Four Walls

"Ripleigh? Ripleigh, I need you to calm down. Just calm down, honey, and put the fork down."

The woman in white sounded so worried, so frightened, and she stared at the small blonde like she was some kind of wild animal. Maybe she was. The lady couldn't have been talking to her, though. Ripleigh wasn't her name. Her eyes narrowed at the orderly's demands, hand clenching around the plastic utensil before she broke it into two separate shards.

There were eyes on her, many of the whitecoats and the others--others like her, other crazies. Their eyes were wide--excited--at what the blonde might do next, and it was encouraging. She was standing up for them, making a scene, crying out for help, because none of them wanted to be here anymore. Nobody wanted to stay cooped up in a place like this. It was agony.

"Ripleigh, just put it down," a dark-skinned lady said. She held her hands up, as if just standing those few yards away and telling her to stop was actually going to make her, and almost to spite her, the girl lowered the sharp, plastic edge to her forearm, completely numb to the feeling of it slicing her flesh open as she dragged it roughly upwards.

She could hear people gasping, and many of the whitecoats rushed forward, but before they could get to her, a new voice rang out, "Stop."

It sounded bored, like it always did, and she couldn't help but turn to look, finding a familiar man dressed in a sharp suit. He had a skinny build and brown hair, and even from a distance, the blonde could see how big and blue his eyes were behind his glasses. His delicate face was set in a bored expression, but she knew that he was interested in what was taking place. She was his favorite patient, after all.

"Lily," he called out in a sing-song voice. The girl could feel her lips turning up in a smile at finally getting addressed properly. "Lily, come here, sweetheart." He held out a hand, and even though she knew that he was there to calm her down, she walked toward it. He would still help her. He always helped her.

"Come on, now. Let's get some tea in my office, and we'll get you patched up," he nodded, as if agreeing with himself.

Many of the other people at tables looked on, disappointed that she had been distracted and taken down so easily, but Lily didn't mind in the least. He was there, and he was going to take care of her.

"Ah, but wait a second," he smiled a bit and pointed to her hand, the plastic still clenched tightly in her palm. She handed the bloody makeshift blade over without a second thought, able to feel the crimson liquid dripping down her arm and hand.

"Thank you, Lily. Now, follow me."

She just smiled. "Anything you say, Doctor."



I groaned upon waking up, raising my hands to rub my eyes. The room I was in didn't smell like my own, and I was lying on a somewhat uncomfortable leather couch rather than my own thin mattress. It could only mean one thing, and the frustrated noise that was leaving my throat grew in volume as I tried to recount the last few hours, finding that I could not.

"Welcome back, Ripleigh," Dr. Crane greeted from his desk, keeping his head down as he scribbled away at some paperwork.

"God dammit." I sat up, setting my feet on the floor and hunching over. "I'm sorry."

"You should apologize to yourself before you apologize to me," he muttered. "You did quite a number on your arm."

I looked at it once he mentioned it, suddenly aware of the gauze and tape that was wrapped around it, and rolled my eyes, immediately annoyed with myself. "How many stitches this time?" I asked, standing up and stretching. I had been in this room many times before and for various different reasons-- therapy, recovery, friendly chit-chat.

"Eighteen."

It wouldn't be the first scar added to my skin, and it probably wouldn't be the last either. "Shit. I'm still sorry."

Crane finally looked up, staring at me for a moment before taking his glasses off. I doubted I'd ever get used to that gaze of his.

"Just tell me, why didn't you take your medicine this morning?"

I shrugged. "I can't remember, which means Lily was who woke up this morning. Not me."

He nodded, "I see. Do you remember how you felt when you went to sleep last night?"

My eyes seemed to roll on their own accord. I truly wasn't in the mood for a therapy session, but I owed Crane more than my complaining. "Um, I think I was feeling sort of lonely maybe?" I tried.

"You had an art class yesterday, did you not?" I nodded. "Did leaving make you upset? Were you afraid of being alone?"

"Not particularly. I mean, I left and I sort of started thinking a lot, but that's not anything out of the ordinary."

It was easy to answer his questions, but it hadn't always been that way. There was a time when Dr. Jonathan Crane intimidated the hell out of me. He had an unnerving air about him-- the blank expression, the glossy eyes, the genius-level brain that was locked up in his skull, but that was when I had first arrived at the hospital and the few months that followed.

Arkham Asylum had been my home for nearly four years, now. I had been admitted at the age of seventeen when my parents could neither regulate my medicine nor handle my, or Lily's, episodes, and I couldn't blame them, exactly. Getting locked up in a loony bin was not what I had anticipated, though.

I had my good days and my bad, just like everyone else who roamed the corridors. Unlike some, though, I was actually in my right mind for at least half of my stay, traipsing about the hallways and watching everybody else struggle from an outsider's perspective. Those days, doctors gave me more freedom, but they still kept an eye on me.

Because once that switch took place... I was a little harder to handle.

As myself, I could never remember much of what took place as Lily, maybe small flashes of scenes, but for the most part, I woke up clueless. From what people had told me, Lily was a much darker person-- mischievous and manipulative. She liked attention more than I did, and she definitely liked pain more, too, hence all of the pale scars on my arms and legs.

Not many people could get through to her--to me. Most of the orderlies just called someone else to help out, and it almost always resulted in my being sedated. Sometime at the beginning of my second year in Arkham, after too many tantrums to count, after hurting myself dozens of times, after attempting to seduce countless nurses and patients, Dr. Crane started to make a bit of a breakthrough. Somehow, Lily began to recognize him as a figure she could trust. I had no idea if it was because he was usually the one who eventually got called down during her ravings, or because he treated her as if she wasn't completely ridiculous. Whatever the case, she listened to him, and for that, I was grateful.

