Chapter 1 - Damon Henderson, the infamous lost cause

Two hours of group therapy every day.

It took a few seconds for my brain to register what she had said; the amount of lithium they’d got me on was really f*****g with my brain.

Two hours of group therapy every single miserable day. Like, seriously? What the f**k were they hoping to do with that?

“So Damon, is there anything in your bag that we should know about? Anything that could be used to harm yourself or others?”  The nurse I was currently sat opposite the table from seemed like she would be the one to offer fake sympathy if something bad happened; I almost laughed at the thought of her trying to console me.

I sighed and shook my head, never fulfilling her wish for eye contact.

There’s another prime example why this place makes me want to put a noose around my neck and swing from the door-frame; the doctors and nurses seem to always yearn for eye contact with me. Yeah, some places are different than others but they’re pretty much all the same and that infuriates me more than it should.

 

“I know you must be sick and tired of answering these questions but it’s precautionary.” The nurse smiled sympathetically and I had to painfully smile back despite the sudden urge to grimace and roll my eyes at her.

 

She paused and turned back around to face me, raising one eyebrow she said- “Not much of a talker, are you?” This time I actually did roll my eyes and averted my gaze to the draw which was labelled ‘confiscated’ in messy handwriting done with presumably a board marker. I wondered how many pencil sharpener razor blades were in there from the over dramatic emo kids who thought that their pocket was a good enough hiding place.

 

“Well…It seems like you’re okay to go in now, Pete here will guide the way,” The nurse said, a hint of flirtation in her voice which made me have to fight the need to gag. It was disgusting.

 

‘Pete’ buzzed open the door and waited for me to gather my stuff, I grabbed my black backpack and strolled swiftly into the main area.

 

The common room was the same as every single other one I’d been to, white and smelled of antiseptic. I’m not saying antiseptic is a bad smell, it’s just so pristine that it’s not even normal. I spotted a group of about four boys around my age sat at a round table playing what I presumed to be poker.

 

At the sound of the main door slamming shut, the laughter came to a halt and the four boys turned to the source sharply. I kept my calm cool and continued to look over to them; the tension in the air grew thick as the boy I’d averted my eyes to cowered slightly. I smirked, satisfied at their reaction and followed Pete into the hallway.

 

“This is your room, kid.” He grinned, pushing the door open to reveal a light blue room. Well, at least it wasn’t white. I nodded thanks to him and dropped my bag onto one of the two beds; both beds had white sheets on them which were kind of depressing to look at.

 

“You’ll be sharing a room with Evan, he’s the blonde haired kid out there. Lunch is at 3 and group starts at 1, don’t be late.” Pete winked before twirling out the door and shoving it shut. There was something about this Pete guy that I liked, he seemed chill compared to the Britney Spears type people in here.

 

I scoffed and threw my various pairs of jeans and shirts into the wardrobe next to the bed; it wasn’t like I would be here for long anyway. Flopping down onto the bed, I remembered just how uncomfortable they were. It was like lying on f*****g concrete, I bet prisons have better beds than this.

 

I closed my eyes and sighed before the door opening jolted me into sitting up. A kid with blonde hair was frozen in the doorway, it was the kid I had basically eye murdered in the common room. He looked about my age, if not younger; the poor kid looked f*****g terrified.

 

I mean, I’m not exactly the scariest of people. I’ve got jet black hair and light blue eyes, I’m nothing special. I wouldn’t say I’m bad looking, but I’m not overly great looking in my opinion.

 

As narcissistic as it sounds, I can get basically any girl I want; but I don’t want them. Okay, before you even think about that, I’m not gay. I’m completely one hundred percent straight, I like girls end of story. It’s just, I’m not really that fussed about having a girlfriend. I’ve never been the cuddly type; I don’t think I could stomach it.

 

This stand of between this blonde kid and me went on for a good two minutes before he cleared his throat and shuffled into the room awkwardly. He smiled half-heartedly but it never quite reached his eyes, I found it in myself to friendly smile back. At this, the kid sighed and became visibly less tense.

