Headfirst for Halos

I open my eyes to a painful bright light and hushed voices. I was in a white room. With white floors. White walls. White everything. It was too white, and I didn’t like it. The white made me feel nauseas. My mother was in the room with me, talking to a doctor. She was wearing a black dress, and it stood out in the white room. She looked like she was dressed to go to a funeral, huh, how ironic.

When she noticed I was awake she rushed over me, pushing my hair out of my face and whispering how she was so glad I was okay. I only stared at her. I didn’t know what to say. Was I sorry? No, I wasn’t; not at all. Because when she says goodbye, tomorrow I’ll just do it again.

I wanted to tell her how I felt, show her just what I’ve been thinking, but I guess the bandages covering my wrists were enough of an explanation. The bandages were also white. I’ve decided that I hate that colour.

I had zoned out to what she was saying, but suddenly I was being kissed on my forehead and she was lead out of the room. No, I wanted to say goodbye, tell her I loved her, but I couldn’t get the words out, it felt like I was drowning, like water was filling my lungs and I couldn’t speak.

Suddenly there was a hand helping me up and I was dry heaving, hunched over in my bed, coughing up nothing but air.

‘Frank, do you know why you are in here?” said the person helping me up, it was the doctor. He was wearing a white coat, I frown.

“You’re in the psychiatric ward of Clara Maass, a medical centre, because you attempted suicide, do you remember Frank?” I don’t like how he knew my name, I didn’t know his, and I was in a medical centre? A loony bin? I wasn’t insane. I wanted to tell him this, but I couldn’t speak. Why couldn’t I speak? I had to prove I didn’t belong here, wasn’t insane, I adore every inch of sanity. Why can’t I speak?

“Frank,” he said tentatively, “The peroxide you drank… it severely damaged your vocal chords, and… I’m afraid that there is little to no chance that you will be able to speak again.” What. What did he mean? I couldn’t speak? No, this couldn’t be happening. Why didn’t I try to die with a greater poison or kerosene? Because I am an idiot that’s why, I mean, if I was going to kill myself I at least should have done it properly. Now I’m stuck here.

The doctor is still looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer he’s not going to hear. So I nod my head, and fix my eyes on the clock above my door. It read 36 seconds past 11:05 and since there were no windows I couldn’t tell whether it was night or day.

“Frank, are you with me?” the doctor asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face. My head immediately snapped up at the gesture, my eyes narrowing in response. I didn’t like it when people did that.

“How about we take you to the recreation room, so you can get to know the other patients hmm?” Oh. Wow. Yeah, just introducing myself to people like ‘Hi I’m Frank Iero and I can’t fucking talk.’ But I nod anyways and let him lead me out of my room; only to find out everything else in this fucking building white. I mean, would it kill them to add in a little colour? Ha, kill.

As we exit my room I suddenly feel like I’m being drowned with the colour white. I’m led through a white hallway with white people in white clothes and I just can’t help but notice a boy with black hair and pale skin. He was impossible to miss, I mean, he was screaming after all.

He was being led by two elderly’s to the room directly adjacent to mine, and I could still hear his screams even after they had thrown him into the room and locked the door; I could still hear him banging against the metal frame.

I must have zoned out as the next thing I know my elbow is being tugged in the direction we were originally heading towards; the recreation room. We come to a stop outside a white door, labelled ‘Recreation Room’. And the doctor turns to me, “Oh yes, how could I forget?” he says whilst slapping his forehead with his left hand, “I’m Doctor Bryar, although I prefer Bob.” He smiled in a way that I suppose was intended to seem reassuring, but I was only worrying about the fact that I couldn’t answer with some sassy remark, so I settle with raising an eyebrow at the man with blue eyes, sorry; its Bob. Blue eyed Bob. Man I’m lame.

“Anyways, this is where we go our separate ways Frank, you spend some time in here and a nurse will be sent to collect you within half an hour.”

I only nod, seeing as I didn’t really have any other choice.

It’s been exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds since Doctor Bryar left and I haven’t moved from my position in the back of the room since. It was really boring in here, but the good news was that the couch in here was a faded brown; and I had decided it was my new favourite colour. It was better than white.

I feel eyes on me, and I suddenly look up to see the same boy from earlier staring at me from across the room. He’s drawing something that I can’t see. They must have let him out. I hope he’s not too crazy, I don’t particularly feel like being stabbed to death with a pencil today. I start to wonder how long he’s been there when it suddenly occurs to me that he’s still staring, and I’m staring back. It feels like some sort of staring match, but all too soon he is looking back down at his paper and drawing again. I guess I win.

I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him, he’s mesmerizing. The way he constantly pushes loose strands behind his ear only to have them fall back into his face seconds later, the way he bites his lip as he concentrates, and the way he stares at me like I’m the only person in the room. He was intriguing to say the least.

Suddenly he stands up and leaves the room with one of the elderly’s from before, but I notice that he left his drawing behind and quickly get up to grab it and return it to him. But as I lift it from the table with my thumb and index finger to get a better look, I feel the colour drain from my face.

The drawing was of me.