Mad House

"Rose," one of the nuns (it sounded like Sister Monica-Joan) said, rapping on the door. "Your mother is here to visit you, darling, and then it's time for dinner." That seemed to be a common theme at Brindlebrim: when speaking to the kids, the nuns always used pet names: angel, darling, honey, dear, sweetheart. They said the words with such a sugary sweetness it made Rose's teeth hurt. She knew how it was now. She'd been at Brindebrim for a little over a year.

Rose forced herself to get up and walk over, where Sister Monica-Joan (Rose knew she was right) put a bony arm around her shoulder, clamping Rose tightly against her body and forcing her to match the old nun's pace. Rose stiffened up immediately. She absolutely hated being touched.

As they walked, Sister Monica-Joan said, "You'll be a good girl, won't you, dear? You'll be nice to your mother and everything, right? Or else we'll have to take away your visiting hours for next month like we did last time, hmm?" Rose didn't answer. But then again, she never did.

They came to the visitors' wing and led her into a small room with a table and some chairs. A few books were littered around, and some crayons and paper were sitting on the table. Rose's mother was sitting in one of the chairs, twisting her hands in her lap. The second she saw Rose, her eyes widened and she jumped up. "Oh, Rosie!" She threw her arms around her daughter and hugged her tightly. Rose found herself hugging her mother despite herself; it had been two months since they'd seen each other. (Last time she visited, Rose tipped the table over and had gotten the next month's hours taken away)

Sister Monica-Joan smiled in what was supposed to be a warm way but didn't quite suit her face. "Feel free to call if anything goes wrong," she said to Mrs. Arlington. "We'll check up on you later." To Rose, she said, "Remember, Rosie, we're going make this visit a nice one, right?"

Rose just looked at her until she shut the door. Then, she slowly sat down across from her mother. They stared at each other for a minute or two until her mother asked, "How - how've you been?" Before she could answer (not that she would), her mother hurried on, "I tried out this excellent recipe the other day for pot roast. I know you always thought my old one was too dry. This one I think you'd like better. I added more chicken stock to it and it this time the meat didn't absorb it all, so -"

This was the usual routine. Whenever she visited, her mother babbled on for what seemed like hours and hours about life back at home: how the neighbors were doing, the latest scandal in the community, all of the recipes she was cooking, etc., like Rose was just on a vacation and not in a hospital for weirdos. By then she'd learned to tune her out, grabbing a piece of paper and one of the crayons and starting to draw.

Rose had always liked drawing. She was good at it, for one thing, but it also calmed her down in a way that nothing else really could. When she couldn't sleep at night due to the screams of the other girls, she would draw pictures of the sun and of flowers, imagining a place where she could go and sit in peace.

However, she was jolted out of her happy fantasy world when her mother said, "Your father would've come, but he had work to do. You understand, don't you dear?"

Rose thought of her father looming over her, his hand held high, ready to strike, loud words and sounds coming from his mouth as he bellowed at her. She saw him sitting with her mother at the table as she cried, saying, "She's not well, Carol, she's just not right in the head. It's for the best." She flinched just the slightest bit, her hand pausing over the paper.

"Sweetheart?" her mother asked, sounding concerned. "Are you all right? Do I need to call the doctors?"

That was the last thing Rose needed, the last thing she ever needed. She shook her head and slowly went back to drawing, inhaling deeply to wash away those bad memories. Dr. James appeared in her mind again, smiling down at her, reaching out for her, breathing his smoky breath in her face. "Just hold still, Rose, it'll be over soon."

"Speaking of the doctor," Mrs. Arlington continued, still sounding a little worried, "the nurses told me that you've been doing well. They said that they almost got you to speak the other day."

Actually, they hadn't made any progress at all. During group therapy, the nuns and even the doctor tried to force her to talk. They bribed, begged, threatened, and scolded. But Rose refused to say a word. So, they allowed her to draw for the rest of the session, which made her happy. So . . . progress.

Rose didn't answer, continuing to draw. "Rosie," her mother said, and it was soft and pleading. "Please." The amount of pain in her voice was almost too much to bear, and it reminded Rose that it wasn't her mother's fault. She was just too oblivious and kept in the dark. So she slowly looked up and met her eyes.

Relieved, she asked, "What are you drawing? May I see?"

Reluctantly, Rose pushed the paper over to her, and her mother's mouth dropped open in a little 'o' of surprise. "Why, sweetheart . . . this is beautiful! You're so talented, baby, you really are."

