You can call me H.
Huh. “Well, it's nice to officially meet you, H. I honestly don’t know if you’re in my head or what at this point. I must be going insane.”
I am as real as you are. I am as real as Mackenzie.
“That’s not frightening,” I mumble, grabbing my tray from the lady behind the counter. Today, the oatmeal is a little less burnt, a little more edible. I smile at her gratefully, and she passes over an apple. It’s not as fresh as the others, but it’s far better than I’ve been getting. “Thank you,” I tell her, sighing in relief. Today, at least, I won’t starve.
There are visibly less people in the cafeteria today, and I wonder if it’s for a reason or because people just don’t want to eat breakfast. I don’t really know. I’m taking a seat at an empty table in the back when Kenzie and Mitzy walk in. My eyes zero in on the blonde as she scans the room. When she sees me, a tiny smile curls her lips, but she doesn’t come over right away. She pulls Mitzy toward the line to get food, and I look back down at the plate in front of me, slowly picking out the pieces of oatmeal too far gone to eat.
“How’s it going, FG?” Kenzie asks a few minutes later as she slaps her tray down on the table. I don’t even react to the sound, an oddity, considering stuff like this used to make me jump. Now, it’s like my muscles don’t perceive any sort of threat. I haven’t been surprised for a while.
“My food is edible today,” I reply proudly, looking up at her. The memories of the night before come crashing back when I meet her eyes, and I itch to reach out toward her. But there are still rules here, and I’m supposed to be in this place to figure out what’s wrong with me. I’m certainly not supposed to be developing a strong fascination with Kenzie.
“You’re making progress,” she grins, taking a bite out of her own fresh apple. “Soon, you’ll be one of the crazies and getting a five-star meal.”
Claim her now.
“Shut up.”
“What was that?” Kenzie narrows her eyes.
“Not you. Sorry.” I glance around, and when no one is close by, I tell her. I lower my voice, though just in case. “The voice is more talkative today.”
“Oh?” Kenzie sets her apple down and turns fully toward me. “Well, tell him I say hello.”
Mine, H growls. Tell her she will never know another lover but us. Tell her that her neck is glorious.
“I’m not saying that.”
“What did he say?” Kenzie’s eyes are twinkling, like she’s enjoying this far too much.
“Uh. . .”
Tell her.
“He says you have a glorious neck.”
And the other!
I keep my lips shut. I’m not telling her that, not in a cafeteria of all places.
Mitzy laughs and scoops a spoonful of perfect oatmeal into her mouth. Kenzie’s own grin stretches her face, completely amused with my discomfort. “Well, thank you, mysterious voice.”
“His name is apparently H now,” I add, rolling my eyes. Even the name feels far too dramatic for my liking, and the H is probably short for something weird. I’m gonna be really amused if his name turns out to be Harold.
“FG and H,” Kenzie muses. “I like it.”
“I don’t wanna go to group therapy today,” Mitzy comments, biting viciously into a muffin.
“Wait. What’s group therapy?” I drop the spoon I’d been holding and stare at them in confusion.
“Didn’t you read your welcome packet?” Kenzie raises her brow at me. “Probably should have done that. There’s all kinds of helpful shit in there.” She turns toward Mitzy and points a finger accusingly. “And you, you don’t have to go. You like going because of the drama.”
Mitzy snorts and shrugs. She doesn’t even bother denying it.
“I . . .,” I trail off. No, I haven’t read the packet. I don’t even know where I put it at this point. Was it in my room? Did I leave it in the therapist's office? Hell, I’d already forgotten I was here for a reason. I’m supposed to be focused on getting a diagnosis and then getting the hell out of here, not acclimating. I certainly shouldn’t be caring about another patient who admits she’s never leaving.
We will give her back her freedom.
That’s all good and dandy, I think, but the voice in my head is seriously misguided if he thinks we can just walk her out of this place. They might not let me out if I can’t keep my head on straight.
