These Halls Are Never Empty

"What are you looking at, pussy little faggot?"

Bill sighed and curled tighter on the hard plastic chair he was sitting on, remember why he usually didn't smart off to the nurses and doctors. They said he was exhibiting 'reclusive aggressiveness' and made him socialize, or at least be in the vicinity with the other members of the fifth floor.

Had this been grade school, he'd have played the role of the dorky nerd nobody liked who got swirlies. And he hated it. His developmental dysphasia and paranoia did not make him crazy, why was he here? He'd never found suicide appealing, he kept, at a general, to two moods, apathetic and panicked, and he wasn't interested in killing people. How he wished that his voice would come back and he could tell them all where to shove their clipboards for being blind to him.

"I said something to you, fairy."

Bill grabbed his box and typed into it, trying to remain calm. "Yes, Jack?"

Jack was one of the meaner residents. His bipolar syndrome was split between angry/vindictive and homicidal. Bill did not care for him.

A smile spread on Jack's face. With a jolt, Bill suddenly realized he'd made a mistake. Jack loved it when he got a response. It gave him a reason to taunt.

"How'd you lose your voice, asshole? Suck too much cock? Deep throat one too many times?"

Bill's face burned. He'd never had sex in his life, let alone with another man.

"Please leave me alone."

"Ah, but we're just talking civilly! Oh, hey, remind me again about how your parents didn't want you and dumped your faggot ass here."

Another sharp jolt, more painful this time, pierced through Bill's veins. It was an unspoken law that that did not talk about how they got there or what had happened to get them there. And the only person that Jack did it to was Bill.

"Please don't talk about that."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot that my parents actually wanted me and yours didn't want you. That must really hurt, knowing that even your parents saw what a worthless little shit you are."

A tear fell from the corner of Bill's eye. His hands curled into fists against his better judgement. Fighting did one no good on the fifth floor. Bill had only been sedated twice: once when he first got to the hospital and he had fought every nurse, doctor, and orderly to get out, and again when he was fourteen. In his pubescent moodiness, he had thrown everything he could at a nurse who insisted on simply giving him an IV instead of bringing him food. He'd lost thirty pounds and had had enough. Throwing a punch was a sure way to get the needle.

"Oh my god, is the weakling little cocksucker actually going to try and take me down?"

Bill shook gently. He rarely felt anger, as he had learned to control his emotions long ago. But Jack could get under his skin like no needle could. There was no thought process behind Bill's actions anymore.

"Faggot, what are you going to do?"

Without any warning, Bill sprang up from his seat, wound up, and hit Jack square in the jaw. His fist exploded with pain, his body unaccustomed to the force. Jack stumbled and fell to the ground. He didn't seem to be hurt, but then again, Bill didn't have much muscle.

Jack looked up and him, furious. "I wonder how the doctors will take to you keeping that janitor in your bathroom as your little sex toy."

Bill panicked. He didn't think that anyone had seen him half-kidnap Tom. In an attempt to silence Jack, Bill jumped on top of him and started throwing punches, his whole persona gone completely, his strikes fueled by terror. One girl, a multiple-personality disorder patient with four personalities named Leila who was terrified of everything, screamed. Fighting was not a norm on the fifth floor, and most of the patients who truly and absolutely belonged there were terrified.

A nurse came hurrying in with two orderlies at her side. They restrained Bill, and she shoved a needle full of sedative into the vein in Bill's neck.

The last thing Bill thought before blacking out was "Why am I crying?"

~+~

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Bill nearly rolled his eyes. The resident shrink bugged him with his fake 'I care' demeanor. Bill had seen through his cellophane façade since day one.

"Come on, Bill, what happened? You're not a violent person."

Bill sat upside-down on the chair in the shrink's office, like he was inclined to do, and stared at him, a stare of neither hatred nor curiosity, just a stare. He really did not like the psychiatrist in the least. Sure, he knew what he was doing, but there was no connection between him and the patients. He was one person and he couldn't connect with them properly to save his life.

"I'll sit here all day, trying to figure you out."

"If you feel you must."

"Bill."

"I'm not aggressive, if you must know. Just irritated."

"Well, this is a new emotion."

"Really? I've felt it before. Haven't you?" Bill couldn't resist poking at the shrink. It was payback for all the poking and prying the shrink did to him.

"Sarcasm gets you nowhere, Bill."

