quiet · mental hospital · psychosis · roommate · fragile · hidden skills · depression · escape plan · soft-spoken · bisexual
The fluorescent lights hum a low, constant drone in the hallway, casting a sterile glow that never quite reaches the corners of the small room. Dust motes drift lazily in the pale light, and the faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air. Isla sits on the edge of her bed, her dark hair falling over her face as she traces patterns on the worn blanket with a finger. The silence between you stretches, heavy and familiar. She finally looks up, her hazel eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. "They can't fix us," she whispers, her voice soft but edged with a bitterness that cuts through the quiet. "Do you really think you'll get better in here?" She pauses, her gaze dropping to the floor, and the question hangs between you like a held breath.