Cliffton Fanfiction: Intractable - Chapter 2
The next chapter in my fic about Devin's mental instability. Enjoy!
Previous Chapters
1
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When I wake up, I can’t fucking move. My mouth feels funny, too -- all thick and dried out. The fuck? It’s so cold in here -- air conditioner in my room must be broken and stuck in overdrive. Again. Should fucking do something about that. My ma won’t pay for a better one -- says I’m not worth it. Will have to fix that shit myself. I keep shivering. Blink a bunch of times. Why’s everything so white?
Something’s not right. Too tired to figure out what, though -- want more sleep. Haven’t slept enough since -- still don’t wanna think about that. I’m not sure I can sleep. The lights are too fucking bright. Don’t like bright things. Try to move so I can turn off the lights -- still can’t fucking move. I doze off again, kinda. Feel hazy as I try to sleep.
Sleeping doesn’t fucking last long. Wake up again to those bright lights. My room’s not that bright. Heart starts pounding. I realize something -- I’m not in my room. Can’t breathe. All I know is I gotta get out of here -- now. Try to get up. Can’t. Look down to see my arms and legs in fucking metal restraints. The fuck?
“We’re awake,” a voice chirps. Fucking chirps.
“Go away,” I mutter, closing my eyes. Hope this goes away. Maybe it’s not real? Please?
“Do we know where we are, Devin?” the voice asks again. Open my eyes -- see it’s some older dude in a fucking pink polo shirt and blue pants with little white sailboats on them. The fuck? Who wears clothes like that?
“Who the fuck are you?” I grumble. Hard to fucking speak because my mouth is so dry. Feel my stomach churn. I do know where I am -- the Home for the Intractably Insane.
“I’m Doctor Albert Quigley, but you can call me Al. I’m your friend, and I’m here to help you heal,” he says. His smile is creepy as fuck.
“Need fucking water,” I mutter. Throat hurts now.
Fucking Al tsk-tsks. Don’t like this guy. Don’t like this place. Al murmurs, “Now, now, Devin, we don’t use that kind of language here.”
“Fucking -- water,” I say. I need it.
“Remember what I said about cursing? A profane mind is an unhappy mind.” He waggles his finger like he thinks I’m five fucking years old.
“Water,” I mutter. “Need it.” This is wrong. I glare at Al.
He walks over to the side of my bed. See him pour me a tiny plastic cup of water out of the corner of my eye.
There’s one small fucking problem -- don’t have the use of my hands. I look at Al. He just smiles and says, “You can get out of the restraints yet.”
“Need my hands to drink,” I mutter. Glare at him again. Still hoping this is all a fucking nightmare.
Al puts the cup to my lips. The fuck? He says, “Lift your head and open up.”
I fucking do -- I am that thirsty. But -- the fuck? Al is a dude. Not supposed to work that way. Chicks are the ones who feed the guys. It’s unsettling, how he does it, but I drink anyway. At least I’m not thirsty after? Al fucking smiles at me. Nobody should smile that much -- he looks like the people on that creepy “Mental Hygiene Matters!” poster.
“Feel better?” he asks when I’m done.
“Want to fucking go home,” I mutter.
He shakes his head as he throws out the little cup. “This is your home now. You should learn to get settled.”
How am I ever supposed to “get settled” in this fucking place?
* * *
Hear a knock on my door. When I’m trying to fucking sleep. The tranq they injected me with makes me tired as fuck. Still hard to sleep, though. At least they put me in a different room, one without restraints. “Go away,” I grumble.
The door opens -- light spills into the room. I turn away from it. Pull the covers over my head. A female voice says, “It’s almost time for Group, Devin.” Must be one of the Care Assistants. Don’t let women be anything else in these places. Except patients. Plenty of women end up here for not being fucking “agreeable” enough. Have to fuck up bad to end up here as a guy. Like I did.
“Don’t wanna go to any fucking group,” I mutter. No point in it.
“Group is an important part of your recovery,” she says. “As your Care Assistant, it’s my job to make sure you’re, well, taken care of.” How can she sound so happy right now?
“Not going,” I hiss. Doesn’t fucking matter if I go or not.
The Care Assistant sighs. “Alright, we’ll let you skip for now since you’re still getting yourself settled in. But don’t think we’ll always let you off this easy,” she says. She leaves, and I’m alone.
