The Keyboard Stylings of Edge and Lane

Happy 100th day in Hell, Lane.

Pretending to write, pretending to write, pretending to write, pretending to write, that's right Dr. Quinn, pretending to write, pretending to write, pretending to write. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Worlds. Words. Words. Words. Words. Worms. Wrods. Words. Words. Words. Woers. Worayr. Watoashd. Wafhlds. Wkag. Watadf. Withal. Wjetds. Wow.

Ok, I'm done with that.

I’ve never kept a diary before. After I refused the light blue book with pink pages in it, “My Diary” stitched in purple on the front, they gave me a keyboard. They told me it wasn’t like a diary, that all I had to do was type about my day, to relieve emotions and all that jazz. But just because I don’t see what I’ve typed out doesn’t mean it’s not just like a diary.

At first I refused to participate, as the keyboard was most likely hooked up to some computer, but after finding out how many of the other patients rejected the diary and got keyboards, I realized how silly that would be. There would have to be a computer for every patient with “keyboard therapy,” with a Word document constantly pulled up or something to catch all that was typed. Unless there’s some fancy knew technology that I don’t know about, this would be impractical.

Hmm. Maybe if I type all that again, I might start believing it.

This is my third keyboard. The first one I “lost.” They eventually found it at the bottom of the mystery meat in the cafeteria. The second one I ripped to shreds one night. In the top corner, there is a light that blinks. I was trying to sleep that night, but my room would be filled with green light every five seconds. After a couple hours, I snapped. I still have the space key, which got bent at a sharp angle. Just sharp enough, if I’m ever tempted enough.

They never told me why it blinks, but I have some suspicions.

This is my third, which I’m going to actually use. Maybe they’ll see me using it and mark me down as “making progress.” The sooner out of here the better. And at least this one has a piece of duct tape covering the light.

Their exact words were to “describe my day, let out emotions, and rant about whatever is on my mind.” That’s just what I’m going to do.

Day describing: This place is pretty boring, so there’s not much to talk about. I ate, learned some stuff, ate, learned some more, and am currently sitting in the “lounge” areas, which is carefully watched and guarded. Good. The more doctors that see me with this keyboard, the better.

Mike, from math class, is said to be receiving his freedom back soon, according to my neighbor, Liliana. Which reminds me, I got a new neighbor, too, though I haven’t met him yet. Liliana told me he was hot. While on the subject of Liliana, I might as well talk about her. People think we’re friends, but really I just put up with her. I feel bad because most find her terribly obnoxious, so I give her a chance. She has attention issues, along with abandonment problems. I understand both.

Letting out of emotions: I envy Mike (damn him and his ability to charm the doctors better than me!). I’m annoyed with Liliana as always. My jaw hurts from smiling too much, also nothing new. And I’m proud I got the highest grade of the class on that essay we had to do. (Not like the class is that big, or anything.)

Ranting about the Mental Hospital: The rooms are too small. I feel claustrophobic at night, and I’m not even a diagnosed with claustrophobia. I wonder how the actual claustrophobics of the hospital feel about this. I hate the classes here, as they're not challenging in the slightest. The food sucks. Most of the people are mean, no matter how nice I try to be (whether it’s sincere or fake). They treat us all like we all have dysfunctional brains. Obviously I function fine if I can type on a keyboard.

Day 100 down, and an unknown number left to go.

WARNING: IN ANYTHING WITH EDGE PROFANITY ABOUNDS.


FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

So, I’ve been in this place for…uh…math’s a bitch. Five months? Roughly? Sure. Let’s go with that. I’m sure Dr. Quinn would tell me, but I don’t want to deal with that bastard right now. I swear I couldn’t stand that man even if I was drunk. That’s saying something. Everyone’s my best friend when I’m drunk, I swear. It’s when I’m sober that I pick fights, and for once, that’s the truth. So ya see, fuckwads? Booze is actually good for me. Good for you at least.

Yeah, I know you’re reading this. I’m not that much of a dipshit. That god damned light is blinking for a reason. But you know what? I don’t feel like talking to you, even if I can say whatever the fuck I want. So back to my stupid life.

Five months in this place, I guess. I haven’t been keeping track that well. I know it’s been a week since they moved me to a new room, which means it’s been a week since I slept with Kristen. God I miss that chick. We had a lot of fun in that room, that’s for sure.