 

“Uh, hey " my names Evan…” He spluttered out, he sounded like he was talking to some sort of royalty; I chuckled which caused him to tense up again.

 

“Damon.” I replied bluntly, slumping back into my former position on the bed. That was the first word I’d said since I got here, I wish it could have been something cooler like ‘Howdy’

 

“Cool name…” Jesus Christ this kid took awkward to a whole new level, I actually felt f*****g sorry for him now and it’s physically impossible for me to feel sorry for people.

 

I didn’t reply to his comment, he eventually gave up on waiting for me to respond and wearily sat on his bed; I could feel his eyes burning into my skull. It kind of made me want to ask him what the f**k he was staring at but I had a feeling he would start crying or something.

 

“You’re not one of the mute kids are you?” Evan sighed, running a hand through his spikey blonde hair.

 

I thought about his question for a few seconds before sitting up again and facing the kid " “Nah,” I shrugged, aimlessly looking through my bedside table for something to do; I found an open bible and it made me wonder who put it there. I think I just quoted an emo band.

 

“Haha, good.” Evan laughed quietly; he seemed a little more comfortable now. In a way, I was glad. I wasn’t looking forward to sharing a room with someone who pissed their pants every time I f*****g breathed.

 

“So uh, if you don’t mind me asking…” I already knew what he was going to ask me. “Why’re you in this place?” He seemed cautious and raised an eyebrow as I made eye contact with him. I mockingly raised my eyebrow and he chuckled.

 

“Why don’t you answer it, then I’ll consider.” I sighed, crossing my left ankle onto my right knee and rubbing my face with my hands.

 

“Depressed Bipolar, anxiety.” He shrugged, this kid seemed okay. A hell of a lot better than my last roommate, the schizophrenic who tried to convince me that he was Jesus. Man, he almost sent me insane. 

 

“Hm,” I hummed, examining my fingernails. “And why are you in here? Surely they can give you meds and send you on your way.” I questioned, he began to look uncomfortable and look around the room.

 

“Oh well uh, I tried to kill myself.” He mumbled quietly, I still heard him whether he liked it or not. Nodding my head, I looked into the mirror and ran my hand through my spiked black hair.

 

“So…you gonna answer?” Evan spoke up, being sure to get my attention. I turned around and tilted my head at him; this kid really didn’t give up. I honestly didn’t feel like standing there and reading him my rap sheet.

 

Okay, that just makes me sound like a fugitive.

 

“O-okay then…” Evan muttered under his breath and started to aimlessly look around the room again. Is that something he does when he’s nervous? Why the f**k is he nervous?

 

“How old are you?” He asked after a few seconds of silence, what was this, twenty f*****g questions?

 

I was calmly strolling around the small room, rummaging through the draws which were presumably mine as they were empty.

 

“Fifteen.” I decided to reply this time just so the kid didn’t have a mental breakdown, I don’t need a hysterical roommate on my first day.

 

“Awesome, I’m turning fifteen in a few weeks.” Evan replied cheerily, I chuckled and lay back down onto my bed. I looked at the clock opposite my bed and saw that it was almost 1, almost time for f*****g group therapy.

 

“We’ve gotta go to group soon, here, I’ll show you the way.” Evan offered, standing up from his bed looking hopeful. I curtly nodded and followed him out of the room.

 

Probably the only think I like about this place is that we can wear our own clothes, as long as we’re not on suicide watch or something. The last hospital I was at made us wear light grey sweats, plimsolls and a white t-shirt, it sucked. I have nothing against dressing in sweats; I just prefer not to look like I’m part of Young Money.

 

 

I’ve always hated group therapy, and therapy for that matter. However, one on one therapy is a little more tolerable. I don’t see the point in sitting with a load of dramatic teenagers talking about their problems, like that’s gonna help me. In fact, I’m starting to think that nothing can help me; not really.