Asylum

one

{Italics intended}

i know they'll be coming to find me soon; but my stockholm syndrome is in your room. yeah, i fell for you.
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{Four years ago}
"Daniel Howell?" the man calls from the front desk. Dan's mother nudges her sixteen year-old son and lets out an exasperated sigh when he doesn't budge. She yanks the earbuds out of his ears.

"Dan, come on. We need to find your room." she urges. Dan mumbles a string of curses and his mother gives him a look. He sighs and stands up from the chair. A nurse opens a door to a corridor that seems interminable. Just the sight of it makes Dan dizzy. He spares one last look at his mother before following the nurse down the hallway, knowing it'll be the last time he'll see the waiting room for five years.
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{Present day}
I groan and squint at the harsh sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds. I stumble out of bed and trudge down the half-empty hallway to the showers. A few of the older patients greet me cheerfully, but I roll my eyes.
It's like this every morning. You didn't get a reply from me four years ago, and you sure as hell aren't getting one today.

After my shower, I make my way back to my room to get ready for the day. Here at St. Paul's Asylum for the Critically Insane, they believe in treating the patients just as if they were leading normal lives. That means
getting 'jobs' and paying monthly 'taxes' consisting of Monopoly money that they earn from their 'jobs'.
Luckily for me, I work at the library shelving books, so that meant I don't have to talk to anyone except the librarian.

I walk to the library where the librarian, Miss Nettie greets me cheerfully.

"Hullo, Dan, dear!" I smiled; she was one of the only tolerable people that was here in this hell-hole.

"Hey Miss Nettie. Any books that need shelving?" I ask. She gestured to the stack of books piled by her desk. I gather the stack into my arms and grunt as I hobble over to the book cart.

"Thank you dear!" Miss Nettie calls after me. I push the cart to the romance section and begin to look for the Sarah Dessen books.

"Sarah... Sarah Dessen..." I mumble. I stick my head farther into the bookcase to get a better look.

"Need any help?" barks a chirpy voice from behind. I jump and hit my head on the roof of the shelf.

"Sh-" I drawl but I catch myself when I see a smartly dressed man standing before me.
"Sharp suit." I say. The stranger laughs, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

"Nice save. I don't think Miss Nettie would appreciate cursing in here." The stranger teases. I blush and turns back to the shelf to inspect the roof for damage. When I look back up again, the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

"That's odd.." I whisper.
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After my shift, I went back to my room to get some rest before my daily doctor's appointment. On my way back, I heard two nurses whispering something about a new doctor. New doctor? Thank heavens! Dr. West kept trying to diagnose me as an insomniac no matter how many times I told the doctor I wasn't.

When I got back to my room, I flop down on my bed and pull out my phone, one of the two luxuries I am allowed here in the mental house. I had four missed calls from my mother and six messages from her as well. I haven't spoken to my mother since the day she forced me to come to this dump just for being gay. My parents are big homophobes who thought all homosexuals should burn in Hell. Instead of disowning me like I thought she would, she shipped me halfway across England without a second glance.

My friends tried to contact me as often as they could, which was once or twice a year if I was lucky they remembered. It wasn't easy; having to spend almost half a decade in a place that always reeked of sadness and loneliness. I am one of the youngest patients at St. Paul's; all the others were old people dumped here by their children who got tired of babysitting them.

I groan and delete the phone calls and texts from my phone. My mother whines like a goat, the way she's acting like she cares. I looks over at my bedside clock: 4:17. I get up and grimace when I step on the plugin for my phone charger. I limp over to my shoes and slip them on gingerly before walking briskly down the hallway to the elevator. I make it just before the doors close and squeeze in between a visiting family with two teenage daughters. The older one shamelessly looks me up and down before speaking.

"Are you visiting your grandparents?" she asks in a voice that's just oozing with fake sweetness. I scoff.

"No. I'm a patient here." I answer truthfully; I've got nothing to hide. Her eyes widen greedily; obviously thinking I'm some bad boy in here for doing drugs outside of school.

"Why are you in here for, then?" she asks, leaning forwards. I smile cheekily before answering.

"Being gay." I answer simply. Her mouth drops in embarrassment and I step out of the now open elevator doors. I erupt into giggles once the elevator doors close and walk down the hallway to the doctor's office. It still looks the same except for the sign on the door has been changed. It now reads "Dr. Lester". I push the door open and the secretary looks up.

"Can I help you, Mr. Howell?" she asks.

"Yeah; I have an appointment for 4:25 today." She nods and types something into her computer.

"Ahh. Yes, 4:25. Go right ahead, love. It's the second door to your right. He's ready." The secretary replies without looking up. I push open the heavy oak door and walk into what I hope is the correct room. I lay down on the stereotypical couch for a therapist and close my eyes. A few moments later, the door opens and a tall man walks in. He's got his face hidden behind the clipboard he's holding.

"Hello. You must be Daniel Howell. I'm Dr. Lester, and I'll be your new doctor." He says while scratching things down. Dr. Lester lowers the clipboard. It's the stranger from the library.
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Word count: 1146
Hello everybody! This is the first chapter of my first ever Phan-fiction! Tell me what you think! I'll try to update as often as I can, but i may slack off from time to time.
Thanks for reading!

Kisses,
Hallie Lou