Every patient had their own room. Boys upstairs, girls downstairs. Over 18s in the B corridor and 18s and under in the C corridor. The 24 hour staff were housed in corridor A. Corridor D was a ghost town that occasionally rang with a tempered scream from those patients needing to be put in one of the 'soothing' rooms. No-one wanted to be here, so they behaved. Wanted out as soon as possible. 

Jim Moriarty resided in room C-17. He was eighteen right now and would be moved into corridor B when he turned nineteen. He couldn't wait to be moved away from all these stupid kids. Only a few months to go. He wasn't going to get his hopes up either, he'd be in this place well into his twenties.

Sighing, Jim lets himself fall on to his bed. The ceiling, like the walls and the bed covers and everything else, was a sea foam white colour that Jim supposed they used because it was 'calming' and 'not depressing'.

"Idiots." He murmurs to himself, turning so he's laying on his front.

It's the time of day before lunch when the patients were allowed to mingle. Jim rarely bothered to go out. He always got in trouble and he wasn't in a rush to be shoved into a room in Corridor D.

It wasn't a prison. They definitely had it better than most prisoners but it wasn't exactly the nicest place to be - and they were locked up for periods.

They were allowed in certain areas during certain hours. After breakfast, which was always at 8:30, they'd be allowed to mingle for three until 11:30. Then, they'd be in their rooms and therapy sessions between 11:30 and 13:00. Lunch. Then they'd be allowed to socialise until seven PM. During that main chunk of socialising, people would go to therapy sessions. These therapy sessions included both group and individual therapy times.

Group therapy was optional nine times out of ten. Depending on the situation, the individual therapy usually wasn't optional.

Jim had to go four times a week to see Dr. Gerald Richards. That didn't mean he was co-operative at all. He was prone to acting up often; attacking other patients and even nurses that were supposedly trying to "help" him. But whether or not they actually did was a whole different thing.

A nurse walks past then and stops when she sees Jim laying on the bed. Patients aren't allowed to close the doors to their rooms and the really bad patients aren't allowed to close the door to the bathroom when they go. Jim's only just earned that privilege despite being here for nearly a year (as previously mentioned, he gets in trouble a lot).

"Jim?" The nurse asks, stepping in to the room and smiling at the teen. "Aren't you going to go see everyone else for a while?"

"No, Cindy." Jim answers, turning to face the wall and not her.

"I'm Jackie."

"I don't care."

The nurse makes a small noise, not offended. She sounded concerned. Jim hated that he couldn't piss them off the way he did other people.

"Would you like some tea?"

"I'm not allowed hot drinks after last week." Jim sighs, rubbing his face and wishing the nurse away.

He hopes for the ground to just swallow her whole.

"Oh, well then, how about-"

Jim's patience is now non-existent. "Can you just leave?"

The nurse pauses before saying "I'll come check on you later. Maybe try to get some sleep, you look tired."

Yeah, tired of you. Jim thinks but doesn't bother to voice his thought. She might take that as an invitation to try and start up another conversation if he does.

Once the nurse is gone, Jim decides that he might as well do as she suggested and get some sleep. There's nothing better to do. He's managed to get himself banned from a lot of the things that could pass time effectively. It's not his fault that the idiots in here get in fights with him.

Jim manages to fall asleep and takes to one of the nurses (is this one Cindy?) calling his name from the door to inform him that it's time for lunch.

Sighing, Jim sits up. The nurse smiles and disappears. That seems like an hourly pattern in this place. Jim sighs, a nurse smiles at him. Sigh, smile. Sigh, smile. Sigh, smile. An endless cycle.

Jim stands and then retrieves one of his few allotted articles of clothing, a hoodie, pulling it over his head. The string had been removed for obvious reasons. It was the same reason all his shoes were missing laces.

