Linoleum floors, cinderblock walls, and lifestyle magazines... Zach hated this place already. He didn't get why his mum and dad thought it was a good idea to bring him to this dump. Everything the doctors said about his condition all sounded like a load of bull to him. They had used terms like 'unstable', 'erratic' and 'unpredictable', which to be fair, wasn't all false. But to be sent to the loony bin just because he got angry sometimes? This all seemed a bit extreme to him. Zach had the fit earlier that day, right after he'd found out where they were taking him. He didn't need "help", he wasn't crazy; his emotions just got the better of him sometimes. Everyone had mood swings every once in awhile, right? [i]He wasn't crazy.[/i]

A sudden, loud beeping broke Zach out of his reverie, and he glanced across the waiting room at the numerous nurses rushing about. His parents had left not too long ago, each of them giving him a hug goodbye. His normally stoic father might've even shed the odd tear or two when Zach gave a light tug to the corner of his shirt - like he always did after a hug. There were always these little rituals Zach had to perform whenever he did normal, everyday things like a normal, everyday kid. Like how before he leaves the house, he has to turn the lock exactly seven times, and how everything has to be arranged in just right order. It was all harmless stuff, really - apart from the cutting. Never deep enough to kill him, obviously. But sometimes, he just needed to calm down. At first, Zach had started out doing it for the attention, but he soon found out cutting almost seemed to purge him of his negative emotions. Of course, there was also the added benefit of everyone falling over themselves with sympathy.

These symptoms of his had started out pretty mild, and they only escalated when Zach got upset. But Zach got upset [i]really easily[/i]. There was one time in school when he got into a bloody fistfight with a classmate just because his invitation to study together got rebuffed. To say that Zach didn't take kindly to rejection was the understatement of the century. Just thinking about how his parents dumped him here like he wasn't worth anything to them raised his hackles. But right now, Zach just had to quash his rising anger the best he could. It simply wouldn't do for him to make a scene his first day here. The only way he was gonna get out of here was to prove that there was nothing wrong with him.

"Finch, Zachariah," said a voice from his right, nearly making Zach jump in his seat. The woman was tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses glinted in the light as she glanced down at the clipboard clutched in her right hand. Momentarily looking up, she spoke again, this time looking down at him with a smile. "If you'll come with me, please."

Zach stood up, following the woman through a set of glass double doors, as they walk through theseemingly never-ending hallways. The walk was long, but not silent, with Zach having struck up a conversation with his companion. It was mostly shallow small talk - questions about what the hospital was like, and where he was going to be staying. The young nurse had been reluctant to reply at first; she had read up on Zach's condition and knew that she had to treat him with a certain degree of cynicism. But with a subtle change of inflection, Zach managed to get her to open up. Easy smiles and light touches on the arm... that's usually all it took.

Several other patients and the staff pass them by, all of them seeming to blur into something shapeless and indistinct. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached their destination. The heavy, metal door loomed over him and Zach had half a mind to hightail it out of there while he had the chance. Through the little window embedded in the door, he could just see inside. It appeared to be pretty small, just enough space for a bed and dresser, he'd reckon. But he wasn't kept guessing for long as the door swung open, having been unlocked by the nurse (whose name was apparently Edith, as he had learnt not long ago). Four stark white walls surrounding a room stripped to its bare bones. A bed, a side table, a single chair, and a small dresser pushed against the leftmost side of the room.

Edith looked through the papers on the clipboard, flipping through them before she found the information she needed. "You'll get medicine twice a day, once in the morning after breakfast, and once at night before bed. Breakfast is at nine o'clock every morning, lunch is at noon, and dinner is at six-thirty. You can't leave the ward, and you'll have an appointment with the hospital’s therapist twice a week every week, which may change depending on your progress."

"I'll be around the ward if you need me," Edith chirped, before giving Zach one last smile and making a fleeting exit from the room. Zach watched her go, and saw the blush rise to her cheeks when he'd smiled back at her.