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[fizznsyrup]

Scorching coffee trailed down my scrubs. My spotless shirt had just turned into a spotless shirt, with a huge dark stain of spilled coffee on it. It wasn't so much painful as it was hideous. I had a habit of taking scalding showers. So it didn't hurt bad, of course, though, I felt it.

I couldn't change, as bad as I may have wanted to. I was right in the parking lot of WIBH. Looking at my watch, it was 8:30. Sharp. The sky was pitch black, and I could see some of the rooms on 2S had their lights on already. No time to drive back to change, this wouldn't be an emergency in Pete's eyes. God, I hated him. I mean, I had no reason to, he was just boring and dumb. Annoying, too.

My shoes tapped slightly on the creaky staircase. This building was beyond old. Every other stair whined as I stepped on it. Why was I walking up two floors, when  I could have just used the elevator? Well, I needed the exercise. My body felt heavy, my mind fogged. That coffee, that I wasted on my scrubs, was the only thing keeping me awake. I couldn't wait until the brighter part of my shift.

Leslie.

    . . .

When I heard the metal doors to the unit open with a click, I knew it was Sasha. I grabbed my damp towel and quickly scurried to the hall. I tried to act as if I was just discarding my towel into the soiled linen bag, but when we made eye contact, we both knew I had ulterior motives. I bit my lip to suppress my grin and waved.

"Hey Sasha!" I said a little too eagerly. "You're my night nurse tonight, correct?"

"Mhm, I am. Let me put my things down, and I'll be in in a couple minutes," she turned and headed for the nurses station.

I wonder if anyone else had ever noticed how delicately she walks. As if she's looking out for any ants on the ground, ensuring she wont step on any. Somehow I could feel pain in her stride. She was overly cautious towards others, so much that she was causing harm to herself. Like she was walking on a bed of nails so someone else wouldn't have to.

I slipped back into my room half expecting Penelope to be there. You never knew with her. She could be in someone else's room sneaking about or be sound asleep in her bed. However, tonight, she wasn't in our room, which seemed odd considering we were a tad bit late on schedule.

I plopped myself onto my bed and grabbed my sketchbook off my nightstand. I also grabbed the styrofoam cup of varying colored Crayons. I picked out a mocha colored one and began drawing. As I moved my hand around pressing the Crayon to the paper, I was not satisfied. Sure, it provided decent resemblance to the reference, but it was not what I had envisioned. I dropped the crayon on the paper and just observed the person below me. Disgusting, I thought. It would never be good enough to capture the beauty.

I ran my fingers through my hair, grasping onto some, and pulled. I pulled until it gave way and there was a pink entangled mess left in my hand. I gasped when I realized just how much damage I'd done.

"Les? Are you all right?" she asked with a concerned look. "Oh my God, Leslie. What's going on?"

I sat there, speechless, unable to move. This was familiar territory, yet everything was so uncertain. I wonder if she knew.

"Les, oh my goodness! What happened?" Her face scrunched into worry. "Mm, okay, can I take this?" Her eyes watched the strands of hair in my palm, running through my fingers.

I reluctantly nodded, despite the fact I wanted to stash it to bring home with me. I had kept the majority of my hair remanence in a shoe box at home. I know, I know, this sounds utterly disgusting, but I couldn't control it.

"Les..? Talk to me. Please?" Sasha said as she took the glob of hair and stuck it in the trash.

"I...I have trichotillomania. It's, uhm, a...disorder where you unconsciously and compulsively pull at your hair. I've been trying to hide it, so I wouldn't scare anyone, but...I don't know, it just got to me."

"Oh my God, Leslie, I should've known"

"There's no way you could have. I mean, not many people at all do."

"Hm? Why's that?"

"I just don't like to publicize it. You know how people are with mental health and everything. We're ostracized because of the way our brains are. Made a threat by the common public all because we differ from the norms."

