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 |  A second chance at life was all these teens wanted, Arno Firth is what they got. |
| [Introduction]
Rockhill Recovery Center is set up to offer used and abused teens a new life. They are sent to school and given food, clothes, and anything else they may need. The doors are open to anyone who needs their help. This is the story of the Rockhill teens. 18+, but be as graphic as you please, that's just so it'll show up to non-members(I'm so bad). A bio-block would be nice. Please have your first addition be the story of how your character came to be at Rockhill. Also, please don't have a huge list of problems for your char, it just makes it way too dramatic, but obviusly they're going to have problems, that's the point of being at Rockhill. Oh, yeah, people can stay at Rockhill for only four years(or less) and they only have about fifty people there at a time. Rockhill Recovery Center is located in Las Vegas, Nevada. |
| Name: Johnathon Myre Age: 17 Sex: Male Appearance: A mess of black hair, falling to just below his ears, crowns his head. His eyes are deep, dark green pools. He has a slight jaw and high cheek bones that give him a feminine look, but he is undoubtedly a man. He's about 6 feet tall and weighs around 170 pounds. his body, normally covered in bruises, is kept in decent shape. Personality: Usually pretty happy and cheerful, but can be a depressing person to be around when he's in a bad mood. Sarcastic and witty, he's been known to get on more than a few people's nerves. Normal clothes/style: When he's 'working' he dresses like a stereotypical gay person in leather pants and tight pink and flashy shirts. When not on duty, he likes to wear jeans and band t-shirts and skater shoes. Piercings/Tattoos: Right nipple and both ears pierced. No tattoos. Reason for being at Rockhill: He was a bisexual hooker who one night got hurt by a really rough trick and was dumped at a hospital. Rockhill adopted him and is helping him get his life back together. ----------------- There is a light at the edge of my vision. There is black all around and at the very edges of that darkness there is a light. It is brighter than anything I have ever seen, and I've stared at the sun, so that's saying something. I only become aware that I am conscious and not dreaming with the onset of a terrible headache. I open my eyes, but the light in the room, wherever it is I am, is too much for me to handle. My headache flares and I fall again into darkness. It is some time before I wake again. I, like an idiot, open my eyes once again before slamming them back shut. Taking it slower, my eyes open so sluggishly I can barely stand it. I have to know where I am and what's going on. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, my eyes are open and I am able to take everything in. I am laying in a bed. The room is white and empty save for the bed, a t.v. hung in the corner, and two large machines off to my sides. The room smelled so sterile it was almost disgusting. It was quite obvious where a I was, a hospital. But why? I did an inventory of wounds on my body. There were bandages covering a bump on my head, the cause of my headache, I assume. There was a patch over my right nipple, the nipple that had been pierced. Was that it? These two injuries were the reason I was here? I moved my body and felt a terrible pain shoot up my spine, starting at the base. There was definitely something else wrong. Before my inspection could continue, a noise to my left caused me to jump in fright. This in turn caused pain to suge through me once again. I turned and saw a woman dressed in a white lab coat. "I'm sorry, honey," the woman said, clutching her chest, startled by my sudden jump. "I didn't mean to scare you." I said nothing, I was a still confused. "I'm Dr. Miller," she said, sitting at a chair next to my bed and pulling out some notes. "I'm the one who found you and fixed you up." "Found me?" I asked. "No, I don't suppose you would remember," she said. "As I was heading into work I found you laying naked in the parking lot. Looked like someone used you and threw you and your clothes out of their car and drove away. You were bleeding from a gash on your forehead and a hole in your nipple. There was also," she continued, "a lot of blood coming out from between your legs." "I see," I said, so that was the reason for the pain up my spine. "I think I can guess from your clothes," she said, pulling out a plastic bag from under the bed that obviously held his clothes, "and form what we found in the pockets, that you're most likely a..." "Hooker," he said when she trailed off. The clothes were almost a dead give away, but there was also a large wad of money and small amount of cocaine in one of the pockets. "Honey," she said, "I'm going to need to ask you some questions." "Okay," I said solemnly, I was so scared I'd have to go to jail. "Name?" "John." "Age?" "Seventeen." "Drugs?" "Obviously." "Family?" "Don't know." "Okay then, John," she said. "There are some people here I'd like you to meet." Here they come, the police, they were here to take me away, I just knew it. But that's not what happened. A man and a woman, dressed very casually, looking nothing like police officers, suddenly entered the room. "Hi there, John is it?" The woman said as she entered, the man standing back, looking the part of pleasantry. I nodded my head yes. "I'm Kerry and this is Rick," she said, gesturing to her partner. "We're from the Rockhill Recovery Center. We'd like to talk to you about about some things if that's okay with you." "Why not?" I said, as long as I didn't have to go to jail. |
| Name: Maxine Ferguson Age: 18 Sex: Female Appearance: With fine, dark-brown hair that hangs limply about her shoulders and a tall, lanky, and almost "too skinny" build, she earned the nickname "Twiggy." Her long, slender, pallid fingers constantly fiddle nervously with the hems of her clothes as if they need something to do. Maxine's face is long and oval-shaped, with large brown eyes set under dark, severe eyebrows. Her thin and pinkish lips only move slightly when she speaks in her quiet voice. She stands around 5' and 8" in height and weighs around 130 pounds. Personality: Many would say that she's overly harsh; she says she just gives people what they're asking for (someone sings a song, and, looking for someone to praise them, says, "Oh, I did so bad on that song." She turns, smiles, and says, "Haha, I agree."). Though it may seem as if she could care less about everything, she is a very deep thinker who merely hates conformity and conventional ways of thought. She likes to see everything from as many different sides as possible and is very open-minded about politics, sciences, the arts, and whatnot. Get on her good side, and she'll risk her life for you. Get on her bad side, and you might as well have shoved a long, sharp pole up your ass. Normal clothes/style: She has a strong love for worn t-shirts that say random things, such as her favorite (1.wash 2.rinse 3.dry 4.do). She prefers her pants slim-fitting, dark, and frayed, and occasionally puts up with a chain or two. Maxine usually wears Doc Martens or her beloved, ripped-up, drawn-on, bitten, water-logged blue Converse. And kneehigh socks make her feel like the prettiest lady that ever was. Piercings/Tattoos: She has a phobia of needles. Enough said. Reason for being at Rockhill: No living relatives since her parents passed away. She picked up stealing to get by at first (and never really stopped), occaisionally resorted to prostitution (which she gave up very quickly), and then found that the drug scene of Las Vegas was a quick, if not easy, way to make money fast. She got a little too involved in her work when she started doing heroin and crystal meth. Unfortunately, she was found out by the police and had to go into hiding in many of the older hotels (such as Lady Luck) in downtown Las Vegas. An elderly couple who knew of Rockhill called it up and told them of Maxine. She has been there for just under two weeks now. .................................................. If anything, Maxine worshipped Jack Kerouac's books and quotes to no end. She could not remember most of them, but whenever she would read them, her mouth would turn up in a smile instead of the usual sneer. That particular day she sat in Rockhill's recreation room, busily reading a page of quotes that she had printed out from the internet a while back. The paper was folded, wrinkled, and frayed, much like her clothes. Even more like her life. But right then, she didn't care; she was enjoying herself to the fullest. Each brilliant quote made her grin. "The only people for my are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars." The words of Mr. Kerouac echoed boldly from the paper. And then the room's door opened with a slow, high-pitched creak. In walked Kerry Timpson, Rockhill's head therapist, followed by a sleepy, confused-looking boy. She smiled kindly at him and lightly patted him on the shoulder before walking out of the room, leaving the poor soul stranded. There were only about a dozen or so people in the room, including Maxine, but any group of people larger than one was slightly threatening to a new boarder at the recovery center. He smiled nervously at the first person who walked by him, Vincent, a muscley, gruff boy. Vincent stared blankly back before moving on without saying a word, going over to the old bookshelf to probably search in hope for a medical book on female anatomy with which to partially fulfill his carnal fantasies. Maxine was bored anyways. She had finished reading the quotes. It was only around ten AM or so, but she felt finished with the day as well. After standing up, she strolled over to the doorway, to go back to her own small room which consisted of a bed, a small dresser/nightstand/thing, and a chair. Upon passing the stranger, she raised her eyebrows. "Fresh meat," she said, just loud enough for him to hear. He spun around, but she was already out the door. |
