The Fever Becomes My Home

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Andy sat criss-cross applesauce on his seat, hands holding his ankles as he rocked side to side in time with the sounds of the clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Everyone else in the group paid no mind to his odd movement, paying attention to whoever it was that was sharing their sap story. Andy kept his head down. He didn't like people looking at him. It made him anxious- constantly worrying they were critiquing every flaw and feature. His black hair hung like a curtain over his face, concealing it from view. Nevertheless, the group therapist still acknowledged his presence every single Monday morning and included him in the sharing- or at least, she tried to.
Everyone here knew his name, but they also knew him as the schizoid, the overly-paranoid kid who saw shadows that weren't there and heard voices that didn't exist anywhere but in his head. He was misunderstood... Nobody understood.
It wasn't his fault.
He couldn't help that he was how he was- but it wasn't all in his head! The shadows, the voices... Right? Or was he really as crazy as they say?
Andy continued his steady rocking, ignoring everything but the clock.
"Andrew? Do you have anything you'd like to share?" The group therapist asked gently. Andy stopped rocking and scoffed dryly.
"Does anybody care?"
The therapist let out a heavy sigh and Andy heard the click of her pen.
"That's enough for today.... Please wait to be escorted to your rooms." She said as she stood, standing in the back and watching all the patients as they were escorted out by orderlies. Andy felt his nurse touch his shoulder and stood, walking to his room without lifting his head. He sat on his bed and looked around.
When he first moved into the facility, his room was a dull grey, with paint chipping off the wall and boring door frame. The floor was a creaky wooden one that he had covered with rugs. The once depressing walls were filled with pictures and posters, ripped out comic book pages; nearly all of them were of Batman. He never used the blinding ceiling light, either. Instead, he used one of those lamps with the different color shades, and he could have only a few one or all of them at once. They were much more soothing and calmer than the other light... Since he wasn't a patient with a severe self-inflicted injury history, he was trusted to have pens and markers and paper.
Andy was allowed to eat in the solitude of his room, he was allowed to have an iPod... But he wasn't sure if it was because he was trusted, or if it was because he was pitied. Andy had been in the mental facility for a long time now, he had seen almost every type of mental patient there was. He watched people come and go, and sometimes seeing people return made him feel a little better. He didn't like the thought that he'd be stuck there forever. If they could get better, than he should be able to, too.
So.. Why couldn't he?
The question had been in Andy's mind for the first few years of his stay until he finally realized he was probably doomed to stay forever. Schizophrenia wasn't curable.
You could improve it, you can prescribe meds, and the average schizoid would do just handy-dandy in the real world but Andy couldn't.
No, Andy's condition was special.
It wasn't just schizophrenia. It was Schizoaffective Disorder.
Thatmeant he had schizophrenia and another major 'mood disorder,' as the doctor would tell him. Andy suffered from Post Traumatic Stress disorder, or PTSD. That caused most of his hallucinations, to be honest, but he would never admit it.
He would never admit that what happened happened.
After all... He was just a kid... He was too young to be wasting away, a victim to his own mind...
Oh, how Andy had wished it was just the schizophrenia that affected him. If it was, he'd only have to maybe see a counselor every now and then, take daily medication and doctor visits and such.
His PTSD was the real problem. The things that happened back then haunted him, from waking up in the morning to going to bed at night and all through out his restless slumber.
Andy could hardly look at his father, let alone any man for that matter, without bursting into tears and having one of his episodes.
He was trapped inside of his own mind.

Andy held his ankles in his hands again, legs crossed over one another and held up to his chest. The tears brimmed in his eyes as he stared at the foot of his bed, trembling violently.
"Andrew?" the soft voice of his nurse, Elizabeth, echoed in his head. Was he in a dream? Or was he awake? He could respond, he couldn't even fully register her presence. "Andy, honey, you're okay. You're safe." She touched his shoulder.
Andy opened his mouth to say something along the lines of 'okay,' but instead out came a heartwrenching sob. "He won't go away!" he sobbed, the words run together and messy. His eyes were bloodshot already, staring at the figure in the corner of his room. Andy could hear his voice, he really could! It was clear as day. But no one ever believed him...
He jolted, feeling a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped to the side to look.
"Andy... He's not here." Elizabeth had knelt by his bed, her gentle green eyes sending a wave of reassurance over him. "Did you take your medication this morning?"
Andy swallowed, throat dry and stinging a little, and shook his head. Elizabeth sighed and stood up.
"Wait here, ok? I'll be back in a minute." She said gently and left the room, returning moments later with the small pills and capsules and a small dixie cup with cool water. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding out her hands. Andy obediently swallowed the pills dry and then chased them down with the water. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths as he thought of his favorite things, a trick his mom taught him as a kid. She always told him that if he was scared, to squeeze his eyes shut and think of happy things... He had done just that ever since.
"Better?" Elizabeth murmured, brushing his hair back. Andy nodded silently, handing her the cup. He exhaled through his mouth, lips forming a tiny 'o.' Elizabeth smiled and stood. "Good. Oh, and before I forget, there's going to be a new intern starting tomorrow, but don't worry. I'm sure you'll love him."
Andy immediately tensed. Him. Elizabeths face fell and she knelt down again.
"Oh, sh, honey, I'm sorry. I know how you feel about that, I didn't mean to scare you." She apologized, rubbing his back. "Sh... I promise it's gonna be ok. He's a nice boy, I promise. Nothing like your father, ok? I promise."
Andy nodded and laid down on his side, looking at his wall. With a small sigh, Elizabeth stood.
"I'll see you in a bit, Andy." She said softly, going to the door. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
Andy squeezed his eyes shut and listen to her footsteps retreat as the question suddenly came back into his thoughts.
Why couldn't he get better?