Bet you’re pissed about that one, huh Doc? No one to blame but yourself really, though. I mean sure we had you fooled for a good few months there, but come on. You trusted a compulsive liar when he told you he was gay and then stuck him in the same room with a female sex addict. “Gay” or not that was a dumbass move, man.

It’s been 2 and a half months since I’ve had any whiskey. That’s right. I got ways. Anyway, 2 and a half months, which brings me back to: FUCK. About two of those months were spent with Kristen, so I didn’t notice as much, but it’s been a week and withdrawal’s a bitch, too.

I want whiskey.
I want beer.
I want scotch.
I want brandy.
I want tequila.
I want wine.
I want vodka.
I don’t even like vodka.
I just want some booze.
Damn do I want some fucking booze.

Ah, you’re not going to give me any. Whatever. See you in hell.

So, back to the usual.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

Lane threw her bag over her shoulder and closed the door to her room. The doors wouldn't lock at the mental hospital, which unnerved most of the patients. There were plenty of kleptos here after all. Lane never cared, however. She didn't have anything valuable that she actually cared about.

She started to walk down the hall, digging through her bag to make sure she had her book. It wasn't that she absolutely loved reading. It was just that she preferred it to listening to the teachers. In the 100 days she had been at the hospital, she had yet to find a teacher that actually taught well.

She caught a figure moving in his peripheral and immediately stopped, keeping herself from running into the person. Lane cringed at the thought of running into the boy. She dreaded coming into physical contact with people, and luckily so did most of the other patients. She didn't have to worry about it much, but sometimes, like accidentally running into people in the halls, she couldn't avoid it.

Lane gave her biggest smile to the boy who had walked out of the room right next to hers. "Hi, you must be my new neighbor, right? I'm Lane."

The boy smirked back at her. "I'm Edge. Thanks for the welcoming. You know, I had been afraid that I wouldn't have any hot girls on my new hall, but I'm not worried anymore."� It was a lie; Edge never worried about lack of hot girls on his hall. Edge never worried about anything.

Lane blushed, not sure if she felt flattered or embarrassed. She didn't like being complimented; her low self-esteem and paranoia always made her second guess sweet comments. Did he mean it? Or did he have alter motives? Was he like them? Was he going to hurt her if she let her guard down?
While on the inside she was panicking, her outside mask kept on a steady smile. "You were worried? I was worried that this hall would never get a hot boy."� Lane gave Edge a sidewards glance and a sly grin as she continued, "Still worried."�

"Ouch. Now that was harsh,"� Edge said, touching his heart in mock hurt. "I'm not sure I'll ever recover from that blow."

"Oh hush, I was only kidding,"� Lane promised, her obnoxiously huge smile returning. "It was nice meeting you, Edge, but I've got to get to class. Gotta love history."

"I've got class, too. Gotta love math,"� he said, waving goodbye before disappearing down the hallway. Lane continued to walk in the opposite direction from her neighbor, quickly getting to her class.

She made her way to the back corner next to the window. This place didn't have enough windows, she thought. She pulled out a blank page for notes, which would quickly be full of doodles, and her book. Her classmates slowly filled in, some coming over to chat with Lane.

Lane's attention on the classmates around her, as they weren't close enough to be called friends, wavered in and out for a couple minutes. She watched the other kids coming through the door.

She was not expecting to see her new neighbor, Edge, walk through among the others, however. Math, my ass, the thought heatedly. He had lied to her! Lane never tolerated lying. It was hard enough for someone, a very honest and trustworthy someone, to earn the trust of Lane. But to know he was lying about something as simple as the class he was headed to only made Lane boil with anger. And suspicion. Maybe he was like them? Maybe he was out to get her, too?

"He lied to me,"� she whispered, with wide eyes. She hadn't meant to let the words escape her mouth and prayed that no one heard.

Alas, the girl next to her did. Kelli was her name and she was friendly enough, despite the fact that she talked way too much for Lane's liking. "You mean Edge? Well duh, that's no surprise. He lies, like, compulsively or something. He can't help it."�

Lane's eyebrows knitted together and a frown appeared on her face. So he was a compulsive liar; it's not like he was purposely trying to hurt her. She felt pity for him, but also couldn't let go the fact that she was lied to. She glared at Edge across the room.

