I'm not sure how much I'll be working on this story, but I was a little tired one day and I was in the mood to write something new. Hopefully it's alright. Please let me know, read and review! Personally, I think this would be something I'd like to continue. xo

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Funny thing about life is that you usually always end up in unexpected situations. Some call it irony, but I just call it twisted luck.

Like now, for example: I’m sitting in a small patient room in a vast hospital with two nurses and a counselor. They stare at me like I’m a special science experiment, that if they blink, I’d disappear or run off. They stare at me like I’m going to tell them everything that happened without missing a beat.

They stare at me like I’m stupid and would fall for that.

“Miss Miller, if you don’t tell us what happened soon, we have no choice but send you to a psychiatric hospital. And I assure you—this is better.” The counselor said to me, a stern look on her slowly aging face.

I really wanted to laugh—right in her face. But I didn’t, I remained silent and stared at the space behind them.

White walls. Pretty, clear, sinless white walls. The room was a bland color. White walls, white sheets, gray visitor’s couch, silver sink and tanned cupboards. Wouldn’t it be fun, I thought, to splatter some color on the walls? It would be so vibrant against the white. Like the color red. Crimson—deep crimson—red. Beautiful...crimson...red.

Like fresh blood. Right after the cut.

“Miss Miller, we only want to help you.”

Really? They really wanted to help me?

“People your age shouldn’t go through stuff like that.”

Are you sure? Are you sure I’m the only one going through this? Why not spend some time on someone who cares. But then again: if they were all like me, they probably wouldn’t care, either. So I guess it’s lose-lose for them.

“Miss Miller, please talk to us. We’ve contacted your parents—they’re on their way. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? I should be well worrying right now. My parents? I bet they purposely took the long way, the more time they spend not seeing me the more time they can relax knowing they don’t have a daughter like me. Or step-daughter in my step-mom’s case. I’m sure she’s just running around the house blurting out bull so she can stall for longer time. They’re smart like that, you see.

“You have to talk sooner or later, Miss Miller.”

Or maybe I don’t. I could not talk for the rest of my life. Stare at everyone who tries to converse with me, who tries to “help” me. It could work. And eventually, my voice box would not work from the lack of working, so even if I wanted to talk, I couldn’t. But then I’d get blamed for letting that happen—and I wouldn’t be able to respond.

Life just wasn’t fair like that.

The counselor sighed and shook her head. “You’re not going to talk anytime soon, are you?” I guess my blank stare at her answered her question. She sighed again, stood up and whispered a few things to the nurses and left. A nurse left with her, but the other one stayed and produced a small cup of water and two small, white pills.

Sleeping pills.

“Please take them,” she said, gesturing to the pills. I put them in my mouth and slid them easily underneath my tongue. Taking the cup of water, I made sure I had my tongue securely on top of the pills when I swallowed the water. It worked every time, and the nurse nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

I spat the pills into the garbage can right beside me and grabbed a few Kleenex to throw on top and spat a few times. I don’t think anyone would really want to touch that now. Or, at least I hope not...

Right when I thought I’d have some alone time, the door bursted open and loud stomps came in.

“Hayley, what were you thinking?!” Father exclaimed when he saw me, throwing his hands in the air and rushing towards me like he actually cared.

Greta—my step-mom—walked in slower, clad in a Versace dress and patented Marc Jacob heels. I could see about three issues of Vogue: Paris poking out from her black Gucci bag. She shifted her weight from one foot to another when she joined my Father beside me.

“What a disgrace, Hayley. Do you know how stressed we were when we found out what you had done?” Greta asked, her nose high up in the air.

Stressed? Them? That was doubtful.

“What on earth made you do it?” Father exclaimed again. I kept on wondering why he cared so much now. And then it hit me.

He didn’t want his precious daughter, the image of the family to ruin anything. Hah, once everyone finds out that his perfect little daughter isn’t so perfect, his image is ruined.

That’s usually what he thought, anyway.

When he realized I wasn’t going to say anything, he huffed and sat in the gray visitor’s chair, staring at me with his large hazel orbs. Greta threw me a look of disgust. “Talk to your father.”

“Get out.” I said simply, staring right into her pale blue eyes.

“What did you just say to me?” she shrieked, as she stepped back. Her face was turning pink from anger. It was a pretty funny sight.

“Hayley, watch what you say to your mother.”

“STEP-MOTHER!” I yelled, staring right at them both. “She isn’t my real mother.”