Except I’m not. I can feel someone standing there. I pull the covers away from my face. It’s Eric.
He looks fucking sad, too. Who wouldn’t be, if their best friend landed himself here? He sighs, “You need to take better care of yourself.”
The fuck? “I’m fine, Eric,” I mutter. Don’t look him in the eye.
“No, you’re not,” he says. Still got that sad look.
“Would be fine if I could just go home,” I mutter. This place won’t fucking help anything.
“You don’t need to go home; you need to go to Group,” he says.
I sit up. “Don’t need to go to fucking Group,” I mutter.
“You do,” he insists. Sounds like he means it, too. “Do it for me?” he pleads. His eyes are wide, fucking begging me to go. I can never say no to those eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll go to Group.”
Eric smiles. “Good for you, Devin. You better hurry, or you’ll run out of time, and it’ll start without you. They might not let you in,” he says.
Don’t care if they do, but I get up anyway. Head towards the bathroom. Eric shakes his head. “There’s no time,” he murmurs.
The fuck? How am I supposed to go when I’m sure I look hideous? I glare at him. “Can’t go looking like this,” I say.
He turns those lovely eyes on me again. “You look fine,” he says. Sounds like he means it, too.
He vanishes. Grumbling, I get out of the bed. Check myself in the bathroom mirror, anyway. Look worse than fucking hideous. I do what I can to smooth out my hair, but I don’t even have a hairbrush. I think about not going, but I remember Eric’s eyes and head to Group.
When I get there, it looks like everyone else has arrived. They’re all sitting in chairs arranged into a circle. I take a seat in a plastic chair that is way too fucking tiny for my body -- looks like something a little kid would sit on. And nothing should be that shade of yellow.
Don’t see anybody who looks like a fucking Counselor -- just other crazies, like me. All about my age or a little older. All wearing the same gray pajamas. Aren’t we a lovely fucking bunch?
That’s when fucking Al walks in, wearing that same creepy smile. And another polo shirt. Pants have fucking ducks on them, this time. Who owns that many printed pants? Al says brightly, “Hey, kids! You get a special treat -- I’ll be doing Group today. How is everyone? Are you ready to make your minds shine?”
The fuck? The curly-haired kid next to me rolls his eyes. Guy next to him has to stifle a giggle. So does he. Al fucking catches them. Waggles his stupid finger. “Now, now, Alex and Nem, let’s take this seriously. You’ll never get better if you don’t try,” he says.
“Why does it fucking matter if we ‘get better’ or not? We can’t leave, no matter what,” I snort. Oops. Should not have fucking said that.
Al glares me. “Devin, it’s nice that you showed up, but even if you are intractably insane, it doesn’t mean you can’t be less intractably insane,” he says as he takes a seat. Looks ridiculous in the tiny yellow chair.
With the way he’s fucking talking, he is the “intractably insane” one.
He smiles another creepy smile and murmurs, “Today, we’re going to talk about having healthy and appropriate social interactions.” Looks right at Alex and Nem as he says that. “Who would like to tell me what they think a healthy interaction is?”
Nobody volunteers. Big surprise. Group is fucking stupid -- don’t know why I listened to Eric and came.
“It involves setting the proper boundaries,” Al says, breaking the tense silence. Stares at Alex and Nem again.
Alex crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you saying I don’t know how to set boundaries?”
“Well, Alex, you are awfully close to your friend. And such closeness isn’t allowed between patients. You know that,” Al mutters. Waggles his finger again. I fucking hate that gesture.
Closeness? Are those two partners?
“But we’re never leaving here -- are we supposed to be alone forever?” Nem asks. He seems confused, but I think “alone forever” is what Al wants for us.
Al fucking nods. “Intimate relationships are not conducive to healing -- they cloud your judgement and just lead to unhappiness,” he murmurs.
The fuck? He sounds like my ma -- she told me nobody would ever love me. And she said all men will just fucking disappear, like my -- don’t wanna fucking think about that, either. Not like I ever met the guy. Shouldn’t fucking matter, right?
“That’s stupid,” Alex mutters. He sounds angry. “How is not being able to so much as kiss possibly good for us?”
Don’t know anything about kissing -- the person I wanna kiss doesn’t even like guys that way. And I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he -- but I just saw Eric before Group. He can’t be dead if I just saw him, right? That wasn’t my imagination. Was it?
