Chapter 1

(Grace's Pov)

It's been months...

No one cares...

They want me to speak...

I don't...

Has anyone come looking for me?...

No.

Hours feel like days in this place and there is nothing I can do about it. If I speak, i'm afraid I will tell. Get me into more trouble than I already am in. My pain...real pain...is never ending. Even when the problem is solved, there is always the memory that will remain. An image that can't be removed or sounds that replay continuously in my head...

Torture.

I have no home now. That place is gone. It is just a fragment of my imagination but the events inside it...they are what haunt me.

I don't know what I did to deserve this. I was never bad, I never smoked, did drugs or partied every weekend. I looked after my family when they needed me, we all loved each other. When the arguments occurred, they didn't last long and it would only be a matter of minutes, before we were all laughing and joking around again. They helped me with my dyslexia and I helped around the house.

Everyone believed I had a perfect life but if it was so perfect, why am I here? Why do I cry myself to sleep every night, wishing I'd done something? Why me?

I always believed in life that is anyone in my family was to get il, then it should have been me. I would have been able to fight it and win. I was strong enough to handle it but this...I can't handle this.

The second things started to get bad, I started cutting, drawing away the pain. I regret it. I always will but I was desperate. Desperate for the shouting to stop. Desperate for it to end...I suppose in a way it did. It just wasn't the happily ever after that your Disney hero's get.

Reality is different. Reality is cruel and judgemental. Reality is a b***h and reality doesn't give out happily ever afters. Even though I am safe here, I feel like things have only gotten worse. There's now a voice in my head, spouting bad things to me. Insulting me, telling me to kill myself already. I shout back. Tell the voice that she is wrong but every day it gets worse. Every day I start believing it that tiny bit more.

The doctors have now classed me as Schizophrenic and moved me to a new section of the ward. I have my own room and more therapy sessions which consist of them asking me questions, to which they never get an answer. They always tell me they know what I am going through which only makes me angrier. They know nothing.

If they had spent the last year of their lives from my point of view, then maybe they would but they didn't. So they don't

They can't judge.

They also believe, drugging me up every day will make a difference. If only they knew. Sometimes I believe, it only makes the voice angrier, resulting in me getting worse. They've knocked me out a couple of times to calm me down.

I don't know who is more scared me...or them.

The only time they hear my voice is when I tell the devil in my head to 'shut up and leave me alone' but is that truely me.

I've seen loads of people come in and out of this place. Kids who are suicidal or grown ups who have extreme phobia issues. Then there are others who have full anger issues and have attacked the doctors several times. Each case. I sit and watch intently from my corner of the room. 

I'm forced to join the others in the Reck room as they believe it will help me to communicate. Maybe I just don't want to. Some people sit and draw, others play games whilst I grip a book and keep myself to myself. I can imagine living the characters life and having fun but instead I am here. Dressed in white clothes, away from all freedom.

I know everyone in this place but they don't know me. They know i'm ill but they know nothing of me. I listen to each of their stories about their families and loved ones. How they come and visit, help them get better. Every now and again they bring a small smile to my face, only it falters when I think of my own life. Only how I wish someone was there for me.

No one comes looking for me but would they even know where to begin? I barely gave any details about myself to this place, so the only clues they would get, would be those from the news. I would have been the girl who just disappeared.

It's been months, they probably don't even question it anymore. Gave up when they found nothing. Gave up on me like i'm giving up on myself.

I never even got to say goodbye.

That's the hardest part.

Not just to my family but to my friends at school.

I had a few best friends, who I knew would always be there for me. I told them everything but that I have dyslexia. I never had the guts. I'm ashamed of it, I feel like it weakens me, makes me feel stupid. Lost. The feeling of never fitting in or being treated differently because your exactly that...

Different.

I trusted my friends but I didn't trust myself. Still don't. 

One name, one face always flickers across my mind. Danny.

The boy i've known since I was a baby. One of the only people who knows of my dyslexia because he walked in on a conversation between me and my mother. One of the very few people I trust.