"Jesus, what time is it? How long was I out?" I asked, running a hand through my blonde hair.

Crane had leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his concave stomach, and tilted his head to the side. "It's almost four. You were asleep for about three and a half hours."

I began pacing, a habit I had picked up during childhood whenever I was feeling guilty. Despite the fact that I had seen everything on the shelves of the office many times before, I still picked stuff up, examining it as if it truly interested in it--books, figures, models, pictures.

Newly hired doctors were always curious as to why I had been admitted, thinking that I didn't have my episodes often enough to be considered any form of threat, or thinking that medication could take care of it, but it wasn't exactly true. Many of the pills that I had tried hadn't worked, and others left room for breakthroughs. We had tried larger doses, but it resulted in my becoming a bit of a zombie, and not only did my family not appreciate it, but Crane wasn't too happy with it either.

It all came down to taking it regularly. The medication I was on lasted just as long as I took it every day. One missed dose, and Lily came out to play, and even if the younger staff members didn't think much of her, she could be very, very dangerous. Maybe not to others, but definitely to me.

"It's a defense mechanism, you know," Crane spoke up. I glanced over at him, raising and eyebrow, and waited for him to elaborate. "Lily--She shows herself when you, Ripleigh, are feeling especially frightened, or insecure."

"Like a switch," I grimaced. "I just wish I knew what she did, or what I did, as her."

The doctor cracked a small smile, one hardly noticeable, and shook his head. "Actually, I think it's best you remain in the dark for most of it."

"That's not very reassuring."

He stood up and walked around to the front of the desk, only to lean against it, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched me. Years ago, it had made me nervous, and I suppose it still did, just in an entirely different way.

"Earlier, you said that after you left your class, you started thinking. What about, Ripleigh?"

He was definitely in psychiatrist mode. I could tell by how often he was saying my name. It helped with other patients to remind them of who they were exactly, but I didn't need reminding. I knew who I was at this point in time.

"Could you please just talk to me like I'm a normal fucking human being?" It came out before I even realized it, and I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth and shut my eyes. "I'm sorry."

It was muffled, but Crane still understood. He took a few steps over to me, getting close enough for me to smell his cologne. Keeping his hands behind his back, he spoke calmly, almost monotonously, "It's fine. You're stressed out. Just relax for a little while longer."

I nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'll just... Relax. What did you ask me before?"

"What were you thinking about last night?"

Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose and walked back to the couch, taking a seat. "Um, my family. My brother, especially."

"Do you miss him?"

I shrugged. "It's been twelve years since he left, but yeah, I guess, in a twisted way, I do."

"And, what do you think made you think of him?"

If he had, had his pen and paper in hand, I probably would have been irritated, but he didn't. He was simply standing in the middle of his office, watching me, as if we were engaging in particularly interesting conversation.

I thought back, wondering what had reminded me of Jay, and the image of a sunflower came to mind-- one made up of watercolors. Someone had painted it in the class. "An art piece." Crane frowned slightly, cocking his head again. "Someone painted a sunflower, and it reminded me of him for some reason."

I couldn't quite place my finger on why, which was a clue that it was probably some terrible, repressed memory. That always seemed to be the case, now.

"If you wanted, we could try--..."

I shook my head, cutting him off. "No. Please, don't put me under today. I just don't feel up to it."

The brunette man stared at me unblinking for a few seconds, taking his lower lip into his mouth, then nodded understandingly. "That's fine. Maybe next session." I shrugged. "In the mean time, I think it's time you got back to your room."

It was hard not to be disappointed, just because I wasn't especially fond of the white walls and cot-like bed that made up my tiny dwelling, but I didn't whine about it. Crane held a hand out for me, forcing a small smile that he didn't show to many people, and continued, "I'll walk you there myself."

"Consider me honored," I said sarcastically, though I had to laugh at myself.

I didn't talk to many people in the hospital, just some of the patients who had been there for close to as long as I had along with a few of the orderlies. Doctor Crane was who I most enjoyed spending time with, even if they were just medical appointments and therapy sessions. It was easier to talk to him, and even if he did sometimes forget that I wasn't always insane, I still liked him quite a bit.

The walk to my room took a few minutes, and the nurses greeted the psychiatrist in the corridors, earning professional nods and not much else. He was a private man, I'd come to find, and not at all affectionate. Some complained about his cold nature, but it didn't bother me at all. I was all too used to the feeling of hands on me, restraining me, and the fact that he liked to keep his distance comforted me in a strange way.

"We're getting a new patient tomorrow," he told me conversationally.

I looked up, a little surprised. We hadn't gotten anyone new for a while. "Male or female?"

"Female."

"And, her condition?"

Crane's full lips twitched, and I found myself fighting my own grin. "You know I can't share that with you, Leigh."

I feigned a heavy sigh, "Are you ever going to start sharing your secrets, Dr. Crane?"

He glanced at me from the corner of his light eyes but didn't say anything in response.

The door to my room was still unlocked, and he opened it, lifting his arm to accommodate my entrance. I showed a small, obviously disappointed smile and held my hand up in a wave. "See you tomorrow, Doc."

He nodded, allowing the door to start closing, but not before he called out, "Don't forget to take your medicine in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah."

The loud clashing of metal met my ears as it locked back into place, and I watched as his head bobbed out of focus before I threw myself onto my mattress, resigning myself to an evening of staring up at the ceiling.

Another day gone by.