It was a pair of eyes. Blue eyes, to be exact. Blue eyes that Rose saw every single time she closed her own.

She'd been at Brindlebrim for about six months or so when she saw him. She'd been in the rec room, reading her favorite book, Alice in Wonderland. She loved picturing the world Alice had landed in and often imagined herself going there someday and having tea, being welcomed by creatures who were just as mad as she was.

And then she heard piano, soft and sweet and elegant, and it soothed her the way tea did to a cold. She looked up, scanning the room for the old grand piano that was kept in the corner in case anyone wanted to play it (Rose hadn't seen anyone try to until then) and saw the most beautiful boy in the entire world.

He had long, dark, messy hair that curled around the nape of his neck in little wisps. His fingers were small, but thin, and they glided over the piano keys almost effortlessly. All Rose could do was watch and listen as he played, and she wanted to know this boy, wanted to learn how to make something as beautiful as this.

When he stopped, he got up and turned, looking around as if to make sure no one had seen him play. It was then that Rose got a glimpse of his eyes: they were blue, like the ocean, like the sky, endless and deep, but they were also angry and a little lonely. The boy ducked away before she could get a closer look.

And ever since, Rose began to draw those eyes. Only this time, she pictured them in another life, a life away from Brindlebrim and away from whatever was hurting him. She made them bright and full of laughter, crinkling at the edges, and imagined what they'd look like on him.

Over time, the mystery boy became a not-so-much mystery boy as Rose learned more and more about him from the other kids she sometimes sat with at meals or in the rec room. His name was Louis Tomlinson, he was a year older than her, and he was considered a "veteran" at Brindlebrim. Sometimes she heard the nurses discussing him when she went to go get her medicine, saying how he was a hateful, moody boy full of malicious intent and angry thoughts. (People had no problem talking about private things in front of Rose; it wasn't like she'd repeat them anyway)

And even though Rose knew those things were true, that this Louis Tomlinson probably was extremely dangerous, she also had a bit of faith that somewhere, deep inside him, here was a sweet, gentle boy like the one she'd seen playing the piano.

"Rose?" Mrs. Arlington's voice brought her daughter back to reality. "Do you want your picture back?"

She nodded and pulled it back over to her side of the table, starting to shade in parts of the eyes. Drawing the same thing for almost an entire year had given her quite some practice, so she had to admit, it was better than when she had first started.

Her mother stayed for another half hour before it was time to go, because even though Rose had been good, they'd shortened her vistors' hours as punishment for last time. Before they departed, her mother squeezed her into a tight hug, and Rose could feel her tears dampening her dress. "I love you so much, darling," her mother whispered. "And your father does too." She said it a little louder, like she knew Rose wouldn't believe her.

(She didn't)

As Rose walked towards the dining hall, she relished in the freedom of being by herself. She'd been granted public access once the doctor decided that she wasn't dangerous, just crazy, so now she could go wherever she pleased as long as it wasn't another patient's room or a restricted area. She allowed herself to let her mind wander. It would be a month until her mother's next visit, a whole thirty days. She knew she could've caused a scene that would've delayed their next meeting even longer, but the last time that happened, she got put in solitary confinement for a week, a small, dark, padded room where her only visitor was Dr. James.

She was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts when a solid body collided with hers, sending her stumbling back a few steps. She looked up and into a pair of very familiar blue eyes. It was Louis, the piano boy.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he shouted, his voice loud and squeaky in the hall. "Can't you watch where you're going? Are you fucking blind or something?"

All Rose could do was stare at him and not say a single word. She wasn't scared of him, but she was surprised. "Are you deaf, too?" he bellowed. "Stay the fuck out of my way next time!" He drew in a breath, probably to yell more, but just then, several nurses ran in and grabbed him by the arms, dragging him down the hallway as he squirmed. After a moment or two, everyone resumed walking and talking, since they were all used to it by now.

One of the younger nurses smiled warily at Rose. "He hasn't had his meds today," she said, sighing. "He's usually much more . . . bearable." The way she said it told Rose that Louis was probably only slightly less of a menace on his meds than when off. "Sorry, sweetheart. Are you all right?"

Rose nodded. She hated when people yelled, but for some reason, Louis hadn't scared her at all. The nurse patted her shoulder. "Off to dinner, then."

Rose tried to concentrate on her dinner that night, picking at it as the kids around her talked quietly among themselves, but all she could think about were those blue, blue eyes boring into hers.