Cliffton Fanfiction: Intractable - Chapter 7
If you want to read the previous chapters in this fanfic about Devin's mental instability, they are linked below.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
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Today’s the fucking day. I’m gonna escape the Home for the Intractably Insane. Just have to wait until 5PM to sneak into the Care Assistants’ Station and steal the MobiDrives. On the advice of a boy, whom I saw in a fucking dream, claiming to be my dead best friend. That’s a problem. One other problem? We have Group from 4:30PM to 5:30PM. And the Group leaders don’t like it when we try to leave. Not even if we have to use the fucking bathroom.
They get suspicious if we need the fucking toilet. Like it’s “healing” to hold it in for an hour. It’s another reason I need to get the fuck outta here -- everything the Home does seems designed to make us worse. Think the staff just likes fucking with us. Why not play with the crazy people? We don’t matter.
Soon, it’s time for Group. I take my seat, feeling my stomach tie itself in knots. Don’t bother making eye contact with any of the other patients. I tug on the sleeves of my gray pajamas as I wait for the leader to show up. Wonder what kind of bullshit we’re gonna be forced to listen to this time.
Al walks in. He’s leading today? Fucking splendiferous. His lime green polo shirt is ugly enough to burn my eyes -- and his orange pants have little pink smiley faces on them. Fucking smiley faces.
He waves at us as he sits down. “Hello, kids. And how are we all today?” he says.
Fucking awesome, Al. I feel fucking awesome. Not nervous at all. Don’t feel like I might puke. Not twitching or staring at the clock every two seconds. Not at all.
Everybody stays silent. Nobody wants to answer the doctor. Big surprise.
“Now, now, silence doesn’t help you heal. I know it can be hard to speak up in a group, but I’m not going to shame you for your feelings,” Al says, smiling. Fucking insincere. Anyone can tell.
“How do I feel? I want some vids that don’t suck,” Alex mutters. His arms are crossed in front of his chest.
“The vids available to you are healthy and wholesome. They don’t ‘suck,’ and we don’t use such language,” Al murmurs. He waggles his finger. Fucking hate the finger waggling.
“The vids around here are likely to put you in a sugar coma,” Alex says. “That’s hardly fucking healthy.”
Al sighs, “Oh, Alex, there’s a reason you ended up in here, isn’t there?” He gives Alex this sad look, and I wanna puke.
I glance at the clock again. 4:40PM. I keep looking at the clock every five minutes or so. Don’t hear much of what Al’s talking about. Something about “achieving a peaceful mind.” I know how to do that -- get the fuck outta here. No other way to be fucking “peaceful.”
Next time I look at the clock it says 4:58PM. I need to get out of the Group room -- my window of opportunity is fucking short. I was too busy being nervous to come up with a plan. Can’t say I need to pee, so how do I make Al let me go?
I stand up from my chair. “I’m gonna fucking puke.”
That’ll work, right? It fucking has to.
Al raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you need to do that, Devin?” he murmurs.
I hold my hands over my stomach and walk over so I’m right in front of him. “I’m fucking sure. If you don’t want your lovely outfit to get dirty, let me use the bathroom,” I croak, trying to sound like I do need to puke. It’s not hard -- I’m nervous as fuck.
“Very well, but do it quickly,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back his chair.
“I’ll be back soon,” I mutter. That’s a fucking lie, of course.
I run out of there, keeping my hands on my stomach. To be fucking realistic. My heart hammers once I’m in the hallway. Nobody’s around. I look at a clock. 5PM. Awesome. I approach the Care Assistants’ Station. Dart my eyes back and forth. Can’t help thinking someone’s gonna appear any second now. No, I won’t fucking panic. This is my one chance. Can’t fuck it up.
It’s so hard to breathe, though, as I check the door to the Station. It’s fucking open. Sighing in relief, I push it open and enter. Which shelf held the MobiDrives, again? I look around. All the shelves look the same. My eye falls on a high one, and I remember. That’s the shelf.
I reach -- my hand brushes the shelf. I’m not tall enough. Yet. I stand on my tiptoes, feeling my legs shake as I do. Now I can reach the shelf and the MobiDrives. My hand hits some small cylindrical things. Those must be the fucking MobiDrives. I grab them. There are three of the things.