"Yeah, yeah, that's so awful. I get what you're going through," her eyes drifted towards the ground, seemingly embarrassed. "Is there anything I could get you? A frozen towel, frozen orange, cranberry juice, water, ice?"

"Ah, no, I'm alright."

That's when I noticed the large splotch of brown stain, coloring the teal fabric. Was I really that unaware of reality? I didn't even notice for, like, ten minutes.

"How'd that happen?" I asked, now curious.

"Oh, this? Hah, I got out of my car to walk in, and spilled my whole cup of coffee everywhere. Clumsy, right? I didn't have time to change. You know how Pete can be."

"Yeah, makes sense." I grinned at her. "Hey, uh, have you ever been to a place like this? Not as an MHA, but as a patient. I know some peoples' inspiration to become a therapist is because they experienced it, too, you know?"

"Actually, yeah, I have. I'm not supposed to be telling you this,—HIPAA and all—but I was sent to Oak Range a couple years back. It's in northern Nevada. A couple hours from here."

"Oh." My face went blank, as I wasn't expecting that.

"Yeah, erm, I'm sorry, I'm definitely over sharing. Especially to a patient. I'm so sorry, Leslie. I shouldn't have said anything."

She was getting up from my bed to walk to the bulky chair as I grasped her wrist fragily.

"Wait."

. . .

"Wait," I heard Leslie say, and I came to a stop.

She had grabbed hold of my wrist lightly, and oh my god, this was bad. She was touching me. And I was attracted to her. But just in case, I wasn't going to make her let go. That could give the wrong message. But this could, too.

Before I knew it, we were both on our feet, but she was taller, so I was looking up at her. She could see right through my front, I could tell. I started to panic, knowing this could cost my job.

And then she kissed me.

[fizznsyrup]

PROLOGUE #2.

PENELOPE+AMELIA

    "Penelope?" One of the nurses–Amelia–called my name, proceeding to step into the day room, briefly.

"Doctor Martin is right by the nurses' station. She needs to see you." She gestured to the door, and didn't leave until I stood up.

    So I got up, my socks sticking like syrup to the granite floors. Amelia stood there, waiting patiently for me to walk away from my table, and to arrive at the door. When I did, in a mere two seconds, I heard exasperated groans escaping the table from the very back. I turned around for a moment. Sasha was standing behind the new admission, as she won Uno, no cards in hand. I think she was my new roommate. I wonder if she was any fun.

    "Penelope, hurry up, Doctor's waiting." Amelia hissed at me. And I walked out the door she held open for me. Doctor Martin stood there, in front of the nurses station, as advertised. As she tapped her foot, looking at her clipboard, she noticed me standing right in front of her.

"Oh, Penelope!" She exclaimed. "It's your fifth month anniversary!" She smiled, her white, polished teeth, lipstick on them, flashing at me.

"I don't keep track, but thanks for telling me." I glared at her. She needed to get to the point.

"Well, anyways, I'm sure you may have noticed, you have a new roommate, how's that going?"

"Are you going to tell me why I'm here, talking to you, already?"

"Penelope," Doctor Martin sighed. "It's your fifth month starting now, your insurance isn't going to keep covering this, and your parents are just swell people, but they won't pay for your stay."

"So, Penelope," I could tell she was getting closer to telling me. "I need you to start taking this hospital seriously. And to start putting in work. You can't start your recovery without your own belief in yourself."

It was time for lights out. And, well, I couldn't sleep. And I'm sure someone else couldn't. My roommate. She stayed up all night talking to Sasha. She was my favorite nurse, I must say, I felt jealous. That they were becoming friends, and I couldn't even score one.

So, I'd eavesdrop on their conversations. Best plan to pretend I had a friend—by keeping updated on their conversations—rather than ignoring them altogether because I'm jealous.

. . .

"Did you know Leslie's birthday is next week?"  Sasha mentioned, enthusiastically, smiling.