“Group therapy is as terrible as it sounds, by the way,” Kenzie adds. “You’re gonna love it.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” I’m not a fan of intrusive questions. Maybe since I’m the new guy I’ll catch a break.
Breakfast goes by far too fast for my liking. We finish our food in comfortable silence, the soft murmur of the other patients filling the room. It would almost be calming if it wasn’t for the soft bite of insanity within the murmur. I never knew insanity could have a sound, or a feeling, but Whisperwood holds it within its walls. I already hate this place. I can’t imagine how Kenzie feels after being here for so long.
Kenzie leads me out of the cafeteria and to the common area. Usually, there are small tables and chairs spread out around the room. Today, all the tables are pushed against the walls and the chairs are set up in a large circle. It doesn’t look big enough to fit all the patients.
“Is this mandatory for everyone?” I ask, glancing toward Kenzie. She looks so utterly bored with the situation I have to wonder how many group therapies she’s been through; how many times has she sat in this very circle?
“Only those that it could help have to come. Most of the time, residents can get it written off if they’re too far gone or if it causes more harm than good. Mitzy got written off years ago, but she enjoys listening in the circle. No one ever calls on her anymore, though.”
“They haven’t written you off?”
“I’ve begged the therapist to let me off, but the damn woman insists it helps me. I don’t have the heart to tell her it doesn’t.” She smiles at me. “Since you’re here voluntarily, it’s mandatory for you, FG.”
“Joy.”
We take the chairs closest to the windows and wait for the rest of the patients to stumble in. Most of them don’t look happy to be here. Some look downright pissed. Already, my anxiety is funneling into my veins. I’ve never been someone who likes having the spotlight on them. I have a bad feeling this is going to really fuck with my calm.
The clicking of high heels alerts everyone as Dr. Yoon strides into the room, a notebook in her hands and a pen between her fingers. She smiles warmly at each of us as she takes the empty seat that everyone apparently knew to leave for her. I suppose this is another pattern. Everyone knows what to expect when they come to these things. Except for me, because I’m the idiot who didn’t read the welcome packet.
“Weird,” Kenzie mutters under her breath. “Yoon doesn’t usually lead group therapy.” She seems less than pleased to see the doctor.
“Good morning, everyone. It’s nice to see you all ready. Before we begin, I’d like to start off this session with each of you going around the circle and introducing yourselves.”
Just like school, apparently. I try not to let that bother me, but I hated school with a vengeance.
Beside me, Kenzie shoots me finger guns and winks before addressing the circle. “I’m Kenzie, but you guys know that already.”
Everyone shifts to look at me. “Uh, I’m Crane.”
“Welcome, Crane,” everyone chants, and it sends goosebumps along my arms. Jesus, has no one told them group synchronization makes it feel like we’re in the The Shining? Or maybe Alcoholics Anonymous, I’m not sure which would be worse. They do it on cue and at the same time. It’s unnerving.
When everyone finishes introducing themselves–mainly for my benefit, I presume–Dr. Yoon addresses us again. “Now that we’re all acquainted, is there anyone who has something they’d like to get off their chest?”
Kenzie shifts in her seat but doesn’t raise her hand. An o
lder man on the opposite side raises his but doesn’t wait to be called on.
“I hate the way everyone judges me with their eyes,” he says, glancing around the circle.
“Do you feel judged?” Dr. Yoon asks, scribbling on her notepad.
I tune out the rest of the conversation, already mentally checking out. I can tell right away I won’t be a fan of group therapy days.
“Crane.” Dr. Yoon’s voice draws me from my deep musings of nothing at all, and I look up at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if there was anything you would like to add?”
“No.” The word is clipped in my haste to get out of the limelight, but either Dr. Yoon doesn’t notice, or she doesn’t care.
“Why don’t you tell us what brought you here?” Her calm voice ticks me off, but I try to keep myself relaxed. It probably wouldn’t be a good thing if I let my anger get the better of me now.
