"Alexxa Ward?" I look up slowly, staring at the young woman in the doorway. Her light red hair is pulled into a bun above her head, letting me know she's one of the workers in what could be considered as hell. "Your therapy session is going to be held early today." Her voice is kind; She's trying to get me to speak. "Come with me." I nod, standing and running my slender fingers down the white polo I'm required to wear to smoothen it. The woman smiles in a 'take-your-time' way, but I just want to get this over with. I follow her out of my cell and down the whitewashed halls, nodding at the other wards as I pass them. They hardly glance at me; It's clear I don't belong here.

We turn the corner, and I accidentally catch an unwanted glance at myself in the mirror. Long, stringy blonde hair that flows in awkward waves down my back, these piercing blue eyes I never want anyone to see. My skin is pale as a sheet, and I have absolutely no curves. I haven't worn makeup in months, ever since I was put into the institution.

What I wouldn't give to find a little mascara lying around. "Afternoon, Miss...what is it?" It's how Dr. Crawford always greets me. As if I'll talk to him, to anyone. They don't know my last name. There were never any records of me, just my mother's name written on a dogtag around my neck. Alexxa. That's what they've been calling me. Dr. Crawford sighs, putting down his clipboard. "Do you know why you're here, Alexxa?" He asks. 

Maybe because my family is dead and I don't seem to have recovered in the eyes of society? 

I settle for a shrug, sitting back into the brown couch. "You're here because of a traumatic event that occured two years ago tommorow. Tommorow is the anniversary of your family's death, also your eighteenth birthday."

Wait. Hold up. I'm going to be eighteen? 

"Now, legally, you're going to be an adult. Which means we have to set you free of the institution until there are further signs of hallucinations in you." My heart leaps with joy, but I just nod stiffly. "The facility will pack your bags and give you a ticket for the bus, going anywhere you'd like. We are legally naming you Alexxa Ward, seeing as you have yet to give us your name."

I stand, getting ready to walk out the door. "Oh, and, Miss Ward?" I stop, turning to face him. "Be careful." Again, I nod, but this one is way more genuine. He smiles, and i'm led out of the therapy room and into the hall once again. As usual, everyone stares at me, my name being whispered as I pass them; "Mute girl," they all say with hushed tones. "Mute girl is leaving."

I hold my head high, feeling perfectly sane for the first time in two years. They're finally letting me go into the world, where I can be a person again, not a ward of the most famous institution of England. Maybe I'll never get a great job because I was concluded insane after my parent's double suicide. Maybe people would stay away from me, the accused mute murderer.

To this day, I don't know why my parents killed each other. It was declared a suicide, that they both had wanted to die. My brother always blamed me for everything, but then again, he isn't around to accuse me. He had killed himself soon after I was put into the institution, the same way my parents had: They all cut one another to pieces. 

It was a gruesome scene, with blood scattered everywhere and chunks of skin flung across my parent's room. Alexxa Luna Matthews, my mother, had cut off her fingers. My father was Marion Matthews, who had chopped off his own nose in the attempt to die faster. My brother, Chris, had cut his ears off to deafen himself so he couldn't hear his own screams. I was found on the side of the road four blocks away, wearing my bloody white summer dress and my mother's dogtag. Nobody recognized me anymore, or if they did, nobody spoke up. They took me away as Alexxa, my dead mother. I wasn't connected to the double suicide and the death of my twin brother, but word got around as to why I was there. 

My hallucinations were terrible. I would see visions of my bleeding, earless brother, my mother's fingers in his mouth like cigarettes. My father would be standing close behind, trying to stick his nose back onto his face. It seemed so real to me when they took the knife to my skin, cutting small crescents to tease me until they were about to hack off a limb or two.

Each time, I would wake with a dull, dead knife in my hands, about to chop off my limbs. After being examined by a doctor, psychologist, and psychiatrist, I was sent here until seen fit. It was my sixteenth birthday, the one day I was supposed to be made happy by my family. Instead, they locked themselves in their bedroom with steak knives and hacked away at each other. 

I hope it was worth it. 

My room is bare enough, my few belongings put away in the chesnut drawer next to my bed. I have no pictures of my family, just my dogtags that never leave my neck and the clothes donated to me. Chris never claimed me as his sister when I refused to speak. Well, he really couldn't, when only three hours after their suicides, he had taken his own life. I loved him more than anything else. He was my twin, my other half. We used to do everything together, until high school. He became friends with the populars, the jocks, while I hung behind with the smokers and dropouts. It was pretty bad, my group of friends, but they weren't such horrible people deep down. I even got one of them to pierce my lip before being sent here, something I still haven't regretted. The diamond stud in the right corner of my lip is one of the only reminders that I used to have a life, that once, everything was almost perfect.

I sigh, looking at the man who came in without warning. He sits on my bed, his black hair slicked back behind his ears with this strange, flouride smelling gel that makes his hair look wet. His brown eyes examine me, trying to figure me out. I watch him back, scooting a ways away from him.

"Good evening." His voice is raspy, like he smokes. I don't say anything, as usual. He doesn't look in the least offended, probably being forwarned about my 'condition'. Not like I have one, anyways. I just don't like to talk. "I'm Sam, your new counselor." I nod, eyes trailing to his outfit. Pretty casual, I guess, for this place. He has on a blue button up, wearing dark grey jeans underneath and sporting a leather jacket that's slightly damp. It's probably raining outside. 

God, I miss the rain. 

"Your name is Alexxa, correct?" I nod again, going along with it. I hate my real name, and feel as if I should carry on my mother's as my own. She deserves it, anyways. "Happy birthday." He smiles, pulling a stack of bills out of his pocket. "This is fifty euros, for emergency purpouses only." I fight back a snort, already knowing the first things I'm getting with that money: Coffee, and, of course, cigarettes. "There's a bus pass folded inside it." He digs into his pocket, pulling out a plain, black leather wallet. "This has your new information inside, as well as a social security card, license, and a ten dollar coupon to Burger King." He winks, and I can't help the small smile that rides into my face. I like this guy, Sam. He isn't half bad.

"It's already been half used, sorry. A man's gotta eat." He grins, probably feeling triumphant he got a reaction out of the emotionless Alexxa Ward. "There's a duffel bag in the closet with a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. That should be enough for you to start off with. Do you have a place to stay?" He asks. I lie, my head bobbing up once. I don't need any more services from Sam, not when he's done so much for me already. "I hope you understand I'm required to check up on you once every two weeks." I raise my eyebrow, but don't cave in. I can figure sonething out. He stands, ruffling my hair lightly. "Leave as soon as you'd like, Alexxa. You seem like a very wonderful young woman, and I'd hate to see all this beauty locked up here." 

I blush, having not been complimented in almost two years, and wave. He waves back, eyes softening, and walks out of the door.

For some reason, I don't want him to go. 

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So since I wrote this two years ago-when I was in middle school- there are obviously a lot of mistakes, which have been both nicely and rudely pointed out over the course of this story. So Huzzah! Editing! Some things in this story are going to be different than originally planned, but hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as the original text. I love you guys, thanks for reading and vote if you'd like