| Name: Jordan Evans Age: 16 Sex: Female Appearance: Jordan has long black hair that reaches the small of her back and curls at the ends. Her eyes are pale blue and tell of horror unknown by most. Her lips are a soft rose and always chapped. When she is nervous, she chews her nails. Her skin is deathly pale, as if she’s never spent a day in the sun. She stands 5’7 and is extremely thin. Personality: Jordan has been used and abused since early childhood. Her parents relinquished custody of her to the state when she was an infant, and she’s spent most of her years cycling through the foster care system. Jordan finds it hard to trust anyone, and simply despises authority. She has no friends because she does not believe anyone would accept her as she is, and she will not change. She is a very quite person and keeps to herself, unless she feels she’s being manipulated or used. Then her cold, calculating side emerges. Normal clothes/style: Jordan wears what she finds discarded outside thrift shops. Which often amounts to stained shirts and torn jeans. The only apparel she has ever bought is a pair of black sandals, with straps that are now held together by tape. Piercings/Tattoos: Jordan has two studs in each of her ears, a ring in her left eyebrow, and a pierced tongue. Reason for being at Rockhill: After running away from her last foster home, Jordan became heavily involved with drugs. The last time she shot up heroine, her heart stopped. Luckily, a police officer found her huddled behind a dumpster in a dirty alley, and called the paramedics. The doctor who saved her life put in a call to Rockhill, and they agreed to take her. ------------------------------------------- When Jordan hobbled into the recreation room, all eyes fell on her fragile body. It was clear from the horrid emaciation that the girl was a user and hadn’t eaten in weeks. With every shaky step she took, it seemed she would crumble, hitting the ground hard with a resounding thump. Yet, Jordan managed to toddle across the room, though her steps were slow and sporadic. She sat down in a chair next to the window and stared out. The hospital greens she’d been dressed in the night before hung so loosely against her body that the hems of the legs brushed the ground. It was clear that the girl was not happy. A frown creased her gaunt face, and her eyes bounced about anxiously. Her hands trembled and she pressed her fingers against her lips, gnawing savagely on nails already too short. The door opened and a nurse entered. She crossed the room in quick strides and stared down at Jordan for a moment. Finally she thrust a paper cup forward and said, “These are for you, dear.” Glaring, Jordan snarled, “I’m not taking your goddamn drugs!” Blanching, the nurse tried to appease Jordan. “They’ll help with the DTs, dear.” Rising to her feet, Jordan yelled, “Listen, Bitch. The only way you’re gonna get those pills down my throat is through a tube. So get out of my face!” The door opened once more and two hulking orderlies stormed through. They approached Jordan, and one man said, “Take it easy, Miss Evans.” “Fuck off,” Jordan replied, backing away from the two giant men. She bumped painfully into the wall, and her wasted body crumbled forward. The smaller of the two orderlies--small being a relative term--caught her as she fell. “Let go of me, you stupid son of a bitch!” Jordan screamed, kicking and squirming frantically. Her pale face became even more ashen and she began to shake violently. “Get her to her room, and call the doctor,” the nurse ordered. “She’s going through DTs. I only pray this doesn’t kill her.” |
| Name: Arno Firth Age: 22 Appearance: Thin wisp of a man with short brown hair. He has a long, haggard look not typical of people his age. His arms are covered in tattoos, mostly dragons and Celtic runes. He is 6'4 and has cool, gray eyes. Personality: Arno has been there and done that. His parents were killed when he was seven years old, so he is extremely independent. Years of abuse should have left him bitter, but he is actually quite kind and gentle. His even smile and measured temper make him a trustworthy human being. Normal clothes/style: He prefers to dress in jeans and t-shirts. He has a vast array of Led Zeppelin shirts, one for every day of the month. Normally, however, he wears slacks, a dress shirt and a tie. Reason for being at Rock Hill: When he was 16, he entered Rock Hill after his first suicide attempt. He kicked his heroin habit at the home, so he later returned as a counselor. ●○●○●○● The tick, tick, tick of the metronome was thunderous in the silent office. Arno Firth gave the little orange tennis ball a squeeze, bounced it once, twice, three times against the wall before setting it in his lap. He clicked his tongue, hummed and snapped his fingers, doing just about anything to cancel out the silence. The walls were covered in various paintings that some of the former patients had done. Arno recognized his own handiwork in the form of an oil painting, cowboys on painted sorrels outrunning a tornado. It wasn’t just a painting; it was a metaphor for his entire life. Running, running, running from a formless enemy, a destructive juggernaut in the form of a shady past. Doctor Martin Wing strolled into the room with his clipboard tucked underneath his arm. Wing was an older man with sharp features, a patch-work man with short gray hair, slacks a couple inches too short, shirt hastily tucked in, two different color socks; dark blue and black, not a huge difference, but enough of a difference for the mismatch to be noticeable. He plopped down heavily into his leather chair and wheeled in close to the desk. There was something conspiratorial in his demeanor, as if they were meeting to discuss a political assassination or military coup. “Glad you could make it,” Wing said. “I know there isn’t a round table today, but I’m hoping you can help me with something.” Arno smiled, saying, “Hey, anything for the malicious masses, Marty.” Wing shook his head and muttered, “Malice is not quite the word for these kinds of problems, Arno. Malice is a desire to see others suffer. None of them want that, not truly. They’re just confused, scared, lost.” “Just like I was at one point,” Arno added ruefully. “Which is exactly why I’ve asked you here this morning. I know you’re still a few months away from earning your degree, but the staff and I feel we’re just not reaching some of the children. You’re closer to their ages and you’ve been in similar situations all your life.” He turned in his chair and walked to the coffee maker. “I want to bring you on full time, Arno. We’ll treat you as an apprentice of sorts until you get your full certification.” “Hey, Doc, why don’t you just get to the point of all this?” “The point, Arno, is that I would like to take more extreme measures with some of the children. I would like you to sponsor some of them. Get them involved in various group activities and involve them in open and honest discussions. Don’t get me wrong, our counselors are doing their jobs and doing them well, but some of the patients are hitting brick walls with group therapy. I think with you experience, you can get them to open up better than anyone else.” There was silence again. Arno turned the tennis ball over in his hands and returned his attention to the paintings on the walls. He focused on one in particular. It was a simple painting, a boat in a storm, the fisherman floating in the water, struggling to get back to the boat, fighting to avoid drowning. Maria Salvatore. Her pained brown eyes were crystal clear in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he saw here beautiful, olive skin, her shy and broken smile. Like the painting, she had fought the waters of a rough sea, but she never made it to the boat. She had fought and lost, drifted beneath the swollen waters, swallowed by the darkness of dying hope. “Anything I can do to help,” he said finally. |
Name: Danielle Eastman Nicknames: Dan (but unless you have explicit permission, don't call her that.) Dani is what just about everyone else calls her. Age: 17 Sex: Female Appearance: Small in stature, standing at only 5’3 with a lean and curvaceous body. Danielle pays no attention to her weight, but she does exercise regularly and eat healthy things. She has slightly wavy dirty blonde hair that is just past her waist. Her face has soft and simple lines with a calm and assuring smile, pearly white teeth, and a cute button nose with a few freckles. The most vibrant part of Dani’s face is her eyes. They are a clear hazel color with blues, browns, greens and grays within, covered in a thick mass of long dark lashes. Her eyes have an inner glow and it sometimes seems as if the very essence of her soul lies within their depths. Dani has darkly tanned skin from being of mixed ethnicities. She is beautiful, but always on her own terms. Personality: Dani is polite and quiet. She has a clever and deep mind that is brimming with talent, but she is so soft spoken around most people that no one really knows. Dani excels in all things creative and is at her most ingenious when left to her own devices. Her caring nature causes her to be affected greatly by her own emotions and the emotions of those close to her, at times making her overly sympathetic towards others. Dani has a great urge to understand and help people. She is distant, decorous and incredibly closed off to just about everyone around her. Dani hates crowds. She especially can’t stand to be near men and cringes when anyone attempts to touch her. Her disposition is one of misery and anxiety. It will probably take a miracle to heal Dani’s emotional wounds. Normal clothes/style: She wears only designer labels from New York, Italy, and France. Anything high end. Piercings/Tattoos: An African tribal symbol at the small of her back. Her bellybutton is pieced as well as both ears. Her jewelry is mainly diamond studs of varying colors. Reason for being at Rockhill: Dani’s father beat and raped her on an almost daily basis since she was six years old. Her mother, oblivious to everything that was going on, barely even noticed that Dani began drinking, and heavily at that. When her mother finally figured things out, she sent Dani to Rockhill. There were two purposes for her choice. 1) To get Dani out of the reach of her father and 2) Because Rockhill’s psychiatric specialist is one of the best in the country. ~*~*~*~ Danielle didn’t feel anything the last time her father molested her. She had been too hammered to care. But this time, her mother had come home from the office early and caught him. Within four hours, she was flying first class from NYC to Las Vegas. The flight had been a blur, but when the plane landed, Dani began remembering bits and pieces of what had happened. As she walked into the terminal she saw two people were waiting for her. “Hi, are you Danielle Eastman?” The woman said. “Um, yes.” “I’m Kerry, this is Rick.” She motioned to the man. Rick made to shake Dani’s hand and she stumbled backwards, almost falling to the linoleum floor. But she regained her footing and watched as Rick withdrew his hand while glancing at Kerry. She smiled sorrowfully. “Come on dear, we’ll go get your luggage.” Kerry said with a sigh. They gathered Danielle’s things and headed to the recovery center. Kerry lead Dani to her room. It was barely large enough to turn around in, but her father wasn’t here, and that was an improvement. “So this is your room Danielle.” “Thank you.” “Do you need any help unpacking.” “No, I think I can manage, but thank you anyways.” Kerry smiled again and left the room. Dropping her luggage on the floor, she began to unpack her things. When her bags were emptied, Danielle lay down on the bed and cried herself to sleep. |
