"No need to be aggressive, ma'am. I've got strict orders to keep all sharp objects out of this room." Something about him calling me aggressive ignited a flame in my chest. 
"You want me to be aggressive?!" I yelled, standing up from my spot, "I'll show you fucking aggressive!" I realized quickly how bad of an idea that was as he twisted my arms behind my back, making me wince in pain, "Let go of my fucking wrists! That shit hurts!" 
"Are you going to calm down?" He asked, his voice booming into my ear. 
I closed my eyes and let out a long, deep breath, "Yes. I'm calm, I'm calm." I repeated. His grip on my wrists loosened and I pulled my arms into my chest. 
"Lights out." He stated as he walked out of my room and locked the door behind him. 
This place was a prison. 
I sat on my bed and pulled the thin beige blanket over my body, hugging my knees to my chest. My fingers traced over the cuts on my face I got from my nails at the hospital. I don't know why I did it. I've never experienced a mixture of fear and panic that horrendous before. Even with Mark. With him I always knew when he was going to hit me or yell at me. Imagine, quite literally, coming back from the dead and having no idea what the fuck is going on. 
I'm not exactly sure when sleep took over but when it did it hit me like a truck.
>>>
"So, I've got your chart here, Mrs. L/n. You've lived through quite a lot—"
"Y/n," I looked at my therapist. She was a sweet looking lady, curly brown hair right below her shoulders and the brightest blue eyes I think I've ever seen, "My name is Y/n." 
"Of course, Y/n." She corrected herself, "Why don't you tell me a little about what you're feeling right now?"
"Pissed off." I deadpanned. My fingernails picked at the fabric of my grey sweatpants. We all wore the same thing here for the most part, sweatpants and a choice of t-shirt or sweatshirt. All of us wearing matching white slides. No laces. 
"How come?" She asked, leaning forward and resting her arms against her legs as she sat on the chair in front of me. I got to sit on the couch, having the option to lay down if I choose to. 
"Why the fuck do you care?" I scoffed, "Do they even pay you enough to sit here and talk about my fucked up life?" The way I spoke was a surprise even to myself. I was never one to be this rude and yet I couldn't stop. Like this is who I am now, cold and empty. 
"Not nearly enough." She joked. Maybe she's not as bad as I thought. 
"The guard, Jerry I think, he took my pencil last night." I complained, "That pissed me off." 
"Why did he do that?" She questioned, leaning over and grabbing a pencil off of her desk, "You can hold onto that one for me."
Without hesitation I took the pencil and held it firmly in my hand, "I'm a suicide risk, can't have sharp objects in my room." 
"I see," After scribbling some notes on her clipboard she looked back up at me, "Why are you suicidal?"
"Lady, you're the one with my chart. You tell me," I groaned, "Shitty childhood, abusive relationship, lost my baby." 
"Lisa," She said, "My name is Lisa, you can call me that if you'd like." 
She reminded me of Heather. 
"Okay, Lisa, I don't wanna be at this place anymore. I want to go home." 
"Where is home?" Her words were a punch in the chest. 
Where is home?
I thought long and hard. The room going so silent I could hear the clock in the corner ticking with every passing second. 
"I want to go back to my room." I stood up and walked to the door, attempting to open it but it wouldn't budge. There was a lock. 
Memories began flashing through my mind of the alarm system on Marks front door. Panic set in. Suddenly my mind was in fight mode prying at the door, screaming for them to open it. As the door opened two guards grabbed either of my arms and I heard Lisa speak from behind me. 
"She's okay, no need to grab her." She walked over to my side and shooed the guards' arms away from me, they took a step back as my chest breathed heavily, "You made great progress today, Y/n." She smiled at me before giving the guards a disapproving look, "You two let her walk to her room, no need to pull her along like a dog."
I sent her a small smile before she spoke again, "And let her keep the damn pencil."
"Strict orders. No sharp objects in the room." I now recognized the guard as Jerry, the same asshole who took my pencil. 
"Y/n, can I trust you with the pencil?" I shook my head yes, "See? I trust her. It's her pencil." 
Something about Lisa standing up for me made me not want to let her down. If I wanted this pencil I'd have to show her it was just that. A pencil. Not a weapon or a way to harm myself. 
So that's all it would be, a pencil. 
______________
I hope I did a good job portraying this new dark, cold, and emotionless side of Y/n.