The Patient Mental

[Clare Walsh]

THE PATIENT MENTAL SITS AND STARES,
An idle mind that's empty, screaming, staring back

Clare was no stranger to St. Mungo's, as the building was no stranger to her. Try as the
young woman might she couldn't count the times she had been admitted, most of them
of her own accord. Clare was a complex being and it seemed as though nobody would
ever get far enough into her brain to see that somewhere, something was broken. But
it didn't matter what, or when, it had broken, and far beyond repair. Clare sat with her
own thoughts in the lounge room of the hospital, her once striking hazel eyes began to
stare with not an ounce of emotion towards the blank white wall. Her eyes managed to
find the most amazing things in nothing, something Clare had always liked about herself.
Running her frail fingers through her Peter Pan haircut the young woman remembered
the day she had cut it all off, it had been at the age of fifteen that the Irish girl's father
had been sent off to serve for his country, and Clare had convinced herself he had taken
all of her with him, including the locks of golden hair that she had parted with so easily,
and so void of emotion. It had been that day the endless spiral had began. Most called
her a 'Military Brat' a girl that simply didn't know what she had, a simple attention hog.
Her first visit to hospital she had thrown herself from her bike and broken her leg, but
these days the injuries she seemed to sustain kept her inside those four walls much
longer, but today Clare had found herself in the psychiatric ward, along with all of the
other so called 'Mental' patients that she didn't for a minute believe she belonged with.

Healers wandered the halls to and fro, but it didn't phase the blonde. She stared blankly
once more, all the while she knew exactly what she was doing, was she really mental?
It didn't matter to her, if she acted just like all of the other patients she would be sure
to be in for the long haul. Hearing footsteps approaching her, Clare Walsh spun her head
around, they weren't the footsteps of healers, or patients for that matter, no, Clare knew
that sound more than anything she had before. It was the sound of fresh meat, as she
liked to refer to them as. Standing up with as much dignity as one could in the standard
issue pajamas, at least three times too big for the frail woman, Clare flashed a smile at
the new patient who stood out like a sore thumb in his usual attire. "LJT0204" she recited
perfectly as a child would the alphabet, she knew her hospital number like the back of her
hand, and she was only trying to intimidate the new patient. "Clare." She said quietly as
she extended her hand for the young man to shake. Clare Walsh knew, just like all of the
other residents of St. Mungo's that she was Queen Bee, and he would soon know of it.

Despite her apparant amount of power and confidence over the rest of the patients, Clare
would never admit just how uneasy she felt around them. It didn't matter what they had
or who they were, the young woman faked her confidence to the max. For the umpteenth
time she was back there, and for the umpteenth time the hospital would discover there
was nothing really wrong with her, and for the umpteenth time Clare would hurt herself
just to be back there. She craved familiarity, it was a kind of desire she would never fully
satisfy. Since her father had left to fight, Clare hadn't felt safe in her own home. A bump,
a crack, it would only take one decibel for the fair haired woman to spiral into oblivion a
state she couldn't come out of. If she wasn't petrified and awake, beads of sweat running
down her forehead, her mind would be plagued with nightmares, something that not even
the dozens of pills she had prescribed would cure. As the young man took her hand Clare
felt goosebumps running up her arm, even such a simple interaction reminded her of the
day she had shook her father's hand and watch his ship sail away from her, never to return.
"And you are?" she asked, looking up at her aquaintance, wondering what could possibly
be wrong with him. He looked normal enough, not like most of the people that plagued the
beds of that particular ward of St. Mungo's.

WORDS || SEVEN SIXTY-TWO
LYRICS || MUDVAYNE-THE PATIENT MENTAL
NOTES || ITS NOT CLUMSY, ITS BRILLIANT!​

 

[Dominic Hirsch]

some say you'll never be gone forever, some say there's music where you go, - - - - - - - - - -
i've no faith in my heart, to tell two apart, ocean above from sky below. - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - where i am going you can't save me.

The pill bottles were all empty, the potions - the ones that kept him sane, or at
least attempted to - they were empty as well. Dominic had managed to use a
month's worth of the stuff in little more than a fortnight. And they hadn't helped
in the slightest. Lying on the dusty wooden floor of his decrepit Brightstone apart-
ment, Dominic stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and his lips trembling.
No, the young man had not overdosed. No, he was not unconscious. In fact, he
was far from it. And if one wanted to get deep about things, one could say that,
if anything, Dominic was too conscious. His mind was working a mile a minute,
while life at the moment seemed to be moving eerily in slow motion. After what
seemed like hours, he finally stood up. With a shaky hand clutched over his
mouth, Dominic tried to stifle a sob, compose himself, and head for the door.
After all, he had an appointment at St. Mungo's to keep.