"No, I didn't pay much attention to be honest. How old?" I looked down at my lunch, but listened to Sasha's response. Patient's birthdays were important to her, while they were here.

"She's turning 21!" I could tell Sasha enjoyed talking about Leslie. Her cycle of infatuation could only end when she found someone, died, or if she got fired.

"Oh, yeah?" I grinned, looking up at her. "What are you going to do?"

. . .

"Hey Les," I heard Sasha whisper. Leslie wasn't in the room yet, I had went to sleep early, and I hadn't heard any footsteps besides to the shower. Now I heard Leslie walking to the door, And sitting down right by it. By Sasha.

    Leslie had stayed here for about five days at that point. Just wait until she reaches her five monther. I wasn't sure whether I should despise her or worship her for her ability to charm Sasha. Maybe neither. Maybe I should become her.

Getting to know Sasha was all I wanted my whole stay. So that's why I didn't give a $h!t about recovery. She had my undivided attention, but I clearly didn't have hers.

    I wanted to get better, I did, but I knew I couldn't. I didn't know what recovery looked like, and I didn't want to know. Being here. Seeing her. The hope of knowing her. It was recovery enough. I knew I was in love. And my love for Sasha, would solve my dilemmas. It would fix me.

That is, what I thought before I listened to them. Something was off. They sounded different than just friends, but far off of my fantasies. I could tell, they were truly desperate to be with each other all the time. But...that was how I felt, right?

But it wasn't. I wasn't 'in love' with Sasha. In fact, I wasn't in love with anyone. I tricked myself into thinking I had romantic feelings for her. But I didn't really. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had never really had a real crush on anybody. So, what the fvck was wrong with me? The girl that was incapable of love. How cliche. Sounds like some sort of book that is actually about a sociopath. But I wasn't a sociopath, was I? No, I was certain I couldn't be. I loved my friends. I have empathy for others. I don't meet the criteria. I can't.

"Hey Penelope, you up?" asked Leslie, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, yeah I am," I mumbled as I rolled over in my bed. "Isn't it a tad bit late to be having intense conversations?" I smirked, although I was not okay at all.

I had just come to the conclusion I was incapable of romantic love, so I definitely wasn't at my highest.

"I mean, I was just bored, since you know, Sasha left for today. No one to talk to anymore." She laughed.

"Well, I guess some intense subjects wouldn't be too late to deal with for you, then," I laughed, and I turned my head, from staring at the wall, to Leslie.

"Your name is Penelope, right?"

"And yours is Leslie, right?"

"Woah there, you just got my full name." Leslie giggled. "On second thought, I shouldn't have told you that, seeing as you're a random person in a mental hospital and you can find me by just my name outside of here."

"You're funny, Leslie," I laughed at her tangent, and then stopped. "Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'm not the therapist type, though, so beware."

"That's okay, I just need to tell someone," I looked at her. "The thing is. You know how I said I had a crush on Sasha?"

She nodded.

"Well yeah, turns out it was just an obsession, I haven't ever crushed on anyone."

Leslie nodded again, and she began speaking. "Do you think you're aro?"

I was confused. Arrow? Is that what she was saying?

"Am I what?"

"Aromantic. Sorry, should've just said that."

"Oh," I began thinking and deciphering the word Leslie had just informed me of. "Maybe?"

"Well, how'd you realize you never had a crush on anyone?"

"It's kind of embarrassing," I chuckled when I thought of them.

"Hit me." Leslie giggled along.

"Well," I sighed. "When I listen to you and Sasha talk, your conversations, the way you talk to each other, can only be love, or something. And it's, like, nothing I ever felt before. Nothing I could feel."

"Yeah, I think you're aro." Leslie said, "But not like you gotta label yourself, or go by my words."

Leslie continued, "Aaaaalso, I am most definitely not in love with an MHA. And an MHA is not in love with me." She laughed

[fizznsyrup]

(Trigger Warning ⚠️, this chapter contains depictions of s3lf harm and su/cidal behavior)

III.