“I’d rather not.”
“Then can you tell us where you’re from?”
“Elmsford. The City” I stare at her in confusion. This information should be in my folder.
“When’s your birthday?”
“October eighteenth.” Wait, that’s not right. My birthday is in May, but I don’t have time to correct myself.
“And what year?”
I open my mouth. I should say 1987, but instead, the date 1770 comes to mind. What the fuck? “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Just common procedure, Mr. Woodward. Can you tell me what your profession is?”
“Can you move onto someone else please?” My skin buzzes with anger, and I try my best to stamp it down, but it doesn’t seem to work. My fingers clench in the material of my pants. Kenzie glances down at it, but she doesn’t speak.
“That isn’t how group therapy works, Mr. Woodward. If you’ll just answer the questions, I can move on.”
“I don’t want to answer your stupid questions anymore,” I growl. I don’t mean to, but my voice comes out far deeper than I intended.
Punish. Kill. Kill. Kill.
I grit my teeth against the words echoing inside my skull. H is getting clearer, but I also feel like his emotions are beginning to take over. It's like he really is his own person. I can’t control the anger filling my veins. I can’t stop the red haze that slams down over my eyes.
“What is your profession?” the doctor asks again, her demeanor still calm even as I visibly grow more tense.
“I’m a punisher,” I snarl, standing up. Kenzie gasps but she doesn’t move away.
“Crane,” she hisses under her breath, but I don’t react. I can’t.
“Mr. Woodward sit down. It’s a simple question.”
“And I told you I’m done answering them.” The voice that comes from between my lips isn’t mine anymore. H takes over, and it should be terrifying but instead, I revel in it. There’s a strength filling me as he takes the reins, as my vision goes completely red. I don’t know how it happens, but I have my chair in my hands and raised over my head before I know it. What do I intend to do with it? Beat the doctor over the head? That thought sobers me just barely enough to hear Kenzie’s words get through.
“Crane! Sit the fuck down! This is therapy, not WWE!”
I stumble, the chair slipping from my fingers and clanking against the linoleum floor.
“What?” I manage, and my voice sounds normal again.
“Just answer the damn question. Smile and look pretty.” Kenzie stares at me. There’s no judgement in her eyes, no condemnation, but still my face flames. Why the fuck was I angry in the first place? Where had it even come from?
“Crane,” Dr. Yoon sighs, peering at me over her thick-rimmed glasses. “If you’re done, will you please take a seat, so we can move on?”
My eyes flit to the corners of the room, noticing the orderlies have all taken a few steps closer to the circle of chairs. With a heavy sigh of my own, I kick the metal chair back into the upright position in one fluid movement and sink down onto the hard seat.
Dr. Yoon clears her throat and scribbles something on her clipboard. “Where were we? Oh,” she mumbles, slipping the pen into the clip at the top as she meets my eyes. “What’s your profession?”
“I’m a soldier,” I hiss, crossing my legs and avoiding her eye contact. My brow crinkles at the same time hers lifts and I hold up my hand. “Wait, no, I’m sorry. I’m a pathologist.”
No, I’m a soldier.
I grind my teeth, trying to resist the urge to answer H out loud. I am not about to show Dr. Yoon how crazy I am. The smallest pressure on my leg draws my attention away from Dr. Yoon and back to Kenzie. Her hand only brushes against my thigh for a moment, but the small touch is enough to center me.
She will love us when we are restored to our full glory.
Dr. Yoon clears her throat again, and my eyes snap up to hers, a growl in my throat.
“Thank you for cooperating, Crane. I know group therapy can seem awkward and intimidating at first, but it’s a very useful tool. I hope you take full advantage of it while you’re here with us.”
For however long that’ll be. I chew the inside of my cheek to keep myself from speaking the words, and I’m genuinely relieved when Yoon’s studious gaze turns from me to some other poor soul.
Her head would look great on my saddle.