As he arrived at the healer's suffocatingly small office, anticipating only their
monthly meeting, he was surprised to be asked to sit down for a moment. Dom
forced a somewhat confused smile onto his face, though as he began piecing
together the barrage of information he was receiving, this slowly faded. He knew
what she meant. He was being thrown in the loony bin. Speechless for some time,
Dominic finally spoke, words spilling forth with no composure whatsoever. "But,
but you're wrong, Margaret! This is just.. this visit is just our routine,
you see? Every month I come to your office, talk about how I am, pick
up my pills, and leave!" Dominic pleaded, growing more agitated with every
word. His tone was almost desperate, his vision growing misty. "So why is today
any different? Okay, yes, this crash has not been one of my easiest
ones. Yes. Yes. I understand that. But this place isn't for me, Margaret.
I'm not like these people. You know me, Margaret!" Dominic lowered his
voice, dropping his fidgety hands back into his lap. Breathing deeply, the troubled
man ran the slender fingers through his chestnut crop of hair, the first thought
that popped into his head being that he was in dire need of.. a haircut, of all
things. God, what was wrong with him? Apart from the Cyclothymia, of course.

This just wasn't happening, it couldn't be. Dominic had a job! And.. and a cat
to take care of! The healer continued to talk, speaking of the medication clearly
not being enough, and that inpatient care was only ever suggested when it was
thought truly necessary. Her tone was distant, detached, presumably her own
defense mechanism to protect her from the freaks that she had been around
for so many years. And she explained that the therapy would take only a month
or two at most, though Dominic's attention was long gone. With his face buried
deeply in his hands, he nodded, resigning himself to the fact that this illness would
never cease to haunt him, would never cease in its attempts to tear his life from
him. Why didn't it see how much it hurt him? The never-ending rise and fall,
constantly playing with his heart and his mind. It just.. hurt.

Several hours later, after briefly returning to his home, sending Tolstoy, his cat,
to a friend's, and later filling out endless forms, Dominic was led into the ward.
To be perfectly honest with you, the man was truly terrified. He had no idea what
to expect in the slightest. Would they force him into a straight jacket? Bind him to
a bed and leave him there until he became sane? With a duffle bag full of hastily-
packed belongings slung over a shoulder, Dominic continued down the hall, before
arriving at a fairly plain, though not entirely unsettling room. The healers that'd
flanked him then handed him a pair of the standard-issue pajamas, and swiftly
took the duffle bag - presumably to search it before returning it to him. After all,
it was filled only with books, photographs, other possessions like that. Dominic
had nothing to hide.

As his dark eyes moved sluggishly around the room, the young man was surprised
to see a girl around his own age approach him. Why was someone who looked so
normal locked up in a place like this? Though when she suddenly recited a seemingly
random series of letters and numbers so nonchalantly, Dominic felt it probably correct
to take that back. Appearances could be deceiving, after all. His eyes were now the
size of saucers, acknowledging that the girl before him was really quite intimidating.
He looked away, unable to keep contact. When she then spoke a more comforting
word, her name, Dominic returned his gaze to her. Clare.. He ran the word over in
his head. It reminded him of chocolate eclairs, of a warm Autumn day spent sitting
outside his parents' bakery. Yes, that was a name he could get used to. He repeated
it, though this time, he did so aloud. "I mean, no, my name's not Clare, no. I..
I'm deeply depressed!" Dominic corrected himself, not realising that he had just
made a second gaffe, in addition to calling himself Clare. Though his mind was
rather preoccupied, so the new mental patient wasn't as embarassed as one would
assume. Gingerly taking the girl's hand in his, Dominic suddenly didn't know what
to do with it, simply not possessing the physical or emotional strength to even
shake it right now.

notes it's a little clumsy in some places, sorreh words 937
wearing clothez, bro lyrics sun gangs - the veils

​

 

[Clare Walsh]

THE PATIENT MENTAL SITS AND STARES,
An idle mind that's empty, screaming, staring back

A smirk twitched at Clare's lips as the young man's eyes widened. He was obviously feeling
intimidated by her, which was exactly her plan. The twenty-one year old's head tilted slightly
to the left as she studied the man, the intimidation certainly couldn't be reciprocated. As she
studied his wide eyes and gangly legs, Clare couldn't help but think he looked just like a deer
caught in the headlights, which sent a pang of nostalgia through Clare, it was probably just
the way she looked when she had first arrived at St. Mungo's at the tender age of fifteen. She
had never really had the chance to speak to her mother, the act of pain she had inflicted on
herself had even granted her an ambulance straight to a muggle hospital to begin with. But
to Clare, the place just didn't seem right, but when she thought of St. Mungo's, she no longer
thought of the prison she had been thrown into as a teenager, no, Clare thought of the place
she had chosent to be in time and time again. A place where she felt the safest she possibly
could. That place was home. At least to her, it was the only place she felt at all comfortable
with calling by that name. The petite young woman blinked a little, continuing to look up at
the man, the apparant height difference would obviously pose a problem as he stood over
her, yet she still had the upper hand. As a string of confusing and stuttered words fell out of
his mouth, Clare's eyebrows became raised upon her forehead. Yes, this man certainly did
belong in here, she thought to herself as her mouth fell open, unsure what she was to say.