Kelli noted Lane's interest in the subject and decided to go into a rant on everything she had ever heard about Edge. "Edge's real name is Edgerton, which sounds totally stupid, which explains why he goes by Edge. He's been here five months, which is shorter than me but longer than you. Along with the lying situation, he has BPD, too. He also has a pretty bad alcohol addiction, probably drugs too. He's beaten a couple kids up here; some have told me only a few kids, others say he's beaten up more than a dozen." The teacher walked in and Kelli's voice dropped to a whisper as she took the seat next to Lane and continued her rant. "He lied and said he was gay, too, which landed him in a room with a sex addict chick for a couple months. The doctors are so stupid. And in his early months, a lot of people said he had ways of sneaking alcohol into the hospital. A lot of people tried to buy from him, but he refused to sell any of it. And-"

"KELLI!" Lane finally screamed. "Shut up!" The whole class, along with the teacher, went quiet, all staring at Lane. Her cheeks went bright red. The attention suddenly shifted to Kelli as she burst into tears and ran out of the room. Lane felt relieved that Kelli was gone, but also guilty. She never purposely wanted to make another cry. Kelli was very sensitive, which Lane easily forgot. Lane stood to go catch her and apologize, despite the fact that she never really cared about Kelli's well-being, but the teacher stopped her.

Mrs. Marvin, an old lady with features that looked like a bird, glared at Lane and grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. Lane panicked at the sudden contact and shoved Mrs. Marvin away, backing herself into the corner and away from the teacher. "Dr. Quinn's room," Mrs. Marvin stated, pointing out the door. Lane reluctantly nodded, quickly darting past the teacher and out of the room.

I'm sitting in Dr. Quinn's room with my keyboard right now, and he's forcing me to type while he watches me like a hawk. He's watching so closely that I can't possibly type alrkqlwerthklqerwhtklrehterterwht;lkqrue the whole time. He just yelled at me for typing gibberish.

So I meet Edge and he lied to me. LIED TO ME. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? I used to let my aunt lie to me. I'm letting the doctors lie to me. I lied to both of them back numorous occasions. But some random dude thinks he can come out of no where and just lie for the heck of it? I don't care what kind of mental sickness is going on in that screwed up brain of his; I do not and will never allow that exuse his lying.

Nor will I ever trust him.

As for Kelli. WHY THE HELL DOES SHE HAVE TO BE SUCH A CRY BABY? She was babbling on and on about Edge-everything just has to circle back to him, I see-and I DON'T CARE. Finally, she just snapped a nerve. She should be used to it. I'm sure at this hell whole, a lot of nerves are snapped because of her. Most people don't have a lot of tolerance or patience in this place, and I know for a fact that I'm not the first that has yelled at her to close the mouth and fuck off, and I won't be the last. Really, you think she would toughen up after over half a year of this shit, but no. She still cries at the smallest insult or raised voice. Obviously she's not getting any better, but the doctors aren't helping. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, FUCKTARDS.

Damit, when the hell did I start cussing this much?

And Dr. Quinn is still watching me like a hawk. He lectured me for about an hour, which not only took up the rest of my first class, but some of one of my other classes as well. He also left the room to talk to Kelli, who told an exaggerated story of what really happened, all the while sobbing. Then he tells me I have to type for a whole hour? Is that even possible?

"I'm done," I told him just now. But he told me, "You may be done with venting, but maybe you should start typing out a plan of action. For appoligizing to both Ms. Kelli and Mr. Edgerton."

I bet Edge hates it when the doctors call him that. I don't think all of them do, but for some reason Dr. Quinn does. I just asked him why. He said, "Edgerton is his legal name his parents gave him, and I shall call him by it instead of some silly nickname." But I think Edge sounds cool. It gives him an edge.

Ok, that was lame.

So, appologizing. Well, I'm definitely not even going to appologize to Edge. I didn't do anything to him. Just because he was the subject of attention when Kelli was talking doesn't mean this has to do with him. I will confront him-in a much more collected manner than I was in a minute ago-about his lying. And I won't ever believe a word he says, no matter how simple the stated is, again. I could find him at lunch, probably. The sooner I get that over with, the better.

As for Kelli. I'll talk to her after school, so my talking to her won't be limited to the little time I have at lunch after talking to Edge. She likes going to the lounge, so I might find her there. I do want to appoligize. Maybe explain my case. Tell her to toughen up in the nicest way possible. She'll never survive this world if she doesn't gor a backbone. Maybe I'll even offer to help her get over her sensitivity. That way, if I ever make her cry again, I could use the excuse "I was helping her, and pushed her too hard" or something.

