Excuse me, little miss priss (MA-15)

Callie was in deep sleep, a reoccurring dream that she had had many times before. The same thing happened every dream. A man was outside her home, that she couldn't see, couldn't hear, yet he managed to strike fear into her, to the point that when she woke, paranoia was all she had. Gasping for air, the blonde shot up from her bed, and scurried into a corner of her room. Away from the light that was shining through the barred window and the fluorescent lights that shown through the halls into her room by the small window that allowed people to peer in. Always off-putting to know people could watch her while she was sleeping, that was for sure.

Glancing around, sweat forming beads on her forehead as she began to shake in paranoia. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something scurry along the ground, in a rather fast motion. "No!" she called, rummaging through her end table that was close by frantically trying to find something in there to help her defend herself. You are going to die, just give up. Her breathing was really off. Some heavy, some not so much, and it was shaky. "No!" she called again, grabbing her little journal and held it out like a weapon. "You won't get me!" Callie yelled in desperation at the apparitions and hallucinations.

Squirming will only make it worse! The voices in her head yelled as she began to panic, her hands held out with her journal clutched in a death grip, her muscles trying to maintain their strength and stationary hold, however fading. Her arms struggled, and began to shake in an uncontrollable way. Then suddenly before her, she saw her father. "No! You are dead! Go away!" she yelled at the man who had defiled her innocence. "Oh come on, baby girl, aren't you glad to see your dear ol' dad?"

Throwing her journal, she screamed. "No! Now go away!" she tried and plead, hoping it would work both the yelling and the journal zipping through air as she closed her eyes tightly. For a few moments, she found peace and quiet, but her paranoia didn't relinquish her from its grip. Taking in a deep breath, she looked around, seeing nothing around but a little mess she made from her bedside table and her journal ajar across her room. Figuring a shower might help wash the feeling away, she stood up, cautiously, and walked to her dresser, pulling out fresh linens. Bringing them with her, and her own toiletries with a towel.

Taking in another deep breath, she began to walk slowly out of her room to the showers. Her body guarded as she walked along the corridors to reach her destination, making sure no one was going to talk to her or approach her in any sort of way. Walking in, she placed her stuff down on a counter and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked tired, and she was not a fan, but there was little she could do about it. She didn't want to sleep again in fear of the dream coming up again. Getting lost in her complexion, she hardly heard the door open, which made her jump and hide beneath the corner, and hug her legs.

It was late at night, and Imogen couldn't sleep well. She had tried counting sheep and deep breathing, but the stupid voices would not shut up. All they wanted was a conversation, but Imogen wanted sleep. She didn't want to talk with them and she had said that.

"No, not right now. In the morning."

Imogen had mumbled, then she shoved her face into her pillow and closed her eyes.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she yelled.

The pillow had muffled her voice, but not the other voices in the room with her. They kept speaking loud and clear.

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, still muffled by the pillow.

Did anyone listen to Imogen? No.

Frustrated she got up out of bed and walked down the hall to the showers. The feeling of warm water rushing down your body always relieved the stress. She shuffled down the hall, rubbing her eyes, and mumbling.

"I'm very upset with you. All I wanted was to sleep, is it that hard to leave me alone?"

Every now and then something would appear in her peripheral vision. Imogen wouldn't bother to look. She was used to it by now. All those years in her mother's attic with things taking form then disappearing. She once had a full conversation with a hallucination.

When she got to the end of the corridor, Imogen twisted the nob on the door to the washroom. She opened the door and something flew to the corner and hugged it's knees to it's chest.

Imogen rubbed her eyes and cocked her head to the side.

"You're real, right?"

Callie sat hugging her legs, shaking a bit where she sat, hoping the person walking in wouldn't see her. However she knew that wouldn't be the case. Despite the white clothes they were stuck wearing, it was easy to see her blonde hair, porcelain skin, and bight green eyes in contrast to the white tile floors. "Don't hurt me!" she plead with fear in her voice. It was a phrase she used often. The voices began to laugh maniacally in her head. We already have someone to do that for us! Shaking more, she buried her face in her arms as the figure that had opened the door walked further into the shower room.

Fear blocking out her hearing and other senses being dimmed, she hardly heard the figure ask if she was real. Confused, the blonde lifted her head and peered over to the woman with a dumbfound expression. She didn't comprehend that it was a patient and that it was someone who was like her. Seeing things that weren't there, hearing things that she didn't. "Yes!" she mused with a strong voice, almost angered that the woman was accusing her of being imaginary. Oh look! People think you are a figment of their imagination! See how it feels! Callie balled her hands into fists and practically sneered at the voices. "You aren't real are you?" she asked back, despite being offended that she had been asked herself the same question. But she was trying to be careful.

Imogen's question had been with good intent, but struck a nerve in the girl on the floor. Imogen had seen the girl around the hospital but she had never really gotten to know her. Now that she thought about it, Imogen never really had let herself get to know anyone around the hospital.

"Yes!" The girl on the floor said to Imogen.

She seemed irritated as she clenched and unclenched her fists. Imogen crossed her arms and turned her head upright.