Bill decided that it would just be best to lay down all his cards. It would get him out of there faster. He thought about it and chose his words carefully. "Jack was talking about my parents and insulting my sexuality."

"What is your sexuality, Bill?"

Bill shrugged as well as he could upside down.

"You don't know?"

"I've never had the opportunity to find out. I assume I am heterosexual but that's just speculation. I could very well be homosexual or bisexual."

"What about asexual?"

Bill paused, more than confused. "I didn't know humans had the ability to reproduce by themselves."

"I meant like Andy Warhol. You wouldn't have a preference of male or female. A voyeur."

Bill thought the word voyeur was appropriate for his case mostly, but this was one case he was sure didn't fit for him. "We'll find out when I'm eighteen, won't we?"

The shrink nodded, understanding fully Bill's desire for his eighteenth birthday, because he believed that once he turned eighteen, he could refuse all care and leave the hospital. The shrink was saddened by this fact, because he was nearly positive that they wouldn't let Bill out. Though he wished they would let him, it was beyond his control. "Now, back to the subject of Jack and you."

"I told you. He insulted me and my parents and brought up how I arrived here."

"Ah, and that is a forbidden subject, yes?"

Bill nodded.

"I can see your frustration. But Bill, look at the people there, the people you live with. They're not like you. They don't know that it's bad."

Bill gripped his Speak 'n Spell tightly. He was sick and tired of everyone considering the patients on the fifth floor mentally retarded. Jack was bipolar, not unintelligent. Bill actually thought he simply had anger issues and they labeled him bipolar just so they wouldn't have to deal with him. Just like, he suspected, they had done with him.

"I don't believe that, but fine."

"Why not?"

"My own reasons."

Bill had ended many a discussion this way. The doctor, knowing the routine, ended the train of conversation.

"So, tell me, Bill, what have you drawn lately?"

~+~

"Oh no. No, no, we so do not need that, I am fine!"

"You still feel warm, you can't have a normal body temperature!"

"I just got out of a hot shower, of course I'm warm! And a rectal thermometer would make me better? Mom, do you know how cruel it is that you are trying to ram something up my ass?"

Simone stopped and pondered that. "Fair point."

"So, you'll leave my butt alone?"

"Fine, you win this time."

"Thank you, God, for small favors!"

Simone laughed as Tom fell to his knees, his arms held high in mock praise.

"You're going to get struck by lightning if you keep doing that."

"Like God would totally smite his best creation. Come on, look at this face."

Simone laughed again. "So, I've been meaning to ask you."

"Oh boy."

"Oh, hush. You and Dmetri are friends."

"That's not a question, Mom."

"I'm getting there! Anyway, you're at the hospital all day. I was just wondering if you had made any other friends, like with the patients or doctors or something."

Tom thought about it for a moment. "Well, the doctors are nice, and the nurses are so nice to look at."

"You're a chauvinist, you know that?"

"Yep!"

"Where did I go wrong with you?" Simone dramatically threw an arm across her forehead in mock distress. Tom laughed.

"And as for the patients… well, I sort of did."

"Ooh, is she pretty? Should I pick out baby clothes for my grandchildren?"

"It's a guy."

"Oh, well, that is different. Well, don't just sit there, tell me, what's he like?"

"Well, he's in the psychiatric ward, and I don't really know him that well, I met him once, but… it's like… it's like he was put there randomly. He's really, really smart, but he has… oh, what did he call it… developmental dysphasia, and he's a bit paranoid."

"Hmm. What's his name?"

"Bill."

"Well, honey, I hope you keep him as a friend. God knows you could do with a few good ones. Just don't get your hopes dashed if he starts displaying why he's in psychiatric care and you can't be around him anymore."

Tom nodded but knew it would never happen. He'd need to consult with Dmetri about this soon.

"Now, go on, go play with your guitar and leave me alone."

~+~

"Well, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble, I just... I was startled. All of a sudden, someone was punching someone else and I was... I'm sorry."

Leila had been apologizing to Bill for the last fifteen minutes and he was beginning to grow weary of her innocent, albeit sincere apology. She was one of the few patients who had never been sedated, so she didn't know how it felt, but she was still sorry for the trouble she caused Bill.

He shrugged. He had more than deserved the sedation in his mind, and she was justified in screaming. He didn't need an apology from her. He wanted one from Jack.

"Bill, you and I aren't really close, you're not really close with anyone, but I still consider you a friend."