Trying to take a deep breath, I turn to the JetSyringe Preparation Workstation. Too bad it’s hard to fucking breathe. The shining, almost glowing empty JetSyringes made me shudder. Can’t let them distract me. Gotta do this. I spot the small black CompuPanel. Press my hand to it. Clutch the MobiDrives in my other hard enough they press into my palm. It hurts -- and it’s fucking grounding. I need that right now.
I wait for the CompuPanel to light up. And wait. And fucking wait. My stomach twists, and I think I might puke for real. If that happens, it’s all over. Won’t be able to function covered in puke -- this is my only chance.
Why won’t the CompuPanel turn on? Ernest said it would. It needs to turn on. My heart pounds as I wait some more. The fuck am I doing wrong? And what’s with the air in here? I glance at the clock in the Station. 5:01PM. Shit, I don’t have much time. Frustrated, I smack the panel with my palm.
It fucking lights up.
Time for the MobiDrive. But which one? I remove my hand from the CompuPanel and pick at random. Don’t have any other fucking choice -- not like the things are labeled in any way I can understand. I hear a strange rustling as I stick the small cylinder into the side of the CompuPanel. Ignore it. Can’t afford to be distracted now.
This one contains maps of the Home. So many fucking maps. Not sure I understand them at all. I squint at the maps, trying to memorize as much as I can even if I am confused. Looks like there’s two possible routes out of here, as far as I can fucking tell.
My stomach twists some more as I commit what I can to memory. I pull that MobiDrive out. Stick it in my pocket. Yeah, the pajamas have fucking pockets. Glad the staff made that oversight. Pockets are great for hiding shit, though it’s not like they don’t search us here.
That fucking rustling gets closer. I keep ignoring it. Nobody’s supposed to be around now. That’s what Ernest said, right? And I have to fucking trust him, real or not.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” The voice freezes my blood. And my body. I can’t fucking move.
I’m fucking caught. My head turns to the voice, and I sigh in relief. It’s not Al, a Care Assistant or one of the other fucking doctors.
It’s Alex and Nem.
next chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
---------
Today’s the fucking day. I’m gonna escape the Home for the Intractably Insane. Just have to wait until 5PM to sneak into the Care Assistants’ Station and steal the MobiDrives. On the advice of a boy, whom I saw in a fucking dream, claiming to be my dead best friend. That’s a problem. One other problem? We have Group from 4:30PM to 5:30PM. And the Group leaders don’t like it when we try to leave. Not even if we have to use the fucking bathroom.
They get suspicious if we need the fucking toilet. Like it’s “healing” to hold it in for an hour. It’s another reason I need to get the fuck outta here -- everything the Home does seems designed to make us worse. Think the staff just likes fucking with us. Why not play with the crazy people? We don’t matter.
Soon, it’s time for Group. I take my seat, feeling my stomach tie itself in knots. Don’t bother making eye contact with any of the other patients. I tug on the sleeves of my gray pajamas as I wait for the leader to show up. Wonder what kind of bullshit we’re gonna be forced to listen to this time.
Al walks in. He’s leading today? Fucking splendiferous. His lime green polo shirt is ugly enough to burn my eyes -- and his orange pants have little pink smiley faces on them. Fucking smiley faces.
He waves at us as he sits down. “Hello, kids. And how are we all today?” he says.
Fucking awesome, Al. I feel fucking awesome. Not nervous at all. Don’t feel like I might puke. Not twitching or staring at the clock every two seconds. Not at all.
Everybody stays silent. Nobody wants to answer the doctor. Big surprise.
“Now, now, silence doesn’t help you heal. I know it can be hard to speak up in a group, but I’m not going to shame you for your feelings,” Al says, smiling. Fucking insincere. Anyone can tell.
“How do I feel? I want some vids that don’t suck,” Alex mutters. His arms are crossed in front of his chest.
“The vids available to you are healthy and wholesome. They don’t ‘suck,’ and we don’t use such language,” Al murmurs. He waggles his finger. Fucking hate the finger waggling.