| Name: Alessandra “Red Wolf” Delour Age: 17 Sex: Female Appearance: Large almond shaped eyes that are a striking green framed by blood red wavy locks are Alessandra’s trademark. Her build is not exactly manish but she has enough muscle to look a bit manly. Though, after seeing her generous curves, or even her dark temper, noone has ever said so out loud. Personality :Its hard to tell how Alessandra feels because she seldom talks. She was raised with everything anyone could ever want, but she never became spoiled. Unluckily though, she accumulated a large amount of pride which often gets her into trouble. Her father is what most would call a mob boss, and all of his lackeys call him the “Don”, but Alessandra hates him with a passion. Her distaste for him is silent, but he knows it and while he doesn’t hate her, he is ready to be rid of her. Raised motherless, and from childhood given dangerous street jobs, Alessandra has become hardened, and though she sometimes seems cold, she has what she often calls, almost always in distaste “A bleeding heart.”. From a young age Alessandra was placed in charge of both negotiations on drug trafficking, and dealing, and also collecting money from her father’s collection of whores. She had never started taking drugs as she had for once taken her fathers advice of not dipping into what she sold. She was always protected by her father, but eventually she grew into quite a violent person, simply because of her environment. Her father eventually learned of her more ‘dark’ talents, and sent her to ‘persuade’ those who owed him money to pay up. She had never made a mistake, not once, at least not till the Luxor incident. . . Normal clothes/style: She tends to stick to sensible clothes that are comfortable and inexpensive, though she has been known to wear dazzling emerald green dresses when the situation calls for such. Piercings/Tattoos: Though Alessandra has no piercings, not even in her ears, she has always been fond of tattoos. She has one tattoo on her left shoulder of a female red wolf intertwined with a semi naked human male. Underneath the picture are the words “Red Wolf”. She keeps it covered when around her father, but thats about it. She has other tattoos, including a small dragon on her chest, and rose above her navel, but its said she has more that aren’t revealed while wearing clothes. The only of these ‘secret’ tattoos thats known is a white tiger on her inner thigh. How this was found out is still unsure. . . Reason for being at Rockhill: At the Luxor, a drug deal went bad, and a fight ensued. Though Alessandra is strong, the man she was facing had her beat easily. After smacking her around a bit, he attempted to rape her. At the last moment she got her ‘emergency’ knife out of her boot, and almost killed the guy. She was found beaten in a hotel room, with the guy bleeding on the floor. She was also found with the drugs. She was going to be tried for selling drugs, and the possession and use of them, even though all her tests were clean. If she hadn’t been beaten so badly she would have also been tried for attempted murder. Due to her connections, she was simply shipped to the rehabilitation center. Though Alessandra had never liked to be touched, after the Luxor incident, she became extremely violent when any males got even close to her. She is almost happy to go, since it is proof her father is getting rid of her, and that she can finally escape the hell of the life he had molded for her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alessandra sat with eerie grace in her hospital scrubs. She had demanded, in few words, that she get scrubs instead of the humiliating ass-window dresses. She had been taken into this room in the Rockhill Recovery Center, and left there. There was nothing for them to do with her really. She had no drugs to be weaned off of, and as long as Alessandra was left to herself, she would leave the world at peace. She had no desire to start trouble, she only intended to finish any she encountered. There were only two beds in the dreary room, and the once opposite from Alessandra’s seemed occupied. The covers were mussed, and small personal touches were visible here and there. As she sat in the dead silence, her keen emerald eyes learning every inch of the plain walls, she thought about her father. She didn’t want to think about him. More then anything, Alessandra never wanted to be reminded of that bastard ever again. It was his fault. Everything was. From the day Alessandra was born she was cursed, and as she grew he warped her into his own little slave. Another lackey like the rest of his hired muscle. It made Alessandra sick to admit she had let it happen. ‘He did it to me cause I wasn’t a stupid whore of a princess like Celeste. He would have never let Celeste deal with the druggies and the prostitutes.’ Alessandra thought bitterly, a lone tear leaking from her eyes, the expression in them was heartbreaking. For all of Alessandra’s bravado and tough facade, her father’s treatment was like a knife in her heart every time she thought of it. He had betrayed his oldest daughter, and Alessandra hadn’t realized she’d been betrayed till it was too late to change what he’d made her. She wiped at the tear in fury, the sadness being burned away by her hatred. ‘My god damn sister Celeste had the nerve to laugh when she heard what Jino tried to do to me. I swear if I see that bitch again I’ll give her a reason to laugh.’ Alessandra raved in her own head. She wasn’t exactly afraid to speak out loud, but she never was the talkative type, and she didn’t want to risk them thinking her crazy along with everything else. She knew that her emotions were going to waste. Nobody knew, or cared what she felt. She was known all over Vegas as the ‘Red Wolf’ or even sometimes ‘The Bloody Wolf’. When the punks who owed her father saw her red hair flashing, they ran for their lives. Up till that moment in Rockhill, thoughts of her being feared had brought an amused smile to Alessandra’s face, but now it only provoked more tears. They feared her, but they didn’t care. ‘The only guy who even tried to touch me, to be close to me, was Jino when he was trying to rape me. Am I that horrible? Am I so disgusting the only men who will stoop to touch me are rapists?’ she wondered, fresh tears falling. As quick as a swift kick in the ass, Alessandra realized that she had been sitting and blubbering like a child. She quickly cleaned up her face and steeled her expression. She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes, thanking god for the one bright point in her future. ‘He let me go finally. I have that at least. I’m safe cause I’m family, but I’m out of the family business. Maybe I can finally start living now.’ she thought, and tried her best to go to sleep. |
| Before they allowed me to leave the hospital, which you can bet I was itching to do, they injected me with a little something that they said was for the pain. So now, here I stood in the middle of a living room type place, a big grin on my face, and you can bet I was feeling pretty good. Everything was so much prettier when you were high, and also a lot more confusing. I swear to God I heard someone mention something about meat as they walked by me. Damn, I was pretty high. The pain in my ass, no pun intended, was slowly increasing as whatever they had given me was leaving my system. I looked down at the clothes Kerry had supplied me with and didn't like what I saw. The shirt was okay, it was a dark blue T-shirt and I was fine with that, but the pants were wierd corduroy things and I needed to get out of them quick. I don't know if I was supposed to leave the room Kerry left me in, but I did. I soon found myself lost as I traversed the halls of the building as best I could. There were a lot more people there than I thought there would be and all the noise was giving me a headache. I turned a corner and ran right into someone's back and fell to the ground, right on my ass. Ouch. "Are you alright?" The man asked as he bent down and and offered me a hand. He was rather tall with a kind of intimidating look about him and arms covered in tattoos, but his voice sounded genuinely concerned. "Oh, God, my ass!" I said, sort of laughing but really not enjoying myself. I accepted his hand and winced as he pulled me up with ease like I weighed nothing at all. "Oh," he nodded his head knowingly, "you must be John." I nodded. "I heard about you. In fact, I think we have an appointment later." "Appointment?" I inquired. "Just a little counseling session, no big deal." He stared at me for a moment then added, "I'm Arno Firth, by the way." I shook his hand and he said something else but I was staring at his eyes and didn't really hear him. "Hey!" I said suddenly and I think it surprised him. "Do you know where they took my clothes?" "Your clothes?" He thought about it for a moment, "I suppose they'd be in the storage room. If they've been checked in, that is. Why?" "My pants," I said as if he should know, gesturing down at the ones I was wearing. "I need my pants, these ones suck." He looked at me like I was a little off. "Please?" I added. "Follow me," he didn't sound mad, that was a good sign. As we took corner after corner I could feel the pain in my body increasing as the drugs continued to fade away. I needed something soon to help with the pain, I could feel a bit of perspiration begin to form on my forehead. "Here we are," he said suddenly stopping in front of a door marked "storage". He slipped a key in and the door swung open. "Everything is in alpabetical order. What's your last name?" "Myre." I looked around at the various little storage boxes and saw some of the strangest things. Why were there packs of water balloons in this box? "I knew a Myre once," Arno said as he looked through various boxes searching for my things. "Beth Myre. She was gorgeous, man. I don't think I've ever met anyone like her and- here it is!" He pulled a large plastic bags from one of the boxes and I could see my name was scrawled across it with red Sharpie. I grabbed the bag from him and thanked him for his help. I pulled it open and grabbed my black leather pants. He looked a little surprised, but he's probably seen a lot of strange things at this place so I don't think he was too shocked. I looked the pants over and found them to be surprisingly clean. I slipped off my shoes and started to unzip my pants. "You're changing here?" Arno asked. I pushed the pants off and started to slip into leather ones. "I guess so," I smiled at him and he just kind of shook his head. "Thanks again." I threw the corduroy pants at him and he caught them with ease. "Where do those go?" He shrugged and folded them up and placed them on top of a box. He suddenly frowned. "Are you okay, man?" He asked. "You look kind of... I don't know." "I'm feeling a lot of pain right now," I smiled though, "I need something to make the pain go away." He looked as if he'd heard that a million times. "I can't give you any drugs, John," he frowned again. I ran my hands through my hair and nodded slowly. "I gotta go," he said and held the door open for me to leave. I think I must have pissed him off or something because he shut the door, locked it and walked away without another word. I would have to apologize during our 'counseling session'. I walked around for awhile longer before I got curious and started looking through doors. One door I opened looked to be someone's room and I began to shut it when I suddenly noticed someone asleep on one of the beds that brought back old memories. "Red Wolf?" I asked, so surprised to see that bitch here. She sat up suddenly. So she hadn't been asleep. She looked at me like she didn't know me and then a look of recognition crossed her face. "So you got your slut-ass stuck here too, huh?" She asked. I just so happened to be one of her father's many whores and it was Alessandra who had come to collect the money on more than one occasion. The two of us had formed a sort of love-hate relationship in that we insulted eachother, didn't really like eachother, but would never really do anything to hurt eachother. Physically. "Sure did," I told her. "I was worried your father might have something to say about my money no longer coming, but now that I see you're here, I'm not worried at all." "I don't know if I'll be here long," she smirked, "I can't stand to be around a tart like you for very long." "Fuck-off, bitch," I told her and continued down the hall. Damn, I hurt all over. |