But her quick thinking mind didn't fail her, as there really was no time for her to run over in
her head the beautiful way that her companion spoke her name, because, what in the name
of Merlin's most baggiest Y-fronts was he on about? But she felt it fit that she could at least
run it through her mind once or twice, for she had always hated her parents for giving her
such a plain and boring name, even to the extent that as a child she would call herself by a
number of different, and far more interesting titles. Realising what the man was saying, Clare
chuckled to herself, but only on the inside. He was so poor and helpless, and Clare wanted
nothing more than to run her hands through his hair, and simply give him a bear hug. There
was no doubts about it, she was going to take him under her wing, show him the ropes of
the hospital, it was apparant that he needed all the help he could get, and she wouldn't let
him be trampled by the staff. "You're funny." said Clare, rather thoughtlessly. "I think I'll
keep you." she mused, not realising just how odd she was coming across. At his remark of
how depressed he was, the elf like girl smiled. "Deeply depressed? Well, I'm completely
depressed." she exaggerated, instantly, without knowing it herself, trying to get herself one
up on the man that stood before her. She shouldn't have acted that way towards him, she
still remembered the day she was taken to the hospital, she remembered every second of it.

--

Clare had always been an unusual girl, but never like this. She was well kept, and secretly
envied by many for her pretty features. But after her father's departure, Clare had never
been the same, she mostly kept to herself, whatever friends she may have had before, lost
deep within the cracks in her mind, never to be found again. But as the small young girl was
escorted away by the Hogwarts nurse in front of each and every one of her fellow potions
students, the potion she had brewed deep within her stomach, it was quite certain that Clare
Walsh was far too far gone to be saved. 'Hey look, the leprechaun is off to the loony bin!'
She drunk the crazy!' her classmates taunted her. The little Irish girl flinched. She was small
for her size, and her ears were slightly pointed, and sure she was born in Ireland, but that
gave her classmates no right to call her by such names. But the firey tempered girl gave up
the fight, there was no point in lashing out or throwing insults back, she was getting out of
there once and for all.

--

"So, what is actually your name?" she asked, curious to find out more about this interesting
young man that stood towering over her. Looking down at her small hand cupped in his, she
looked straight back up at him. Did he not know how to shake hands? "Shake it silly." she
remarked, moving his hand up and down for him before releasing her fingers from his grip,
instantly feeling the chill of the cold room upon them. There was no denying that this man
belonged in here with her, but Clare couldn't seem to put her finger on exactly what for. She
could usually tell straight away what the patients were in for, but this young man seemed a
mystery to her, perhaps it was the fact that she secretly found herself quite attracted to the
way he carried himself, however clumsy it was. But she would never admit that to anybody.

WORDS || NINE ONE-FOUR
LYRICS || MUDVAYNE-THE PATIENT MENTAL
NOTES || ITS A BIT BLAH. MEH.​

 

[Dominic Hirsch]

some say you'll never be gone forever, some say there's music where you go, - - - - - - - - - -
i've no faith in my heart, to tell two apart, ocean above from sky below. - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - where i am going you can't save me.

His hand still clasped with Clare's, Dominic blinked ever so slowly, willing her to
say something. He just craved interaction with another human right now, to take
his mind off the sterile abyss he seemed to currently find himself. Besides, there
was no one else around, anyway. Well, there may have been, but Dominic didn't
care to look, his eyes still vehemently on her, the unsettling stranger. When Clare
finally did speak, and suggest that she keep him, he was genuinely taken aback.
Surely no one could want him? Not even in a humorous, joking way did Dominic
expect someone to see positive in him, especially in the state he was currently.
His eyelashes were still wet with tears, dark shadows beneath them. A complexion
appearing nothing but exhausted, almost sallow, he found it hard to believe that
he could be likable at all. But then again, Dominic was the type of self-disparaging
person to be constantly thinking thoughts that were not dissimilar. The notion was
only strengthened by his current bout of dysthymia. Regardless whether the fellow
patient was being sarcastic or serious, he wouldn't fight it. He just didn't have the
energy.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," Dominic uttered, attempting to muster up a hint
of the strength and calm his newfound partner in conversation seemed to possess
so easily. "I mean, okay," he corrected himself once again, this time entirely un-
necessarily. Really, why did he have to be such an inadequate, sub-par human
being? Couldn't he have been blessed with just one redeeming quality? How Dom
found himself quickly growing to understand that this place might truly be where
he belonged. And he didn't mean it in an affectionate way in the slightest. When
Clare explained that her depression was greater, he gave only a subtle nod. After
all, who was Dominic to argue? He had no idea what was going on in the woman's
mind. Though he suddenly wished he could at least see a glimpse. She was purely
intriguing and he wanted - so much - to know why.

