We Feel Like Dead Ends

Lunch was quiet. Ryan had snuck back inside, leaving a sadly smiling Jenna to sit with a version of Jack that was crumbling to pieces. The duo retreated behind the shrub they had watched the garden scene from, and Jenna pulled a bag of crackers from her jacket pocket. She let them fall onto Jack’s knee.
“… Jacko…” She murmured, looking at him with kind eyes. “Mate,-“
“No.” He shook his head and brushed the bag off of his leg with the back of his hand. His jeans were starting to get slightly damp from sitting on the still drying grass.
“Jack, he… to be honest here, Alex-“
“Don’t say his name.” Jack quivered almost uncontrollably. He couldn’t be shivering; the midday sun was at its peak in the sky and the freezing wind was finally at bay. It was finally bearable to be outside, as they would inevitably be for the rest of the day.
“Alex. Alex Alex Alex. Don’t be a fuckin’ twat, Jack. Deal. With. It.” Jenna said ruthlessly. Jack closed his eyes and bit his lip. “Alexander William Gaskarth is in that piece of shit mental institute and, as I was going to say before, Alex most likely is not yet in his right mind.” Jack frowned.
“He just… He doesn’t care about me.” The boy whispered. “He doesn’t miss me. This was all so very pointless.”

Jenna watched hopelessly as Jack fell apart. Every hope she had given him was sliding off of his tears, and it was worse than she had ever imagined. She had feared this happening, she had feared disappointing her new friend, and here she was. It had happened and she was scared. In a matter of, what, 30 seconds speaking to his (ex?) best friend, Jack’s mental state was crashing to the ground, a brick wall that had bullet holes struck through it and the plaster was peeling in strips. He was a wreck, and she felt responsible. (And maybe she was completely responsible after all.)

“I… I think I belong-“ Jack sobbed, his head in his hands. “-I… I belong in there with him.” And Jenna couldn’t agree more. This broken little boy belonged in that hospital, he sure did fit the bill. One look at his hollowed eyes, and the receptionist would call for a doctor. He would be sat in a small whitewashed room, and an empty faced therapist would begin the long process of healing. But if Jack Bassam Barakat belonged in South Baltimore Mental Rehabilitation Center, so did she.
Her mind wasn’t a sob story. It was a mosaic of cracked glass from all over the world. Any shards from her home in Australia were broken beyond repair, and she was having trouble seeing past the multicolours. She may not look the part as much as her companion did, but the staff at the institute would have no trouble coming up with a reason to detain her.

“Yeah.” She said, standing up and brushing dirt off her knees. With melancholy eyes that threatened to leak tears, she glanced at him before his sadness became all too much for her to handle. “I think you belong in there, too.” He stopped crying when he noticed she had stood up. Cold hands deep in dark pockets, blonde hair resting dead on her shoulders, bag of crackers crushed under her foot.
“Don’t go.” Jack said, realizing what she intended to do.
“I’m not leaving. Not forever, really.” She started pacing away from him. “I think I’ll come back.” Uncertainty filled her voice. “But I know what you’re thinking, mate. In my honest opinion, it’s a good idea… just not the one for me.” Jack grimaced from his point on the ground. His idea was foolish but, apparently, ‘for the best’.
“Maybe I’ll come see you.” She said as she walked further and further away, the distance growing with each word. “They do have visiting hours, don’t they?” She half choked on her words as a sob fought to escape. Once she was far enough away from where Jack sat on the grass, she let herself despair.

~*~

“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“What are you here for, young man?”
“I belong in here.”
“Ah, I see.”
(pause)
“Would you like to fill out some papers?”
“I guess so…”

~*~

Inside was very different. When you look at a person, you only see what they want you to. Eyeliner, flannel, red lips, thin wrists. And that’s all. When you talk to a person, once, twice, you only get glimpses. You see a pet dog, a bad grade. And that’s all. When you really know a person, you’re inside. You see everything. That’s what it was like in the mental hospital.

In a lot of ways, it matched the outside. The white bricks continued indoors, lining the walls. The floor in the lobby was tan tile with grey-green rugs strewn over it. The kind lady behind the reception desk had worn a white lab coat over a flowery blouse, her hands covered by white gloves with blue and black pen marks on them. Jack had been escorted past the desk and into a large atrium with a slightly domed ceiling that was painted with a sunset. But the colour ended there.
Clean white walls enclosed the atrium, and it became clear that it was the center of the institute. The ‘hub’ Ryan had mentioned. Also as Ryan had said, 3 wings spread off of the hub. Hospital-like doors led into each wing, small silver plaques fastened to them stating which number they were.

Down Wing 1, through the densely painted door and that’s when Jack lost track. So many rooms, so many smaller halls. Stairs leading every-which-way, metal railings glinting in the frosty light. The tall man in black jeans and a lab coat guided him to a room that was fairly close to where the wing connected to the hub. First floor, on the left. Room 9.
“Here. Jack, welcome to South Baltimore Mental Rehabilitation Center. We’re glad you submitted yourself, that’s an amazing first step in recovery.” The man sad, brushing long, wavy brown hair away from his face. “We can introduce you to your therapy group tomorrow, but for the rest of the day, feel free to explore. But only this wing.” Jack nodded, albeit a little disappointed. He regarded the room. A small window, much like the one he had seen Alex through, let natural light in. There were two wire beds against the (white, of course) wall, metal chests at the foot of each bed, a small wooden desk with a lamp on it, and an ensuite bathroom.
“Okay.” He said quietly as he sat down on the bed closest to the locked window. “Do I have a… roommate?”
“One will most likely be arranged once we learn a bit more about you. We very rarely have a single patient in a room for very long, and we try our hardest to pair roommates up well.” The man had a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh.” Jack looked at the floor.
“Do you have any other questions?” The man asked, still standing in the doorway.
“Uh… is there anything that you might consider basic knowledge…?” Jack murmured, not making eye contact.
“Of course. Here, we have a lot of people like me. Most of the patients call us ‘Givers’, but there is no official name, really.” He laughed a little. “My name is Derek, and I’m responsible for half of this wing. You guys are organized in therapy groups, as I said, and you tend to do most things with them. Every morning each therapy group has a short meeting and then there are occasional activities. Everyone eats in the cafeteria, it’s on the second floor of Wing 3. I’ll take you there when it’s dinner, don’t worry.” He added as an afterthought. Jack nodded again, just wanting the ‘giver’ to leave. He didn’t really intend to explore.
“Oh, and since you’re new, after dinner tonight you’ll be having a small meeting with a counsellor. Just do determine your mental condition.”
Derek placed a folded bundle of clothes on the chest at the end of the best Jack was on.
As soon as the older man had left and closed the door, Jack laid back on the bed and just stared at the ceiling.