for everything a reason

The boy sighed staring at the wall “oh look, another glorious morning. It makes me sick.” He said still staring at the wall before he heard someone behind him. He continued to stare at the cement.

Originally posted by keepawayfromthisgirl

"I feel like if you’re going to quote Hocus Pocus, you need to give it a bit more... pizzazz, you know?”

@zoe-bridgette continued from HERE

With a small nod of appreciation and a smile on his face he heard the redhead speak. It actually was a pretty fucking original idea for a costume. “Well at the same time I can’t take any pride in my costume~” He said taking a step back showing the full glory of his shit Mexican costume. Pieces picked up form fucking anywhere. The poncho actually coming from Cancun but the sombrero a shit thing which was probably made by the tiny hands of children in Taiwan and the mustache from some kind of prank store he had ordered Sebastian to go to. Just so it felt like he had done something to make this costume work. “I’m just missing the tequila~”

All in all, the quality of costumes she had seen was impressive. In her neighbourhood, nobody had been able to afford proper costumes or good candy, so seeing all the versatility and effort put into the other patient’s costumes was pretty impressive. Charlie’s was... not the best she’d seen, but it was at least topical. It was uplifting seeing a throwback to their time in Cancun, which had been vastly preferable to life at Brielle. “You didn’t care enough about your costume being authentic to go see Sugar, huh? I’m sure she could have gotten some tequila for you.”

“Look, you don’t know what it’s like being a redhead. It’s like choosing which way I want to expose myself: like, I can be Jessica Rabbit and have my boobs out, or be The Little Mermaid and have my tummy out, or be Misty from Pokemon and have my legs out. Caveman baby felt like my only option.”

ZOE BRIDGETTE; HALLOWEEN 2018

At the second Kit heard someone mentioning the exact model of his bike, he turned around in awe. It was rare that someone could guess the model and to be a girl on top of that. “Damn girl, I’m impressed you could recognise it and yes it is indeed a Forty Eight, she’s a beauty isn’t she?” he said rhetorically turning to the redhead. Impressed was the least he could say about the fact she knew so much also in terms of the technical part. Usually girls whose boyfriends owned a motorcycle had no clue about either the model, the speed or the capacity of the cylinder. Therefore, he found it extremely suprising but awesome that she did. “Yeah? A Bonnie? That’s also nice. Your boyfriend has a good taste, but he’s missing out for not having a pretty girl like you riding on the back of his bike” he nodded, smiling slightly at the girl. There was nothing better than riding a powerful bike and having a good looking lady on the back. If Kit wanted to tickle his ego, that was the way to do it. 

Being greeted like this from the door was a pretty good start. “Hats off to you for even knowing those facts” he nodded, glancing at the girl. “I’m Kit by the way” he said, taking his helmet in his left hand and offering the right one to shake the girl’s.

Maybe a year ago, before Scott, she would have grown rosy and flustered if a man called her pretty. But now, things were different. She had Scott, and she didn’t mind what anyone else thought of her. Far more interesting than whether people thought she was pretty or not, was the bike. She wasn’t an expert, and she’d never actually touched one before, but she’d done her reading and was sufficiently interested.

Whether that interest was genuine, or because she wanted to be able to impress Scott, was another matter.

“I’m Zoe,” she said, shaking Kit’s hand. Firm shake, she reminded herself, because nobody liked a dead-fish handshake. Not that it mattered, because his hand all but swallowed hers. Compared to Scott - because that was her litmus test for all men - he was even taller, even broader. A man, rather than the nineteen year old that Scott was. But that was why they worked so well together: close in age, they understood one another perfectly. “It’s important to take an interest in your partner’s hobbies, I think. I like hearing him talk about it, because it makes him so happy. I’d love to ride one one day, or even have my own. It must be amazing, riding fast and feeling the world slip past you. Do you think I could... have a look at your bike? Up close?” There was hesitancy in her voice, because he’d only just walked in the door and she was already asking him to go back outside with her. But she was intrigued, and excited, and wanted to connect the things she had read in the magazines to the reality of a bike before her.

Jean tilted her head a bit as she listened to her talk about it. It all sounded like something Jean wouldn’t altogether care about right now but she was curious about the phone. “Well, you should just do what you want. If you like him then you like him.”

"Me doing what I want is how I ended up here,” Zoe said, and she had to laugh. She was beyond feeling sad about it - the whole thing was just absurd, and if they would actually listen to her, instead of to what was written on her file, they might see that. “I’m pretty sure that’s how all of us ended up here. I’ve still not met anyone that thinks they have a problem.”

Which is a little problematic, because presumably some of the people here did have issues. And if that was the case, how was Zoe to know whether she was one of them or not? She didn’t feel like it, but they say you never do feel mad, if you really are.