“The vids around here are likely to put you in a sugar coma,” Alex says. “That’s hardly fucking healthy.”
Al sighs, “Oh, Alex, there’s a reason you ended up in here, isn’t there?” He gives Alex this sad look, and I wanna puke.
I glance at the clock again. 4:40PM. I keep looking at the clock every five minutes or so. Don’t hear much of what Al’s talking about. Something about “achieving a peaceful mind.” I know how to do that -- get the fuck outta here. No other way to be fucking “peaceful.”
Next time I look at the clock it says 4:58PM. I need to get out of the Group room -- my window of opportunity is fucking short. I was too busy being nervous to come up with a plan. Can’t say I need to pee, so how do I make Al let me go?
I stand up from my chair. “I’m gonna fucking puke.”
That’ll work, right? It fucking has to.
Al raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you need to do that, Devin?” he murmurs.
I hold my hands over my stomach and walk over so I’m right in front of him. “I’m fucking sure. If you don’t want your lovely outfit to get dirty, let me use the bathroom,” I croak, trying to sound like I do need to puke. It’s not hard -- I’m nervous as fuck.
“Very well, but do it quickly,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back his chair.
“I’ll be back soon,” I mutter. That’s a fucking lie, of course.
I run out of there, keeping my hands on my stomach. To be fucking realistic. My heart hammers once I’m in the hallway. Nobody’s around. I look at a clock. 5PM. Awesome. I approach the Care Assistants’ Station. Dart my eyes back and forth. Can’t help thinking someone’s gonna appear any second now. No, I won’t fucking panic. This is my one chance. Can’t fuck it up.
It’s so hard to breathe, though, as I check the door to the Station. It’s fucking open. Sighing in relief, I push it open and enter. Which shelf held the MobiDrives, again? I look around. All the shelves look the same. My eye falls on a high one, and I remember. That’s the shelf.
I reach -- my hand brushes the shelf. I’m not tall enough. Yet. I stand on my tiptoes, feeling my legs shake as I do. Now I can reach the shelf and the MobiDrives. My hand hits some small cylindrical things. Those must be the fucking MobiDrives. I grab them. There are three of the things.
Trying to take a deep breath, I turn to the JetSyringe Preparation Workstation. Too bad it’s hard to fucking breathe. The shining, almost glowing empty JetSyringes made me shudder. Can’t let them distract me. Gotta do this. I spot the small black CompuPanel. Press my hand to it. Clutch the MobiDrives in my other hard enough they press into my palm. It hurts -- and it’s fucking grounding. I need that right now.
I wait for the CompuPanel to light up. And wait. And fucking wait. My stomach twists, and I think I might puke for real. If that happens, it’s all over. Won’t be able to function covered in puke -- this is my only chance.
Why won’t the CompuPanel turn on? Ernest said it would. It needs to turn on. My heart pounds as I wait some more. The fuck am I doing wrong? And what’s with the air in here? I glance at the clock in the Station. 5:01PM. Shit, I don’t have much time. Frustrated, I smack the panel with my palm.
It fucking lights up.
Time for the MobiDrive. But which one? I remove my hand from the CompuPanel and pick at random. Don’t have any other fucking choice -- not like the things are labeled in any way I can understand. I hear a strange rustling as I stick the small cylinder into the side of the CompuPanel. Ignore it. Can’t afford to be distracted now.
This one contains maps of the Home. So many fucking maps. Not sure I understand them at all. I squint at the maps, trying to memorize as much as I can even if I am confused. Looks like there’s two possible routes out of here, as far as I can fucking tell.
My stomach twists some more as I commit what I can to memory. I pull that MobiDrive out. Stick it in my pocket. Yeah, the pajamas have fucking pockets. Glad the staff made that oversight. Pockets are great for hiding shit, though it’s not like they don’t search us here.
That fucking rustling gets closer. I keep ignoring it. Nobody’s supposed to be around now. That’s what Ernest said, right? And I have to fucking trust him, real or not.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” The voice freezes my blood. And my body. I can’t fucking move.
I’m fucking caught. My head turns to the voice, and I sigh in relief. It’s not Al, a Care Assistant or one of the other fucking doctors.
It’s Alex and Nem.
next chapter