Each day, the assembly lined up in front of a room the size of a closet to get their vitals done. Today was different because the new kid had caused a lot of ruckus. When the boy had rolled in on a stretcher the night before, they had him tied down, and he had a look of someone that had been hardened by prison or a predator awaiting prey. This morning, the boy eagerly complained about the line. After taking his vitals, he complained about the food's quality. Then, everyone took their medication but the boy hadn't been prescribed any yet, so he complained about not being able to be drugged. He claimed that drugs might make this place a bit more exciting. The place fairly small. It comprised of an eating/activity area and a recreational area that had a TV. Connected to these rooms was the dorms and the reception area. The windows available were bulletproof. Most had roommates, but Harry got a room alone. So, he also got a bathroom if his own.

His room contained two dressers, two desks, two beds, and a double paned bulletproof window. Unfortunately, the rooms were locked during the day so that the adolescents were forced to participate and socialize. After everyone took their medication, they had group therapy. Everyone went around going over how they were feeling. One girl talked about how ETC was making her forget things and how she was struggling to remember little things. Another talked about how scared he was to have to go back to reality after all of this was over. When Harry's turn came, he gave the nurses a run for their money, "Well, I'm in a room filled with people that wanna die, so that's a bit of a downer. Last night the voices of my parents haunted me, again. Also, when I died I saw my dead ex-boyfriend and now I'm forced to reconsider my religion."

"Thank you for sharing, Harry. We hope you adjust well to these new surroundings." One nurse said, and everyone seemed to agree. This made Harry feel like he wanted to shoot himself. Did they not get it? Did they not listen? He's not going to "adjust well" because nothing in his life is going well. Morons.

After group therapy was free time because it was the weekend so no one had individual therapy sessions. During this free time was when you got to use the phones. Harry took the old payphone-looking-thing and dialed one of the few numbers he memorized by heart.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Then, the magic occurred. "Hello, you've reached the voicemail of the one and only Ralph Gallanger. Sorry for missing the call, but I'll try to call back as soon as I possible can."

Before it offered to leave a message, Harry hung up and walked into his room. If he stared at his ceiling long enough, maybe he'd die of boredom. Without the help of his wandering mind, this would be a grueling process, but Harry found an odd comfort in his thoughts—for once. As he daydreamed, his mind wandered to Draco. Then, to Ron. He looked outside, into the relentless winter, and saw nothing but a parking lot and grass. How boring.

Visiting hours were likely the happiest part of each patients day because it was their only connection to the outside world. Without cellphones and anything considered harmful, the world was surprisingly bleak. The visiting hours were extended due to it being the weekend, so it became hour hours rather than two. Harry was busy staring at the ceiling when his visitor arrived.

He didn't look over. The ceiling was just too interesting. The expression on his face must of been scary, like he was undead. His lips were parted but unmoving, and his eyes stayed still—barely blinking. A creak from the other bed was heard, but Harry didn't turn. "The ceiling really isn't that incredible. I don't see the appeal." The boy's voice spoke, sarcastically. He made his way towards Harry, cautiously approaching him. Harry laid on his back, with no blankets, staring blankly. "Why'd you lie?" The voice questioned, and Harry couldn't decipher if it was reality or a hallucination.

"Because if I tried to explain myself they'd think I was crazier."

"No one is crazy. Some just need help." The voice spoke, almost with understanding. "So, any hot chicks here?"

"Why do you care? Aren't you gay?"

"I'm just trying to make small talk!" Draco defended.

Harry pushed himself up and off the bed with an intense amount of energy. He slid on some hospital given slippers, and headed towards the door. Once outside, he bolted to get to Scrabble before some other kid did. After retrieving it, he found a place to sit with Draco in the dining area. "To answer your question, no." Harry said, midway through shuffling the numerous tiles. "The girls here don't interest me. I just want them to drug me up until I stop seeing crap, then I want to leave."

Draco nodded, understanding his impatience because Draco knew he'd feel claustrophobic in a place like this. Draco made the first move, starting in the middle of the board. Harry never cared much for Scrabble, but the other games were even more boring. "Ron wants to see you." Draco spoke encouragingly, "They just wanted me to see you first because... I was there."

"Whatever." Harry said with distaste, screwing up his face in frustration on how he could connect "dangle" to "handle" in the best possible way. "I died."

"I know. What'd you see?"

"My ex."

"Did she look different?"

Harry paused, choosing whether he should reveal his secret or not. Finally, he decided Draco couldn't be trusted, yet. "No. As beautiful as ever."

"Wait. Why'd you see her? She's not dead."

"She hung herself from a tree nearby our houses." Harry recounted, pushing away any feelings that came along with the memory. "I found her there. There was no suicide note. No reasoning."

Draco had a mildly insensitive question that was eating at him. He thought about whether it was appropriate, then concluded it wasn't but asked anyway. "Did she tell you why when you saw her again?"

"Just that it was her time. That it wasn't mine." Harry's voice sounded emotionless, like he'd become a shell of his former self. "It's a lie, though."

"Which part?"

"All of it." Harry fumbled with a tile, before placing it neatly on the board. "It being her time. It not being mine. Her being a her." Harry drones on, his voice sounded pained yet oddly smooth and calm. The tone told that he didn't care, but his emphasis on certain words contradicted that. "His name was Ralph. My parents didn't choose to leave. But, Ralph, he did. I was never good enough for him."

"He didn't choose to leave. He was unwell."

"Yeah, well who's unwell now?"

"Ralph wouldn't want—"

"Don't act like you knew him!" Harry snapped, raising an eyebrow from nearby parents that were fussing over their bored-looking children. "I was this close." Harry placed his fingers in front of Draco, barely a millimeter apart to emphasize his point. "That close to dying, but no one argued to not resuscitate me." Harry could feel a tug at his heart when he imagined being reunited with his parents and the only best friend he'd ever known. They would've rejoiced, crying tears of joy that turned into rain down on Earth. "Every time I see a car fly by, I wonder why I was the only one who made it out. What makes me so special? Was it luck? They deserved to live more than I did."

"Survivor's guilt is difficult."

"You wouldn't know."

"I've heard." Draco admitted, never actually being a lone survivor. His pain was a bit more secretive than Harry's, who seemed to be spilling out everywhere—like someone turned on the faucet of his heart and hasn't returned to stop the flowing. "Just, try to get well soon."

Harry scoffed. "Thanks, I'll take it into consideration." He muttered sarcastically.

***

The landscape was filled with trees in the distance, but Harry stood in an empty field. Long grass and occasional flowers decorated the ground beneath him. At first, all that could be heard was the whistling of the wind through the trees and the chirping of far off birds. The warmth that emitted from the sun bathed Harry in soft feeling that coursed through his veins. A hand touched Harry's shoulder, and Harry turned to see a reassuring, familiar face. The boy stared at him with his glistening eyes and gave a toothy grin. "You can love another." The boy tried to convince Harry, who clearly was distraught about this idea. Harry gave a dark look, then Ralph nodded his head in the direction towards the trees. What once was an empty part of grass, now stood a tall boy with fair hair and a cold demeanor. Harry gave a puzzled look, and the boy approached him, coming close enough so Harry could feel his steady breathing. An odd instinct came over Harry, and he closed his eyes almost as if he was expecting an impending action. A soft hand brushed the hair from his forehead, eventually resting on Harry's warm cheek. The next feeling was a soft and strange twinge of friction on his lips, which he fell into with no hesitation. As quickly as it began, it had ended but the feeling still lingered. Harry opened his eyes—seeing bright blue eyes calmly examining him—and he turned only to realize that Ralph had disappeared without a sound.