And it's almost been an hour. I've been typing really slow on purpose, and it acutally wasted a good hour. Thank Merlin. Haha, I just sounded like I was from Harry Potter.

Hour's up!

Mental Hospital or not, this was still a high school at the core, which meant that like any other high school cafeteria, everyone was divided into their little clicks. Edge, after filling his tray with applesauce, made a beeline for the "popular" table and took a seat next to the queen bee herself. These were the kids who were there for depression and eating disorders, the omg-I'm-two-pounds-fatter-than-a-super-model-and-no-one-likes-me-because-they-won't-text-me-back-at-two-a.m. kids, as Edge liked to call them. He didn't like any of them really, but he enjoyed listening to their conversations and laughing to himself about them, throwing in some fake empathy every now and then. Of course they knew he was a liar and a drunk, so they saw right through it and told him to go away most days. He ignored them every day and continued to mock them and their fake pain, so as a result they hated his guts. Today when he sat down they didn't even say anything, just shared a look that he wasn't included in and promptly moved to a different table. The boy only shrugged and began slurping down his applesauce.

"Mr. Edgerton, I don't appreciate being lied to." He looked up, the golden sauce running down his chin. It was the hot chick from next door, but he couldn't imagine what she meant. She really was cute, in a tomboyish kind of way.

"Well I don't appreciate you using that awful name," he retorted, wiping his face.

"Is that another lie?" she asked now, but she sat down anyway.

"No, actually, it's not. I hate that name," he said, "And using it makes you sound like a major fucktard, that is to say, like Dr. Quinn, so stop before I hate you."

"He says it's the legal name your parents gave you, so that's what you should be called," she replied. Edge just snorted.

"Yeah, and I'll tell you the same thing I tell him. If you'd met my dad then you'd realize just how shitty that logic is. Dad always claimed Edgerton was some old family name, but I'm pretty sure he was just high when I was born and my mom was in too much pain to object," he said, taking another bite of applesauce.

"Is that a lie?" she asked again.

"Yes, actually, it is. Really I was raised by circus clowns and they gave me a horrible name so that I'd like my clown name better," he said sarcastically, "but I started going by Edge, so Bozo never really stuck. Mom and Dad were horribly disappointed."

"Now that's a lie," Lane said.

"Maybe," he replied, waggling his eyebrows at her, "but you'll never know, will you?"

"Maybe I will know one day," she said with a smile that he thought looked rather mysterious. Edge laughed, but only to cover up the fact that he thought it was kind of hot. Maybe that was what Kristen had meant when she said all his lying made him hotter, but he doubted it was true in his case. She'd said that before she knew he was actually straight and more than glad to fuck her. If there was anything lying had taught him over the years it was to never trust anyone.

"And maybe I'll find Mom one day, too, and she won't be a crackhead," he said, draining his sixth cup of apple sauce to hide his surprise. Normally Edge would have said something else. Something with equally less chance of happening, of course, but something that wasn't so...true. He almost never told the truth, especially not about his mother, so why did he tell it to this girl? Why Lane? Because she hated lies? That had never stopped him before.

"Is that a lie?" she asked. Edge didn't like the she was looking at him, all serious and intense. Nothing was serious for Edge.

"No," he said, but in a tone that would make her sure that he was lying. He certainly hoped she wasn't trying to keep up with his game because she was sure to go crazy--well, crazier--if she was. There was never a plan, so there was nothing to follow. Edge just made it up as he went along.

"Is that?"

"Yes," he said, again using that obviously-lying tone. He drained yet another cup of apple sauce and then stacked all of his empties neatly before chugging the carton of milk. Lane looked down, seeming to notice his tray for the first time.

"What is with all the apple sauce?" she asked. He grinned.

"It reminds me of beer kinda," he said, but this was a lie. He just liked it better than anything else they served here. It was kind of hard not to.

"Really?"

Edge sighed. Much as he liked lying, he was getting sick of all this second guessing, so he simply shook his head, picked up his tray and headed off, calling a "Don't want to be late for third period!" over his shoulder.