"Hey," Leslie's eyes blinked open. "I'll be honest, I closed my eyes, but I wasn't sleeping. Couldn't"

"Great, I was bored filling out paperwork anyway." I smiled.

Leslie got up and walked over to the doorway. And sat by me, on the floor.

    "Did I tell you my birthday is in a week?"

    "Well, I kind of already knew," I grinned. "It's on the paperwork, and your wristband, and on the computer when I give you your meds."

. . .

    "Well, I kind of already knew," Sasha smirked. She paused for a moment, and glanced at me. As if to see if she said something wrong.

     "It's on the paperwork, and your wristband, and on the computer when I give you your meds," Sasha proceeded to explain herself.

Darn. I thought. She paid attention to that?

    We stood in silence. I stared at the floor, listening to the white noise of patients snoring, nurses whispering at the station. And the one I focused on most, Sasha's breath.

    I looked up, to see her do that one finger tapping grounding technique, staring into nothing.

    "Hey, Sasha," I whispered, raspier than intended. I looked at her eyes switch from gawking at the floor, to looking at me. Intense eye contact, I must say.

'    I made out my sentence, "Do you like me?"

    Oh my God. Why did I make it sound like that??? I don't know what she's thinking right now. Although I know she's confused.

    "What? What do you mean? You're my patient. We're in a psychiatric hospital. I can't, like, like you. That's really weird. And unethic–" Sasha started muttering to herself, words I couldn't make out. She was obviously weirded out and baffled, my question was painfully unclear.

    "Chill out," I tried to shut her up. "What I meant was, do you see me as a friend?"

    Sasha exhaled. Her lips, chapped and plump, thinned into a soft smile. She took a moment to start speaking.

    When she did, she chuckled a bit when she murmured, "Of course I do."

    I grew conscious of the thought, and the reality. That I couldn't change these conditions, and the environment we were in. I could only acknowledge. Becoming friends with Sasha, it wouldn't be so good on either of our lives. Her career. Or my health.

But I just couldn't help it.    

. . .

I've always thought that the concept of therapy was stupid. I mean, what's someone telling you to "use skills" and "process things" going to do? Sure, it may work for some people, but I just never saw the positive effects. I didn't seem to get it. So, I became an MHA to try to understand.

Now that I think about it, I really just wasn't trying. I never wanted to get better. I never wanted to give it a shot. So I didn't. Everything they told me, everything I tried to do—although I really didn't—I never let it in. Three years of my life were spent in intense therapy. The therapists I had always ended up letting me go. I was hopeless, they would say. Yet, I'm still alive. How does that work?

Simple. Live for others, not myself. Of course it's an unhealthy way to live, but it worked. I mean, it might only be a temporary solution, but if it's enough to get to experience love, it's worth it.

(This is the part that deals with SH)

I walked back to room 3014, and plopped myself onto my bed. The sheets rough and dry, floor cold beneath my grip socks. I wrapped my arms around my waist, willing my body to disappear. I'm hopeless, I thought. That's what everyone says. I rolled over, only to get a face full of wrinkly, plastic pillow. I'd just finished my lunch. They hadn't checked for the plastic cutlery that day because there was an intern MHA. New, possibly. I snuck a plastic fork into my bra when no one was watching. Perfect, I smirked. No one could stop me from doing this. I'd find a way somehow. And now I had.

I pulled the fork out of my shirt and grasped it firmly. My lifeline. Some might say "death-line". I snapped it in half. Both edges jagged and misshapen. I got up and shoved the bathroom door—a flap of plastic, which was made to be 'safe'—open. The shower curtains were an off-white, sink a spotty pearl, and walls an obnoxious yellow. Who would ever want to live after spending  twenty-seven days in isolation from society?