The thought of minds and what they contained led Dominic to explore his own. He
had not evoked certain memories since around the time of its last anniversary -
November 30th. The young man wasn't sure why he'd suddenly thought of it now,
but surely the environment and rush of emotions had awoken something. He had
only been a toddler at the time, but somehow, Dominic still remembered the day
with such clarity. One could just deduce that the mind was a powerful tool, though
it was understandable that he could recall that day in particular. It was, after all,
the Friday that his father had died. Of course, the memory was a tad hazy, but
Dominic could still see in his mind the mother of his friend dropping the phone,
the way that her hands shook as she cradled him, speaking how his own mother
would be there soon enough to explain everything. Dominic pictured the human-
shaped play-doh figure still grasped in his hands later that evening, Mrs Hirsch's
newly-widowed tears falling into his dampened hair. Eventually, it was kneaded
into nothing but a shapeless blob and dropped to the floor, the toddler's eyelids
unable to stay open any longer. And though he had, of course, not been present
to witness the brief but fatal crash itself, Dominic's untamable imagination had
somehow created and imprinted the sounds of screeching tyres and shattering
glass into the forever-looped soundtrack to his dreams. But he understood that
dwelling on the past was never a healthy thing to do, so it was rare for him to
recall the memory at will, choosing instead to focus his attention to the present.

"Dominic, my name's Dominic," the young man nodded in reply to Clare's earlier
question, a hint of fervor lacing his words, though they were few. That may have
seemed a strange contrast, as his left hand still fumbled nervously, alternating
between fidgeting and gluing itself to his side. But somehow he felt strangely at
ease, despite the emotional, weighty feeling still crushing his chest; suffocating,
no, drowning him in anguish. It was more so in the handful of simple sentences
spoken by the stranger before him, that made Dom feel imperceptibly peaceful
at the same time. For example, as opposed to being angered by her comment
labeling him funny, he had somehow found it flattering. Sure, plenty of people'd
paid him that compliment before, but never at a time like this. It was different.
It was abnormal. In the best way.

As Clare proceeded to shake his hand for him, Dominic was unable to do nought
but watch with a blank glance, and feel instant cold envelop him once she did let
go. Of course, that was due to the now lack of warmth via human contact in an
otherwise chilly room, clearly. Dominic shyly retracted his hand and slid it into his
pocket, unsure why he was yet to show any solid sign of confidence as he was
usually able to, even in a negative situation like this. Because at the end of the
day, it was only himself that he ever truly had a problem with.

notes merlin's most baggiest y-fronts. omgtrololol4evr. words 872
wearing clothez, bro lyrics sun gangs - the veils

​

 

[Clare Walsh]

THE PATIENT MENTAL SITS AND STARES,
An idle mind that's empty, screaming, staring back

Apart from a few scattered patients, it was only Clare and her new perfect stranger. She could
have been standing in the middle of a garbage dump for all she cared, just as long as the langly
man was still standing in front of her. The elf like girl had to blink her eyes for a moment just to
consolodate in her mind what was actually happening to her. Because although she had so easily
established herself as the dominant person in the 'conversation', or whatever you would call what
they were having, she felt as though she could almost be making a friend. For the first time in so
many years, it seemed that Clare had found a companion even more awkward than herself, this
one was a keeper, that was for sure. As he uttered another jumble of words, Clare tuned back
into the conversation, her smile no longer menacing, but one of genuine appreciation. This man
intruiged her to no end, she found herself wanting to know everything there was to know about
him, though she hadn't even learnt his name yet. "You don't need to keep correcting yourself."
she uttered, almost in a stern way, the man seemed very unsure of what he was saying, and
Clare didn't want him to keep apologizing for being himself. But once he spoke his name, the
young woman's eyes looked up at him, almost proud that she had managed to hook the answer
out of his somewhat pre-occupied state of mind. "Dominic." she said, letting it roll on her tongue.
"That's a most charming name." she said in a matter-of-fact way. Clare didn't seem to be even
making an attempt to hide her thoughts like she usually did.