So, I'm ditching third period. Sounded like a good idea at the time, but now I realize there's nothing to do in my stupid room now that Kristen's gone (pun intended), so I'm back on this damn keyboard. I wonder if they'll come make me go to class after they read this? Nah, they're too lazy to sit there all day and read what we write. Ah, what do I know? Maybe they are coming for me. Heheh. They're coming to take me away! They're coming to take me away! Heheh.

Anyway, so enough of that.

I've got dumbass group therapy this afternoon, which I'd say is better than going to fourth period, but therapy IS fourth period. Always. And it pisses me off. I guess not everyone has therapy fourth period cuz then there wouldn't be enough doctors, but I always do, and it sucks, cuz it's either a meeting with Dr. Quinn (bastard) or group therapy. They say group therapy, aka talking about your feelings until you barf, is the only way to treat BPD, which is why I get roped into it, but so far it hasn't helped. Or at least, not that I've seen. Dr. Quinn must think it's helping somehow, though, cuz he keeps sending me to it. Either that or he's just more of a dipshit than I thought. I'm betting on the last one.

....................................................sklfjeifjfjfieksla;soeidkgnv.'aoweighrufnc.z,xiejvnc.a;woeelkdjfnfmeoweix.meoseos,dehjtglmdlcme

wow. See that Doc? ^ That's half an hour right there, half an hour of staring at the walls and hitting a few letters ever few minutes while contemplating my doom. That's what fucking group therapy does.

I wonder if hot chick will be there. She had a name I think. Lame? No, that's a retarded name. Lane? Wonder what that's short for. Eh, who cares. I like hot chick better. Maybe she'll be there. That could be interesting. Long as she doesn't keep asking me if I'm lying. It's kinda annoying. but kinda cute. but mostly annoying. but still kinda cute.

So one of the klepto kids came in here a second ago looking for something to steal. I told him everything was either bolted down or worthless. He wanted to know if I had any booze. I said no, I hadn't had any for months, thanks for reminding me, but there might be some pot under the bed. He was kinda excited till he realized I was lying again. Guess he doesn't know. He got kinda pissed and said why would I get his hopes up and I said cuz it's funny, and then he got more pissed and left. He came back a second later and stole one of my socks. I asked what was he gonna do with just one sock, and he said put a potato in it and hit people, and I said he could have it then. Sounds like a good cause to me. Long as he doesn't come at me, anyway. I'll kick his ass, and you can quote me on that Doc.

Oh, I might have been BSing you there. I do that, member? But then, I might not. The kleptos can't exactly steal when there are people in the rooms, can they? I mean I guess they can. He just did. But they don't plan for there to be people in the rooms exactly, do they? I wonder why he came in if he saw me in here? Maybe he just didn't care or figured I had a roommate or something he could steal from. I don't actually. I woulda told him if he'd asked but he didn't. Guess he figured from that there was not stuff on the other side of the room except for my dirty clothes. He took a dirty sock, I hope he knows. His hand's gonna stink before long. Eh. Not my problem.

There's an old lady in white standing in the door now. She says I have to come to group therapy, even if I don't want to. Yes, I asked. I told her I had to finish this sentence of my rant as part of Dr. Quinn's therapy program. It's bullshit, and I think she knows it, but she's being patient enough. Well, know I don't know what else to write, so i guess I better go to stupid group therapy since the pauses are getting longer and she's getting less patient. Okay. Time to go. One last thing just for you Doc.

FUCK

Edge finally tossed his keyboard aside and stood to follow the white-clad woman, running a hand through his chronically messy brown hair.

"Those scrubs are kinda sexy," he said as they started down the hall.

"Shut up," she snapped, but he only grinned. So she didn't believe him. How hurtful. Or smart. More like smart.

Finally they arrived in room assigned to group therapy, its ring of chairs looking like a bear trap as always, and the nurse left. Dr. Coy was already present along with a few other teens and Lane, which made him smile.

"Hey Chase, hey Hot Girl," he said as he took his seat next to Lane, refusing to use the proper name for either. Both glared at him, but the boy only glared back. This would be an interesting group therapy session, that was for sure.

Naturally, Lane was sitting as far away from Dr. Coy as possible. It wasn't because of him personally; it was how she always was with the doctors. Most wanted to sit as far as they could, not just her. And she got the best sit, as she was one of the first there. She almost groaned when Edge walked it. Even more so at the name he gave her.

"Is that a lie?" she automatically asked, her eyes shooting him daggers.

"What, calling you a hot girl?" Edge asked with a smirk, even though he knew what she meant. He did not answer her question.

