He didn’t belong in a mental institution, Connor was sure of that. Yet, when he awoke to find himself in a hospital bed wearing unfamiliar royal blue, paper-thin clothes, he somehow knew exactly where he was.

"You're awake," the only other person in the room stood, attempting to keep his distance.

"Where am I?" Connor asked, even though somehow he knew.

"You're in the Creekside Sanitary," the boy gave Connor a look of pity; his eyes were a strange blue-gray color. "I'm Henry."

"Connor," he mumbled in response, his hands reaching up to tug at his hair; it was brittle and coarse. "I shouldn’t be here.”

"We have to go to lunch," Henry ignored him and moved to the door.

-

Connor couldn't eat much. Henry made polite conversation, asking how the food was, how he was feeling—it was nearly unbearable.

"What'd you do to get in here?" Connor cut into the one-sided conversation. Henry set down his spoon—the only utensil they were provided—and took a deep breath.

"I really want to die," he answered, his words seeped with honesty. Connor's eyes widened, making the Henry softly. "I was in a gang and I tried to leave. They went after my best friend and killed his girlfriend in retaliation. It was my fault."

Connor was not expecting the explanation he received. Not from the cheery, seemingly-normal Henry, who, after telling a stranger his the darkest moment of his life, proceeded to calmly continue eating.

So he did the same, not knowing what kind of psychotic breakdown Henry would have if he pushed the subject.

Near the end of lunch, Connor was suddenly aware that someone was staring at him. It was one of those instances of which was inexplicable to a sane person. However, Connor was not sane.

His gaze drifted upwards to see the source of his uneasiness; a girl, seemingly around his age, had her eyes trained on him. As he saw her, she waved enthusiastically. He hesitantly raised his hand in return.

"Who's that?" Connor asked, not wanting to look away. She was the only beautiful thing he had seen since awakening.

"Who?" Henry spoke in between bites of pre-sliced beef.

"The one waving,” Connor motioned towards the girl.

Henry glanced up without truly searching, then shrugged.

"I don't know."

Connor gave an undetectable sigh; he wanted to know who she was, why she was acting like she knew him.

But when he went to look for her again, she was gone.

-

Both of the boys left for their room—that is, until Connor saw her. She gave him a knowing grin, slipping into an empty corridor; he paused, wondering what she had done to land herself in Creekside. His feet pushed forward anyway, Henry unknowingly continuing without him.

"Who are you?" Connor stopped to see a playful smirk on her face.

"I'm a friend, Connor." she told him, her eyes softening the slightest bit. "I've heard a lot about you."

"How do I know you?" he demanded, arms folded—his nails applied a small amount of pressure.

"Word circulates in a place like this," she grinned, childishly raising her eyebrows. "You're quite popular."

"I don't even remember why I'm here.”

"You don't have to," she laughed; Connor was surprised by the sound. It was carefree, infectious, reminding him of something familiar and comforting. "We're all insane here, you don't have to remember your own name."

"What's yours?" he pressed. She knew him, but he knew nothing of her.

"I'm Rose."

Connor noted that the name suited her quite well.

"Well, Rose," he decided to play into her game. "What else have you heard? Any rumors explaining what I did to land myself in here?”

"Connor, Connor, Connor." she sang, seemingly enjoying herself. "Didn't you ever hear the saying, 'curiosity killed the cat?' You seem to be lacking a bit of fur, but you do have the claws. I'd be careful."

"What're you-" he started, but she grabbed his wrists in her thin, cold hands, turning his arms upwards to leave the pale blue veins exposed. Upon his pale skin were large scratch marks, each one deep and fresh. As he turned his hand, he could see crimson blood trapped underneath his fingernails. "I did this?"

He looked up, and Rose was gone.

-

"Where were you?" Henry asked as Connor entered the room, attempting subtlety.

"I met her," Connor informed him, his mind becoming numb as he pondered over their short conversation. "I met the girl; her name is Rose."

The older boy froze, catching Connor’s attention. Alerted of the tension, he continued to ask, "Do you know her?"

"Stay away," Henry commanded. It was suddenly apparent that his eyes were more gray than blue. "She's dangerous, Connor. Trust me."

"What?" Connor's brow furrowed in aggravation. "She was nice, there's nothing-"

He stopped himself from saying there was nothing wrong with her; obviously, there was something wrong with all of them if they were in Creekside.

Henry was done speaking, his mouth pressed in a firm line.

Connor sighed heavily, sitting on the only other empty bed in the room, resting his head against the dull yellow-white wall behind him.

Pulling his knees close to his chest, Connor dug his nails into the flesh on his legs. It all seemed like an inescapable nightmare. He could barely feel the pressure of his hands ripping into skin.

"Stop doing that."

He looked up to see Henry had an unfamiliar, defeated look on his face.

"What?" Connor blurted out, stunned by the tone of his voice.

"Stop it with your nails," Henry spoke again, his voice harsher. "You're bleeding."

Connor looked down at his legs; there were small rips through the blue paper clothing, dark red spots of blood starting to seep into the material. He did nothing, turning to Henry.