| There was nothing. Nothing to say, nothing to listen to, nothing to kick, to punch, to scream at. Nothing but the bleak ceiling tiles, illuminated in the grey-blue gloom of the dimmed box of a room, peering down at her like a child's drawing of the moon with a face- pale, bleak, falsely smiling. She clutched the white sheets and pulled them tightly about her shoulders, becoming a scared, ugly caterpillar wrapped in its protective coccoon. Maxine's eyes pleaded with her mind to let them close, to drift off into sleep. But as much as she tried, she couldn't. She could hardly blink, and was forced to stare wide-eyed at the haunting emptiness of the slightly furnished crate in which she lay, a half-willing captive. Wherever she looked- nothing but her confinement. Whenever she swallowed- nothing wet her dry throat. Whatever was in her mind- nothing but the most irrational and barbaric fear of being forgotten, left to rot in this prison cell. The dark of midnight softened into the faded yellow and blue dawn of the Las Vegas Valley, whose light filtered through the ugly beige blinds of the holding area's one window (Maxine's room was one of the only ones with one such looking glass). And, ever so slowly, the dawn became golden-red light as the harsh, burning globe slowly peaked over Sunrise Mountain, the aptly-named jagged and rocky cluster of peaks that stood alone on the eastern side of the mountainous bowl surrounding the misunderstood city. As soon as the first ray of sun hit her face through a crack in the blinds, Maxine passed out. .................................................. The former was just one of a few such nights that the Ferguson girl had experienced within the first two-and-a-half weeks that she had been at Rockhill, which she was already growing to resent. Already there had been six "conversational sessions" during which she was expected to tell a heart-wrenching story of her unfortunate life while softly tearing and reaching for a tissue to a complete stranger who was apparently "a person who can understand you, who can relate to you, who will listen to you, and who loves you." No way in hell would she let those horrid forty-somethings in on her life (if you could call it that, anyways). All that anyone there had gotten out of her consisted primarily of the following: "Maxine." "18." "No." "No." "No." "Occaisionally." "What're you talking about?" "Well, I like this shirt, thank you very much." "No, I'm not trying to be 'cold' and 'distant' and 'hostile.'" "Yeah." "Not often." "At one point." "None of your business." So on and so forth. She had successfully proved herself to be a difficult case. Maxine was absolutely determined to keep up the mask of indifference, toughness, and independence, but often times playing sharades 24/7 can be quite exhausting. Playing sharades, just like the damned city in which she had lived her whole life. She had attended Estes M. McDoniel Elementary. Her family was happy most of the time. She often wished she was a boy so that they would let her play kickball in the park with them. So she cut her hair short She went to Thurman White Middle School. Her father had left. Her mother liked Budweiser. Maxine had grown her hair out At first, all of her friends wore Abercrombie, so she did. But it was too expensive. So she got new friends. She went to Green Valley High School, freshman through the end of sophomore year. She didn't make any friends to replace the ones she immediately lost in school. Her mother died of a heart attack. Maxine didn't cry when she heard. She dropped out. Worked odd jobs, shoplifted, eventually ended up doing everything one would read in the lovely bioblock that can be found if one would happen to scroll up a bit. Would she ever let these people here, who she highly doubted really cared about helping her, know of this? No, not as long as she was there. She would never crack. Perhaps she'd let things slip over time but... She cracked, as soon as that puzzling Firth made a wisecrack about the comment on her shirt instead of using the all-too-familiar "Now, I want you to know, you can tell me anything that comes to mind, dear." Maxine gave in, like a crumbling dam. She wasn't sure what she said, but he listened to every stuttered, mumbled, grumbled, and twisted word of it. He didn't stare at her. He fiddled with his watch and heard her out, and didn't annoy her by asking "Do you need a tissue?" but silently handing her one instead, not daring to interrupt her sniffs and her hiccups and her occaisional sob. Eventually she finished, and Mr. Firth glanced at his watch which rested comfortably below the greenish-black curve of an obscure tattoo. "Well, it's been exactly ninety-two minutes. I guess the session is over, then. If you ever want to talk to me, whenever, just ask. I'll listen." Maxine nodded. Firth made a funny noise in the depths of his throat that sounded almost like a grumble and chuckle. "What?" she asked. "This is not to be passed on, but the other counselors her have said you're impossible to deal with. What a load of bullshit," he said, not lowering his voice or spelling out the "innapropriate" word as the other therapists had. Maxine smiled as she bowed her head, her limp hair falling about her face as Firth opened the dark, wooden door. She hadn't heard any cussing for over two weeks now. It was about time. |
| Jordan remembered little of what they'd done to her while she'd writhed and moaned on that uncomfortable bed, screaming for drugs. What she did recall vividly were the demons crawling along the walls, flicking their nasty, rotting tongues out at her. "Hallucinations." "Yes, they're to be expected." "Someone should stay with her. Make sure she's alright." "No, Arno. You have other things to see to. She will be fine.” Bits and pieces of conversation flitted through Jordan’s head. She hated the doctor, but this Arno fellow had a deep, melodic voice that soothed her greatly. His words expressed a deep worry for the girl suffering terrible DTs, even if the doctor seemed cold and callous. “Tell me, Dr. Jacobs, when was the last time you experienced drug withdrawals?” “Arno, this is neither the time nor place to..” “Do you have any idea what this child is suffering? She needs someone here by her side who understands the pain and torment. No one knows what it is she’s seeing right now.” “Arno, I have to draw the line somewhere.” “I understand that, Doctor. But, so do I. Argue all you want, I will still be here when this girls awakens.” Jordan never heard how the conversation had ended, but when she awoke, she saw that the man had kept his word. He rose from a chair, stretching and yawning. Smiling, he approached the bed. “Hello, Jordan,” he said, pausing beside the bed, as if he knew it would make the girl uncomfortable if he came too close. “Are you...?” Jordan’s throat was raw and it was nearly impossible to voice words. “Yes,” he answered, filling a glass of water and holding it to her lips. “My name is Arno Firth. I am a counselor here at Rockhill.” “You stayed,” Jordan whispered between sips of cold, delicious water. Smiling, Arno nodded. Suddenly, hot tears began to trail down Jordan’s face. “No one has ever stayed,” she whispered, closing her eyes and sobbing. “I’m not no one,” Arno said, chuckling softly. “What did you mean?” Jordan asked quietly. “How can you understand?” Arno’s brow wrinkled for a moment, before his lips turned up at the corners. “Ah, so you heard that?” “Yes,” Jordan answered weakly. “Well, Jordan, I was where you are once. I came to Rockhill six years ago with a terrible heroin habit. This place saved my life.” “Ahhh...” Jordan mumbled, closing her eyes and turning her head away. Suddenly, her whole body tensed and her eyes flew open in horror. “Oh god,” she moaned, staring down at the straps around her arms. She tried to yank free, to no avail. Screaming, she tugged frantically, struggling to kick the sheet away. Her legs where likewise restrained. “No, no, no!” Jordan whimpered, quivering all over, tears streaming down cheeks like a dam breached. “Please,” she gasped, staring at the counselor with eyes full of dread. “Calm down, Jordan,” Arno said calmly, quickly bending forward to release the restraints. He yanked the Velcro back, and slid the cloth cuffs off Jordan’s wrists. When he freed her feet, the girl came forward, clinging to him and burying her wet face against his chest. “Don’t let them tie me down again!” she gasped. “Please don’t let them hurt me!” She held no semblance whatsoever to the girl who’d arrived at Rockhill days before, angry and hostile. Now, she was a frightened child, weeping and moaning. Slipping his arms around her, he said, “Jordan, no one will hurt you. You are safe here. I promise.” ~*~*~*~ Later, Arno wheeled Jordan down a long hall and into a large, bright room. “This is my room?” Jordan asked, eyes wide. “Yes,” Arno answered, smiling at her innocent wonder. “But, it’s so big. I thought...” “Yes?” Arno inquired, chuckling at her childlike awe. “They had me in another room,” Jordan whispered. “It was much smaller.” “Ahh,” Arno said. “We felt it would be better if you roomed with someone.” “Ohhh,” Jordan murmured. She tried to rise from the wheelchair, but fell back down, drained of strength. “Just rest,” Arno said, wheeling her across the room. He helped her into bed, and kindly covered her with blankets. Brushing some stray hair from her face, he smiled softly and said, “You’re strength will come back soon. For now, try to get some sleep, okay?” Jordan nodded, and whispered, “Thank you.” When Arno slipped from the room, Jordan threw back the blankets and sat up. She surveyed her surroundings. Next to her bed was a shelf lined with books. A vase of flowers had been left for her, filled with roses and daffodils. When her eyes fell upon a battered stuffed bear who was missing one eyes, she cried out. Crawling from bed and standing weakly, she collected the doll in her arms and held it tightly to her chest. A folded letter was pinned to its back, and she tore it off, reading it quickly. You would not be parted with this little guy when you were brought into the hospital. Thought he might be special to you, so I made sure he wasn’t locked away. The letter was signed by Arno. Jordan smiled brightly, and reminded herself to thank the man for his thoughtfulness next time she saw him. The stuffed animal was a simple reminder of the only other person who had ever been kind to Jordan. From across the room, in the bed opposite Jordan’s, someone stirred. Eye’s wide, she watched as blankets fell away from her new roommate, and a single pale, tattooed shoulder was revealed. Eyes wide with fascination and wonder, Jordan whispered, “Red Wolf.” ~*~*~*~ |