Father sighed and rubbed his temples. “How much times have we went through this—”

“I don’t care. I want you both to leave.”

He looked surprised. He actually looked surprised. Father always expected things, and well, I guess he didn’t expect this.

Greta huffed and turned towards the door. “You heard her, Richard. Let’s just leave.”

“Greta, she is my daughter—”

“—and you have a son waiting for you at home.”

Matthew. My step-brother. But according to Father, I have to consider him my real, little brother, since it’s the same father. I think that’s just unfair and really stupid. I never talk to Matthew, and I never talk about him to anyone. So really, I don’t have a brother. Just a little nuisance Greta conceived that I have to deal with.

Father gave in and left with Greta shortly after, shooting me a worried look.

A worried look.

Call the journalists! Richard Miller actually WORRIES about his daughter! This day should go down in history.

That’d be an amazing headline—in my head. Everyone thinks Father is the role model of all fathers in the world. He showers me with gifts, gets me into all the good activities and events, and basically has that ‘dad’ look. The one that watches hockey games every Friday night with their kid, cheering on the team they’re supporting.

Father hates hockey. Says it’s a waste of time. He hates all sports, actually. He’s more into law. Which is probably why he’s a lawyer and runs his own business. Greta is also a lawyer, but they never have a case against each other. Because according to her, it would be wrong and ruin the marriage.

I began to secretly pray they’d get a case against each other after she had told me that.

My eyes traveled to the thick bandage on my left lower arm. Then I quickly averted my eyes, because who knows, I might get that feeling again. The feeling of the blade gliding smoothly against my pale skin. Because you know, there are plenty of sharp objects in a hospital room. I wonder why they don’t be more cautious.

After a bit, I began to get bored. I was like that, I get bored easily. One time, I stared at this pretty black dress for about a month, really wanting to buy it. But it wasn’t released yet, so I always stopped to stare at it in the display, waiting and waiting for it to come out. A month later, it was released and after happily trying it on and buying it, I brought it home to wear for a party. Staring at myself in the mirror made me disgusted. I didn’t like the dress anymore—I had seen it too many times.

Pushing the covers off of me, I got up and walked over to the cupboard and took out my neatly folded clothes. I tugged on a pair of blue jean shorts, and took my hospital uniform off. I replaced it with a white tank top and a deep gray sweatshirt before putting my socks on and hopping to my beat up Chucks. Greta hated that pair, because it was worn out and torn. She preferred it when I wore my heels and flats, but they were annoying. And pissing Greta off was always fun. I think she’d make a great actress, with all the expressions. They were rather entertaining, too.

I did one last check before leaving the room. I had only one hour to spare before they would come back and try to force me to eat lunch, so my little venture outside my dreaded white room was short. Oh well. It’s not like there were anything super duper interesting outside my dreaded white room, either.

As I walked down the halls, the nurses and volunteers shot me weary looks. Maybe they knew who I was. Maybe they knew what I did. Maybe they were tired.

Or maybe, they just didn’t care.

Personally, I was hoping for the last one. That way, I’d avoid any contact with—

“Excuse me, Miss. May I ask what you’re looking for?” A girl, perhaps a year younger than me, asked. She was a volunteer. For her school volunteer hours, I assume.

“Just looking for a friend,” I replied, shrugging. She nodded slowly, but she left me alone and continued to walk.

She looked familiar. Like, really familiar. Perhaps I’ve seen her before, but that’s unlikely. Well, maybe it wasn’t.

At school, I’ve always had this...trouble. I couldn’t make friends. My main goal wasn’t to make friends, but either way, no one would ever approach me—and I didn’t make an effort to approach them, either. So all throughout elementary, middle school, and three years of high school, I was always by myself. There would be only a few students who’d make small talk in between classes or during class, but it was only because we were working on a project or we had done a project before.

From what I heard, some people say I’m stuck up. Personally, I don’t see how. Especially if no one talks to me. How do they know me?

It’s quite weird. The minds of people who say that. Interesting, too—if I was a behavioral scientist.

“Miss, can I help you?” A plump lady in her mid-forties stopped in front of me and offered me a kind smile. “You look a little lost.”

“Just looking for a friend,” I answered easily. She didn’t move away, though. She continued to stay rooted to the spot and kept smiling at me.

“Would you like me to help?” No. “I know most of the patients in this section—perhaps I know your friend? Or at least know which room they’re in.”

I didn’t know what to do. “Uh. It’s okay. I’m sure you’re busy, I have plenty of time to look for my friend.”