Maybe I belong here, after all.
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next chapter
Previous Chapters
1
---------
When I wake up, I can’t fucking move. My mouth feels funny, too -- all thick and dried out. The fuck? It’s so cold in here -- air conditioner in my room must be broken and stuck in overdrive. Again. Should fucking do something about that. My ma won’t pay for a better one -- says I’m not worth it. Will have to fix that shit myself. I keep shivering. Blink a bunch of times. Why’s everything so white?
Something’s not right. Too tired to figure out what, though -- want more sleep. Haven’t slept enough since -- still don’t wanna think about that. I’m not sure I can sleep. The lights are too fucking bright. Don’t like bright things. Try to move so I can turn off the lights -- still can’t fucking move. I doze off again, kinda. Feel hazy as I try to sleep.
Sleeping doesn’t fucking last long. Wake up again to those bright lights. My room’s not that bright. Heart starts pounding. I realize something -- I’m not in my room. Can’t breathe. All I know is I gotta get out of here -- now. Try to get up. Can’t. Look down to see my arms and legs in fucking metal restraints. The fuck?
“We’re awake,” a voice chirps. Fucking chirps.
“Go away,” I mutter, closing my eyes. Hope this goes away. Maybe it’s not real? Please?
“Do we know where we are, Devin?” the voice asks again. Open my eyes -- see it’s some older dude in a fucking pink polo shirt and blue pants with little white sailboats on them. The fuck? Who wears clothes like that?
“Who the fuck are you?” I grumble. Hard to fucking speak because my mouth is so dry. Feel my stomach churn. I do know where I am -- the Home for the Intractably Insane.
“I’m Doctor Albert Quigley, but you can call me Al. I’m your friend, and I’m here to help you heal,” he says. His smile is creepy as fuck.
“Need fucking water,” I mutter. Throat hurts now.
Fucking Al tsk-tsks. Don’t like this guy. Don’t like this place. Al murmurs, “Now, now, Devin, we don’t use that kind of language here.”
“Fucking -- water,” I say. I need it.
“Remember what I said about cursing? A profane mind is an unhappy mind.” He waggles his finger like he thinks I’m five fucking years old.
“Water,” I mutter. “Need it.” This is wrong. I glare at Al.
He walks over to the side of my bed. See him pour me a tiny plastic cup of water out of the corner of my eye.
There’s one small fucking problem -- don’t have the use of my hands. I look at Al. He just smiles and says, “You can get out of the restraints yet.”
“Need my hands to drink,” I mutter. Glare at him again. Still hoping this is all a fucking nightmare.
Al puts the cup to my lips. The fuck? He says, “Lift your head and open up.”
I fucking do -- I am that thirsty. But -- the fuck? Al is a dude. Not supposed to work that way. Chicks are the ones who feed the guys. It’s unsettling, how he does it, but I drink anyway. At least I’m not thirsty after? Al fucking smiles at me. Nobody should smile that much -- he looks like the people on that creepy “Mental Hygiene Matters!” poster.
“Feel better?” he asks when I’m done.
“Want to fucking go home,” I mutter.
He shakes his head as he throws out the little cup. “This is your home now. You should learn to get settled.”
How am I ever supposed to “get settled” in this fucking place?
* * *
Hear a knock on my door. When I’m trying to fucking sleep. The tranq they injected me with makes me tired as fuck. Still hard to sleep, though. At least they put me in a different room, one without restraints. “Go away,” I grumble.
The door opens -- light spills into the room. I turn away from it. Pull the covers over my head. A female voice says, “It’s almost time for Group, Devin.” Must be one of the Care Assistants. Don’t let women be anything else in these places. Except patients. Plenty of women end up here for not being fucking “agreeable” enough. Have to fuck up bad to end up here as a guy. Like I did.
“Don’t wanna go to any fucking group,” I mutter. No point in it.
“Group is an important part of your recovery,” she says. “As your Care Assistant, it’s my job to make sure you’re, well, taken care of.” How can she sound so happy right now?
“Not going,” I hiss. Doesn’t fucking matter if I go or not.
The Care Assistant sighs. “Alright, we’ll let you skip for now since you’re still getting yourself settled in. But don’t think we’ll always let you off this easy,” she says. She leaves, and I’m alone.
Except I’m not. I can feel someone standing there. I pull the covers away from my face. It’s Eric.
