[disaster notes.P]

Dood, Janet, you're my only reader. :[

Chapter Three

The group leader beamed at me. Unlike most of the workers here, her teeth were yellowed and crooked. She looked human. Normal. She looked like some of the people that were in here. In this loony bin. I loved it.

"I'm Meredith," she introduced herself, shaking my limp and unresponsive hand. She knew who I was, so there was no reason for me to introduce myself. I toom my seat in the circle. We had a fairly small group. Most of the people here looked fairly regular, fairly normal. I couldn't point out one troubled looking face in the group. Except for Harry, who hadn't looked up since our eyes had met.

"Group, we have a new member. Kaity. Everyone, we'll go in a circle and introduce ourselves, okay?" She smiled at everyone. An old man raised his hand at the very end of the row.

"Yes, go ahead."

"Charles. Alcoholic." He smiled at me, inclining his head so that his jowls shook. He reminded me of my grandfather.

I hated my grandfather.

The woman next to him smiled at me too. "Denise. Anorexic. It's nice to meet you, Kaity." Her hair was dry and brittle. Bones stuck everywhere. I couldn't tell if her skin was white, gray, or yellow. It seemed to be a mix of all three.

"Howie." The man to the right of her said, leaning* back in his chair and giving me a strange, almost ugly look. "I'm schizo." The chair next to him was empty.

I understood why.

“Kaity,” I whispered as I looked around at them all, “Cuter.” Denise gasped slightly and shook her head sadly, placing a bony and frail hand against her dry lips.

“Frankie. Alcoholic and heroin addict. Represent?” He tried to joke with us, giving a cheesy grin and a peace sign. Meredith chuckled at him, shaking her head with what I thought was pride. I assumed Frankie was the jokester of the group.
All of us turned to look at Harry. He dragged his eyes from the floor and met all of ours, one by one. It was almost painful, how he looked at all of us.

“Harrison,” He said softly. His voice was deeper than I had expected. He shook his black hair from his eyes. “Me and Kaity must be soul-mates. I’m a cutter too.”

With that, his gaze returned to the floor. Everyone looked at each other, almost surprised. Denise looked fit to burst with happiness.

“Most he’s ever said,” Frank whispered to me from the corner of his mouth. I looked over at Harry with a soft smile on my face. It’s not as if he even looked up, but I kept smiling. I thought maybe it would make him feel better if he chose to notice it.

“Now that we’re all familiar with ourselves and each other, we’re going to talk about our problems...”

____________________&&

“So ... how’d you like your first group therapy?” Frank asked me as we walked back to our rooms. We only had 20 minutes before we had to go to Arts & Crafts. Until then, we were supposed to stay in our rooms. I shrugged my shoulders as an answer and Frank nodded, putting his hands into his pockets. A comfortable silence was settled between us.

“I for one say you stay in my room instead,” Frank suggested, flashing me a smirk.

“Won’t we get in trouble?”

“Nah. They only check on the ‘troubled’ souls. Like Howie.” Frankie smirked, referring to the man back in our group. He was troubled. He scared me. Frankie nodded at my face.

“C’mon, Kaity, Please?” He begged me, pouting slightly.

“Okay ...” I gave in after a moment, shrugging my shoulders in defeat. It wasn’t like I minded at all. Frank laughed and pumped his arm, grabbing my hand to drag my down the remainder of the hallway, yanking us in his room, and slamming the door behind him. Slamming doors was against the rules. But so was me being in here. Especially because he was a member of the opposite sex.

“My humble abode.” Frank introduced me, stretching his arms out wide. The walls were covered in clip-outs from rock magazines. Pictures of amazing bands like Black Flag, Led Zeppelin, Motorhead, and Metallica. I had been able to tell he was into rock my his tattoos and piercing. He had clothes strewn about the floor, covered with sketches and papers. I picked up one of them, which looked like it had been torn from a notebook. It looked like guitar tabs.

“For my band ... when I get out.” Frank explained, looking at the paper over my shoulder. I nodded.

“I can’t read it,” I laughed. It looked very complicated. ‘But it looks amazing.” I giggled, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“I can’t wait to get out of his place.” Frank sighed, running a hand over his face, as he sat down on an overturned garbage can that he had in his room.

“When do you get out?”

“July 27.” Frank said proudly.

“Only two more months.” I smirked at him. That meant two months of hell.

“How long was your projected stay?” Frank asked me, taking off his black on black converse.

“Two months.”

“Sweet.”

I nodded. Some more silence settled on us. I looked at where he was seated. How bad was that hurting his crotch?

"Do you want to come sit on the bed?" I offered, moving over some and gesturing to the empty patch next to me.

"Yeah, that was kind of hurting my balls." Frank laughed, standing up and straightening himself out, wincing slightly as he shook out his legs. I smiled at him as he sat next to me.

"How old are you, anyway?" Frank asked me, looking at my face for traces of age. Too bad for him. I had a baby face.

"Twenty-one." I answered, shooting him a small smirk as I bit at my thumb nail. "You?"

"Twenty-three." Frank smirked right back, turning away from me and looking at his wall, his arms draped across his folded knees. I guess we had more in common than I had imagines.

"Music?" Frank asked me, looking at some of his clip outs.

"Emo and indie."

"Punk and metal." Frank replied, scratching the back of his neck. I leaned back against the wall, folding my legs underneath me. I ran a hand through my short brown hair. It needed to be washed. I wondered if we could during the shower periods.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” I asked Frank softly, picking at the black nail polish on my nails.

“Take a long, hot shower. Hours. Eat a huge, full meal. And talk a walk. A long, peaceful walk.” I nodded. His answer appealed to me. Showers in this place were supposed to be kept to 10 minutes. Meals were slop fit for dogs.

“I’m going to throw every razor in my house out of the window.” I whispered, just a bit sadly.

At least that’s what I hoped that was what I would do.

“You won’t relapse?”

“... I doubt it.” I said softly, not fully believing it myself.