I dropped one half of the fork into the sink and walked into the shower. I started rubbing the plastic on the metal corner, sharpening it. When I was satisfied with the product I had created, I looked it over and smiled. Sure it wasn't much, but it'd get the job done.

I shoved the contraband into the paper towels and walked out of my room to scope out for any MHAs. They were busy doing check-ins. Perfect. I slipped back into my bathroom and unveiled the object. I placed the sharp end down onto the inner side of my arm, and I sliced.

[fizznsyrup]

II.

January 9, 2022                 2:42 pM

So, my dearest journal. I got some conversation time with Leslie. She couldn't sleep, until, like, five, which was when it was time for vitals. Not good timing, ha ha. We ended up talking through the night. Well, not so much talking, and more like whispering. What I gathered from the conversation was that her favorite color's deep, deep, deep, red, and she's a natural blonde, her favorite animal is a chameleon. And last but not least, she's turning 21 soon! Also, she hates pink, but she accidentally dyed her hair pink the day before she came here. Apparently, she was, like, suuuuuuuper dr/nk, and had some leftover dye. I'm real glad I was her night shift nurse for today, I like getting to know her. Even just slightly.

. . .

I slipped into a light sleep after many intense hours of conversation with Sasha, only to be woken up minutes later by the vitals nurse. No feeking way was I going to get out of bed today. Well, unless they threatened to keep me longer, which they probably would. Not that it mattered anyway.

    "Hey." Penelope whispered, raspily, smiling at me. She was not a morning person, I could tell.

    She got out of her bed and stretched, spreading her arms and extending them into the air. "I was eavesdropping on your guys' conversation last night," She confessed, laughing.

    "Sasha's real cute, huh?" Penelope giggled. "I had a crush on her in the adolescent unit."

I ignored her for a second to lift up the curtains. It wasn't really much of a curtain but I still called it that. Light trickled through the room as I lifted it, slowly.

When it was up, I looked behind to see Penelope had left to get her hygiene bin, to shower, and change. I looked into her shelf, she had a bunch of clothes, her family probably brought some to her, maybe they even cared she was gone, maybe they visited her. Man, this was dumb. I wish I had personal belongings.

. . .

The next morning was pretty much like any other. I was on wake-up duty, so I woke up everyone and did my assigned morning check-ins. Leslie wasn't on my schedule today. Not that I minded, considering we had talked quite a bit last night and morning. I was getting to know her a bit better, I kinda wish we weren't under these exact circumstances. I wish I could know her outside of here. And not lose my job for getting attached. I know she'd be a really good friend to me. In another life, maybe.

"Wassup, Sasha," Amelia greeted me, smiling from across the table. She was one of my coworkers and a best friend. As she nibbled on her lunch, her hazel eyed gaze didn't stray from me.

"What..?" I finally broke the silence.

"You look weird."

"I do? Where? Is there something on my face?"

"No," Amelia reassured me. She finished chewing. "You just look like your brain reappeared and you're relearning how to think."

"Come on, dude," I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not that dumb!"

"I mean, you're not, you just never think, at least not that hard." Amelia scrunched her eyebrows.

    Dozens of voices echoed in the walls of the cafeteria, It was around time to leave. My next place to be? 2S Day Room, as the designated MHA for the hour. 

"Have you ever thought of how it'd be if we could contact patients outside of here?"

"Sasha," Amelia sighed, standing up with her tray in her hands. "You need to actually talk to your therapist about this. I won't report you, and he won't either. Confidentiality."

    Amelia tried to jazz hand with her tray in her hands, although she failed. But she was also right. I needed to talk to him about this attachment and attraction. Before it got worse.

[fizznsyrup]

I.

. . ,

I grabbed my laptop, keys, phone, and badge, shoved it all into a tote bag, and sped out the door. It was around 8:15 PM, and I had to be at work in fifteen minutes. May I remind you that my commute takes at least twenty minutes on a good day. Today was not one of those.

