"Will... Will you be my friend?"
The words of the young boy hung in the air, a surreal echo in the sterile white room. Matthew, holding the tray, tried to answer, but the room began to swim around him. The pills were kicking in. A soft, buzzing fuzziness blurred the edges of his vision, and the stark white of the walls bled into a sickening, bright yellow. A brilliant, blinding light bloomed behind the dripping boy, silhouetting his still, vacant form. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog, but it was useless. The tray slipped from his numb fingers, and he felt himself collapse to the ground, the darkness consuming him before he hit the floor.
"And then what happened?" a calm, female voice asked.
Matthew blinked. He was no longer on the floor of his room. He was in a different, more comfortable chair, the kind with thick, padded arms. The room was dim, the walls a calming shade of green. Soft music, a gentle hum of strings and piano, played from hidden speakers.
Across from him, a woman with warm brown eyes and a kind smile was seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a simple, unadorned lab coat, and her nametag read "Dr. Cornelius West." She held a small notebook in her hands, its pages filled with neat, spidery handwriting. She wasn't looking at him with the cold, predatory gaze of Dr. Sawyer, but with a gentle curiosity.
Matthew looked down at his hands. They were clean, dry. There was no sign of the spilled food or the broken tray. He shifted in the chair, a sense of disquiet settling in his stomach. "I... I just... blacked out," he said, his voice hoarse. "When I came to, he was gone."
She nodded slowly. "And you said you... saw this boy before?"
Matthew's brows furrowed. "Y-Yes. When they... when they injected me a day before."
He saw her make a note in her little book. "Matthew, what you're describing—seeing this boy, a figure no one else can see—is a hallucination. It's a symptom of the illness we're treating you for." She paused, her voice soft and reassuring. "We've talked about this."
Matthew's shoulders slumped. He knew. It was a cold, hard truth that had been drilled into him over and over, a label that explained every bizarre episode, every jumbled thought, every fragmented memory. "Y-yeah," he said, the word a flat, empty sound.
"The pills, Matthew, they don't just treat your mood swings or your paranoia. They manage the hallucinations. Without them, your mind is... unfiltered. It creates these visions to fill in gaps in your memory, to give you a story where there isn't one." Dr. West leaned forward slightly, her kind eyes fixed on his. "The boy you're seeing, the one you think you saw during your injection, he's a manifestation. He's a projection of your mind under stress."
Matthew shook his head, a knot of confusion and frustration tightening in his chest. "But... it felt so real. The water... he was dripping wet. I could feel the coldness when I saw him."
"Of course it felt real," she said, her voice laced with a gentle empathy. "That's how hallucinations work. They're not just images; they're full-sensory experiences. Your mind is trying to make sense of something it can't process, so it creates a vivid, tangible figure."
He sat in silence for a moment, the soft music of the room feeling more like a distant mocking chorus than a comfort. She was saying it was all in his head. The boy was in his head. The memories of hearing the cheers of the crowd, the feel of Seth's blood on his knuckles—all of it just a symptom? A sick, vivid lie his brain was telling him?
"What you experienced was a hallucinatory episode," Dr. West continued, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. "A direct result of you not taking your medication for so long. The pills you took... they helped your mind return to a stable state. The boy disappeared because your brain is now properly regulated." She smiled, a reassuring, professional smile. "You did the right thing, Matthew. Taking those pills was the first step to getting better."
Matthew didn't smile back. He felt a profound sense of disappointment, a sickening hollowness spreading through his chest. He looked at the soft green walls, the comfortable chair, and the kind woman across from him, and he wondered. Was it all just a lie? The memories were already beginning to feel less like facts and more like stories. The rage he had felt just moments before—the terror, the confusion—was now a distant echo. The pills had done their job.
"I think that's enough for today, Matthew," Dr. West said gently, her tone indicating that the session was over. She stood, and Matthew stood with her. "We'll continue our sessions. I'm sure we can figure out a way to cure you, stop these… episodes." She smiled warmly, a stark contrast to the cold, analytical glint in Dr. Sawyer's eyes. "For now, the most important thing is to take your medication. Do you understand?"
He nodded, a sense of weary defeat washing over him. "Yeah." He understood. He just wasn't sure if he believed it.
He left the room and walked down the long, sterile corridor. He could feel the familiar weight of the institution on his shoulders, but it was different now. The panic and fury had been replaced by a heavy, unsettling calm. He felt… placid. The rage and terror were gone, replaced by a quiet emptiness. The pills had not only dulled his senses, but they had also taken something from him. Something vital.
He passed a guard, who nodded at him with a respectful, almost friendly, smile. A feeling of dread washed over Matthew. He had seen this guard before. This was one of the men who had held him down, who had watched impassively as the needle was plunged into his neck. Yet, the man's smile was genuine. It was as if none of it had ever happened.
Matthew continued walking, his mind a quiet void. He thought of Jade, her terror, her plea. He thought of Dr. Sawyer, his accusations, his cold eyes. He thought of the boy, dripping wet, asking to be his friend. The memories were there, but they were muted, like a film with the volume turned down.
The feeling of dread grew, cold and sharp. He had just gone through an emotional, terrifying experience. He had discovered a new betrayal, a shocking truth about his own violence. He had seen a ghost. Yet, he felt nothing. He wasn't angry. He wasn't scared. He wasn't even confused. He felt… docile.