Realising that the rather intimate, but void of connotations, coversation she and Dominic were
partaking in, Clare looked behind her, watching the present company they had with them. With
a glance back at him, Clare took Dominic's hand back in hers and spun around on her slippered
toes. "C'mon, I'll show you to your room, Dominic." she said emphasizing his name, whilst she
waited for him to spill which number he was in. To any other person, the various twists and turns
of the white washed hospital wards would have been confusing to no end, but as Clare ran the
fingers of her spare hand along the walls, tracing each corner turn they took, it was obvious that
she knew the place better than anybody else ever could. With her slim grasp against his rather
firm one, she led him along still, barely letting the young man take in the scenery, if you could
call the odd wilting potted plant scenery. Without a lick of acknowledgement towards Dominic,
Clare turned to his other hand, gripping the small piece of paper containing the information she
needed to help her guest arrive at his destination. "Lets have looksie here." she said, her eyes
like saucers as they scanned over it. "Forty-Two, B." she said professionally, no longer dragging
him, simply walking him through one more turn before taking a spot beside him, standing and
staring towards the door with the same number she had just recited printed on it.

"Now, this one is a lovely one." she added, her shyness apparantly gone as she stood by her
new companion. The healers would hardly believe that the almost mute young woman had
begun to speak to someone so naturally and confidently. In fact, they would hardly believe
she had spoken at all. You see, when Clare had been admitted to Saint Mungo's all those years
ago, her parents had been lead to believe that it would be a quick cure. But it seemed that as
those years went by them, that Clare's health only deteriorated, her personality was almost
swallowed up inside of her. The light outburst towards healers being the only hint that she had
a personality at all. It wasn't that she couldn't speak, or laugh, or even cry. It was that Clare
simply didn't want to. She knew not of anyone in the hospital she could confide in, or anyone
that had interested her enough to pursue. But Dominic was a different story alltogether. With
a mere look towards his eyes, the small woman wanted to know what he was thinking, whether
his expression was true, or whether something much deeper lay beneath the cool stance they
were taking. "Its got a lovely view." she added, as though she felt like she was selling the room
to Dominic, when in actual fact it had already been issued to him. She nodded across the hall to
the 'view' she had spoke of, and right across from the modest window of forty-two B, was the
identical modesty of forty-two F, the room she had come to call home.

Examining Dominic's expression, the twenty-one year old drew her hands in together, and a hint
of a smile twitched at her lips. "I'll leave you to it." she said quietly, spinning around on the balls
of her feet. "We have group tomorrow morning." she added begrudgingly as tore herself away
from the young man, secretly hoping to herself that he would manage okay without her. Clare
didn't look back at the handsome man, instead she pulled her thin frame towards her room and
slumped down onto her bed. You idiot! You totally blew it! And look what you're wearing! her
mind instantly scolded her as she looked down at the robe and nightgown that graced her slim
body, and found her hands running through her chopped of Peter Pan hair. Clare had never
thought of herself as pretty, but she wanted to make a good impression at the group excercise
in the morning, so without thought to pull the blind on the window of her room, Clare began to
get changed, and began to try on her nicest outfit, hoping it still fitted her. Completely oblivious
as to what might have been on the other side of that window.

WORDS || ONE-ZERO-ZERO-FOUR
LYRICS || MUDVAYNE-THE PATIENT MENTAL
NOTES || I CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS EPIC CUTENESS. SQUEE-ATHON!​

 

[Dominic Hirsch]

some say you'll never be gone forever, some say there's music where you go, - - - - - - - - - -
i've no faith in my heart, to tell two apart, ocean above from sky below. - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - where i am going you can't save me.

Dominic continued to stand there, blinking almost in unison with the woman
across from him. He watched her facial expression, listened to her speak, trying
to get some sort of a read on her. She seemed to have warmed to him, in the
way that there was no longer a sense of quiet intimidation in her words, or her
smile. As Clare told him that there was no need to correct himself, Dominic
dropped his head in a nod. He was surprised to find a hint of a smile painting
his own lips, even if it was just ever so slightly. But she had been completely
right. There was no reason for Dominic to beat himself up the way he often did.
He didn't like to admit that, though, and it would take more than a smile from
a nice girl to make the man like himself. Though as she looked up at him with
those large hazel eyes, proudly, for simply speaking his own name, Dominic
stared down with equal pride. And it seemed for a moment that they could have
been but one person. He didn't understand it, but it freaked him out. In a very
different way to what he had been feeling all day. "Only when some people say
it," he shrugged, clearly implying that Clare was one of the few that managed
to make his name sound charming. Because on the voices of many others, he
felt the name tended to sound simply.. present. Or maybe absent would be the
better word to use.