He is my true best friend...no...he's more like my brother. Spent most of his time round my house or I was round his. He knew of the problems and promised to help. I still believe him. I'm glad he wasn't there that night. At least I know he is safe. Right now though...I need him. I wish he knew I was here, so he could help save me. If I had had the time to tell him where I was going, I would have. At least I know he could keep a secret. Come and comfort me at the worst times.

Maybe he is helping though...on the outside. Finding justice so I can be free.

I don't know how long this would take. It could be days or years until I know I am safe again.

I just want to be safe.

'Grace' My nurse Ms Rose said, knocking on my door. I turned my head towards her as she stepped inside. 'Time to go down to the Reck room.' She smiled sympathetically and I gave a small nod. 

I slowly stood up from my bed, before following her down the familiar corridor. I fiddled with my hands and sleeves of my jacket, feeling insecure. Other patients were appearing from their rooms, some with smiles, some bored and others showing no expression at all.

The older patients, those who have been here for a long time, sent me a small smile but not of sympathy...if luck. The type of smile that keeps my little happiness alive.

When we reached the Reck room, I shuffled over to the book shelf, repeating my daily routine. Today I picked up one of my favourite books, 'Kissed by an angel'. It gives me hope that maybe there is an angel by my side or who will come and protect me. I don't usually like smooshy romance but sometimes a little romance makes me happy. The characters make me smile and I like guessing what happens next.

I clutch the book to my chest and wander over to my chair away from everyone else. 

I start reading the book from where I last finished, pulling my legs up so I was curled up straight, resting the book on my thighs. As I read, I took in every word, enjoying the comfort. I was up to the part where her little brother is trying to convince her that angels do exists and that Tristan is her angel.

This is an amazing book but it doesn't anywhere near compare to the Harry Potter series. Those books are my dream. I would love to be a wizard, who wouldn't ?

Whilst reading, I vaguely hear some conversations people are having. A girl about 20 years old, called Maggie is talking with Reece who is slightly older, about music artists. I would be lying if I said I wasn't slightly jealous when they both said they had seen Ed Sheeran live. He is like my favourite artist and his songs make me cry.

Both Maggie and Reece arrived here about a week after me and I have tried to talk to me on several occasions. Even though I never reply, they still sit with me at lunch to keep me company which I think is sweet.

Maggie doesn't really talk about why she I here which is weird because she is the loudest out of all of us.

Reece has ADHD and his parents thought it would be safe to keep him here. They still visit though and he is actually a pretty funny guy.

It wasn't their conversation that got my attention though, it was another one between a group of adults in the middle of the room, playing scrabble.

'Have you seen the new boy yet?' One man asked.

'Yes, he is pretty good looking and I f I wasn't so old I would totally chat him up!' Another woman said. She was pretty crazy.

'I've heard he has quite a difficult issue to handle.'

Bunch of teenage gossips the lot of them.

Usually those conversations wouldn't bother me/ We are used to new patients coming in but it has been about a month since the last person, James, checked in. I was interested to know who the new person was.

'I heard that too. He's in therapy now for his first assessment.' A final man, who I think is called Steve, added.

Therapy is the worst but the assessments make them even more intimidating. It's basically where they decided what section to put you in, how much security you need and how drugged up you need to be.

I really don't know how people work in this place.

Especially  when they have to work with worthless people like you

Shut up

Never. No one likes you. Your a failure.

No i'm not!

you left them

I didn't.

Your the reason their are gone.

No.

It's all your fault!

"STOP IT"' I cried, placing my hands over my ears, dropping the book. The room became silent as all eyes focused on me. The voice backed away but I knew she would return.

My breathing was heavy but was slowing down as I rocked slightly. It took a minute for everyone to go back to what they were doing/ I stood up, frantically heading towards the book shelf and slamming the book back down, before running back to my room.

I needed to be alone.

Although it wouldn't last long and Ms Rose reminded me of that as I passed her in the corridor.

"Grace your therapy starts in 20 minutes."