Matthew stopped and leaned against the white wall, his eyes shut. He opened them and looked down at his hands, watching them tremble.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Matthew flinched, his heart leaping into his throat. He spun around, his mind racing to conjure a threat, but his eyes met the familiar, kind face of Anthony.
"Hey, Matt, you okay?" Anthony asked, his voice low and concerned. He was inches taller than Matthew, lanky kid with shaggy brown hair and a smile that seemed perpetually out of place in the somber, sterile halls of the institution. He, too, was a patient here, a victim of his own mind's betrayals. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Matthew just stared at him, his mind a quiet void. Anthony was a fellow inmate of this mental institution, a friend, a kindred spirit in this bizarre existence. "Y-yeah," Matthew stammered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm fine, just... tired."
Anthony's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You don't look fine. You went quiet after your session with Dr. West. How'd it go?"
"Oh you know, sane old, same old. Just another episode of hallucinations."
Anthony's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, man. That's rough." He clapped Matthew on the shoulder again, a comforting gesture that felt like a painful reminder of his lack of control. "But that's what the pills are for, right? To help us get better."
Matthew nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Anthony's face. "Yeah," he mumbled, his voice flat.
"Well, lunch is in fifteen," Anthony said, his tone turning more upbeat. "Let's go see what's on the menu, today." He gave Matthew a gentle shove in the direction of the cafeteria. "And who knows... might get your chance with that girl."
"Right... the girl." Matthew said in thought as the words of Anthony, a beacon of hope in this gray world, were a stark contrast to the sterile halls and hushed conversations that defined this place. Matthew's mind, a placid lake of forced calm, rippled with the mention of her. The girl. The one who haunted his waking thoughts and occupied the space between his dreams and his reality. A subtle warmth, a fragile tendril of emotion that the pills hadn't quite managed to extinguish, spread through his chest.
"Didn't know her name..." His inner voice, a whisper in the quiet expanse of his mind, began to describe her. "...She was just 'THE GIRL.'"
"She wasn't like Jade or Chloé or any of those hot, weird narcissists, no she was a complete mystery. Seen her sooo many times and never once spoken. Compared to the rest, she was perfection, all angles and soft curves, a gaze of a fearless spirit that should also should be drawing in people but i guess they all too insane to noticr. Her hair, a shade of crimson, a fiery contrast to the dull gray uniform. It was long, going past her shoulders and was a cascade of waves. Oh, and sometimes, when she's just lost in thought, sitting alone by her table, she would just tuck a stray strand behind her ear and just make my heart ache wuth tenderness, such a simple gesture with a huge effect.
And... MY. GOD. Her eyes, a clear blue sky just before dusk—a cerulean so deep and profound it felt like looking into an endless sea."
"Huh... Never seen her smile before, well, not a genuine one."
"Hey!" Anthony's voice snapped through Matthew's thoughts. "There you go again. Zoning out in a middle of a convo... again, Matthew."
Matthew blinked, the familiar cafeteria buzzing around him. The clatter of trays, the drone of hushed conversations, the smell of lukewarm mystery meat—it was all a dull, predictable reality. He was sitting at their usual table, a tray already in front of him. The food was a familiar, unappetizing sight: a gloppy pile of what looked like mashed potatoes, a piece of dry chicken, and a cup of water. He stared at it, a faint sense of confusion lingering at the edges of his pill-dulled mind.
"Huh, when did we...?" he began, his voice flat, but Anthony cut him off with a sly grin.
"There she is," Anthony said, his eyes flicking past Matthew. He nudged Matthew's arm with his elbow. "The girl. Your mystery girl."
"There she is indeed," Matthew said in thought as his head turned, his gaze following Anthony's. The girl. She sat alone at a table across the room, her crimson hair a streak of fire against the muted gray of her uniform. Matthew and Anthony watched as she picked at her food, a small, solitary figure in the noisy cafeteria. Matthew's breath caught in his chest. The dull ache of the pills and the sterile calm of his mind were momentarily forgotten, replaced by a fragile, fluttering warmth.
He found himself staring, completely captivated. He had seen her countless times, a silent fixture in the monotony of his days, but he had never truly understood the effect she had on him. She was an anomaly, a splash of vibrant color in a world of gray and white.
She caught their gaze, her clear blue eyes locking onto theirs for a brief, startling moment. Both boys looked away quickly, a flush of embarrassment creeping up their necks.
"Go talk to her," Anthony whispered, his voice low.
"No, now's... now's not the right time," Matthew said, the words feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.
"Not the right time?!" Anthony's voice was a low hiss of frustration. "You've said that a hundred times! Just go—"
"No," Matthew said, cutting him off, the word a flat, empty sound.
"Put on your big boy pants and talk to her."
Suddenly, a voice cut through the background noise of the cafeteria, a voice so clear and melodic it startled them both. "Hello."
!?
Both Matthew and Anthony's heads snapped up. Standing by their table, a slight smile playing on her lips, was the girl. His mind, still placid and empty from the pills, began to race, a new kind of panic bubbling up inside him. Is this real? Am I hallucinating again? Is this another trick?