When she looked over her shoulder, Dominic followed her gaze, scanning the
faces of those around them. Some fellow patients seemed to be under heavy
supervision, some given free reign like themselves. And yet the newest of the
bunch didn't feel particularly at ease around any of the others. The exception
decided then to show him to his room, to which he didn't object, in fact, giving
her hand a slight squeeze as a subtle sign of approval. The front room had been
beginning to creep him out anyway. As they moved swiftly through the haunting
corridors of St. Mungo's, Dominic was very careful to absorb as much of it as
possible. Though of course, that was difficult when one was being dragged along
at such a speed. Still, he wanted to make the best of this situation, as he didn't
know how long it would last, and what effect, positive or negative, it would have
on his everyday life. He wanted to make his room feel like home, to stick posters
on the walls, and stack books on a shelf. To let the dust fall naturally, wherever
it liked. And with each corner turned, Dominic took special care to let his free
hand graze over the exact same spots on the wall that his newfound friend had.
Though soon enough, the pair had reached their destination, and lost their
contact once more, the chilly climate brought again to his attention.

As Clare spoke about the room to him, Dominic was pleased to find that her
own was just across the hall. That would surely be helpful, knowing someone
that wasn't too far away. Though he hardly knew her, it was more than the other
patients, most of whom had greeted him with only anxious stares. So he felt
comfortable using such a word. "Thanks," Dominic responded in a whisper,
nodding as he glanced nervously up and down the hall. Sure, he had become
quite calm in the presence of.. well, whatever word best suited her he didn't
know, but now that she was leaving him, Dominic would find himself alone once
again. Though solitude didn't usually bother the chronic hermit, in this situation
it was simply scary. As he properly digested her final words, Dominic realised
that he didn't actually understand them, and turned to ask for clarification. "Group
what? What is.. group." But Clare had already disappeared into her own room,
replying with the click of a heavy hospital door. The young man supposed he
would have to wait to find out what they were participating in come morning.
He just hoped it wasn't a group lobotomy.

With a quiet sigh, though it still managed to sound rather pained, Dominic pushed
open the door to his room, resting at a lean against the doorframe. He ran his
slim fingers over the metal lock. It was on the outside, meaning that the healers
would later be shutting everyone inside their rooms, their homes for however
long they had been in this place. They would be trapped, and Dominic wasn't
looking forward to that in the slightest. So far, this place reminded him of a zoo
and a prison all rolled into one. While he had never visited a prison, his younger
self had been to plenty of zoos. And to him, they were incredibly depressing
places, void of any freedom or openness. However, he resigned himself to the
fact that there was no going back now, and turned into the room, letting his own
door fall closed with a similar click.

His arms swinging softly at his sides, Dominic took another step, allowing his
eyes to sweep slowly through the small, sterile room. Against the furthest wall
stood the head of a single bed, his bag from earlier laying atop thin sheets. On
the same wall, a small mirror was bolted, which Dominic headed towards. His
reflection was not a pleasant one. Not to him, at least. After all, he was facing
his most hated enemy. His eyes felt heavy, as they wandered aimlessly around
the square frame, coming to focus upon a figure right across the hall. Looking
closer, Dominic realised that it was Clare he was looking at, and she.. well, she
was partially lacking clothing, actually. He spun around and moved to the window
separating their rooms from the hall, meaning to apologise immediately. Though
he found no words leaving his mouth. His eyes were strangely fixated, not in a
perverted way, but in a.. well, he couldn't think. He was just seeing her soft,
honey-coloured hair, the way that it brushed against the silky skin of her pale
neck and bare shoulders. He wasn't thinking at all. "Um, I.." he muttered re-
peatedly, not even loud enough for someone in the same room to have heard.
Dominic wasn't sure where else to look. At his shoes? His hands? God, he must
have seemed like such a creep, but he was very frozen. And she was very
beautiful.

notes is it a good balance? i fear tim gunn's guidance has been no help. words 1091
wearing clothez, bro lyrics sun gangs - the veils

​

 

[Clare Walsh]

THE PATIENT MENTAL SITS AND STARES,
An idle mind that's empty, screaming, staring back

Clare could have sworn that as she turned from her companion she heard him utter a word or two,
perhaps those words could have been for her, but by the time she had considered it she was gone
from him, turned back to her own room, and subconsciously going about her night time routine, but
tonight with a little difference. Instead of slipping her small, yet langly legs into her Peter Pan white
night gown, the elf like girl instead let her hospital robes drop to the ground, and with a small step
she was free from the light cotton that now laid on the ground beneath her, leaving only her petite
frame, and not a scrap of clothing to grace the pale skin. Turning her body around to face the waist
height window, the young woman looked straight ahead, her beady eyes only needing to blink for
a minute before they noticed something that shouldn't have been before them. And what was ahead
of the small woman, was in fact that very man she had talked to only moments before. But the most
perplexing part was that Clare didn't even think to reach for her robe or a blanket to cover herself,
all she could seem to do was freeze, and stare, her movement similar to that of her friend's. They
both seemed so entranced with eachother, and not in any way did she think for just a minute that
Dominic could be staring at her naked flesh, because as their eyes made contact she realised there
was much more to this moment than that. But of course at some point reality had to kick in and as
she saw Dominic's lips moving, and the Bambi-like boy fretting something terrible, her mouth fell
open and she was suddenly all to aware of how bare she was.

