We're All Mad Here.

She told them. She did. Over and over again she furtively explained that she wasn’t.
She denied their accusing eyes with repeated words.

“I’m not crazy,”

“Sweetie.” The woman’s eyes darted suspiciously around. “Sweetie, let’s take it a step at a time.”

“I’m not fucking insane! Okay? Get it? Do you get it yet? I’m not crazy! I don’t need help! I’m fucking fine!” she screamed, eyes heavy and her heart on fire.

“Denial is often the first sign of a prob-“

“Don’t spout your fucking bullshit at me! I’ve got places to be.” She jerked her wrists up, tugging and biting her chapped lips. She was leaving, and she didn’t give a damn what anyone said.

She tugged and jerked at the leather strips until her body failed her and the dark crept up.
There was only one place to go, and it came when she called.

She was rushing forward, trapped in a tiny bottle. The water below was menacing and dared to swallow her up, but the stars above lulled her along with a sort of conceited pride.

Her mouth tasted metallic and her mind swam like the water below her, but soon enough she hit land. The golden sand stuck to her skin and hair, coating her in warmth.
And then it was all gone, again. She clutched and struggled to keep the blanket of warmth around her but gave up and let her eyelids slip open.

When she awoke a firm, warm hand grasped her own. Her eyes slowly traced it back to its owner; a tall boy who’s skin, golden from the sun, shimmered in the harsh light.

He slept in the chair beside her bed, his long, dark eyelashes contrasting beautifully with his skin.

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open, taking in the look of dismay on the small girl’s face and ruining the moment.
She could have stared at him forever asleep like he was, but the look of pain in his eyes when awake was too much; she looked away quickly.

Sleep was so peaceful; nothing could hurt you, nothing but your dreams, that is.
And what could they do?

The small girl suddenly found herself desperately wishing for sleep, for a dream, for Wonderland.

“Hannah?” a melodic voice spoke.

It took her a few strangled minutes to realize it came from the beautiful boy. Her eyes slid to his, acknowledging his presence.

“Hannah, are you alright?” the boy spoke again; the same horrified pain crossed his face.
It almost looked like, like he was the one hurt, as if she had hurt him.

She opened her chapped lips to speak but nothing came; he immediately understood and grabbed a pitcher from the side table. He brought a glass of water to her with shaking hands.

Once she had finished the glass off he let himself back a safe distance away. Again, he asked if she was okay and this time she allowed her stiff body a nod.

“Are you going home soon?”

“If I am I won’t be staying long." Her voice was strained but cooperative.

“Where will you go?”

Her eyes darkened. She was suddenly afraid; afraid that if she spoke the dark would take her again, afraid that if her words did obey that she would only be shot down again. Her hand hovered above the red button, wavering.

“Hannah.” The boy stepped forward, obviously still fighting with himself but losing. He took her face in his soft hands, “please, stop all of this silliness.”
That was all it took; her hand pushed down with a scary amount of pressure and her knuckles went white. Down the hall a buzzer rang at the nurses station.

She tried to jerk her face away but he clutched it and brought his close. She could smell his breath.

It was quick and not nearly as painful as she had hoped. His lips were there and gone in a matter of seconds and then he quickly let himself out of the room, leaving her worse off than before.

Instead of feeling angry, as she had expected, she only felt guilty. Her stomach turned and her thoughts swam with an edge of anxiety.

Anger would have been much easier.