| Smoke swirled around Arno's head. The bar was packed full of people, most looking to dip their pens or share their inkwells. Liqour flowed like the streams of Olympus, smooth and easy, drowning away all the pain of lives not so ordinary. The smooth and sultry sounds of Dusty Springfield and her tales of the preacher's son filled the sullenly dim atmosphere. "I'm kind of shocked to see you here," Sadie, the bartender, said with her usual fun-loving smirk. "Coke on the rocks?" "You know me too well," Arno replied, half smiling because of the company, half grimacing because of the cigarette smoke. Sadie slid him his coke and returned to the other customers. She was a cute little blonde, nearing 30, but still vibrating with youthful energy. Her soft blonde locks were pulled back into a loose pony tail, threatening to spill over the bonds of the hair band and fall languidly on her narrow shoulders. She returned after a moment, bumping to the music as she poured a shot for herself. Their glasses clinked together, the reenactment of a silent toast once shared during Arno's drinking days. Their eyes were locked, hard, focused, trying to read one another. "So why are you here?" she asked finally. "In order to maintain my strength of will," he said, looking up and down the bar before continuing, "I have to expose myself to the ancient elements that drove me to madness." "In order to not drink you have to watch other people drink?" "Sober eyes provide a clear point of view. Just look at them all, staggering to the bathroom, stammering to get their words out, drowning themselves in hard liquor and the promise of escape. It's really quite sad." Sadie looked out over the many faces of the patrons. Red cheeks, bits of spittle in the corner of foolish smiles, dampened reflexes, droplets of beer hanging from their pressed garments. It was like watching a nature show about the rituals of some noble soulless creature of four legs, only the creature in question was the human animal and the pursuit, the ritual, was one of dissatisfaction as well as the hope, the prayer of something worthwhile springing from a drunken bedroom romp. "You have an odd way of looking at things," Sadie said with a nod. "I kind of like it." "When I was a kid of 18 and I first staggered into this place, the vision of you almost knocked me flat on my ass." Sadie blushed, "Is that a compliment?" "It's more than a compliment. It's a confession of utter admiration," he replied, blushing himself. "I just want to know if you'll go out with me, Sadie. One date. Maybe two. Preferably ending in marriage." The laugh that escaped her lips came as a total surprise to her. If it had been any other man in the bar, she would have found an excuse to remove herself from the conversation. But Arno had a tenderness to him that most men did not. He had a compassionate heart and a decent sense of morality. She trusted that his intentions were pure and in no way related to an attempt at perpetrating an empty one night stand. "I have off Saturday," Sadie stated, leaning in close so no one else could hear her words. "I have to come in for a meeting at about four, so if you could pick me up out front at five, that would be fantastic. Save me some cab fare." "Consider me your personal Taxi service," Arno said, slapping some money on the bar. "I hope you like stomach puckering Thai food." ☼☼☼☼ The next morning, Arno was back in his cramped little office filling out form after form, awaiting his one-thirty appointment with Jordan. There was something about the girl that made him want, no need, to help her through her ordeal. She had some attitude, that was evident, but she was much more fragile than she let on. Despite all that she had done to herself and all that had been done to her, she still had a gleam of childhood innocence in her world weary eyes. When she entered the room, he noticed that she was shaking involuntarily. It was as if a fault line within her had rubbed together violently and was causing a seismic event beneath her pale skin. She lowered herself into the chair and wrapped one hand around her own wrist. Try as she might, she could not keep her hands from shaking. "I notice you're having some tremors," Arno commented, pulling her file out of his desk drawer. There was really no need for it since he had memorized the information about her. It just made him feel comfortable knowing it was nearby. "Usually, I tend to ignore the files that are provided by the hospital, but you've been hard up for a few days. I haven't had time to interview you, so I gave it a read." "What do they say about me?" she asked. "The usual bullshit. Patient is violent and unreachable. Basically it says you're a lost cause. Because of that, I got you this." From his pocket he pulled out a metal of St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. He laid it on the desk in front of her. She touched it gently, but made no move to collect it. "At one point in my life they called me a lost cause, so I did some reading about lost causes and found out about this fella named St. Jude," Arno stopped and opened the window behind his head. Crisp afternoon air filled the tiny office. "You see he's--" "The patron saint of lost causes," Jordan blurted, a swell of minor pride moving through her. "I read a lot and you pick up things." Arno simply smiled. His smile faded as the moment of silence grew into several minutes of silence. Jordan was shaking worse. It was almost like she was fighting back a deadly epileptic seizure, like a single brick holding back the flooding of the Yellow river. "Is there anything I can get for the pain?" she asked, the confidence to do so hitting her suddenly. "I just can't seem to get past it." "I'm not going to give you drugs, Jordan. The senior doctors, as per my request, have put a stop medication order on you. You're not going to beat this thing with chemicals." "But it hurts so fucking bad!" she bellowed, cradling her head in her hands. "The drugs you want are not a cure at all. They're a temporary solution. If you don't beat this on your own, you never will." "I need to shoot up again!" she screamed this time, bringing her balled fists down on the arms of the chair. "You don't understand the fucking pain that I'm going through!" "That's where your wrong," he rolled up his shirt sleeve and showed her the scars, the remnants of track marks on his arms. "I've been through it all, Jordan. Detox isn't fun, it's certainly not pretty. But the pain you're going through is a small sacrifice to cut off the pain of continued drug use. Say fuck you now or later you're in for a world of hurt." "There's no pain worse than this," she muttered, tears welling up in her eyes. Arno walked to her side and took her hand in his own. He squatted down to her level, brushing several strands of hair away from her forehead. "Jordan, the thing about detox is this," her began, his words soft yet stern. "You think you had it bad this go around, it only gets worse. The more of that shit you pump into your shrinking veins, the more pain you'll have to face later. When life comes long and fast and you're older, wiser and you decide it's time to kick the drugs, you'll find that you've lost more than you realize," he paused to brush a tears from her cheek, "You'll find your womb withered and unable to hold a child. You'll find your immunities dampened and sickness will become much more a part of your life. You'll also find that all the people you hoped and prayed would stick by you have suddenly turned their backs on you. It's a selfish pursuit. The only friends you'll ever have are those trying to force smack into your veins. You'll never know love and share your life with someone else because heroin is your life. It's all consuming. It swallows you up, digests you and shits you out." With that said, he rose to full height and pulled her up out of the chair. He walked her over to the window, put his hand on her shoulders and said: "This world can be a mean motherfucker, a monstrous bitch. But it can also be a really great place. If you keep up with the drugs, if you try to chemically heal yourself, you'll miss out on a great deal of it. I'm sure you've been told that drug addiction is a disease. No. If you think of it as a disease, you'll believe you have no control over it. You do have control. Willpower is the greatest force that human beings have. If you could bottle willpower, turn it into a fuel, humankind could go all the way to the end of the universe and back again. It really is the best weapon in your arsenal," he then led her to the door, still speaking as they walked. "I believe that you have the power to help yourself." Together they walked to the recreation room where a group activity was about to commence. The pendant of St. Jude was cupped tightly in Jordan's hand. She had little belief in a world beyond this one and to her saints were part of some epic fairy tale used to delude the masses. But the pendant represented so much more to Jordan than God or the kingdom of heaven. It was the first time in her life she felt that someone really did believe in her, that there was someone out there not willing to give up on her even if she was, as the doctors had said, a lost cause. |