He looks fucking sad, too. Who wouldn’t be, if their best friend landed himself here? He sighs, “You need to take better care of yourself.”
The fuck? “I’m fine, Eric,” I mutter. Don’t look him in the eye.
“No, you’re not,” he says. Still got that sad look.
“Would be fine if I could just go home,” I mutter. This place won’t fucking help anything.
“You don’t need to go home; you need to go to Group,” he says.
I sit up. “Don’t need to go to fucking Group,” I mutter.
“You do,” he insists. Sounds like he means it, too. “Do it for me?” he pleads. His eyes are wide, fucking begging me to go. I can never say no to those eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll go to Group.”
Eric smiles. “Good for you, Devin. You better hurry, or you’ll run out of time, and it’ll start without you. They might not let you in,” he says.
Don’t care if they do, but I get up anyway. Head towards the bathroom. Eric shakes his head. “There’s no time,” he murmurs.
The fuck? How am I supposed to go when I’m sure I look hideous? I glare at him. “Can’t go looking like this,” I say.
He turns those lovely eyes on me again. “You look fine,” he says. Sounds like he means it, too.
He vanishes. Grumbling, I get out of the bed. Check myself in the bathroom mirror, anyway. Look worse than fucking hideous. I do what I can to smooth out my hair, but I don’t even have a hairbrush. I think about not going, but I remember Eric’s eyes and head to Group.
When I get there, it looks like everyone else has arrived. They’re all sitting in chairs arranged into a circle. I take a seat in a plastic chair that is way too fucking tiny for my body -- looks like something a little kid would sit on. And nothing should be that shade of yellow.
Don’t see anybody who looks like a fucking Counselor -- just other crazies, like me. All about my age or a little older. All wearing the same gray pajamas. Aren’t we a lovely fucking bunch?
That’s when fucking Al walks in, wearing that same creepy smile. And another polo shirt. Pants have fucking ducks on them, this time. Who owns that many printed pants? Al says brightly, “Hey, kids! You get a special treat -- I’ll be doing Group today. How is everyone? Are you ready to make your minds shine?”
The fuck? The curly-haired kid next to me rolls his eyes. Guy next to him has to stifle a giggle. So does he. Al fucking catches them. Waggles his stupid finger. “Now, now, Alex and Nem, let’s take this seriously. You’ll never get better if you don’t try,” he says.
“Why does it fucking matter if we ‘get better’ or not? We can’t leave, no matter what,” I snort. Oops. Should not have fucking said that.
Al glares me. “Devin, it’s nice that you showed up, but even if you are intractably insane, it doesn’t mean you can’t be less intractably insane,” he says as he takes a seat. Looks ridiculous in the tiny yellow chair.
With the way he’s fucking talking, he is the “intractably insane” one.
He smiles another creepy smile and murmurs, “Today, we’re going to talk about having healthy and appropriate social interactions.” Looks right at Alex and Nem as he says that. “Who would like to tell me what they think a healthy interaction is?”
Nobody volunteers. Big surprise. Group is fucking stupid -- don’t know why I listened to Eric and came.
“It involves setting the proper boundaries,” Al says, breaking the tense silence. Stares at Alex and Nem again.
Alex crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you saying I don’t know how to set boundaries?”
“Well, Alex, you are awfully close to your friend. And such closeness isn’t allowed between patients. You know that,” Al mutters. Waggles his finger again. I fucking hate that gesture.
Closeness? Are those two partners?
“But we’re never leaving here -- are we supposed to be alone forever?” Nem asks. He seems confused, but I think “alone forever” is what Al wants for us.
Al fucking nods. “Intimate relationships are not conducive to healing -- they cloud your judgement and just lead to unhappiness,” he murmurs.
The fuck? He sounds like my ma -- she told me nobody would ever love me. And she said all men will just fucking disappear, like my -- don’t wanna fucking think about that, either. Not like I ever met the guy. Shouldn’t fucking matter, right?
“That’s stupid,” Alex mutters. He sounds angry. “How is not being able to so much as kiss possibly good for us?”
Don’t know anything about kissing -- the person I wanna kiss doesn’t even like guys that way. And I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he -- but I just saw Eric before Group. He can’t be dead if I just saw him, right? That wasn’t my imagination. Was it?
Maybe I belong here, after all.
---------
next chapter