Saint Fidelity

As soon as I was turned around, and was on my way to the door, I was grabbed by two security guards. I should've known that would happen, but I didn't think terribly far ahead. All I knew was I was scared, and I wanted to get away.

One of the nurses approached, one that I was rather familiar with, as she hated my guts. She seemed to be there whenever I got in trouble. "Macie, sweetie, what are you doing?" I hated that sickly sweet shit. She always called me pet names, trying to get on my good side. Fuck that.

I didn't answer, just ground my teeth until it hurt. With the burly men on either of my sides, I wasn't in any mood to talk to this bitch. I hated all the staff here, no matter how sweet they were to me. I knew it wasn't genuine friendliness.

"You know you can't leave. If you try that again, we'll have to put you in one of the unoccupied rooms by yourself."

Like that was a threat. I nearly tried to break free and run again just so I could be removed. I looked around the room, and saw Devilyn speaking to one of the people in her head. I couldn't leave her in case she needed me. Instead, I wiggled a bit, trying to get the men to ease their grip on me.

"It was my fault," a male voice with an Irish accent said, and I lifted my head.

It was the blonde boy, the one that had been looking at me. I got a closer look at him, and saw long brown roots in his mop of hair. I'd developed a little system of determining how long someone was in Saint Fidelity by their roots. By the looks of him, it could only be about three weeks.

"Niall, you don't have to blame yourself. How could this be your fault?" The nurse asked. She had a soft spot for the boys. That whore.

"I scared her. She ran, simple. Let her go," he requested, and to my surprise, they did. "Niall" smiled at me slightly, and though it wasn't scary as before, it still made me uncomfortable. I took a step away from him, my eyebrows furrowed. "What's your name?" He asked me.

"...Macie," I answered hesitantly, as the nurse and guards retreated. I didn't exactly know why he seemed to have power over them, but he did. "What're you in for?" I asked, and he gestured for me to sit at one of the tables. I obliged, sitting across from him. Nerves were still stirring into my stomach, but I tried to ignore them. This was the closest I'd gotten to a real conversation with someone that wasn't Devi in a very long time.

"Post traumatic stress disorder," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "That's not the real problem, though. They think I'm a danger to myself and others because of it."

I nodded slowly. He did look too normal to be in here, for some reason. "Why?"

"Well, I guess you could say I'm a sociopath."

I frowned, tilting my head. "You don't have emotions?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "Not anymore. Haven't felt much of anything since... well, this," he raised the sleeves of his shirt, showing me a series of vertical scars along his wrists. "When I woke up, I wasn't sad. Or happy... or, anything. Haven't been since."

"I see..."

"Why are you in here?"

"Anxiety. Depression," I said, pulling my sleeves up as he did. My scars were horizontal, but they looked quite similar. Niall smiled, almost as if in amusement. "Scared of people, too."

"Are you scared of me?"

I gazed at him curiously. He had a very soft face, attractive features... his eyes were absolutely beautiful, but lacked any sort of passion. "Well, I was. Now... I'm not sure."

He shrugged, seeming satisfied with my answer.

"So, what gave you PTSD? Were you in war?" I asked. Truthfully, I didn't know a lot about that. All I'd really heard about his condition was after war, so that was what I assumed.

"No, no... I almost got murdered. My best friend did, but I got away," he said, completely calmly. His voice was rather cheerful, if anything. "I was sleeping at his house, when some guy broke in. Stabbed him, right through the heart, five... maybe six or seven times. I was hiding in the closet, he never even knew I was there... I had to wait, watching my friend bleed all over the floor... until I was sure he was gone." Despite the horrifying content of his story, the cheerful smile was still plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm fine, aren't I?" Niall chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

I wasn't sure why I was still talking to this guy. However, I was proud of myself for being able to keep up an entire conversation. The fear in the pit of my stomach had dissipated somewhere in the middle of his story, and I figured I could even be friends with this boy. I had no idea how exactly he didn't terrify me. I'd tried so hard with other people, but he just wriggled his way through my walls.

"I suppose you are."