“What did I do to get in here?"

"I don't know," Henry quickly reverted back to whatever calm realm he had ventured from. "That's for you to remember."

-

At lunch, Connor anxiously awaited another encounter with Rose. After getting his food he craned his neck, searching the dining hall for her familiar face.

"Connor?" he turned to see she was almost gliding towards him, that intoxicating smile still playing on her face. "Can I sit?"

He nodded in affirmation.

"This is Henry." he introduced her even though Henry had turned away from the pair, speaking to someone else. "This is Rose."

"Hello," Rose politely waved, her smile fading the slightest.

Henry stood up, a look of pain on his face. He faced Connor for a moment, never acknowledging the girl beside him.

"You never listen, do you?"

He took off to the other side of the cafeteria, royal blue uniform blurring into all the others.

"What'd I do?” Rose faltered, her beautiful grin washed away.

"It’s not your fault." Connor shook his head, confused as Rose was. "He always seems to be upset over something."

"He doesn't like me."

It wasn't exactly a question.

"I like you," Connor admitted, wincing at how awkward he sounded. A light blush spread across her cheeks; even so, neither of them were uncomfortable in the slightest.

"I've always liked you," she replied. Her eyes widened as she realized she’d slipped.

"You knew me? Before I was here?" he asked. Her jaw went slack, no sound coming out of her mouth.

She shook her head.

"You can tell me," he pressed.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

She abruptly stood, bolting into the mass of people in the room.

"Wait!" Connor called out, rushing to go after her. He saw a glimpse of her hair, desperately following. "Rose!"

He wasn't far behind when another body crashed into him, sending both of them flying to the floor.

He swore under his breath, standing up to face the person scrambling off the floor. He was shorter than Connor, but wider, and much older. The man must have been in his late sixties, for his hair was mostly gone, his face wrinkled with age.

"The boy in blue!" he shouted at Connor. "The boy in blue, he doesn't remember. His love and his family, he lost in December. The boy in blue forgets his name, his mind is sick, it loves to play. Tricks and turns, it slaves away. He’ll crash and burn, yet wake the same!"

"What the hell?"

Connor was not in the mood for another insane person.

"Connor," Henry grabbed his arm. "Let's go."

"Who is that?" Connor was slowly dragged away from the scene.

"The boy in blue," the madman continued to speak aloud, theatrically waving his arms. "His friends, they lie. Keep the truth hidden out of sight. But he does know the girl is key, to shine the light and set him free!"

"That's Otis, he thinks he's Shakespeare,” Henry explained, the words sounding bitter as they fell off his tongue. He was still gripping onto Connor’s arm—the dazed boy wrenched himself out of Henry’s grasp as they stumbled into the room they shared.

“Tell me why I’m here,” he pleaded, desperate almost to the point of tears. “Why am I here, Henry?”

The seemingly older, slightly taller boy stared at Connor with the pain of something once remembered in his eyes. And still, he said nothing.

-

Rose sat with Connor again at lunch the next day, and again, and again. And everyday, like clockwork, Henry left at the mention of Rose’s name.

Connor and Rose spoke about the mediocre aspects of Creekside—how horrid the food was, the uncomfortableness of the beds, how the screams of people in the middle of the night were absolutely unbearable. But sometimes they would speak of other subjects.

“I can’t stand any of the doctors here,” Rose admitted, her shoulder resting against Connor’s. “They’re as insane as we are.”

“Why? They all seem normal.”

“Well,” she shook her head, shrugging slightly. “Some of them are. But they’re always trying to get rid of me.”

Her voice lowered, gaze hesitantly flickering around the room, she eyed the staff lining every door and window.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked, a familiar ache suddenly starting to weigh on his chest. He felt an impeccable sense of dread, an absolutely overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

She motioned for Connor to draw nearer, all hints of a smile erased from her features.

“They want me gone,” she breathed out the words so slightly they were hardly audible. “They’ll take me away.”

“Take you away?” his breath hitched in his throat. “Take you where?”

She stood, catching the attention of no one as she disappeared into the crowd of mumbling, screaming, drooling lunatics—she was so unlike them, Connor couldn’t believe she was real. She seemed completely sane—he seemed completely sane—yet, they were both there.

He stumbled out of his seat to follow, catching glimpses of her dark hair—the only distinguishable characteristic in a world of blue uniforms.

Arms latched onto his, and Otis’s sunken, animalistic eyes locked with Connor’s. The old man seemed to have decayed since he’d last made his appearance.

“What happened to you?” Connor wrenched himself out of Otis’s heavy hands. His right eye was distorted more than usual, dark plum and fading clay-colored rings fanning out from the bridge of his nose to the hairline near his temple.

“The boy in blue,” he muttered, as if to himself. “He doesn’t recall, but a close relation led to the final fall. The red man took his love away, but his friend should be the one to pay. Heed close to what I tell; you’re in a trance, stuck in a spell.”