She made a noise of frustration that Edge found sexy before saying, "Never mind, I know you're lying."

"No you don't," Edge replied, for the sake of arguing. "You never know when I'm lying."

"But I know for myself I'm not hot, so you obviously must be lying now," she concluded, nodding her head firmly.

Edge knew better than to argue back, because than they would be at it the whole meeting. This did not mean he was actually going to participate in the group therapy session, oh no. It just meant there were plenty of other arguments that he would rather have with a girl that so solidly believed she is ugly. "Ok, Hot Girl," he whispered as Dr. Coy started to talk.

Neither of them truly listened as Dr. Coy told them what they would be doing that day, then decided they would go around the circle, say your name, and some other stuff. What stuff? Lane didn't listen long enough to figure out. She got distracted by the mirror, which the light hit a just the right angle to make a shiny, bright ball in the mirror. Dr. Coy told this girl, Brittney, to start.

"No wonder half the people here cut themselves. It's much better than this torture," Lane muttered to Edge. She didn't understand why she was talking to him. She had never had a friend at one of these circle meetings, and while Edge wasn't a friend, he was funny. He would say something that makes this whole situation bearable.

Edge leaned closer so he could whisper something, but that only caused Lane to lean the other direction. The circle of chairs was tight, and her leg was already practically touching his. She didn't want his face near hers either. Edge leaned back a little when noticing her reaction.

At least he has some consideration, however small it may be, Lane thought spitefully.

As if nothing happened, Edge commented on what she had said earlier. "Those sound like words of experience. Has Hot Girl been cutting herself?"

"Would you like the lie or the truthful answer?" she muttered back at him.

"Surprise me."

"I haven't cut myself since I've gotten here," she replied her voice sounding proud. But she kept her eyes on Dr. Coy, so it appeared she was still paying attention.

"Lie," he remarked. She was trying too hard to sound like she was telling the truth.

"Maybe. But you'll never know, will you?" A huge grin, this one sincere and not part of the usual mask she put up, plastered her face as she used his words against him.

"Maybe I will know one day," Edge then said, mocking her voice. Lane glanced at him, noting his mysterious smile, but also the humor in his eyes. At that moment, he looked kind of cute. Well, Edge always looked attractive with his messy hair and crazy appeal and wild attitude. But this wasn't attractive; this was adorable. If she said it out loud, he'd probably take it offensively.

Which is why she said it. "You look adorable," Lane said sweetly, sending a smile his way.

"Why thank you, Dahling!" Edge said loudly, earning a look from Dr. Coy. Also earning his attention.

"Mr. Edgerton, it's your turn now," Dr. Coy said, knowing full well the boy didn't know what they were supposed to be doing.

"Hello, my name is Edge and I am an alcoholic," Edge said in a very mock serious voice, as if this were an AA meeting.

"Hello Edge!" Lane exclaimed, which was the returning gesture at an AA meeting. Edge gave a bow, then sat back down.

Dr. Coy was fuming, but didn't do anything to fight back. Instead he turned to Lane. "Your turn, Ms. Alana."

"What exactly are we doing?" Lane replied with narrowed eyes, eyes that wanted to kill anyone that called her Alana.

"We are standing up, saying are name, and admitting to something you have never told anyone here." Well that sounded lame. And cheesy. And overrated.

Lane stood up with a large sigh. "My name is Lane, and I don't like being called Alana because that's my aunt's name. Calling me Alana means you're calling me a slutty bitch with drug problems that can't follow the law and-" Lane closed her mouth from saying more. She could only admit to so much in one day. She shook her head and sat back down.

"Alana, huh?" Edge muttered, a smirk on her face. Lane looked at him with all the hatred and loathe she was feeling at the moment; enough loathe to kill someone. "I won't call you Alana if you don't call me Edgerton," Edge reasoned.

"Only if you don't call me Hot Girl either."

"Deal." Lane nodded in confirmation and looked in the other direction. "I'll just call you Sexy Chick instead."

Damn him.

"Sexy Chick doesn't like her new name?" Lane smartly chose to ignore him. She even forced herself to listen to Brittney as she stood up for the third time and spilled her guts about her abusive ex-boyfriend that she still loved for some crazy reason. "Oh, you're giving me the silent treatment?" Silence. "Please speak, I can't stand you not speaking to me," Edge pleaded in a overly-dramatic voice that Lane didn't bother to acknowledge. "You can't do this to me! What about all that we've been through?" Nothing. "I know you care. Don't pretend you're not tempted to talk." Na-da. "How could you, Lane. I thought I loved you!"