She didn’t seem she wanted to leave. “Ah, dear, it’s okay! I have plenty of time as well! I’d love to help you. Can I get their name?” She began to walk so I had to follow. “My name is Jenny,” she continued.

“I’m Hayley.” I said, while I continued to keep up with her fast pace walking. “And really, I can look myself...”

“Nonsense!” She said. Her smile was still plastered on her face which made me wonder if she ever frowned. “So, what’s his or her name?”

That was one thing I didn’t think of just yet. “Uh...”

My eyes averted as I quickly tried to think of what to say—or better yet, a name. You know: a name of an actual person who is in the hospital. This would be kind of hard, seeing as I don’t know anyone and I have no friend in this hospital.

Or any friends.

“There!” I exclaimed all of a sudden as Jenny came to halt after hearing me.

Her smile actually turned into a frown—or half a smile. “Pardon?”

I blinked. “Uh, well. This one. This room; my friend is in this room. I had just forgotten the room number.” I said, pointing to the room I was in front of.

Jenny’s frown/half-a-smile turned around into a grin again. “That’s great! You know Parker Phillips? What a nice young man. I’m glad you found him; I guess I should leave now. Have a nice day, darling!”

I forced a smile out to her as she turned around and headed the direction we came from. I leaned against the door frame and sighed. That was an annoyance.

Note to self: I shall never venture out into the hospital halls without any idea of what I’m doing or who I’m looking for.

Yup. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.

“Your friend, huh?” I swirled around and almost fell when I heard a voice right beside me.

“What?” I asked dumbly.

“I’m your friend?” He asked, smirking. I would now like to assume that he, the guy in front of me, was the said Parker Phillips.

He was tall—about five inches taller than I—and had striking emerald green eyes. He had dark, chocolate brown hair that reached just below his ears. When Jenny had said he was a nice young man, she forgot to say he was pretty handsome, too.

“Like what you see?” He asked, still smirking. He reached out and closed the door behind him as he turned towards his bed. He climbed on and under his covers then turned to stare at me. I stared back, and then at the closed door.

I didn’t know what to do.

So, I decided to slowly walk over and plop down onto the gray visitor chair. His room looked exactly like mine. Save for the different design his Kleenex box had.

“You know, talking is the key of communication,” he piped, leaning back in his pillow. My eyes traveled to his wrist, and I noticed he had it bandaged up as well. He saw me staring, and pulled his arm under the covers.

“Why are you here?” I asked softly.

“Don’t you think that’s a rather impolite question seeing as I don’t know you?”

“You don’t have to answer it.”

“You’re blunt.”

“Clearly.”

“Okay then. I’ll answer you; but first: why are you here?” He grinned, showing off his perfect teeth.

“Probably the same reason as you. Maybe slightly different.” I said, slightly wringing my hands. He made me nervous, in a twisted way.

Whatever that meant.

“What’s your name?” He paused for a moment. “I’m Parker. Parker Phillips.”

I smiled a little. “So I’ve heard.” Finally, one person besides the ER nurse who didn’t know my name. “I’m Hayley. Hayley Miller.”

He smiled. “Hayley. That’s a nice name.” Then he shrugged. “Maybe we are here for the same reasons. But the reason for our reason is different.”

Okay. Now I’m a little confused. What?

“Okay...”

“You know. The reason leading to the reason of our actions...?” he tried again.

Shaking my head, I shrugged. “You could say I don’t like my life too much.”

“That’s too broad.”

“My family.”

“There are a lot of people in a family...”

“My parents.”

“Ah.”

“My friends.”

“Or lack thereof?” I stopped, staring at him. Was it obvious?

“How did you...”

“Perfection is flawed, Hayley. I know a lot about you.” And before I could say anything, he quickly added, “Big surprise what you can find out about someone like you in the papers.”

“Flawed...but why would the friends thing come up? Wouldn’t you think I have a drug addiction or...?”

“You don’t do drugs.”

“You sound so sure.”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem like you’re on it.”

“Not now.”

“Are you saying you do drugs, Miss Miller?”

“No but—”

“And I rest my case.”

I raised an eyebrow and moved to sit on his bed. His plain, white hospital bed cover.

“What about you?” I asked again, quietly. “Why are you here?”

“Family.”

“’There are a lot of people in a family...’” I mimicked, smiling.

“Mother.”

“Mm.”

“Drug addiction.”

“But—”

“Overdose.”

I paused. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever been so adamant to find out.”