“Did you know me before?” Connor asked—demanded, rather. This time, he was the one to thrust his body forwards, closing the proximity between their bodies. “Tell me who I am Otis, or I swear to god-”

“Connor,” Rose cut through the recently-gathered crowd that had encircled the two, bystanders hopeful to see a fight. She didn’t have to say anything else; he lifted his hands and Otis scurried away, mumbling more rhymes to himself.

“Battle of the boneheads,” another patient whispered to herself, screeching in amusement at her own private joke. “Battle of the… battle of the boneheads!”

“I can’t stand this place,” Connor shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “All these people are insane, I’m not like them.”

“It’s quite contagious,” Rose offered, but he wasn’t finished.

“Nobody’s telling me what I did to get in here.” he rubbed his temples, frustrated. “I don’t understand why nobody’s telling me! What could’ve been so bad? The doctors know, but they’re lying to me-”

“Because they’re crazy as the rest of us,” Rose spoke fast, in jumbled, excited phrases. “That’s why we have to stick together, the two of us… we’re smarter than they are. They think they can keep us here, smear our names to our families… they’ll try to give you medicine, Connor. They’re watching you closely, I just know… don’t take it. Don’t take any of the pills, pretend like you do but lie, lie like they’ve lied to us—to you.”

“I won’t.” he agreed, and she seemed to settle, her breathing evening out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised.

-

The therapist, whose name Connor didn’t care to remember, thought she knew everything about him. He could feel it as he sat in her uncomfortably-small chair. As she spoke his eyes followed every miniscule movement she made—her eye twitched, and on occasion she tapped her foot. She shifted under his unflinching gaze.

He could feel it—she believed she knew more about Connor, his life, his past—more than he did.

“I’d like to talk to you about taking some medication.” she spoke truthfully after dancing around the subject for what seemed like ages. Setting a bottle on the table, she emptied two small powder-blue tablets into her hand, extending it to him.

He slipped the pills past his lips, pushing them to the roof of his mouth. He could taste the pungent flavor and sand-like quality, but kept his expression the same.

He knew she felt superior when speaking to him, a lunatic—he could sense the pride it gave her to know she helped this poor, injured soul.

He left the therapy room, and went to lunch. As soon as he was past the doorway, he spit the remnants of the pill into his hand and crushed it in his palm. 

-

“Christ, can you calm down?” Henry shot Connor a silencing glare as he questioned, for the third time, if Henry had seen Rose. The cafeteria was full of people—but not her. He was the only one who knew her, yet he couldn’t find her.

Connor felt the edges of his sanity slowly blurring into the depraved. He needed to see her to make sure she was alright.

His legs propelled themselves forward, Henry shouting at him to stop as he threw himself into a furious stride, stopping in front of a doctor.

“Where is she?” he demanded. When the doctor asked who she was, Connor’s hands found their way to his collar. “Rose! Where is she? You can’t take her away! You can’t make her disappear!”

A few nurses who had been looking upon the situation lunged forward, screaming for other staff to find a sedative. Connor’s hands tightened their grip, holding the doctor hostage as he continued to spit out increasingly nonsensical phrases. Henry was sobbing behind them, hands clasped over his ears; the tears dripping off his chin were bluer than his eyes.

It’s strange to think that Connor had ever doubted they were gray.

“Is a patient missing?” one of the nurses raised her voice over Connor’s as he started to thrash about—the sedative was on its way.

“No,” the doctor called back to her, his strength overpowering Connor’s, twisting and shoving the boy to the floor just as the sedative arrived. With one fluid movement, he plunged the needle in the exact spot it had slipped into last time--and the time before. “This is Connor, the one I was telling you about.”

“The stabbing victim?” the nurse struggled to catch her breath.

“Gang retaliation,” the doctor gave her a curt nod. “You’re new here, but you’ll get used to this. This is the third incident with him; we’re working on a diagnosis. The girl he’s looking for doesn’t exist.”

-

When Connor awoke in his royal blue, paper-thin clothes, he knew exactly where he was.

“You’re awake,” the boy across from him showed no hint of a smile—Connor noticed that he had bandages covering his arms and neck. Both beds were devoid of any sheets. “I’m Henry.”

-

Connor couldn’t eat lunch. Henry made a few polite introductions, but nothing more. And there was that madman, the one whom the older boy identified as Otis—he wouldn’t stop screaming.

“The boy in blue, woke up in bed! Did he wonder why your sheets were red? Forgot himself again, such shame! And we all know who’s the one to blame! Where’s the little girl he lost? The red man took her, a measly cost! For his friend felt scared and saved himself, and now the cost has paid itself!”

Every time Otis spoke, Henry winced against his words and clenched his fist—Otis would, in return, raise a shaking hand to touch his battered eye.

Connor noticed a girl in the back of the cafeteria. She was the only beautiful thing he had seen since awakening.

-

When they left for their rooms, Connor was pulled into an empty corridor—it was the girl from the cafeteria, a playful smirk curling along the edges of her mouth.

“Who are you?”

Her smile grew, as if she knew something he didn’t.

“I’m a friend, Connor.” she told him, her eyes softening the slightest bit. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”