White. All their surroundings are white. Scuffed white walls. White scrubs. Dusty white tiles. White furniture. The surroundings are maddening. They're supposed to be comforting and put patients' minds at ease but they do nothing but make everyone feel on edge. A constant reminder that those staying within the walls are broken. Off. Unprepared to live in the real world and therefore forced to be trapped in this birdcage made of eggshells, waiting to be hand fed pills designed to stifle their oddities.

"Check and mate, my friend," Mrs. Agatha Williams proclaims, slipping a black playing piece into her mouth.

"We're playing checkers, Agatha. And stop eating the game!" Anna rubs her temples in frustration. Just once she wants to feel a sense of normalcy. Instead, she's stuck here, escaping her reality through the pages of her psychiatrist-required diary and mandatory self-help books.

The head orderly of the institution, Egan, interrupts her game of chess-kers with a tap on her shoulder. "You have a call, Miss Anna."

"Is it Satan finally coming to claim my soul?" She blankly stares at the black and red squares on the table in front of her. "Just kidding... coming."

"Anna? Are you there?" The piercing tone of her mother's high-pitched voice rumbles her ear drum.

"I'm here..."

"How are you doing, darling? Did you get my care package?"

Care package - the concept makes her scoff. She desperately wants to smart off. "Oh, you mean the high fashion magazines, pore minimizing face masks and diet teas? What a way to tell me you care."

"Yeah. Thanks, mum." She wraps her finger around the coil of the communal telephone. "Is dad there?"

"He's been in meetings all day. Not sure where he is." Deborah, her mom, hesitates to respond. "I was thinking when you get out, maybe we can go shopping at the boutique you love?"

"You mean the boutique you love, mum." Stomach acid rages with contempt in her upper esophagus. She remembers all the times she insisted she and her mom shop at local thrift stores. The times her mom told her used clothing wasn't becoming of a young politician's daughter. "Is dad still mad at me?"

Silence rings from the other end of the line. Her mom was always complacent as the doting wife. Living out her days as the picture perfect nuclear family. This was never what Anna wanted for herself, although she wasn't certain as to exactly what she wanted. In these few moments of quiet, Anna remembers all the times she's disappointed her father.

"I want to be an artist, papa!"

"I love playing with flowers! I can make a beautiful bouquet!"

"Try this delicious cake that I made for you!"

All lines she's told her father through the years, each of which were met with a similar response:

"That's an extracurricular activity, Anna. Not a career."

"You know your dad, honey! He has good intentions."

"I know. I've just been talking to my therapist about dad quite a bit. He was saying there's some stuff-"

"NO! THE GARDENIAS GO IN THE BACK DECK! Sorry, darling. What were you saying? We're putting on a gala for some financial supporters. You know how that goes. Not trying to sound distracted. Maybe I should get going. You sound like you're doing well for yourself! I'm very proud of you. I'm thinking of coming and visiting soon."

"Sure, mum." Anna's sadness reverberates off the walls of the institution. Her mom has given her thousands of empty promises. As sad as she is, this moment is nothing more than an addition to the list of moments Deborah has missed the mark throughout Anna's life. Anna has spent decades speaking to her cardboard cutout of a mother. Trying to reason with her. But the stepford wife she calls "mum" has done close to nothing but disappoint her.

A nearby bystander clears their throat. The guy from group earlier, Harry, stands closely behind her, waiting to use the phone next. Taking turns to use the phone is not an act she's used to. She's lived a life with infinite data. The type of life where she's received a brand new phone within minutes of it accidentally dropping it in water.

"You're at 5 minutes, princess." He taps his ring clad fingers upon the stark white wall. Anna rolls her eyes at his rude gesture. "Move it or lose it. Why do you get special treatment? I have people I need to call too, you know."

"Hey, mum. I gotta go. There's a dick here that apparently needs to use the phone." Anna maintains eye contact with Harry as she comments on his forward attitude. She clenches her jaw as the words foam out of her tightened teeth.

"ANNA! Language!" Deborah scolds, causing Anna to pull the receiver away from her face.

"I love you, mum. Tell dad... tell him... I'm sorry." Anna hangs up the phone and turns to her interrupter. "Enjoy your phone call, junkie."

"Excuse me?" Harry grabs her wrist as she starts to walk passed him. He's never felt more disrespected, especially from someone clearly in a similar situation as him. His hand, clammy and cold, shakes involuntarily. The motion is embarrassing, especially given the stereotype she just assigned him. "What the hell did I do to you? You don't know me."

"I've heard enough." Anna snaps her wrist from Harry's grasp. "I was in denial but I think the rumors I've heard about you are true."

Shock is the only word that can be used to describe his reaction to her words. What did she mean? Why did she feel such a need to describe such feelings? And why did he care so much?

"I have people who care about me too, you know?" He defends himself, knowing his words are meaningless lies. He's alone in this world, a drifter, unable to make attachments with the few people in the world willing to go out on a limb for him. She has no idea the few words she's muttered to him had such an effect on his psyche. The world is meaningless. He truly believes that. But never did he think he'd receive such evidence from a near stranger.

"I'm sure you do. Then give them a call." Anna stomps down the hallway, pissed at Harry but more accurately the world. Everyone and everything is against her. What she doesn't know, is Harry feels the exact same way.