"I was only asking..." she mumbled.

"You aren't real are you?" The girl asked.

"Why, of course I'm real. Do you see me getting upset over it? C'mon get up." Imogen said, sticking out a hand to help the girl.

Imogen hadn't wanted to upset the girl, and she hoped her last remark didn't upset her further. Last thing she needed was someone upset with her. It was never a good feeling. Besides, she had only come in here to take a warm, refreshing bath, not to get in a fight.

Callie was breathing heavily as she was still crouched on the floor. She was freaking out, and she wanted it to stop, but she doubted it would. As the woman spoke, she turned her head a bit, as if wounded by the fact that her words were just as harmless as hers were. "Sorry," she murmured herself in defeat.

As the woman spoke again, she narrowed her eyes at her. Harmless or not, her words sounded judgemental. And that was something a crazy person didn't need. "Coming from the person who asked if I was...." she whispered with an irritated tone, not taking the woman's hand as she stood up herself.

Taking in a deep breath, she shook her hand as if to shake off her paranoia but it didn't seem to work. Turning to the woman, she finally addressed her in a more calm and nice way. "Sorry," she mused genuinely, not wantin to fight with the girl.

"Coming from the person who asked if I was...." The girl mumbled while stood up on her own accord, leaving Imogen looking like an idiot.

Imogen blinked and then started fumbling with her fingers. The patient who stood before her took a deep breath then actually addressed Imogen like a civilized being. But then again, they were mental patients... Who was civil?

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I never got to meet you properly, I'm Imogen. You are?"

Imogen again stuck out her hand for the girl to shake. Hopefully this time she would accept the gesture. Imogen had been raised to shake peoples' hands when they first met. It was now something that happened on its own accord. Now that she thought about it, Imogen really hadn't been thinking about sticking out her hand when she had done so.

Weird...

Though, it had got her to stop fumbling with her fingers. That was a bad habit she needed to break.

Callie smiled ever so slightly as the woman said that her previous actions were alright. That was good. People in this place were unstable and it was easy to hold a grudge with all the emotional spikes people had. "Cool name. Never heard that one before," she complimented the woman. It was nice to see there were a lot of unique names about. It sort of made her happy inside that the typical people with typical names weren't in a place like this.

"I'm Callie," she mused, refraining from telling the woman her usual speech of her name being like that of the Hindu goddess. The blonde was awfully proud of her name, and absolutely adored it. Taking the woman's hand, she shook it properly, like any high status woman would. Despite her illness, she still somewhat acted like she was rich.

"I'm Callie" She said, then she took Imogen's hand and shook it.

Imogen smiled, surprised that she didn't lash out on Callie. Usually, she was a short tempered woman who screamed when she didn't get what she wanted. Maybe it was because she was tired and didn't want the hassle.

"Nice to meet you Ms. Callie." Imogen said. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, why is it you're in here?"

It was a very vague question. Imogen would be shocked if the girl even said the answer Imogen was looking for. She could be asking why she was in the washroom or why she was in the hospital. Or, if Callie was one of those types of people, she could even interpret it as why she was here on this Earth.

None the less, Imogen wished she had worded it differently. It was little things like that that crawled under her skin. She started fumbling with her fingers while looking at Callie.

Callie nodded to the woman in response to her kind gesture. "Nice to meet you too," she mused with a smile. It was a change from her previous outburst attitude and paranoia. Then the woman asked why she was there. Extremely vague, and she found herself partially annoyed at how simple the question was. There were so many ways she could answer the question, but she bit her tongue from saying something snarky, and replied with a smile.

"Well, in this washroom to take a shower, the hospital, because I decided to kill my family and set my home on fire," she told the woman with a bit of a smug attitude. Hoping that one of those answers would be what she was looking for. Plus, she didn't mind telling people whay she ended up here. What could she way? There was something so nice about remembering the night she killed her family.

"Well, in this washroom to take a shower, the hospital, because I decided to kill my family and set my home on fire."

She answered the question perfectly based on what Imogen had given her to work with. At first, she had felt kind of bad about giving her such a vague question but then the tone in Callie's voice made that feeling go away.

"Oh... I see."

Imogen remembered why she was here, in the washroom, and it was not to get in an argument with this girl. She kept fumbling with her fingers and also remembered why she was here, in the hospital.Imogen heard laughter and she stared off in the distance. Her mother appeared beside her and laughed as Imogen kept staring.

"Look at me, look at me! I'm free! And you're stuck in here with bipolar patients... Looks like you didn't stab me as much as you should've. I would've been dead, and I almost was, but you just couldn't do it. You couldn't kill your mother who was there for you the whole time. Now look at me."

Imogen kept staring, fumbling with her fingers, and mumbling nonsense.

"Look at me, Imogen. Look at your mother."

She didn't have the guts to. Who knows what this hallucination would look like.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Her mother ran in front of Imogen, right into her line of sight. She was a mess, she looked the way she had when Imogen had stabbed her. Blood covered every inch of her. It ran down her arms, down her face, down her chest. It clotted her hair and poured out of her chest where her heart was. Her clothes were torn and barely existent.