| Name: Jessica Andrews (Known by most as Houshi/Hoshiri) Age: 17 Sex: Female Appearance: Very dark and seductive. Houshi’s hair is a gorgeous blue-black, thanks to a good box of hair dye every now and then, and her eyes are an odd blue- so deep, they seem to be black. Even though she is very pretty with her large, cat-like eyes, golden skin, ample bust, long legs and high cheek bones, her personality clashes. Personality: Houshi, after being used so many times, doesn’t trust anyone. The only person she had ever trusted was her boyfriend, and that didn’t end well. Now, she’s very distant and cold to those who try too hard to get close, but given time, she might warm up to them. When it comes to men, the defenses are up, and she’s always careful. When around women, she’s always making sure they don’t mess with her mind- a major problem with her old ‘friends.’ Houshi is always watching, learning, taking things in. Music is her life and always has been since she was little(she sings and plays the piano), and if anyone were to take that away from her, she would go berserk. Normal Clothes/Style: A skin tight, long sleeved thing cropped black shirt, and a knee length black skirt exposing her flat stomach and pierced bellybutton. Silver bands around her wrists and ankles. Or, when off the job, just a pair of black jeans, a black shirt, a black hoodie, and a pair of old, worn boots. Piercings/Tattoos: Because her nickname means ‘star,’ she has a star tattoo on her lower back. A tear drop beside one eye, a star charm piercing through her bellybutton, both ears pierced and on one ear, two cartilage piercings. Reason for being at Rockhill: When she was fifteen, her best friend had suggested selling her body to get some extra cash. It had become a habit for Houshi, but after her best friend died by the hand of a frequent visitor, she decided to call it quits. When her boyfriend had found out about her work, he used her, abused her, then left a year later. After losing him, she went back to the job simply because she wanted to feel loved by someone, stayed for a year, and attempted suicide four months later. A friend from school called Rockhill to get Houshi help. ~*~*~*~*~ Houshi’s fingers traveled the keys swiftly, effortlessly, as she played her heart out. The sheet music before her was blank, and a fountain pen lay beside it, ready for her to write and compose. It was ironic, really. The reason she was even in Rockhill was because of her music. Because she wanted to fix the grand piano that she had inherited from her grandfather after his passing, she needed money. Money she didn’t have. Maybe you should do what I do… you know… I don’t know… Luke would hate that… So? He doesn’t have to find out. Hey, just thing about it. You could have money for the piano, a guitar or two… something for Luke… and more… in just a few days. Because of the one thing she loved, she was at Rockhill. And yet, she knew that it was one of the things that would save her. Her hands fell to her sides and she turned to the three people who had come in the room, just to see who was playing. One, she was sure, was a supervisor. The other two were most likely patients, like herself. “That was… awesome.” Houshi’s gaze landed on the supervisor, but she did not reply. Instead, she stood, picked up the paper and pen, and made her way toward the door. Once upon a time, Houshi had wanted to study music therapy. Now, it seemed as though she were the one who truly needed it. Reaching the door, she paused and turned, looking to the three. For a moment, she actually wanted to speak with them. About what? Even she didn’t know. Without a word, she left the room, and went to her own, the one assigned to her. Falling onto the bed, she sighed and took the pen and paper onto her lap, pulled the cap of the pen off with her teeth and pressed it against the paper. It was never hard for her to think of something to write. It always just… came to her. And being at Rockhill wouldn’t stop that. There’s no way to escape the inevitable, there’s no way to escape my mind. Cause even when I know where I’m going… it’s myself I can’t seem to find. In the past, a simple sexual favor would get her out of any problem. But now that she was at Rockhill for that reason, there was no way it would get her out. But that didn’t really matter. In all actuality, she wanted to be there.. and away from the rest of her life. Maybe start over… start a new life. |
| Red, who had once been Alessandra, looked up, her eyes passing over the other girl like a caress. “You called?” Red asked, a smile spreading across her face. Slowly, Red pulled herself up and looked more directly at her new roommate. It was obvious she had been taking heroine. Red had learned to spot addicts with deadly precision. For a moment, Red was shot through with gut-wrenching guilt. ‘My father caused her to end up like this’ Red thought, as she looked at the skin and bones girl. Red watched as the other girl tried to hide the bear she was holding. Red, taking an immediate liking to this smaller girl grinned and leaned over to still her hand. “Don’t worry. Used to have a stuffed dog I lugged with me everywhere. The only reason I don’t have it here is cause it got burnt up in a fire last year.” Red said, trying to calm the distrust in the other girl’s eyes. “What’s your name, Stretch?” Red asked, not unkindly. “My name is Jordan, not stretch. Don’t fuck with me bitch” Jordan hissed, and Red had to resist the urge not to laugh. “Hey, I’m not your enemy Jordan.” Red said and smiled. She sighed and leaned back. “But I’m sorry I called ya stretch. It was wrong of me.” Jordan stared at Red for a moment, as if looking for a lie. Red watched as Jordan’s gaze fell upon her muscled and tattooed arms. “Why. . .why are you in here?” Red curled up a bit, her face going cold. “Was involved with some bad people. Got hurt by some bad people. Hurt some other people and became bad.” was Red’s only answer. Jordan nodded. “Okay.” she said, while clinging to the bear. Red’s brow creased with worry when Jordan began to shake. Red got up and sat next to Jordan on her bed. “Withdraws?” She asked, her voice low and soft. Jordan nodded but eyed her suspiciously. “How did you know?” Red simply shrugged. “Practice.” Red pulled out a few sticks of gum. She knew it wouldn’t help much, but who didn’t like gum? Red handed it over with an encouraging smile. “Want some? Its better then biting your own tongue.” Jordan laughed and unwrapped the gum quickly, shoving two pieces in her mouth at once. Red and Jordan simply sat together till Jordan stopped shaking. Jordan looked a bit pale and Red sighed. ‘Damn, why do I even care? I ain’t her mother’ Red growled to herself, but she took Jordans arm anyway, leading her out of the room. “Where we going?” Jordan asked, her eyes darting around as if she expected an attack. “For water and something to eat.” Red said. “You need to put some meat on your bones if you ever want to get well again.” Red was beating herself up inside. ‘Come on bitch! How sappy could you be! You sound like an old grandma!’ she screamed at herself. Red simply gritted her teeth and told herself to shut up. The Jordan girl was cool. Red could tell she was different then most junkies right away. As they walked to the kitchens, Red saw the pervert, Dent, leering at them, and she shot him a glare and a flash of sharp teeth. Her sharp canines were simply another thing that contributed to her name, ‘Wolf’. Dent looked away and Red smiled. ‘Still got it.’ she thought, and went to grab some grub for herself and her roommate Jordan. |
| The room that they set me up in was really more than I expected. It was bigger than I thought it would be, I figured I would be jammed in a room with five other people, but still wasn't that big. I did have a roommate though, but they didn't show up until after I fell asleep. When I went to bed around 2 a.m., there were still people roaming the halls like it was twelve in the afternoon, so I figured that the person I would be bunking with was probably just out somewhere doing something. I was kind of overwhelmed by everything that was going on, and I welcomed the sleep. I was out of it the minute my head touched the pillow. When I woke up in the morning I saw someone sleeping in the bed across the room, but I couldn't see who it was. Whoever they were, they had pulled the sheets over their head and had buried themselves in their bed. On the desk at the end of my bed I found a pile of a clothes and a note from Kerry. It read- I heard that you don't like my choice in clothes, so here's an array of different things that you might find better than what I gave you the night before. You have an appointment with Arno Firth at 2 o'clock today, he'll be in room ten. After you're done, come find me, we need to talk about you starting school tomorrow. "Damn," I looked through the clothes she had left me, "I forgot about school." I never had enjoyed education. I was actually a pretty good student, the thing is, I never did homework. Why bring school into your life at home? The teachers didn't like that. After picking through the pile for a few minutes, I found some clothing that fit me and slipped them on. I didn't bother with making my bed, and headed out of the room in search of breakfast. I spotted a guy wearing a name tag and asked him where I could get some food. He told me the way to the cafeteria without even looking up from his clipboard. It smelled. The cafeteria I was supposed to eat in smelled... bad. It wasn't a good sign. There was a small line that had formed across the room to wait for food and I hesitantly stepped behind the last person in line. The line move swiftly forward and I looked with distaste at everything this place had to offer. It's not like any of it really looked bad, but my stomach just couldn't handle this stuff, it had always been really sensetive. I picked up a muffin and a juice and went to find a table. I found one near the door into the cafeteria with no one occupying it and sat down with a sigh. I would have sat at a table with other people, but everyone looked like they had a designated table, and I didn't want to intrude on that. After sitting and munching on the blueberry muffin for awhile, I noticed a nervous looking girl enter the cafeteria. Kerry, who stood behind the girl, whispered something into her ear and turned around and left. The girl stood by the door for a moment before going to where the food was. I watched as she waited for the line to completely evaporate before she grabbed some food herelf. I also watched as she walked slowly around the room in search of a table. She was just like me, and as she came right up next to where I sat, I called her over. "Sit here," I kicked a chair out and she flinched a little bit. I would have to be cautious with this one. She hesitated for a moment before sitting down slowly. "I'm John," I took another bite out of the muffin. "Danni," she said it quietly and I could barely hear her. "Are you knew here?" I wondered why she was so distant. She nodded a 'yes'. "Me too." She perked up a little bit when she heard that I had just gotten here too. "You're hair's all messy," she was looking at my head. I put my hands up and smoothed my hair down. "Oh, Jesus," I said, "no wonder those people were looking at me funny." We sat there a moment without saying a single thing to each other, just chewing our food. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye that someone approaching me. "Are you John?" The guy asked. I nodded and he extended his hand forward for me to shake. "I'm Anthony, I guess I'm kind of your roommate." "Oh," I said, "cool." He left to go get some food and I turned back to Dani. "Damn, my roommate is hot," I laughed. Dani's eyes widened. "You're gay?" She asked. "Um, yeah," I told her, "kind of." For some reason it seemed to calm her, which made absolutely no sense to me. I threw my muffin into the garbage and stood up. "Hey, Dani, do you want to go find something to do? I have a few hours to kill before I have to go to this counseling thing and I'm kind of bored." "Yeah," she said, standing, "I do." |