So, her argumentativeness was… annoying. Yeah. He felt like at any moment she might wrap him up against his will in an argument about feminism or something. 

But, by the same token, the fact that she wasn’t a completely mindless pushover earned her at least a modicum of his respect. It was almost amusing, actually, watching her get all bent out of shape, presenting her debate proudly, like she’d been preparing for her rebuttal all night, practicing all first period and muttering to herself in the cafeteria line up. 

And that’s sort of what she felt like to him. Sweet, naive, and straight out of high school. Despite her surprising ability to see things with perspective. To almost foolishly go head to head with someone like Jim. 

He chuckled a bit, ironic and dry, as she spouted off her miniature tantrum about politics and… Candy Crush. 

When she finished, he took a moment, cleared his throat. Levelled her with a look. “You done?” he asked. A beat, before he continued. “Okay, while I appreciate your attempt to prove a point by making assumptions about me the same way you think I’m making assumptions about them…” A lazy flick of his wrists in the nurse’s direction. “No, I wasn’t the paragon of professionalism. But I did know there was a time and place for everything. I worked hard, while I was at work. Because I have some fucking pride.” 

It was how he was raised, actually—he’d been taught from the ripe age of six, that nothing short of 110 percent would be enough for his parents. Nothing short of perfection would have made them proud. And back then, he’d cared. He’d cared a lot. “I took pride in the responsibility that was given to me. These people have the lives of… dozens of people in their hands, if not more. Including yours. And they’re wasting time and dividing their focus to tend to their personal bullshit? How easy would it be to fuck up someone’s meds? To accidentally miss an allergy? I get that you’re little Miss Pollyanna, and everything is… sleeping beauty, snow white, whatever princess romantic fantasy you’re pining over in your head. But these people are at work. They should be working. You’re not at work. Because they took your right to work away from you. So it’s different. You can do whatever the fuck you want.

“As for the government suit—I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it sounds to me like you’re making some kind of sexist argument here. These nurses happen to be female. I happen to have called them vapid. But I’d have done the same if they were guys. I know a lot of vapid twinks and meat heads too, trust me. So that hypothetical suit you’re talking about, playing Candy Crush in his office? He’s also a flagrant fuckwit. So don’t turn my comment into something it wasn’t. Because you want a fight, Bambi, I’ll give it to you. Alternatively, you could stop wasting your breath by defending people who don’t give a shit about you, or the fact that you’re trapped here for fuck knows how long,  and realize I was on your fucking side.” 

Christ. He’s exhausted. And though his confident and stoic drawl likely didn’t give too much of that away, his patience felt paper thin—nearly translucent in the centre. This chick was… a lot. 

Bambi. Sleeping Beauty. Little Miss Pollyanna. Zoe wondered where he was getting all that from; was that really how people saw her? She didn’t feel like a cute little Disney princess, although she had to wonder how much of that she was basing off her boyfriend, who she knew formed a large part of her self-identity. If she took all the facts: motorcycle riding boyfriend, asymmetric red hair, the occasional flouting of rules, the leather jacket that hung in her wardrobe alongside Metallica and Led Zep tshirts, she didn’t think she was such a saccharine figure.

But maybe, when you’re five foot zero and have a voice that borders on lisping, it’s difficult to be taken seriously.

She wasn’t too concerned, anyway. Jim was, as far as she could tell, completely unimpressed by everyone and everything. She’d be a fool to get caught up in his opinion of her - which is quite freeing, actually. There wasn’t a pressing need to be right or wrong, there was nothing upsetting in his irritable response. And, if she was really annoying him, Zoe was fairly sure he’d just take his leave. It wasn’t as though Jim was overly worried about causing offence.

“It wasn’t a sexist thing,” she said, shaking her head. “More of a class thing, if anything. I guess I should have said - the CEO of indeterminate gender can sit on their ass fucking around and it’s fine, but the nurses and people on the bottom of the pecking order aren’t allowed that. Fair point about them having lives in their hands, though. I’ve heard about two deaths here pretty recently, which seems like two more than there should be.”

After having taken a long and much needed break from work, Kit returned just on time before the Halloween chaos started. Although, he had missed the complete disorder following the Mexico trip, he for sure had a lot of work coming his way. 

Kit parked his motorcycle outiside on the designated parking area and took his hand luggage. Stepping forward to the entrance, he was scanning the place in order to see if there were any new improvements or old faces he could recognise. As he opened the door, he took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Good old Brielle” he sighed, closing the door behind him.