"Lie," she finally said, not being able to hold herself back. Edge smirked, knowing that speaking as if he was a loser on one of those dramatic romance shows-sitcoms being the logical term-would eventually cause her to call him out on lying. That or declare that she did love him back, and was sorry, and they would run off into the sunset together.

"Every good lie has some truth to it," Edge said, mimicking the phrase he heard so much. He didn't believe it in the slightest, as a lie did not need any truth. At least his didn't. But just because he didn't believe it doesn't mean he can't use it against another.

"But that wasn't a good lie," Lane responded. "It was barely even a lie, and more along the lines of 'joking around.'"

"You say joking around like it's a bad thing," Edge muttered.

Lane had a comment to give back, but was cut off by Dr. Coy's loud voice. The two weren't the only ones who went off into their own private conversation, and Dr. Coy was trying to call everyone's attention back to him. "Good job, class. You are dismissed."

The class hurriedly darted for the door, including Edge and Lane. Lane started to head back to her room, expecting Edge to follow her. She looked behind her only to see him going in the opposite direction. "Where are you going, Edge?"

He turned around, smirking at the girl. "My room."

"Lie. Your room is this direction, next to mine," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm taking the long way," he told her as her turned and walked away.

"Still a lie!" she called back. He did not turn back around. With a sigh, she continued to her room.

Damn door to my room. I know that the knob had been getting stuck because it's just retarded like that, but I have always been able to tapper with it just enough to get it to open up. But no, on the one day I have the deepest desire to take a nap-the only day out of the last 101 that I've really needed one-it won't let me in.

Obviously someone has been in my room. I've developed a way to close my door that involves the least possibility of sticking possible. And random kleptos don't know that. And so the end up making my doorknob be retarded.

I thought about going to ask a doctor or a staff member to get me a new doorknob or at least help me open the door, but they're all useless. If I were to ask them, they would never do it. Now when they're doing rounds in the halls, as they tend to do all day to make sure everyone is save and everything is running properly, is the only time they good for anything. So I'm sitting against my door, waiting for one to walk by. It'll probably take until dinner, though.

I considered going to a friend's room or the lounge to take a nap, but I don't trust anyone or anyplace expect my own room enough to be able to lose consciousness. I will not allow myself to be that weak and helpless in front of others. That is when I get the most harm done to me-when my brain isn't turned on and I can't fight back. I'm not stupid enough to let that happen to me.

I do feel quite victorious at the moment. I caught Edge in another lie. Every time I ask him if he's lying, he always makes a remark that makes be second guess myself. He said he was going to his room, and as I can see the door to his room, which no one has entered, I know he lied. I know it's pretty common thing for him, and not hard to guess when he's doing it, but I feel pretty accomplished myself.

Anyway. I am so bored. All I had was the contents of my bag: the book I finished in 3rd period, the homework that I'd never do, some paper that I can't afford to waste any more of, and this keyboard. It's obvious what I chose to do to keep myself entertained.

Dammit. I still need to talk with Kelli. Apologize and all that jazz. I've already typed up what I'm going to do, no need to do it again. But I'm too tired to do that now.

Not that I'm planning on sleeping or anything. I have to say awake and wait for a staff member to come around and help me. I'm so tempted to just kick the thing down, but obviously that's not going to work. Then I would be doorless, which is just as bad as sleeping in the hall. Anyone can see me and walk in, and hurt me. It took me forever to get over the fact that I can't lock my door at night to keep people out of my room while I'm sleeping, but add on the fact that I don't have a door? I would never let myself sleep.

Man, I need to stop talking about sleeping; it's making my eyes heavy. I'm having trouble keeping them open now.

I've run out of things to talk about. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Psst. Psssssst. Hey. Hey Sexy Chick. Hey wake up, will ya?"

The voice was just inches from her left ear, and when she regained enough consciousness to hear it the first thing that registered was not the words or the voice or even the sight of the hallway in front of her. What registered was that someone was close to her, and they needed to get away.