| It had been over two weeks- two weeks in the overly-sanitized holding pen for her. Now approaching the nineteenth day, Maxine had not talked much to anyone, save for Firth. And that was only once. Chances were that she wasn't going to get to speak to him very often- the previous few sit-down sessions that she had were with some of the bland, detestable folk that she had grown to hate on the first day. But little by little, she found herself longing for someone who hadn't been too fucked up to think clearly to talk to. Often times she thought things like 'Why the hell am I here? I can handle myself. I don't need any kind of recovery.' And the more she tried thinking that, the more she began to deny it. And still she still forced herself not to go pull up a chair next to the frail ones who started shaking every few seconds, from being buddy-buddy with the ones who wouldn't let anyone come near them. Maxine kept distancing herself more and more, bit by bit, refusing to go along with anything the so-called "therapists" wanted. She started to stop speaking as much, not even using her sharp tongue as she had in more recent days at the treatment center. 'Maybe I'll become a mute,' she had thought one night with a small, half-crazy smile. And to her surprise, she relinquished all thoughts of giving up speech when she met an odd group in a hall one night. She needed to use the restroom, which was just down the hall, and silently she pattered barefoot out of the tiny, boxy room and around the corner, the bottoms of her feet chilled by the cold tile. There it was, the door, and Maxine pushed it open. But then she heard something peculiar- Maxine could have sworn it was a whisper, but it was hushed so quickly that it sounded like the quick tearing of toilet paper. "Hello?" Her voice was weary and tired, but spiked with curiosity. There was no answer at first, so Maxine shrugged it off and stepped over to the nearest stall, coincidentally one of the largest ones. And just as she was about to push open the door, it swung ajar, and a strong fist pulled her forwards, slamming the stall shut behind her. Another hand clamped over her mouth. "Don't say a thing," a girl whispered into her ear. Maxine struggled against them, furrowing her dark eyebrows and squirming, but not getting loose. She could see four people in the little stall, two girls, two boys. She hadn't ever encountered any of them during the short time she was there, and in the dimmed light of the lavatory, they looked almost haunting. The boy who had pulled her in was barely taller than her, very lean, and he looked at everything with a stare in his large brown eyes. One girl holding her arm was short and round, her bobbed, dull brown hair framing frowning cheeks. There was another boy who looked about the same age as everyone, sulking in a corner of the stall, his foot up on the toilet seat, arms crossed tightly in front of him, reddish-brown bangs mussed across the pale forehead of his long, glasses-clad, ovalesque face. Maxine knew that a girl was holding her from behind- she felt boobs press into her back. And the girl was strong, very athletic if she was able to restrain Maxine so well. "Why are you in here?" the round girl asked. The hand was removed from Maxine's face, and she gasped for air. "I was going to the fucking bathroom, idiots," she whispered, scowling at the group. "Why the hell are you in here? Some sort of cult gathering or something? So screwed that you worship a holy tampon or something?" The hand was back again, smothering her mouth. "We come here to talk." The boy in the corner swiftly removed his glasses and wiped them against the thin undershirt he was wearing. "We've done this for about a month now." "What the hell do you talk about? How you absolutely adore that fag, Rick-" Maxine hissed through the fingers of her "captor." "Sherry, let go of her," said the skinny one with the stare. Maxine sighed in relief as the pressure was lifted from her ribcage. "Who are you, anyways?" Maxine rolled her eyes. "What's it to you?" "You found us. We gotta make sure you don't go off blabbing," the copper-headed boy said. "This is where we meet." "Then meet somewhere else. Like, the boys' bathroom." "That's the only one with cameras. To check if the guys are just staying in there to jack off. They don't want that." Maxine's shoulder began to itch. "So what is your name?" he asked again. "Maxine." He the girl holding her raised her thin eyebrows. "I had a dog named Maxine. She was a bitch." |
| The sun was warm on Jordan's face and she relished the quiet serenity the gardens provided after the noise and bustle of the building. For the past week, she'd found herself avoiding everyone but Red Wolf and Arno Firth. She'd never been very comfortable around other people and she cherished the time she had alone, because it was very infrequent. She twitched minutely as she lay back on the grass, staring at the bright sky. It had been almost three weeks since she'd last shot up, and the withdrawals still haunted her on a daily basis. Things were getting better, however, and she no longer found herself worshipping the ‘porcelain goddess’ twice a day. A shadow fell across the grass and Jordan shaded her eyes as she looked up. She greeted Alessandra with a smile and patted the ground beside her. “How goes it, Red?” Shrugging, Alessandra folded her arms together and sat down next to Jordan. Red Wolf was not one to talk when it wasn’t required of her, and Jordan found this fact to be quite a relief. She could not deal with some of the other residents of Rockhill, who chattered none stop. “I itch all over,” Jordan said with a heavy sigh, then scratched her leg to further state her point. She sighed as she rolled onto her stomach and stared up at Alessandra. “It’s to be expected,” the girl said softly, picking at the grass as she inanely watched the sky. “Dent tried to put his hands on me earlier today,” Jordan mumbled. “Oh?” Alessandra asked with a quirk of the eyebrow. Snickering, Jordan said, “he’s got an ice pack permanently attached to his balls.” “Good,” Alessandra whispered, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, as if in meditation. “Is that why the orderlies were chasing you up and down the halls earlier?” “Yeah,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes and heaving a long suffering sigh. “Fuckers came at me with a needle. Haldol, I think. I told ‘em if they touched me, I’d claw their eyes out. They decided to back off when I clawed the shit outta the fat one.” “Hmm,” Alessandra mumbled. “Hiding, are you?” Snorting, Jordan said, “if they think they’re gonna put me in that room, they got another thing coming.” They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Finally, Jordan stood up, smiling evilly as she offered a hand to Alessandra. “Whatcha think, Red?” she asked slyly. “Jail break tonight?” Chuckling, Alessandra gripped Jordan’s hands and allowed the girl to help her to her feet. “Why not.” |
| The office was like a tomb. Isabelle Sanders, the senior resident of the moment, was seated behind the Wing's mahogany desk looking through the afternoon reports. She didn't even look up when Arno walked in. He moved across the room quickly and slammed a book down on her desk. The act didn't startle her, she was too cold for that. Instead she looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow and that holier-than-thou gleam in her cold, cold eyes. "One of my patients," Arno growled, stopping for a moment to gather his thoughts. "One of my patients was given a Haldol order this afternoon. You mind telling me why?" "Give me her name," she said in an off-hand manner that only succeeded in pissing Arno off further. "Or would you like me to guess?" "Jordan Evans," he said. Sanders flipped through the stack of the day's reports. Her fingers moved slowly, showing how little she cared about the current dilemna. Men like Arno Firth never could fully understand that some patients needed medication. He was also a little too in touch for her taste. Seperating yourself from the patients was a common practice. You had to put yourself at a distance to diagnose them properly. If you got to close to them, you would lose something in the emotion of the relationship. "Here it is," Sanders said lazily, flipping to the third page of the report. "Well, your patient assaulted one of the orderlies." "I'm betting that was Dent," Arno commented. "I know you've seen the way some patients act around that guy. He's bad news. If your head wasn't so far up your ass, you would see that." "Your conduct is unbecoming, Mr. Firth. Besides, I don't think you have the experience to talk to me like that. You're not even certified yet," she said with a smirk. "If I even get a hint of further misconduct from Dent, I'm taking this up with the state board. Then it's your ass. That, Dr. Sanders, is a check you can cash. And keep your needles away from my patients." ~☼~ The city was quiet for a Friday night. One or two cars were parked outside the bar. Two hookers were working the corner, thin as rails, quite obviously drug addicts. Arno stood in the soft neon glow of the open sign, waiting for Sadie to come out. Being outside the bar and not even feeling the urge to go in for a drink forced him to swell with pride. It had been a long hard road to sobriety and the results were beautiful. Life was so much better when you could see it through clear eyes. Cigarettes were the one drug he still needed to kick, but had somehow turned out to be the hardest. Nicotine called to him every time his mind was in a quiet place. Tobacco became a screaming banshee when there was nothing else to think about. He searched his pockets for a light, but turned up empty. Figuring he must have left his lighter in his other jeans, he made his way over to the hookers. "Ladies, man needs a light here," he said in his usual comfortable way. Hookers were not foreign to him. He had done his fair share of tricking as a young heroin addict with not place to go but down. Generally they were good people, just terribly misguided. Damaged goods, so to speak. But even a glass plate shattered into a million pieces could be put together again. It just took time and patience. "Sure thing, baby," the older of the two said. "Anything for a handsome fella like