I clenched the lanyard, with my keys and badge on it, tightly in my fist. Late. I was late. Never in my whole career had I missed a single minute of my assigned working hours.

When the traffic began to die down, I sped to work. Thank God there were no cops. I pulled into the parking lot and carelessly parked my car in an open spot. I got out of the car, grabbed my belongings, and slammed the door. I sprinted vigorously up to the main entrance of the psychiatric building.

Once I reached the adult unit, I immediately checked my assigned cases for the day. I read the few names over, scanning for one in particular. When I found what I was looking for, I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted rust. Leslie Wright. Of course they assigned me the one patient I couldn't bear to have. Thanks a lot for helping me repress my feelings, boss.

. . .

This place was just as boring as ever. At least when I was on the adolescent unit, when I was 17, like, four years ago, it was a lot less quiet. All I could do here was play uno, because, surprisingly, they still do that. And, I haven't lost my charm at it. This was my sixth game, and I had a streak going.

There was this one anger issue grandma, well, not really a grandma. More like an aggressive 30-year-old that looked senile. Raged every time I won. It was quite funny, if I'm being honest. As far as I could see into the nurses' station, there was no sign of Sasha. I was looking forward to seeing her today. I'm not sure why, but she kind of seems flirtatious with me. Maybe that's just what I hoped for, though. I placed down a green seven and carried on with my thinking. The rotation of people kept going steady until it got to me. I was in a trance, looking down at my red two and my wild card. It took the grandma snapping at me to pull me out of it.

"Ah, I'm sorry," I placed down my red two, as the color was red. "And Uno!"

    The grandma snarled at me and huffed out a sharp breath. She slammed down a reverse card, and alas, it was my turn. I knew I had won the game, and the grandma was clueless. When I slapped my wild card on top of the deck, her face went paper white. And that was when I realized Sasha was standing right behind me.

. . .

    "Good job, Leslie," I let out, after a long moment of silence. And a long moment of standing behind her.

    "Thanks," She replied, looking down at the table.

Leslie had a bright pink bob, her hair was silky smooth, and thick. Her skin was slightly tan, she had a couple moles here and there on her arms, as well as some faded scars and bruises. Leslie didn't have any personal clothes, as no one could bring any to her. So, she wore a light blue hospital gown, the one with dark blue dots on it.

"I'm glad someone was able to win, other than me of course," everyone awoke from the silence that enveloped the room. "But, it's almost time for hygiene and cleanup, guys, keep that in mind. Ten minutes."

. . .

    The day room was locked up by now, and there were no more patients in the halls, I was still showering. I refused to be the first to go, which was a bad idea. My roommate, Penelope, was kind of funny, she had her own little clique though, and I didn't talk to her much except for during certain groups. And to top it off, she took really, really, reallllllyyyyy long showers. Seriously, what does she do in there?

She had just turned eighteen. It was her fifth month here and she turned eighteen in, like, November so she needed to be transferred. Youngin'.

I'd just gotten out of the shower, Penelope was sound asleep. And for some reason, Sasha was standing right outside our door, with a clipboard, facing me.

. . .

"Good evening, Leslie!" I whispered. "I'm your night nurse. It says you're under twenty-four hour surveillance? Mind if I sit?"

I sat down in the heavy, clunky chair despite whatever she would say.

"As if I had a choice," Leslie rolled her eyes at me. I giggled because of how funny she was when she was p1553d off.

"Well, that's where you're spot on, I am of authority in this situation."

"I guess you're right," Leslie mumbled, "Anyway, I need to do something with the hygiene stuff. Is the cart still there? Or should I just drop it off at the nurses' station?"

"I can take the stuff for now!" I smiled.

[fizznsyrup]

PROLOGUE.

SASHA+LESLIE

. . .

As this day crumbles down to an end; I have two things on my mind. Playing cards, and my imminent death. The present, as well as the future.

. . .