Pulling her nightgown around her bony torso, Clare stuttered, not that any of it could be heard as
both of the patients had their doors shut all too soundly. But there seemed to be something left to
be said, she couldn't just retire to bed after sharing such a moment with somebody she had only just
met, nobody had ever seen her naked before. In fact, the young woman had hardly seen herself naked.
It was something that scared her to be honest, when she climbed out of the bath or got dressed in the
morning, she pulled on her undergarments as quickly as possible, not daring to look down for too long.
But Clare didn't feel as though her privacy had been invaded, no, not at all. She merely felt as though
she had made a connection with a stranger. There was no way she was going to leave it at that. So
with a solemn wave and a mouthed "Good-Night" Clare pulled the blinds that she should have all
but a few minutes ago, to save the pair the awkward moment that had just ensued. With a nod to
wards the clothes she had been set to try on, Clare turned to her bed and climbed in between the
sheets wearing only her nightgown, it had been a long day and she was no longer in the mood to try
on clothing, knowing that come the morning she would only pull on her Saint Mungo's gown again.

--

The next morning came around all too quickly, the young woman having fallen asleep almost the
very minute her honeyed hair had hit the starched pillow upon her head. Her ears had filled with the
monotonous sound of beeping of heart monitors, echoing throughout the halls of Saint Mungo's,
the repetitive noise reminding her of the beep-beep of the monitoring alarm of her own home, and
she had fallen into the deepest and most fulfilling slumber she had in years. She didn't worry about
the monsters below her bed or behind the curtains, for the slumber she fell into was pure and was
uninterrupted, and as she awoke and blinked her eyes, adjusting to the light she yawned ever so
slightly. Rubbing her eyes, the memories of the night before suddenly came back to her and with a
smile she slipped on her fluffy bunny slippers and pulled her gown over her head, this time knowing
to keep the curtain pulled until she was fully clothed. All it took to get herself ready in the mornings
was a run of a comb through the Peter Pan cut of her honeyed hair, yet thismorning she felt as though
she had something, or rather someone to impress. Though the virgin girl wasn't all too sure how she
was to do that. So, with the only makeup she had ever posessed, Clare rolled a watermellon chapstick
over her pale pink lips and sprayed just one squirt of department store floral perfume, and she was off.

Wondering when her friend would arise from his slumber, Clare wandered the halls she knew like
the back of her hand, and found that her tiny slippered feet had taken her to the 'common room' or
so they called it, it didn't seem very common to Clare. It was a place she knew all too well as the
dungeon, named so as whenever she stepped inside she was expected to face another dragon, or
as most people called them, fears and anxieties. The point of group was to talk to fellow patients of
what was bothering you, but most of the sessions, Clare stayed as mute as ever. The healers even
made her take part in confidence games such as falling back upon a fellow patient and being caught
or even simply being lead around with a blindfold on. Each and every one of these tasks was loathed
by the faerie girl, and she only hoped that Dominic would loath them just as much as she did so she
would at least have somebody she felt as though she could relate to. Taking the seat farthest from
the healers, Clare waited for those familiar footsteps and once she heard them, and Dominic was
with her, it seemed that her vow of silence had returned and as he took a seat and she barely
acknowledged that he was with her, as she stared straight ahead, wanting him to speak first.


WORDS || ONE-ZERO-FOUR-EIGHT
LYRICS || MUDVAYNE-THE PATIENT MENTAL
NOTES || BLAHH BLAHH AND THRICE BLAHH, AND GURL, YOU MADE IT WORK, TIM WOULD BE OH SO PROUD
WEARING || NOT MUCH, LULZ​

 

[Dominic Hirsch]

As immeasurable moments passed, Dominic tried to regain his composure, tearing his gaze from Clare to look at anything but. The last thing he wanted to do was make his new friend feel violated or humiliated, as one would expect to feel in an awkward situation such as this. Though intuition told him that this wasn't the case at all - the two had connected in far too pure a way for it to be wrong or regrettable. Regardless, Dominic couldn't help but feel a twinge hit his chest as she mouthed to him 'goodnight' and disappeared from view. A twinge of guilt, obviously. With a shaky sigh, he closed his own blinds and turned away from the window; an uncomfortable cringe exasperating his already pitiful expression. Without so much energy as to change out of his clothes from the long day gone, Dominic pushed his bag of books and possessions to floor, collapsing onto the bed. His long legs habitually tangled in the sheets, and he clutched the pillow to his heart like a teddy bear - the way he hadn't since childhood.