“Is that a Forty Eight Harley?” Zoe asked, eyes round and glittering as she pressed her hand against the cool window. She glanced at Kit only long enough to ascertain that he was the same man that had gotten off the bike, before returning her attention to it. It was a beast of a bike, low and powerful as a bulldog. “My boyfriend would kill for a bike like that. He rides a Triumph Bonneville, which is great, but really he wants more than 865cc. Not that he ever lets me ride it anyway. A 1200cc bike, he’d never let me near.”

Keen as she was to impress Scott, Zoe had made sure to buy any number of motorcycle magazines so she could understand his passions. She might have never touched his bike - he always said he would be too worried she’d get hurt if she rode behind him - but she could at least understand him a little better. So Scott said, anyway. In truth, she couldn’t touch the bike because it didn’t exist. She couldn’t talk to Scott about bikes because he didn’t exist. There was only ever Zoe, poring over articles about torque so that she could hold the attention of her prince charming that existed only in her psychosis.

Why he didn’t predict that she’d hinge on that comment, he didn’t know. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised, and though he rolled his eyes, he really wasn’t. Of course she’d pull herself into the mix. Of course she’d wonder if he was somehow also talking about her. Insecurity at its finest. Typical. 

“They’re vapid because they are more concerned about texting their boyfriends than they are about doing the work they’re being paid to do. I mean look at that,” he gestured to a nurse within eyesight now, who’s sipping coffee with the same hand her paper work is messily shoved into, and texting with the other. Just as he did, she just about knocked into a doctor, and she breathily apologized, and dropped the whole folder on the ground in the process, pages spilling out onto tile. 

“See? That’s what makes them vapid. Their lack of professionalism. Priorities. Pride. But you?” He scoffs. “You’re cooped up in a prison with no one to talk to but me and a bunch of shrinks. So fucking call your boyfriend, for all I care. Call anyone who’s not here. Help keep you sane, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused. “Well… as sane as one can be when they hear imaginary phones ringing. But trust me, you could be worse.” 

Following Jim’s gaze, she watched the nurse texting through a handful of files. She did a poor job of multitasking, and dropped them everywhere. It was sort of funny, and she didn’t share Jim’s cynicism. Was the nurse behaving unprofessionally? Absolutely. But Zoe could easily fantasize about what might be going on: maybe her boyfriend had texted to say he’d be preparing a candlelit dinner for when she finished work. Maybe they were planning their wedding. Maybe they had just said ‘I love you’ for the first time last night and were still bathing in that happy glow.

She glanced back at Jim, with his cool, unaffected gaze. It was a sad way to live, utterly without romance, and it made her feel sorry for him. She’d never say that, because she valued her health and had no doubt Jim wouldn’t take kindly to her feeling sorry for him, but the feeling was there, unacknowledged as it was.

“Did you have a job before you came here?” she asked, pointedly ignoring the imaginary phone comment. Not worth the argument, a little voice told her. “I bet you weren’t this, like, paragon of professionalism, just because you were getting paid. Actually I’m surprised you care at all that they’re not 100% focused for their whole shift. I would’ve guessed you were very anti-capitalism. Whatever government suit or rich millionaire owns Brielle, I bet they’re just sitting behind a desk in expensive shoes playing Candy Crush on their phone while everyone else runs things for them. Why is it okay for him to do that, but the nurse gets judged for checking her phone a few times while she’s earning pennies compared to him?”

The bright redhead was anxious, that much was obvious. Payson could recognize it in herself, and it made her wonder if it was something more, or if it was solely due to the phone call– or lack thereof. Her anxiety was something Payson had yet to really come to terms with in Brielle, nor had she with someone else, either. Still, this wasn’t the time or place…. the blonde was good at making things bright, cheery, happy…. so that’s what she would do. She looked kind, though, which was a rather uncommon trait in Brielle, as Payson had come to find. People often had very strong personalities, with opinions to match. Sometimes, a little too strong. But with her quirky hair cut that clearly took time, care, and effort, it was safe to say that this girl also wasn’t one of those who lacked a backbone or were unbearably shy. 

“Ugh, thank God!!” Payson said with relief at her confirmation. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but at least she had found it. “No!!!” the girl exclaimed honestly with a giggle, “I’m from Florida; the cold is…. really not my thing. Where are you from, then?” it shocked her how many people were so used to the frigid winters, especially that she had met in here. Boyfriend, hmm? Was that who the girl -Zoe- had been trying to call..? “They do allow guest passes, occasionally… it might take some sucking up, but it’s not impossible. I’m hoping maybe they’ll fly us away to somewhere warm again during Christmas, or have some present to us like that…. it was nice to escape for a bit. Or even let us go home for a day or two for thanksgiving, or Christmas..? Either way, with all of us here I’m sure they’ll do the whole turkey and all of that,” she said as they rounded a corner.