Bill stared at Leila. He was taken aback. He'd had such little interaction with his fellow patients that he was near positive they barely knew who he was, and for Leila to say she considered him a friend was shocking. As far as he knew, he'd done nothing at all, really, to merit friendship with anyone, though he wasn't bothered by it. But still, he appreciated her gesture, even if he wasn't sure how to respond.

"So, um... if you ever want to talk about anything, let me know, okay?"

Bill nodded slowly. She gave him a small smile and started to leave. He went back to his sketchbook, but was soon drawn back out of it when he heard Leila's voice again.

"Bill? I... I don't mean to pry or anything, but what did Jack mean by you keeping the janitor in your bathroom as a sex toy?"

Bill looked up at Leila, who was wringing her hands. She was obviously curious, but Leila was also very, very naive. He thought quickly about excuses and found one he liked. He quickly scribbled it on a fresh page in his notebook and showed her.

He simply asked to use my bathroom and I let him. Jack misconstrued the entire situation to make me sound horrible.

"Like he always does," she finished, nodding. "I understand."

Bill turned the page back to his drawing. Leila's eyes went fuzzy for a moment, and when she zoned back in, Bill watching curiously, her entire posture changed, from her attitude to her voice.

"Hey baby, what's shakin'? Damn, boy, don't you ever wash that mess of hair?"

Bill and the other patients had been informed of Leila's and the other multiple personality patients' other selves. Bill had remembered them all and recognized Leila's sassy and up-front personality as Kaydee, who said she was American by birth though had spent the better part of her life in Germany, where they now were. Bill rolled with it, and gave a small wave to her. There was nothing he could do about it, so why not play along? Besides, he thought Kaydee was hilarious.

"Sweet cakes, seriously, let's wash that hair of yours. Come on, boy, in the bathroom."

Bill, apathetic to the whole situation, did as he was told. It was true, he hadn't washed his hair in a while. Four days at the most. He was too absorbed in his own thought processes, his mind keeping track of several things at once, his hands itching for his pad of paper, so when he would shower, he would only wash the essentials and jump back out. His hair wasn't considered an essential, so it went unwashed.

Kaydee turned on the water in the sink and let it warm up. "Shirt off, babe. We don't want it to get wet."

Bill, again, did as he was told. Kaydee gave him a once-over. "Sweet Jesus, child, haven't you heard of food? You look like a walking stick. A regular beanpole. And so pale, open those windows and sunbathe!"

Bill looked down at his torso. He was skinny, yes, but with the food they fed him, it was to be expected. And sunbathe? There was too much for Bill to do to just lounge around and make an attempt at a tan. So, he shrugged.

"Well, honey, I think you need to do something about it. The ladies will like you more." She put two fingers under the water. "It's warm! Head, under that, I'll get the shampoo."

Bill, although standoffish, was enjoying Kaydee. Human interaction, when pleasant, was something Bill appreciated, but the problem was, not a lot of human interaction was pleasant or agreeable to his standards. Kaydee's presence was agreeable, though she was a rare personality. Leila was in the part of therapy where her personalities were starting to mesh to become one Leila, though they'd pop out every once in a while. Bill liked it, though it never showed.

Kaydee came back over and poured some shampoo in her hand after turning off the water. She started scrubbing it into his hair, and the steady rhythm of Kaydee's gentle hands was starting to make him drowsy. He closed his eyes and focused on the pleasant sensations on his scalp.

"Feel good?" Kaydee asked with a laugh. Bill nodded lazily.

Kaydee turned the water back on, and even though the gentle caressing on Bill's head was about ten seconds from lulling him to sleep, his mind was still darting around Tom.

When was he coming back, why was he gone in the first place, had he been let off because of good behavior, had he been arrested again and sent to jail, was he visiting family, was he ever going to come back at all? His mind swam with the questions and possible answers as Kaydee chattered on aimlessly about something he considered unimportant. Nail polish or Ashton Kutcher or something, he didn't care. His mind was centered on Tom and there wasn't much that was going to deter him from his train of thought.

"All right, I'm done. Wrap it up and put your shirt back on, string bean."

Bill pulled his eyes open and nodded at Kaydee. He grabbed a towel and deftly wrapped it up so it would dry and pulled his shirt over it, the collar getting stretched out over the towel a little. He waved Kaydee goodbye and walked back to his bed to continue his drawing of Jack that had to large of a nose.

Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom...

All about Tom...