[disaster notes.P]

Mmmmmhmmm. I actually have a good portion of this story written already.

Chapter 2

The lunch period always made me feel ... awkward. I hated staring at all of the people with real mental illnesses. Some would rock back and forth in their seats, others would mumble, and some just sat there, mouth open and drooling.

They all made my skin crawl.

I jumped slightly as a gray-blue tray was slammed down in front of me, the hands holding them tattooed with the word "Halloween". Only one person could have a tattoo like that.

Frank.

I slowly looked up at him, my face nearly blank. Frank smiled down at me, before swinging his legs onto the bench and plopping down across from me. He was still smiling. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was doing. Was he going to talk to me? Or was he going to throw that plate of rice down my shirt?

"Hey." Frank said with a nod, taking a spoonful of rice and putting it into his mouth, never taking his eyes off of my face. I blinked a few times.

"Hi." I whispered before looking down at my plate, arranging my own rice so that it resembled a face. Now it kind of reminded me of my Aunt Ernest. Shivering from the horrid memories, I flattened out the rice mountain.
"So ... what's up?" Frank asked me. I didn't say anything.

"Well ... since we're neighbors now ... maybe we should get to know each other." Frank suggested, opening up his milk carton and taking a sip. I simply stared at him, biting down on my lower lip.

"Seriously?" I asked him, feeling my throat hurt. I hadn't said a word since I got here.

"Yeah," Frank said with a sincere smile, "So ... what landed you in this dump?" He asked with a snort. Oh, he thought he was funny. How cute. How darling. I pushed around my rice for a minute. I could feel the air around us becoming impatient. Finally, I threw down my spoon and yanked back my left sleeve, ripping the gauze off of my forearm. From my wrist to my elbow were cuts and scars, littering my skin.

"Woah. All those?" Frank asked me softly as he pointed out all of the fresh ones. There were quite a few. Gently, he put a finger on some of my scars and traced them, his finger just flittering over my skin. I bit down on my lower lip as he drew back, nodding in satisfaction. I taped my gauze back down and pulled down my sleeve. But Frank was still left staring at my arm in utter fascination.

“Why’d you do it?”

I looked at him and didn’t say a word. Time passed slowly, the minutes dragging across me, leaving their nail mark all over. After a few minutes, I had finished my rice and vegetables and ran a hand through my long, brown hair.

“Why are you here?”

Frank laughed and tapped his lip ring for a moment, looking at me slyly. He pulled back one of his own sleeves, all the way up to his bicep. He straightened it out and pointed out the veins in the crook of his elbow.

“Heroin?” I asked in incredulously, not believing it. “That’s hard sh_t to come off of.” I said in disbelief. I had known one or two people who had died from overdoses and coming off of the drug.

But Frank just nodded at me. “And alcohol. I’ve been here for a long time. Relapses.” He added with a snort. I didn’t doubt he had. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms casually.

“Why’d you do it?”

Frank smirked at me. “Look at Kaity, the little mimic.”
I smirked right back.
Frank put his elbows on the table, leaning forward with a quizzical look on his face. He studied my features. All of a sudden my cheeks felt too big and my hair too frizzy. Frank asked me, "Why does someone like you cut? Why do you need it?" His tone was almost fascinated. I blinked slowly, not sure whether or not I should answer. His eyes never left my face.

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of lunch. Almost coming out of thin air, the Lowood workers buzzed around us, grabbing schedules and checking to see where we were heading. Pointing us in this direction, that direction. I pushed my chair in, so used to the scraping sound by now, and began to file with the rest of the people. I tossed away my tray as I passed one of the large garbage barrels.

“Kaity!” Frank called, grabbing my shoulder gently. I turned to look at him. “Where are you headed now?”

“I'm sorry, I have a group meeting. 207.”

“Really? Me too.” Frank beamed. So we began to walk down the hallways together, staff members every five feet or so, helping out the ones who looked a little lost. I followed Frank.

“Frank ... why do you want me to be your friend?” I asked him, frowning slightly.

“I don’t have any here. There was this kid ... Mikey ... he was in 217. He was my best friend. Anyway, I’m still here. He was the only friend I had. Maybe 217 will bring me another best buddy.” He told me with a slight smile, stopping quickly to open the door to the room before we walked past.

We walked into the drab, white washed room. The only thing in it were about 10 metal chairs, arranged in a circle at the center. Right at the head of them was a larger, more comfortable one, where the group leader was seated. Our footsteps echoed loudly. I felt like I shouldn't breathe.

It reminded me as if someone had died.
Maybe they had.
Maybe we all had.

The only person in there aside from the leader was a young kid. He didn't look older than 15 to me. He had jet black hair and stunning green eyes. I bit my lip and stared at him as Frank and I made our way towards the circle. When we sat down, Frank sat next to him and patted his shoulder. But the boy never looked up from the white tiling.

"What's his name?" I whispered to Frank.

"Harry."

I glanced at Harry. For a moment, his eyes met mine. I smiled.
Harry tugged at his shirt and looked down at the ground again.

I think I liked Harry.

"Why's he here?" I asked Frank, still looking at him.
"Same reason as you," Frank whispered from the corner of his mouth.

Now I knew I liked Harry.