“Florida? Wow,” Zoe hummed, impressed. So far away. She wondered if Brielle was maybe prestigious, if people were coming from so far away to be treated here. “I’m just from here, from North Bend, and we never travelled much or nothing so this kind of weather is all I’m used to. Is the flying us out thing normal here? I thought I was meant to be getting punished but they just took us all to Cancun? Like, who’s paying for this? Why?”

Even Zoe, drifting lost as she was in her psychosis, didn’t imagine that it was all due to her. She’d entertained the idea, of course; they wanted to get her away from Scott so they dragged her halfway across the country so they’d have no hope of seeing each other. But then, there were dozens of other patients and staff there, and even she couldn’t rationalise such an upheaval just to get her away from Scott. She wasn’t sure if Payson held all the answers, but there was something so relaxing about her presence. It was as though they weren’t two strangers walking down a hallway, but two girls who had known each other for ages and didn’t have to grasp in the dark for conversation.

zoe-bridgette:

The concept was almost foreign to Demetria – being locked up for loving somebody. It was absurd. The word love meant a lot of different things to all people but like Zoe, Demi understood what it meant to rely on somebody you cared for. It was within her very own illness – histrionic personality disorder; the desperate need for attention, where you were willing to do just about anything for it. The beauty had no desire to use her own partner but unfortunately, that’s what her disorder meant – every piece of affection and attention Jared showed her only threw her into the deep end head first. It was natural but because she was ill, all emotions were heightened. There was an inkling of sympathy within Demi for Zoe… Imagine being thrown behind bars just because you L O V E D someone. Little did she care to admit, that very fortune could have been delivered to Jared. He was a tutor in an asylum, guiding and caring for from very sick patients and here he was, galivanting with one of them – participating in sexual endeavours, fireworks of romance, indulging himself in somebody he should NOT have. Jared could have easily been locked away had anybody found out about their relationship – which was why she was so HELLBENT on protecting it… 

Although the consequences for the tutor would have been high, the beauty was SCARED of how she might deal without him… Would she be able to live? Would her condition worsen? Would she lash out in a bid to protect herself? So many questions, with no possible answers. A sympathetic sigh crashed over the brunette, her chocolate tresses draping to her shoulder as her neck craned to the left. “They don’t get us – which is why they lock us away and then force us to talk about her problems… They’re never willing to hear us out before we get thrown into these places. I see him every now and then. We can’t be with each other in the way we want to be, for obvious reasons but it makes your love grow stronger. Use it as an INCENTIVE to fight off the bad – just keep thinking about the good.” Showing empathy towards the redhead would get Demetria into her good books – surely. Demi needed to be in favour of those surrounding her. It was how a HEAD BITCH built her reputation and if those people weren’t willing to abide, well – she would just inflict pain and misery onto their already sad, PATHETIC lives.

Grasping onto Demi’s words, Zoe nodded sagely. It was good advice, and maybe this experience would leave her stronger. They say distance makes the heart grow stronger, and being dragged to Mexico was about as distant as it got. It hurt in a very real way, twisting its caustic way into her heart and her gut, but perhaps in the end it would heal over like scar tissue knitting skin into a stronger skin. It felt good, at least, to talk to someone like minded. Demi understood her, better than most she’d met so far. A lot of people here were too caught up in their well-being to worry about romance.

Demi and Zoe? Romance was directly linked to their well-being.

“I hope you’re right. I hope I can use this experience to be stronger, and then when I get out Scott will be waiting for me. I guess... you know, I did smash up a shop. Maybe I am a bit crazy. I don’t know if I deserve to be here, but I see why they thought I was, um... troubled.”

Jean was now pretty confused because the phone was quite obviously not working and… would she get a call so soon after getting back? It didn’t quite add up somehow. Jean watched the other girl carefully, not sure what to say to her. She believed it but maybe she was waiting for the phone to ring and not realising it wasn’t plugged in? No, she’d heard her talking, as if she’d picked up. It was… weird. “I’m sure.. he wanted to and maybe something went wrong?” Like the phone not even working. Jean somehow felt she had to go delicately here but she wanted to just dump that knowledge on the other girl in her frustration, and see what reaction she got. For entertainment but that would be cruel, right? “How come no one wants you guys to be together?”

“Because,” Zoe said, seizing the topic without hesitation, “He’s a little bit older than me, which apparently matters when you’re seventeen - no, eighteen - and he’s from the wrong side of town and people think he’s like, corrupting me. Which is dumb, because I’m from the wrong side of town. Daddy only came into money last year, but I think my mom just wants me to date a nice boy in my year at school or something.” 

She knew it sounded like a conspiracy, but sometimes it felt like it. When the whole world denied everything you held dear, it became a very isolating world indeed. She had Scott, and she had her father, but there wasn’t much else.