is… off. She’s smiling, though it manages to read off as eerie. 

Something about that damn smile is absolutely haunting… Though I can’t pinpoint what . The longer I look, the more… strange it becomes…

That can’t be comfortable to maintain. Is a mouth even capable of stretching like that?

…Has her smile moved at all?

Something is off.

…No. Surely it’s nothing–

“Hello there, welcome to The Sanctuary. You must be Skyler, I presume?”

How the hell does she know my name?

I shoot the overly cheery receptionist a glare and put my headphones back on, turning on my heel to walk out the door. I feel a hand on my shoulder forcefully turn me around. Dammit, Bryan.

“Skyler, you legally cannot get out of this. Just… sit down. This is happening, whether you like it or not.”

I groan in annoyance and slump into a seat in the lobby, crossing my arms and tuning everyone’s voices out with my music. I get a good look at my surroundings- I find it quite odd how… industrial this mental institution is. Depending on where I look, it appears to be fairly new, but for some reason, Despite its brightly coloured wallpaper and retro furniture, the place feels cold and uninviting, almost as if it had never been touched by another person. It’s almost too perfect; not a chair or frame can be seen out of place or scuffed.

After only a few minutes of them filling out forms, my foster parents approach me to say their final goodbyes or whatever. Shit, this really is happening. Those assholes actually went through with it. 

Brenda pulled me into her arms in a mockery of motherly affection, trapping me against her momentarily before brushing my bangs aside and giving me a kiss on the forehead. I scoff and wipe the kiss off, but discomfort still lingers on my skin. Brenda hides her face in Bryan’s shoulder, probably hiding the glee she feels for finally getting rid of me, and he absently pats her shoulder in an attempt at empathy.

Pathetic.

They say whatever bland words they need to say, though I don’t care enough to actually listen. I don’t need them, anyways. I stamp down a bitter feeling as they exit and leave me behind.

“You’re in good hands, darling.”

I feel a cold hand on my shoulder, causing me to quickly turn around and swat it away. It’s just the receptionist.

“Don’t touch me.” I snap.

“Noted. Please come with me. We’re going to get you settled into a room. I can assure you that you will be properly taken care of.”

The receptionist chuckles to herself and ushers me out of the lobby into a small hallway which contains a slew of yellow doors, each having a room number and a keycard reader beside it. She pulls a small card from her coat pocket and swipes it into one of the readers before guiding me inside.

The room is fairly small, containing a tile floor, a metal twin-sized hospital bed with white sheets, a small bathroom, and painted black and yellow walls. It’s certainly an odd choice of colours for a mental institution, but at least it’s not just a boring palette of white and grey. 

“A Smiling Advocate will be with you shortly. Please remain patient and compliant.” She says with a smile, interrupting my thoughts with a chipper tone.

She exits the room and shuts the door behind her. I slump onto the hospital bed, putting my headphones back on and switching to one of my favourite songs. My eyes trace the repetitive patterns of the dull tile grid on the ceiling. The music drones out to a blend of drum rhythms and blurry melodies until I hear a click.

“Hello, Patient 693. We are so happy that you’re here with us. Now, there are some protocols that must be done at the beginning of your stay.”

My eyes snap up to the person standing in front of me. They have a white lab coat with yellow trousers and black boots on. On the peaked lapel of the coat, there’s a badge– no name– just Advocate #23. Once again, an eerie smile is plastered on their face, identical to the receptionist. They set a small black box right next to me on the hospital bed, pulling out a white hospital gown with a black and yellow arrow print on the breast of it.

“Please put this garment on, and your regular clothes into this box. We also need to confiscate any and all items on your person- this includes mobile devices and piercings.”

I immediately flinch, shooting an incredulous look and pausing my music as I turn to the Advocate. I have seven piercings- taking them out is a bit of a hassle. And my music too? That’s the one thing that keeps me partially sane- they must really want me to kill myself.

“Wait, what-?! Hell no! You can’t do that!”

“Unfortunately, it is protocol. Please comply, 693. You may step into the bathroom to change– all articles of clothing must be replaced with the gown.” They say, shoving the hospital gown into my arms and nudging me into the bathroom.

I sigh, taking off my hoodie, then my trousers, then my turtleneck. As soon as my shirt is off, I’m met with reminders of my self harm, both new and old. My arms sting like all hell, but I deal with it as per usual and set my turtleneck on the floor. Then I remove my binder and immediately feel the discomfort and dysphoria that comes with seeing my chest. I quickly throw on the hospital gown, which is actually quite comfortable for something that looks so cheap.

I cross my arms in unease as I get a good look at myself. It’s evident that I don’t get out much; my skin is pale and I have dark circles under my eyes. My nails itch at my neck with anxiety as I note the scars on my arms and adjust my blue bangs. After splashing my face with water, I groan in annoyance and exit the bathroom back into my room. This is going to be miserable.

Outside the door, the Advocate is already waiting for me, still smiling in my direction. They cock their head slightly once I drop my clothes into the black box- which already has my phone and headphones inside.

“Hey, wait a damn minute-” I protest before getting quickly cut off by the Advocate.

“Your piercings, please.”

Dammit. They’re very adamant about this, huh?

“Ugh, fine.” I groan while taking out my piercings and begrudgingly dropping them into the box. “There, better?”

“Thank you, 693. Your compliance is greatly appreciated here at the Sanctuary.” They close the box and hold it close to their chest, nodding in appreciation and smiling wider, somehow . “Now rest up. We have you scheduled for treatment tomorrow morning.”

Before I can say anything, the Advocate turns on their heel in an unnatural manner, the metallic yellow door shutting loudly behind them. I sigh in annoyance, crossing my arms and slumping onto the hospital bed. I glance at the clock on the wall: 12:31am. 

I decide that it would be best to call it a night– not like there’s much to do otherwise. I shut my eyes to go to sleep, since I’ve been left alone with my thoughts…

The faint ticking of the clock…

…And a CCTV camera .