"This is what you did to your mother Emmy!"

She got up right in Imogen's face and screamed.

"This is what you did to me! I LOVED YOU!"

"I STILL LOVE YOU!" Imogen screamed.

She jumped a little, then snapped back into reality. Her bloody mother and her voice were gone. All that was left was Imogen and Callie. The image of her mother's bloodied face was implanted into her mind and Imogen kept fumbling with her fingers.

Callie looked at the girl as she spoke. It was a simple comment. Neither applauding her nor criticizing her, which kind of struck a nerve with her. The girl had nothing to say about what she had done? Why she was there? The blonde narrowed her eyes as the girl attention drew from hers. Callie knew she was among other people who were like her, but that didn't make it any better. If anything, it irritated her more on many aspects. They could have their attention drawn from her as quickly as hers could be from any normal person. She tried to keep her cool, but is seemed liek her fuse was short this time. The longer she waited to get the girls attention, the more angry she grew.

However, the moment she was about to say something, the girl yelled. Not at her, clearly because they just met and her comment would have made no sense, but her sudden outburst caused her to cower in fear. Not at the words, but the clear anger that laced each word. Letting out a sigh, she finally shook off her slumped demeanor and stood up straight. "Right... So I am guessing you were seeing something?" she asked. It was kind of forward, and some people didn't like others asking what they were seeing, but Callie didn't like being yelled at, especially since she didn't do anything. And the comment really confused her. So she had to know what was going on.

"Right... So I am guessing you were seeing something?" Callie said, confused and slightly annoyed.

Imogen barely moved. She kept messing with her thumbs and looked up at the blonde. Her movements were short and twitchy. Imogen nodded very nervously.

"Yeah... Um, I'm in this hospital because I have schizophrenia. I can hear things and see things that other people can't, but I'm sure you've heard of it. I'm also VERY bipolar. But the thing I did... I, uh... Almost killed my mother. I don't know what happened! I just... The knife... It was right there! In my hand and I... I just... Lost control."

Tears started forming in the corners of her eyes. Imogen couldn't help it, and she tried to stop. With her wrist, she wiped her eyes, and looked back to where she was staring.

"I didn't mean to! It wasn't my fault!!!"

With her index finger, she started tracing the scar on her left wrist.

Callie watched the woman. Her eyes showing a piercing deep green rather than her soft green that was usually pertained to her look. But she was rather curious at this moment in time. She was crazy, and so were others here. So she liked to see just how others were crazy. Though the blonde grew a bit impatient as the woman stood there a bit stand-offish. She knew how it went, being hesitant to speak about things they see or happen to see before them. But it still ittitated her that the woman was taking so long. Once she finally spoke, she listened to her hesitation and admitting what she had done, or believed she didn't intentionally do to get landed here. "Oh.." was all she could muster at that moment before Imogen spoke again.

Looking off to the side, she rubbed the back of her head and ruffled her blonde locks before looking back to the woman. "Look, whatever happened happened. People may blame you, but who is to really know who really did it," she mused truthfully with a bit of a sick smirk. Honestly, she knew it was her fault she killed her family. Like there is no way it wasn't her. But when it came to some of the other people here, like Imogen, the possiility of them thinking it was not their fault or it being them who had caused the crime was common. "It happened. Get over it," she mused, realizing her mood change being pretty blunt and careless of feeling.

Imogen listened to Callie respond to what she had said. She got this look on her face, like a smirk. Imogen was shocked. How could one be so calm and collected when she was in an insane asylum?

"It happened. Get over it."

Imogen stared blankly at Callie, her tone was bitter. Did she know how hard it was for Imogen? No. Did she know anything, ANYTHING, about Imogen's past other than what she told her? No. How could she be so insensitive? So bitter?

This shouldn't have pissed off Imogen as much as it did. She fumbled with her fingers some more and clenched her jaw.

"How could you say that? Do you know how much I would love to get over it and move on? Do you know how hard it is to be visited by your blood covered mother almost every night? And then try to move on? I don't see how you could so easily move on from the past..."

Imogen looked down at her feet.

"I just don't understand..."

Callie lifted her brow at the girl as she told her that she knew nothing about her. How it was so hard for her to move one. The blonde refused to let her eyes roll in boredome. She had heard the same thing over and over and she told the same story herself. But dwelling on the past only made it that much worse. "I can say that because I fucking understand," she mused through partially closed teeth. "I killed seven people and you think I am not haunted by them? I am, but news flash, we are fucking crazy! Move on. We have the rest of our lives to see something new. Plus, the past is the past, get over it or revel in," she mused sounding a bit more blunt than anything else as she spoke.

Running her hand through her hair, she sighed softly as she heard the girl speak about how she didn't understand. It was a concept she had to learn on her own, and while it was a rough one, she did it. "Look," she paused, not sure how to word her next statement. " Moving on from the past ain't easy, I know, cause I am still dealing with killing my best friend, but damn, I am not going to dwell on it," she added. She doubted any of this would help the woman, but Callie sure did like to speak her mind and there was no way she was going to let the girl go one whining about her dead mother if she could help, at least in some sort of way.