Her automatic response to this was a small yelp of surprise and an attempt to distance herself from this person. She half scooted, half leapt the two feet to her right, her arm flailing around wildly until the back of her hand connected with flesh with a loud slapping sound. Lane immediately drew her hand close to her body, hating the accidental physical contact. She looked at the person for the first time, an apology on her lips, but it died when she saw who it was. Edge. Of course. Most of the kids here at least had the consideration to not wake a person who was sleeping, mental issues or not, but no, not Edge.

"Damn, girl," he said, rubbing his cheek. It was red where she'd hit him, and she had to admit she was a little proud of that. "Is that the thanks I get?"

"Thanks? No, but it is what you get for waking me up!" she snapped. She sounded furious, and while she was a little pissed at him the anger was mostly to hide the worry and panic. She didn't like the thought of him being near her while she was asleep, of him possibly watching her sleep for awhile before finally deciding to wake her up. Lane couldn't believe she'd actually let herself fall asleep, right there in the hallway. Out in the open. Just the thought of it made her cringe mentally. She must have been really tired.

"Well excuse me for trying to help," he sniffed, but the tone was so overdone that only a moron might have been fooled by the act. Lane was no moron, and she continued to glare at him.

"You weren't trying to help! You were being an obnoxious jerk like usual," she said. A trace of something crossed his face, something foreign to those features. Was that...hurt? No, it couldn't be. Not real hurt. He was faking it again. Had to be. At any rate it was gone before she could think too much on it, replaced by what she had realized was his standard expression of mock offense.

"Ooooo, harsh," he said, crossing his arms, "Fine then. Guess I won't open your door for you."

"No, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh. Please open it!" she said, jumping at the chance to get into her room. Nevermind the fact that it meant apologizing to Edge and showing him how desperate she was. She needed to get into that room.

"Alright," he said, that infuriating grin returning. He offered her a hand up, but she ignored it and stood up on her own, picking up the keyboard, which had skidded across the hall, and putting it back in her bag. Edge only shrugged and bent down to look at the lock, pulling a white card from his pocket.

"What's that?"

"Dr. Quinn's ID," he replied, holding it up so she could see the man's name and picture printed on the card that all the doctors wore on lanyards around their necks.

"How'd you get it?" she asked now, stepping closer to watch as he began to fiddle with the door handle.

"I got ways," he said mysteriously. Lane only rolled her eyes.

"So how'd you know my doorknob was stuck, anyway?" she asked, wondering if he'd tried to open it while she was sleeping. She had been leaning against the door, so opening it would cause her to fall backwards. Sounded like something Edge would do. Maybe it was a good thing her door was screwed up.

"Well you don't exactly seem like the type who just prefers taking naps in the hallway," he said, all the while jamming the card into the tiny crack between door and frame next to the handle. "So I figured you were locked out, but these doors don't lock, so I tried the knob, and sure enough, somehow it's locked."

"It's not locked. It just sticks sometimes," she argued.

"Uh-huh," he muttered in a way that made her certain that he wasn't paying attention to her. Normally she would have been angry, but if he was getting her door to open then that was all that mattered. Edge jammed the card in one more time, hard, and the door popped open as if it had been pushed, even though the boy hadn't been touching it.

"How'd you do that?" she asked, staring at the door in amazement.

"Just one of the things you pick up in the circus," he said, returning the card to his back pocket.

"Lie."

"I resent that." He was mock offended again. He seemed to do that a lot.

"Good!" she said as she stepped into her room, shutting the door in his face.

Edge stood outside the closed door for a long moment, debating on whether or not to enter or just go away. There was nothing to do in his room besides type on that damn keyboard, which he was not going to do twice in one day. He had come back only as a last resort, which meant that there really wasn't anything to do elsewhere in the building either. He was board, and here was Lane, entertaining him with her arguing. How could he pass it up, right?

"You know you really should be nicer," he said as he entered the room, continuing as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

"And you should really be less obnoxious," she retorted glaring. He was in her room, her personal space, and once again the anger bubbled up to hide the panic.

"They say I can't help it, the doctors," he said, laying down on the bare mattress that would have been her room mate's bed had she had the nerves to tolerate one. Lane grimaced. He was getting comfortable. Never a good sign. "Something about the part of my brain the filters things isn't functioning properly."

"Sounds like an excuse to me," she said.

"I've been told I'm quite pleasant when I'm drunk," he continued, "or passed out." The two went hand in hand really, which was why Edge hadn't been sleeping well as of late.



[WIP]