you." "I'm not paying for it, love," he said smiling. "You can spare me the compliments." "In that case," she said, taking a step closer. "You are the ugliest sumbitch I've ever met in my entire life." The other hooker was a little quiet after that, having absolutely no idea how Arno would react. In their world, any man was capable of hurting them worse than they could ever hurt themselves. When he laughed, she relaxed quickly, even managing a soft chuckle. The older one lit his cigarette and leaned against the lamp post. "Waitin' on someone, baby?" she asked. "Just my girl," he replied, gesturing to the bar. "Started dating a couple days ago. Truth is, though, I've been in love with this lady for most of my life." "Awww," the younger one cooed. "That's sweet." "He called her a lady, too. Don't hear that much anymore. Least not in this line of work," the older one said, exhaling smooth light blue smoke. "Ladies, if I were to make you an offer, would you be open to it?" he asked after a moment. "Open to anything," said the younger one. "Don't ever say that, honey," the older one interjected. "The moment you say that, they bring out the paddles," she added as she glanced at Arno. "Depends on what it is." "Well, it's not about me really," he handed her his business card as he spoke. "Been where you are for a good portion of my life. It doesn't go anywhere I've found out. So, if you're thinking maybe you want a change of scenery, give me a call." "I don't think so, baby," the older one said with a roll of her eyes. "You seem nice enough, but this shit ain't shaking." Slowly she walked further down the block, disappearing into the shadows. The younger one remained behind, studying Arno as he stood there in the soft glow of the street light. She held out her hand, her eyes moist as she completed the gesture, stretching out her fingers and exposing her burned palm. "Can you stop shit like this from happening?" she asked. "If you can, just tell me. Just tell me and I'll leave all this behind." "Who did that to you?" "My father. You think I'm out here because I want to be out here? I'm out here because my father will beat the shit out of me if I don't turn tricks." "Then let me give you this," he said, writing a number on the back of another business card. "There is a priest a couple blocks over, runs a halfway house for girls. Go there tonight and then call me in the morning. And don't worry about your father. He can't hurt you if he can't find you. All right?" "I'll try," she said a few seconds later. Arno watched sadly as she walked of into the night. She would think about it, this much he was certain of, but she wouldn't actually do as he had suggested. He'd seen it a million times before. No matter how kind or even-headed he appeared, they always doubted his voracity. The knowledge that maybe one person would take his advice and find the help that he had was what kept him from giving up. There was a short flash of light as a cab rolled around the corner. Looking through the window, he was surprised to see Jordan staring back at him. The girl recognized him immediatelly and sank low into the seat. Alessandra, on the other hand, just sat there defiantly, her arms folded across her chest. Where she had gotten the clothes she was wearing he had no idea, but it looked like the two had gone on a shopping spree at Whores-R-Us. Without thinking, he jumped in front of the cab and slammed his fist down on the hood. The cabbie swore at him and flipped him an obscene gesture. Arno ignored him, because he was too damn busy dragging the girls out of the backseat. Alessandra kicked him in the chest, but that was the extent of her fight. Basically, they both came out quite easily. "What the fuck are you two doing?!" he screamed. "You only get one fucking chance at Rock Hill, dammit! Don't fucking blow it now!" "We had to get out," Alessandra said with a defiant shrug. "I'm sorry," was Jordan's pathetic reply. "Sorry doesn't fucking cut it," he said sharply, "I'm taking you back this time, but next time I'm leaving you in the hands of the police. I hope that's crystal fucking clear." |
Dani was terrified. She was in a large room with way too many people. Kerry came up behind her and she jumped. “Go talk to someone. I’m sure you can make a friend.” Kerry whispered. Dani was more than skeptical, but she walked further into the room. She watched the kids go through the line. She wasn’t hungry, but Kerry was still watching. Dani went slowly, finally deciding to go through the line. She walked around the room. Every table had a guy... They were all bigger than she was, and Dani found herself visibly shaking. A boy beckoned her over. He kicked the chair and she backed away. He then smiled and against her own better judgment she sat down. Introductions were exchanged and Dani found herself surprisingly at ease. Not fully, but much more than she had ever been around anyone else. John’s roommate came and when Dani found out that he was gay, she couldn’t help but feel calm. Gay men didn’t like women. That meant he wouldn’t hurt her and in turn, that meant she didn’t have to protect herself by being wary. "Hey, Dani, do you want to go find something to do? I have a few hours to kill before I have to go to this counseling thing and I'm kind of bored." John asked. "Yeah," She said, standing, "I do." They went to the rec room and spent most of the time goofing off. Neither said why they were there. Dani didn’t think she could ever tell anyone. She loathed the fact that in counseling she would be expected to talk. It came time for John to meet with the counselor and he said goodbye, saying that they would meet after her session. Dani found herself smiling for the first time in ages. A friend... It felt good to let her walls down. But two very large guys came into the room right after John left. They both came over and started hitting on her. Once again, she was visibly shaking. When one of the boys touched her shoulder, Dani found that she couldn’t move. She wanted to run... “Is there a problem here?” Rick said, coming out of no where. The boys backed off, but Dani was still frozen in place. “Danielle? Are you okay?” “T-Thank you...” She glanced at him and ran out of the room as fast as she could. Skirting any others who crossed her path, she went to the nearest bathroom she knew of. Locking herself in the stall, Dani hugged her arms tightly against herself and leaned against the wall. She couldn’t breathe, but she knew the feeling would pass in a few minutes. After her breathing returned to normal, Dani left the bathroom and went to outside the counselor’s office. John came out and smiled. “It wasn’t too bad. You’ll be okay.” Dani nodded and stepped in. The man stood up and towered above her. Dani backed away, wanting to get out. “Miss Danielle Eastman, my name is Arno Firth.” He extended his hand. Dani kept backing away, right into a wall. He looked at her strangely, then withdrew his hand. He motioned to a chair. “You can sit down if you want to.” “No thank you Mr. Firth. Can I just stay here?” Dani asked. She was close to the door and she felt much safer with more furniture between herself and this man. “Well sure.” ~*~*~*~ Dani slid out of the room. She was grateful the counseling was over. Mr. Firth had wanted her to talk, but she didn’t. She had tried, but anxiety won her over. As she walked down the hall, someone bumped into her and she nearly screamed. “Just me Dani.” John said with a soft laugh. “You okay?” “Um, yea. I’m fine.” “It’s past lunch, you hungry?” |
| “Alessandra Delour.” Firth said, looking at her file. “Thats your name, but I hear people calling you Red. Red Wolf to be exact. A lot of the other patients seem to know you. Particularly the drug abusers.” Red just shrugged. She was still mad at Firth for ending her and Jordan’s night out. “Never took drugs in my life, if thats what you’re getting at.” Firth didn’t respond, but he could see from the blood and hair tests they had done that she was telling the truth. “Okay then, why are you here? All the higher ups will tell me is that you came in after being in the hospital. I see that a man tried to force himself on you.” Firth said, tossing her file on the desk. “But when I ask why you were sent here instead of a place that specializes in treating woman after going through what you did, they say its classified. Actually, they say that I don’t even need to meet with you. Now why is that?” Red continued to looked blankly at Arno. “How should I know, Firth?” “I think you do know. I think something is going on here that I don’t like.” The silence between them didn’t really upset Red, but she started to drum her fingers against the top of Firth’s desk nonetheless. She didn’t like this guy. She didn’t like the way he talked, the way he acted. She didn’t like any of it. Red had seen enough smooth talkers in her day to recognize one when she saw it. Whether that slickness was used to help addicts, or to create them, Red didn’t care. She just didn’t like it. “I think that you aren’t minding your own business Firth, and I don’t like that.” Alessandra said, letting her sharp green eyes lock with his. “You’re my patient, whether you want to be or not, and as long as you are here, it is my business. Now what were you and Jordan doing out of the center?” Arno asked, seeming not at all upset by Red’s stubbornness. “We needed out. Both of us. I can take care of myself, and Jordan too.” Alessandra said, her face blank. She knew that she looked quite simple minded most of the time, with that listless look, but she had grown to use it to her advantage. “Oh, you can take care of yourself? Then what landed you here? It doesn’t seem you can take care of yourself half as well as you like to thi-” Red cut him off, her eyes becoming ice. Her lip curled back and she half snarled. “Nobody saved me. . .Firth. . . I saved myself from that bastard. Nearly gutted him like a fish. I don’t let anybody else fight my battles for me, especially when somebody treats me like that.” Arno raised a brow. “Are you used to that kind of treatment Red?” “Go fuck yourself Firth.” Alessandra said, all the previous anger gone, and that emotionless look back on her face. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Firth said, without malice. Red smiled, letting her sharp canines show. “All the talk in the world can’t fix me, Firth. I’m not broken. I just have to get away. This place is the beginning.” Without waiting for Arno to dismiss her, Alessandra rose, calmly put her chair back to where it had been before she had come in, and walked to the door. She turned the handle and was almost out before she stopped. “You helped Jordan, and for that I’m thankful.” Red said, not turning around, “But don’t expect an easy time from me.” With that she left. Arno sighed, and put his head down on the desk, muttering to himself. “I think I might have bitten off more then I can chew.” |
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