The Seth Raeburn Chronicles: Admission

*Psyche's Note: I recommend that you guys check out styxstonesphlegethon.blogspot.com for my other stories under The Seth Raeburn Chronicles. Thanks. Again, comments. Please and Thank you. :)*

Admission

“I’m sorry, honey but this is for your own good.” My mother said, trying and failing to sooth my foul mood as I stepped out of the “white coat” van.

“Happy Day, Everyone!” I cringed as a tall woman with black hair and an awful spray tan greeted us from the steps of the institution.“My name is Aileen Richardson, I am co-owner and a member of this fine institution’s Research Team.” She held out her hand to shake my mother’s – very enthusiastically. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Raeburn.” She turned to me and smiled like the Malibu Barbie she thinks she is. “And you must be Seth. Welcome, welcome!” She had an overly cheery demeanor and an odd lilt to her voice, as if she just stepped out of the Hunger Games book, straight out of the Capitol.

I raised an eyebrow as her as she grabbed my unwilling hand with both of hers and shook it. “I assure you, darling, you shall have a great stay with us. All the commodities for basic necessities and more are all right here. The food is gourmet and the facilities are five-star quality!” I raised my eyebrow and retrieved my hand from her perfectly manicured clutches.

Is she actually for real?

She talks as if Im here on my own accord. As if this was some sort of stupid vacation.

“You seem to be looking a wee bit surly, Seth.” She feigned concern. “I’m sure we’ll turn that frown, upside down once we finish the tour. You’re going to love it, love it, love it here!”

Hell. Someone, please.

Have pity on me.

Shoot me.

NOW.

“If, you’ll follow me.” Ms. Effie Trinket wanna-be clapped her hands together and pirouetted into the front doors.

I felt a nudge behind me. It was another of the white coats. Jeez, where do these guys come from? They pop out of nowhere. I nudged me again and I glared at him, opening my mouth with the full intention of saying 

something rude but my mother’s hand on my elbow stopped me.

“Let’s go, shall we, dear?” She tried to smile but the sadness was evident in her eyes.

“You don’t have to put me in here.”  I said.

“It’s for your own good, Seth. Please.”

“It is not!” My blood boiled hotter. I do not intend to get locked up in a looney bin. “All I need is Aubrey.” I gasped, my throat constricting.

My mother gasped, tears filling her eyes. “But Aubrey... She’s go—“

“Enough!” my mother jumped at my outburst. “She… she’s not. She can’t be.”

She just can’t..

“Seth, please.” I felt her hand on my arm. “Let’s get inside.” Her chin trembled.

I gave no response.

“Your father and I just want the best for you.”

I let out a harsh bark of laughter. My father never wanted the best of anything for me. He never wanted me. 

Period. I shook my head.

“Please.” She pleaded once more.

“Don’t do this.”

“Please.”

I felt weak. 

Tired.

A pair of white coats grabbed me by the upper arms, one on either side and led me inside.

The rehabilitation center was based on a modernized theme of glass doors and windows (“All tempered and bulletproof!” says Mrs. Richardson), black and white tiles and walls, sleek and polished furniture. Everything was stark, starched and sterile.   

The tour concluded in a spacious monochromatic room with a bed, a love seat, a closet, a small table and a barred window. I sat on the bed long after they had left, staring at the same spot in the wall.

I had a beautiful girlfriend. I had my art, my music, my literature.

I had everything.

Now I am left with nothing.