Messed Up Love // Chandler Riggs // fanfiction

2)

Chandler's POV

"So Chandler, my name is Dr. Urie, I will be your therapist until I say you're well enough to leave this asylum." This therapist is already getting on my nerves.

My mother spent all her money that she was going to use for her to get better, to lock me up in this hell hole with crazy people for me to get better. Sure I may of attempted suicide but I wasn't crazy. My plans are to just get as soon as possible. This even means acting as if I'm stable. God I don't think I'd ever be stable.

"Hello Dr. Urie" my voice croaked as this left my mouth. He chuckled.

"Nervous?" He asked.

"A little, yeah" I kept telling myself in my head to just play the part. Even if it takes years for them to believe that I'm 'better' it'll be quicker then actually waiting for it to happen. I'll act as if I'm better within a few months, at least 10-15 sessions with this guy, who hasn't even turned around yet, I still don't know what he looks like and I was getting curious.

"No need" he then spun around. He had big puffy eyes, which I couldn't tell the colour of, green or blue I think. He had locks of blonde hair which made him look a few years younger then he was, he was 34, he looked quite professional in a polo shirt and a tie, but doesn't everyone?

His desk was clattered with papers, and in one corner was his laptop which looks as if it hasn't been used in a long time with all the dust hovering above it.

The room was quite big. He gestured me to sit down on the sofa, I sat down across the room on a single chair instead. He stood standing.

"So how do you feel right now? Being here and that"

Wow

Already, the first fucking question he had asked me how do you feel? Fucking therapists. I'm just going to be honest

"Suicidal" I spat it out.

"Is there a reason for that?" I wanted to loose my temper at this question.

"Is there a fucking reason?? Nah I feel suicidal just for the fucking fun. Of course there's a fucking reason. Stupid ass question" I was practically shouting at my therapist already and it felt great.

"Do you want to share it now?" Not even one session finished and he's asked to know what's wrong. I've never actually talked to anyone about this before but Whatever gets me out quicker I'll do it.

"Whatever, so as a child my alcoholic dad abused me and my mother after my brother, Greyson, ran away blah blah then he died of alcohol poisoning when I was 16. After that my mother would speak, eat or even get out of bed. After a few months she'd get out of bed and talk but rarely. She hadn't spoken to me in months before I woke up in that hospital. I lost a lot of friends through the years because I was so depressed. Everyone left me.. alone in the darkness" I could see myself tearing up in the mirror across the room. "No one cared, no one asked what was wrong. I was invisible to everyone. I started to self harm, the pain was excruciating. The blood fascinated me. It was addicting. No one ever noticed the pain I was going through. Not even my own mother. I just hate my own brother for leaving me to deal with all that alone." I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to scream into my pillow. Most of all, I wanted to cut. I miss the feeling of my skin opening and the red liquid pouring out. I sometimes wish that I'd cut deep enough that my insides would pour out. I never did it though. I decided to take the pills instead. The hardest part of being in this Asylum will be not hurting myself, with my blade.

*****

I was being escorted to my room for punching another patient. They had it coming though, they were staring and it made me uncomfortable and when I'm uncomfortable I'll get angry.

My room isn't decorated or anything. Thank fuck. It's just plain white walls, a plain white bed and a chestnut desk.

I got undressed and just got into bed even though I knew I wouldn't sleep. I'm alone, the thoughts are going to come. I hate being alone, I'm scared of myself. I tried to entertain myself. But it never works.

I heard laughter. Outside my windows.

There were children outside, did they know they're outside a fucking crazy house?

I watched the other children laugh and play from my lonely room. How could they be happy when I felt so sad. Part of me wanted them to feel my pain too, so I wouldn't be so lonely with it, but part of me was glad they couldn't, it was private after all. My eyes suddenly swam with tears and I hurried to scrub them from my face. I hate crying, although I do it all the fucking time.

Haiiii people, if you liked this then please comment the love and vote!! More's coming 🖤🖤 I go to school so it will take a little longer for me to update.