He heads towards the lunch room and watches as a pair of thirteen or fourteen year old girls rush past him, eager for lunch. They're laughing and smiling at one another. He's seen these two before. Since they've become friends, they've been getting over they're separate issues and Jim's guess is that in a few weeks time he'd be watching them walk out with their parents. That tended to happen to people; they'd get so much better that they were not meant to stay and they'd be let out. Back to the real world.

Anger flares up in Jim. These stupid kids make it seem so easy to just get over stuff at times and it makes him want to hurt them.

Jim eats his food quickly, barely tasting it. His anxiety is kicking up again. He always ate quickly on the days he had therapy as he had therapy straight after the time set aside for lunch. If he ate quickly it meant he got to go back to his room which was further from the room where Dr. Richards would wait for him. The further away from the room he was, the longer it took to get there. And there was nothing Jim wanted more than to not be there when the time came.

Once back in his room, having spent less than five minutes in the lunch room, Jim lays down again. He stares up at the ceiling and counts the days until his birthday.

He's got five months and eight days. So he'd probably get moved in the B corridor in five months two weeks, give or take a few days. A small milestone in his progress, but just another hell to be moved into when he defeated this one.

Jim can not bloody wait to get out of here. There was one boy and two girls close to his age in this section and he was surrounded by the younger kids most of the time as all the older people were in the areas reversed for those in corridor B. It wasn't that Jim wanted to be around people his own age, he didn't want to be their friend or anything like that, he just wants to get away from these damn kids that ask him all sorts of idiotic questions because he's one of the older kids.

He hates it when they say that he's an older kid. He's eighteen. He's not a fucking kid anymore.

And all those stupid questions he's asked are what gets him in trouble most of the time because he answers truthfully and the kids get upset or because he tells them they're stupid and they get upset. It's like a playground. He says one thing that makes the kids feel like the inferior things they are and they run to tell on him. He can't help it that they're idiots. Why is so bad to just point it out further?

There aren't many children here, naturally. When he says kids, he means thirteen-to-fifteen year olds mostly. He knows that they're not that much younger than him but God they get on his nerves like they're a bunch of five year olds.

Jim is pulled from his thoughts by his alarm clock buzzing to inform him he has to leave now to get to his therapy session on time.

Five minutes later, Jim begins to trail out of the room and down the stairs to get towards the rooms in the downstairs A corridor that are for therapy. Once Jim is able to see the room, he slows down even more.

He ends up strolling into the room nearly ten minutes late and Dr. Richards doesn't even bother to scold him. They both know that Jim isn't going to help himself and neither of them fully know why he won't so there's nothing any one can do. Jim will never listen.

The doctors and nurses can tell, of course. They honestly want him to be a happier, calm person that can move on to live a good, long life. The problem is that Jim doesn't care, and despises the people that do. Simple enough.

"So, Jim, good day?" The doctor asks. "Jackie told me that you were in a bit of a mood earlier-"

"By 'mood' did she mean I was the same as I always am?" Jim snorts.

Dr. Richards gives a small smile. "Most likely, yes."

Jim has little opinion of Dr. Richards. The guy isn't old, isn't young. He isn't handsome, isn't ugly. He's not strict and he's not laid back. He's average in everything and he's truthful and to the point. He's a well suited doctor to Jim and Jim likes that he's not asked to share his feelings and all that crap during every single session. When he is asked, though, he does from having no opinion to hating the man.

"How long will it take for me to be moved once I'm nineteen?" Jim questions, flopping into the chair and letting one legs settle over the arm rest.

"A week, perhaps. Maybe sooner in your case."

"Because I'm so shit with kids?"

"Pretty much, although I would have phrased it differently if I were you. It doesn't matter how old you are or what corridor you're in, you know the rules on swearing" The doctors gives Jim a small smile.

"Affects some people negatively, blah, blah, blah." Jim waves a hand. "Who cares?"

"We do."

"I don't."

Dr. Richards sighs. "You should."

"But I don't."

Another sigh and then the subject gets changed. Jim smiles to himself, barely listening as he day dreams about the lack of children in the areas for the B corridor patients.