Luckily sleep came easily to Dominic, as his episodes of depression always left him drowsy. Had he been in a hypomanic state, you would be lucky to see him get even one wink, let alone forty. Usually his dreams were a strange amalgamation of the surreal and the nightmarish, though tonight they were even more bittersweet. One moment he would be falling, spiraling past the point of no return, only to suddenly be faced with this strange, wonderful pixie-like creature; almost an angel of some sort. It was comforting in the moment, but of course these few dreams could not rehabilitate his mindset - Dominic was a troubled young man, and his thoughts would never be truly healed or cured. Hopefully his stay at St. Mungo's would create a stepping stone to improvement, at least. The young man's sleep was so comatose, that he had to be awoken by a healer, leaving him little time to prepare for this 'group' thing, which he then learned to be a therapy session. Surprisingly, the newest patient was looking forward to it more than you would expect, in comparison to his feelings just the night before. Maybe it would be the chance to take control of his emotions, or maybe they were already controlling him once again. That was the thing about bipolar disorder - sometimes the line between what was you and what was your illness would blur.

Quickly, Dominic attempted to make himself somewhat presentable (uncharacteristically obsessing over a limp lock of hair that refused to curl just right), motivated only by the knowledge that he would now have to face Clare once more. It was a scary thought, knowing that he'd probably embarrassed her greatly, however unintentional. After a final smoothing of his collar, he was lead by the healer through to the room in question. Finding her amber eyes immediately, a part of him felt like bolting through the door, and to not stop running until everything was gone. But the majority of Dominic's senses knew he was meant to be there. Needed to. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, and dove right back into the whirlpool that was St. Mungo's and its inhabitants. "I'm sorry about, um.. I wasn't being a perv, I just.. I'm sorry, don't hate me." Dominic murmured, looking more at his hands than at the person his words were aimed at, Clare. Fear crippled him from completing two of this three attempted sentences, as with a little more conviction he tacked on a final "Please," all in the one breath. He wanted to dart away, to sit closer to a healer - aka his new security blanket - but instead he remained seated at Clare's side, stealing one last glance at her unresponsive face before turning to look straight ahead, just as she did.

As the other handful of patients took to their seats - most were unaided, the more serious cases locked up in their rooms - the lead therapist began to speak. They all seemed to drift off while the instructions were recited; they'd probably heard them uncountable times, always repeated for the sake of the fresh meat. Or maybe it was just medication that had given them that glassy look in their eye. The group would begin by voicing their feelings and thoughts, and how things had changed since the last session a week earlier. Most stories were tragic, though some seemed sadly forced - as if they would draw on a smile in a heartbeat if it would help them get home sooner. A few faces spoke of their children, of letters they'd received and painting stuck on walls, and how unrecognisable the photos had become. These were the ones that hurt Dominic the most, despite not having a family of his own. Or maybe that was why. Occasionally people would ask questions of one another, though he felt unprepared to say a word. When it came to be Clare's turn to speak, Dominic's stomach did a nervous flip. In his mind he was willing her to say something, to spill every secret that he wanted so much to hear. Though she stayed deathly silent, and the healer moved on with a disappointed nod. As this was Dominic's first session, he was asked to give a bit of background. It seemed strangely awkward, as if he was being told to introduce himself at a speed dating party. Though suddenly, a million thoughts began zooming through his mind, and he couldn't help but fidget as he spoke. And spoke, and spoke.

"Hello, everyone. Um, my name's Dominic Alfie Hirsch. Alfie after my father, he's not around anymore. My mother is though, so I see her sometimes. She runs a bakery, which is quite nice. I'm a print journalist, but I do it freelance so I work from home most of the time. That's in Brightstone, but I'm originally from London. That's where the bakery is, you know. That's where I grew up, in London. I'm from there originally. Maybe I'm too English to live in New Zealand, but that's where I live so I live there. I usually write about crime and the environment and all that serious stuff. Did you know that floo networks are greatest form of pollution in the Wizarding World? Why am I here in St. Mungo's? I'm here because I ran out of my medication in half the usual time, so I went to see Margaret and apparently she thinks I'm unwell so I'm here but I'm not really unwell, though I am, but not really, you see? I have bipolar disorder but a milder form called cyclothymia. They call it milder because more time is spent in.. normalness, but the highs and lows are just as high and low, so it's not really mild at all. I don't know why I explained that, since the healers are surely knowledgeable about it and the rest of you are probably aware. Yes, that was very presumptuous of me, I'm sorry. My favourite colour is blue."

Dominic suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, deep creases forced between his eyebrows. Looking down, his hands were shaking. He suddenly wanted to burst into tears, but hid it the best he could. Who would have thought that menial talk was that upsetting? Maybe it would take more effort than he'd thought, to actually lay his cards on the table and say something significant or heartfelt. Or was it her presence that was putting him on edge?</SIZE>​

<SIZE size="50">notes lol he sure knows how to talk words 1269 wearing dem pajama thingz
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