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 10
Kenzie
Staring into my mirror, I blow a puff of air up at my hair in frustration. I have this silly need to make myself look cute for movie night tonight. My fingers still in the stringy blonde mess when I hear someone at my door.
“Kenzie?” a small voice calls out.
I rush out of the bathroom and pull Mitzy into the room with a smile. “Hey, girl,” I snicker. “I’m almost ready.”
“Why would you have to get ready for a movie?” she groans, falling backward onto my bed as I disappear into the bathroom again. “It’s supposed to be Narnia tonight. Danny told me; he has spies.”
I turn from side to side in the mirror and realize Mitzy is right. There’s no need to get ready for the movie. It’s not like Crane and I will be able to have any real alone time there anyway. But I know he’s going to be there, and I want to look cute. He’s so effortlessly handsome, and I want to match that energy, but this is as good as it’s going to get. I toss my hair over my shoulder and stroll back into the bedroom, my eyes falling on Mitzy.
“Narnia is a good one. We’ve only seen it twelve hundred times, maybe we won’t be able to quote the whole damn thing.”
“I do like the lion,” she whispers, sitting up to meet my eyes.
“I know.” I smile at her and hold my hand out, waiting for her to take it. Mitzy is like the little sister I never had. Even though she’s technically older than me, she’s much younger mentally. She takes my hand, and we quickly make our way down the hall and to the common area where the couches and chairs have already been arranged to resemble a movie theater. The dim lighting reserved for movie nights makes it hard to tell who is who as we weave in between bodies of people we know and people we could care less about.
“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out from short couch which has been dragged out from the reading nook. Crane waves his hand wildly in the air, and I shake my head.
Mitzy snorts. “He’s goofy for a spy.”
“He’s a fucking cheeseball. Come on.” Dragging her toward Crane, I force my breathing to slow. After the way he acted in group, I’m surprised Yoon and the director let him come to movie night, actually, but I suppose there are perks to being here voluntarily. My steps slow as we come closer to the couch and a sobering thought races through my mind.
Crane is getting out of here and I’m not.
“Are you okay?” Mitzy asks, squeezing my hand.
“What?” I blink, looking from her to the couch where Crane sits just a few feet away from us. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I spazzed.” I tug her toward
the couch and plop down in the middle seat, leaving enough room for Mitzy to sit however she wants. She’s a sprawler. I refuse to worry about Crane leaving. Besides, let’s be honest, the dude is crazy as fuck. They aren’t really going to let him out of here that easy. I can keep him.
Or I can make sure I can keep him easily. My mind replays all the times I’ve seen Crane act in ways that could cause Whisperwood to commit him: his head twitching slightly to the left every time he hears the voice, him growling about heads, him trying to turn group therapy into a WWE Celebrity Deathmatch. I may not have to actually do anything. Chances are, Yoon and the director will commit him on their own, but I could certainly help steer him in the right direction.
Crane’s hand slips over my knee, and I smile at him. “Hey there, FG.”
“Hey there yourself, Princess.” I don’t even cringe at the nickname this time. It’s become our normal, somehow. It’s like a little boy tugging on a girl’s hair because he likes her, it’s annoying, but cute at the same time.
We fall into a comfortable silence. The lights being dimmed gives us some privacy–well, as much privacy as we’re ever going to get in Whisperwood–so I make myself more comfortable. By the time the youngest child finds herself in Narnia, Crane’s arm is around my shoulder, and my head is leaning carefully against his neck with my legs stretched across his lap. Every few minutes, Mitzy claps or some other member of the crowd says something to the on-screen characters.
“I can’t believe he turned her in!” Mitzy hisses, slapping my arm. I can’t believe she’s still shocked by this plot. We’ve seen it fifty-eleven times, at least. But instead of saying anything, I just shake my head and laugh.
Crane’s silent chuckle rumbles against me, and I poke his stomach. “Hush, she really likes it.”
Head Case Page 8