I had been rattling around in the ambulance. An occasional chatter between EMTs. They'd been talking about their weddings, both happening in March, 3 months from now. One of the EMTs told me it would be two more minutes until we arrived at Weekes Institute for Behavioral Health. WIBH.

Being an adult was dumb. Four years ago, my parents would have been trailing behind the ambulance, in their car. I would have been glancing out the window of the ambulance, to see their worried faces, in the car. But they're way fed up with me and my antics. They won't answer my calls from here, they would have memorized the number already.

They'd be here eventually, I thought as I rested my head on the back of the stretcher. My wrists started to hurt from the restraints, which tightly secured me. I felt a bit tipsy from all the alcohol I'd drank just hours before.

. . .

   

It was around 8:50, so we didn't have much time in the day room. Although, I knew I would win in Uno. I was just that good. Two cards left, and one of them was a Wild Card. The adult unit wasn't as fun as the children's, although, a tad less chaotic. The color was red, I had a red two. One reverse after me, and I would be victorious. I put my two down and yelled out,

"UNO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Believe it or not, it was a reverse, I didn't pay attention to the color, I had a wild card, and I had just won the game.

"C'mon Sasha! At least give us a chance tomorrow!" Stella groaned.

"Alright, I'll try, but right now it's time for cleanup, hygiene, and lights out. So go on, guys, I'm waiting." I eyed the room.

. . .

I asked the nurse for the time, she was guiding me through this embarrassingly long submission into the hospital. She slowed and glanced at her smart watch.

"8:52. Running late for something?" she smiled, jokingly.

Damn, I thought. I'd squandered over four hours getting wasted the previous day and the rest of it in the emergency room. three more hours were spent doing pointless piles of paperwork, relentlessly signing. Just to end up at this (sh!th0l3) of a place. Again. I wonder how they kept the business running.

I rolled my eyes at the remark. "Not particularly."

. . .

Pete's words awoke me from my trance.

"Sasha, you've gotta do a body. The patient is Leslie Wright." He mumbled, "New admission."

One reason I despised body checks was because I got turned on by certain patients. I mean, of course not the adolescent patients, I'm not a pedophile. However, the adults on the other hand, some of them were fine as h311. I felt disgusted with myself every time this happened. This was one of those times.

January 7, 2022 3:57 AM

My therapist told me to start journaling, so here I am, acting like a twelve year old writing in her diary. Today was a semi-okay day. Well, the end of it wasn't so much 'okay', and more like 'semi'. I've been having these feelings for a little while. I'm quite utterly terrified at the thought of someone finding out. So, yeah. You might want to know what this said 'thing' is. Well here you go: I'm attracted to my patients.

. . .

The nurse doing the body check was pretty hot, being blatantly honest. She Introduced herself as 'Sasha.' It fit her, a pretty name, for a cutesy nurse. Her hair was a bunch of long, thin, dreadlocks. An off black, fading into a rich mahogany. Chestnut skin, seemingly soft to the touch. She wore cerulean scrubs, a pen in her left hand, a clipboard in her right. Warm amber eyes, staring me up and down, and she was checkmarking her clipboard.

"Alright, Miss Wright. All done here, Your room is right around the corner when you walk out, 2064, on the left side of the hall." Sasha smiled at me, "Sleep well!"

[fizznsyrup]

Writeblr Intro (formal attempt)

Hi! I’m Syrup (pen name), I am a co author of a YA book, called “Cope.” I will be in charge of this and all other social media accounts. Fizz (also pen name) is the other co-author. We are both minors. And we are aspiring to make an impact in the world of mental health with our writing.

Our YA book

“Cope.”

“Cope.” Is a work in progress, the first draft is still being written and posted.

“Cope.” Is a book set in a Mental Hospital (a behavioral health hospital)

No, we aren’t just writing stereotypes or making things up on the mental hospital part. We have been admitted to a number of them. On both our sides.

