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I noticed some things while I was holding the sobbing boy up. He was at least six inches taller than me, he had calloused hands, and he had and eyebrow piercing. Also, he doesn't cry enough. You can tell by the way he cried, how hard he cried and how his sobs soon turned into hiccups, he doesn't usually let out his emotions, which I can somewhat relate to.
He cried on my shoulder, his face in the crook of my neck and his purple hair tickling my ear, for another 5 minutes. His shoulders bounced and his tears made my skin wet, but I held on to him anyway. I realized in that moment that it wasn't just Dylan and I who were broken, everyone here was broken. Even if you weren't broken yet, you'll break eventually.
For another 5 minutes we stood like this, in the middle of the lobby with everyone staring at us. They weren't stares of judgement, though, they were stares of sympathy. They were all broken as well.
More minutes passed, and his sobs soon died out, and we were just embracing each other. He took a sharp inhale in and then slowly exhaled and moved his head away from my neck. He looked into my eyes with his blues ones, now red from crying. He looked at me, and then completely pulled away from me, leaving his hands hanging at his sides. "Sorry," he mumbled in a raspy voice.
"Me too," I replied. I wasn't sure what I was sorry for, but it wouldn't have been right to just say 'it's ok'.
"Ok," he said merely. He looked down at his shoes, not knowing what to do now.
"I . . . uh, better . . . go," he said awkwardly.
"Ok," I said back.
He glanced up at me one more time before muttering "Bye," and walking away. I just watched walk away down one of the hallways, frowning.
"What's up with that one . . ." I asked quietly to myself.
"Bipolar disorder," said a voice behind me. I spun around to see a girl, about my age, standing there with the arms crossed. The girl was about 5' 2" and must have only weighed about 80 pounds. Blonde hair clung onto her scalp and she looked as if she was going to fall apart at any given moment.
"Hello? You still with me?" she asked, taking her fingers and snapping them in front of my face, bringing me out of my daze.
"Huh? Oh . . . yeah," I replied.
"Don't worry, I'm used to it by now," she said and shrugged.
"Sorry, you shouldn't be. What's your name?" I asked.
"Jamaica. But everyone calls me James."
"Oh, hi. I'm Sabrina-"
"No, you're my roommate, Alec," she said and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, well . . . that's my nickname," I lied a little to quickly.
"Doubt it."
I glared at her. "What do you want, anyways?" I asked her.
"I wanted to tell you that your boyfriend finally calmed down while you were cheating on him with Eli," she said.
"Hey, I'm not dating either one of them, I just freaking got here, and people already hate me. Lay off, alright? Where's Dylan?" I said.
James sighed. "Went back to his room before the nurses could come and drag him away to 'treat' him. Yester is an evil place you know."
"Yeah, kinda figured that out already. Why are you here? If it's so evil?" I asked.
James laughed bitterly. "Isn't it obvious? 76 freaking pounds. Figure it out yourself, Sherlock."
"Yeah, ok, thanks so very much," I said sarcastically. "I hope to see you around," I said in the same tone. Then I turned on my heel and walked toward the hallway where Dylan's room was.
Passing by each door, I read the names, trying to find Dylan's. I finally got to the door that nearly gave me a concussion early today and knocked on it.
"Dylan? Hey, it's. . . um, A- Alec," I said softly through the closed door. Suddenly I heard glass break. I jumped back. Then a blood curtailing scream of agony and pain. Then sobs and more screams.
"Dylan? Dylan?" I asked over and over again. I tried opening the door but it was locked. Then another loud crash. And silence.
"Dylan? Dylan!" I screamed. Then the door next to Dylan's opened, and there stood a tall African American man, maybe about 30, in the doorway, looking at me with pleading eyes.
"Stop screaming and come here!" he said urgently and quietly. I nodded and walked into his room. It was dark, but that didn't matter. What mattered was Dylan.
"Is he ok?" I asked.
"Yes, he will be fine as long as the nurses don't come," he said calmly.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"It has happened before, just as long as the nurses don't come."
"What are the nurses going to do?" I asked quickly.
"Things. Bad things. Once he quiets down, we will be ok." He said with pleading eyes.
"Who even are you?" I asked.
He man held out his hand. "Mark, nice to meet you," he said. But there was something in his eyes that threw me off . . .
I shook his hand. "That's not your name," I stated firmly and let go of his hand.
"I- uh . . . yes it is," he stuttered.
"You're lying," I said.
"How do you know?" he asked suspiciously.
"Your eyes."
"Are you a liar as well?" he asked and raised an eyebrow.
I hesitated before saying, "Yes."
He smiled at me, obviously satisfied. Then he nodded. "Well, in that case, my name is Stephen. Compulsive liar," Stephen said and held out his and again.
"Alec," I replied and shook his hand once more. "And your not a very good liar. Your eyes give it away."
He frowned. "What about my eyes?"
"They shine too much. If you're going to let them do that, at least make it a glint or something believable," I stated.
"I could learn a thing or two from you. Too bad that we are supposed to stop lying."
"Thanks, I've been lying for a long time. And who ever said we needed to change? Why don't we just lie our way out if this prison?" I asked. "It would be much easier than telling the truth."
"How old are you kid?" Stephen asked.
"14," I answered.
"Well alright then. I have to go to therapy now. But if you ever need me, you know where to find me, Alec," he said and led me out the door.
"Good luck," I said before heading to my room.
"You too," Stephen called back and made his way to the elevator.
I smiled to myself as I entered my room, knowing that there was someone I could finally trust. Someone who doesn't want to get fixed. Someone who wants to leave as much as I do. I wasn't planning on telling anyone that I'm a compulsive liar, for people wouldn't trust me, but now that someone knows who is also a compulsive liar, it will make getting out of here so much easier. It was like, for that incredibly short time we were talking, we were a family that trusts each other. Not like my actually family, or my parents to be more specific, more like a family that actually wants to help each other. A family of liars.
