A Smile

19. Therapy.

A/N: Okay, a lot of people didn't like the ending of this story, so I thought I'd add another chapter to clear things up and maybe resolve a few things, hope this helps!!!

I was in the hospital for a week or so, it could of been more, maybe less, I didn't keep track of time. The only measurement I had was the daily visits from my brother, those of which stopped half way through my stay. Marcus was angry with me, I had said some hurtful things to him the first day and seeing him after hadn't made things easier.

Blake never came, and with each day he didn't show up my heart froze even more. I should be happy, he did what he was told, he stayed away, he let me go. But I wasn't happy with Blake, and I wasn't happy with Marcus. 

I wasn't happy with anyone. 

I wasn't happy at all. 

Marcus had even brought me my favorite film on his last visit hoping it would cheer me up, but even as the picture flowed on the small television and the happy movie of my childhood started playing, my mood still remained cold. That was the last day he showed, after seeing my blank expression he stormed out of the hospital room, my heart monitor going crazy once he was gone. The doctor's put me under and again I was forced into sleep.

Measuring the days after that, I used the time when my meals came. Three meals a day, always the same slop on a plate and always the same kind smiled woman who gave it me. I did not like her. 

On the day I was let out, Marcus finally came back to the hospital with a bag of spare clothes. I welcomed him, tried to smile but it was forced, I was happy he came back but couldn't bring myself to show him. He signed all the paperwork, gladly took my medication and lead me outside. 

The sun stung my eyes and I stopped, eyes fluttered for a moment until they settled upon  Marcus and his car further into the car park. He didn't speak to me, and I didn't speak to him. I didn't know what to say.

We didn't drive off straight away, Marcus sagged in his seat rubbing at his dry eyes with his fingers, and that's when I noticed the bags under his eyes. I opened my mouth to ask him what happened, to ask what was wrong, but no words left my throat and I quickly looked away again. He slammed his hand against the wheel and I jerked to the motion, he saw out the corner of his eyes and froze moving slowly back into his seat. Then we was driving. 

He drove me back home and I panicked at the door, memories bursting from my head and I stumbled, falling to the pavement. I didn't get up, couldn't get up, my body left like a dead weight and the sight of our house filled me with dread.

I can't do this. I can't go back. 

I knew Travis was gone, and I knew Franks was, too. But the fear that built up inside me was too much. My heart hammering against my rip cage so fast I thought it was going to explode, burst free from it's prison and leave me. It felt like I was going to faint. The world was dizzy, sky spinning, floor tipping like I was on a boat, a boat destined for the bottom of the ocean. Water building up in my chest, spluttering from my lips. I remembered eyeing the plug in the bottom of the sink, water filling my lungs as I screamed, falling limp in his grip.

I ran from the house, and I ran from Marcus. 

I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I didn't even make it to the end of the street, Marcus running after me scooping me up in his arms and taking me back. I cried for a while on the pavement, me panicking whenever Marcus attempted to take my inside, I had attempted to run a few more times but Marcus had caught me before I got too far.

That's when Marcus took me back to the Hospital and told them what happened, showing the bruises I had given him while trying to run from the house, the cuts from my nails that I had dragged over his skin in my pleas to escape. 

Marcus smiled at me for the last time, "Myra, they're moving you to a metal institute a few miles away. I won't be able to visit you, and they don't want me to. They're going to make you better, My, and they're going to make you my Myra again..." 

The doctors said I needed therapy, as if that would fix a broken toy.

They said I needed pills like they would stop my insanity.

They said I had drove myself insane.

And you know what?... I agree with them.