“Cope.” Follows a story of two women (both in their early 20s) crossing paths in a hospital, during different, but not so contrasting, situations.

(Blurb)

When 20-year-old Leslie Wright is sent to an institution for substance abuse, her life is turned upside down. She has to learn to not be codependent on substances in order to stay alive. However, coping could be her downfall.

21-year-old Sasha, an MHA and nurse for Weekes Institute for Behavioral Health (WIBH), has a dark secret, which could forfeit her job. Her past is her present, constantly burdening her. But she has to stay hidden to keep her role in society.

When the two cross paths in the hospital, a friendship sparks. But, could it be something more?

Sasha’s past and present could be devastating to both, leaving an impossible situation to deal with.

And what do the therapists say?

Cope.

[fizznsyrup]

[fizznsyrup]

Art by me (syrup)

[fizznsyrup]

Art by me (Syrup)

[fizznsyrup]

Cope.

This is the blurb/summary of “Cope.”

When 20-year-old Leslie Wright is sent to an institution for substance abuse, her life is turned upside down. She has to learn to not be codependent on substances in order to stay alive. However, coping could be her downfall.

21-year-old Sasha, an MHA and nurse for Weekes Institute for Behavioral Health (WIBH), has a dark secret, which could forfeit her job. Her past is her present, constantly burdening her. But she has to stay hidden to keep her role in society.

When the two cross paths in the hospital, a friendship sparks. But, could it be something more?

Sasha’s past and present could be devastating to both, leaving an impossible situation to deal with. And what do the therapists say? Cope.

First-time authors Fizz and Syrup work together to tell the heartfelt story of two young women. Both of which coming to accept their identities.

[fizznsyrup]

Introduction

Hi! This is Syrup! I am going to be the one in charge of all our social media and posting! 

Our pen names are Fizz (co-author) and Syrup (me, other co-author)!

We are both minors, and aspiring authors! Our book has been in the works, progressing, for about a month. 

We will be posting bits of our story’s first draft on numerous websites, including:

Wattpad, Tumblr, and eventually, Ao3. 

Our first draft will most likely be done before the end of this year. 

To contact us, our email is @ fizznsyrup@gmail.com

Thank you for reading! And if you are interested in our story, “Cope,” you can always check out this Tumblr, and read “Cope.” on here, or on the Wattpad, posted here. 

[fizznsyrup]

Cope. (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/314744862-cope?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=fizzsyrup&wp_originator=vJOy0s4uGaMZiUadW09riEW4sQJ3UhHzkVsWX7YTIJnjMQ58Hgl2MbP3mlvEayRoyFkHLF2UU7ZxWaWO1gWUQtV%2BFHgxXcNWU9AIakD%2FXZjp%2BXKrLDAfyOMej5h4TlUH 

 When 20-year-old Leslie Wright is sent to an institution for substance abuse, her life is turned upside down. She has to learn to not be codependent on substances in order to stay alive. However, coping could be her downfall. 21-year-old Sasha, an MHA and nurse for Weekes Institute for Behavioral Health (WIBH), has a dark secret, which could forfeit her job. Her past is her present, constantly burdening her. But she has to stay hidden to keep her role in society. When the two cross paths in the hospital, a friendship sparks. But, could it be something more? Sasha's past and present could be devastating to both, leaving an impossible situation to deal with. And what do the therapists say? Cope. First-time authors Fizz and Syrup work together to tell the heartfelt story of two young women. Both of which coming to accept their identities.

[fizznsyrup]

https://www.wattpad.com/story/314744862?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=fizzsyrup&wp_originator=dcNEkSGhcw7RIb2nhxFet5btEjKNaLcOxuM%2FxyynyQsI1e6stww6FKhVO5ChzhTjfCPvoYLqojBpCTqovQg%2BOzHrpYGvkPDTXrFFmLuHR4hI8f%2BBSjfv9cMrX9Vh6H6P