Stay

                                    

                                          
Brooklyn's P.O.V
                          
That night Peter's bed was pushed into my room. It actually fit. A nurse had approached me telling me that I had to be appropriate when he was around. 
                          
I remember her explaining "He is a fighter. He is only calm around you. We will give this a try because it looks like you two knew each other personally. Don't mind his therapy."
                          
I don't understand how screaming and crying was calmer. But I had to agree. I needed someone. So did he. The nurse explained that they would allow me in the same room during his therapy. "He never responds." She had explained.
                          
I barley knew him, yet he was there for me. At least I hoped. I can't remember him exactly. But his embrace didn't feel foreign. I knew he didn't belong in that facility. No one in this room did. I had to hold on. If I let him slip it would be torture for the both of us. I can't imaginehow much worse a facility is then this hospital.
                          
I layed down resting my head on one of the pillows. It was firm yet cold. Everything was distracting me from the sleep I needed. The most distracting thing in the room was him. He leaped off of his bed landing on mine. "Hey."
                          
"I'm trying to sleep." I threw one of my pillows at him. I layed my head back down on the pillow. I felt something hit the spot beside me. "What are you doing." Peter put down the pillow, resting his head on it. His eyes stared into mine. The way he was acting reminded me of a puppy.
                          
"I wanna sit with you." He yawned. 
                          
"You're tired." I stated the obvious. "Go to sleep." 
                          
"Fine." He scooted closer.
                          
"I meant in your bed-" I was startled when I opened my eyes to see his face so close to mine. His breath was cold then warm. It reminded me of ice and fire.
                          
I pulled at the blanket, turning over facing away from him. I felt the other side of the blanket being tugged on. I felt a familiar type of body heat press against mine. I turned over glaring at him. "Stay awake." He ordered. I groaned. "I want to talk to you." 
                          
"About what?" I looked at him for a moment. I shut my eyes trying to go to sleep. A pillow hit me in the face. "What was that for?"
                          
"You're not taking me seriously. Just like my therapists. The therapists I don't even need." He said angrily. His voice had cracked. I knew what it was like not wanting to express your self, knowing you would sound helpless.
                          
"I'm here for you." I took a deep breathe. "Continue." 
                          
"Do you remember at least-"
                          
He looked so innocent. 
                          
"You like that boy?" 
                          
"What. No! Of course not." As we walked away I looked at the boy.
                          
He waved and I waved. He looked to have hope in his eyes. He walked off the stage.
                          
The thoughts seemed to smack me upside the head. Something that made my stomach churn.
                          
"Brooklyn, are you ok?" His words brought reality a step closer.
                          
"What- uh, yeah." I nodded.
                          
"You umm, you look sick to your stomach." He scooted back a little. "Hey, my therapy session is in just a few minutes." He said looking at the clock on the wall.
                          
"Ok." I mumbled. 
                          
He got up. He was dressed in green pajamas. At least that's what they looked like. They looked so comfortable. How come I never noticed this before?
                          
"What are you doing?" 
                          
He paused. "What does it look like I'm doing?..." He walked into the bathroom shutting the door behind him. I turned pink.
                          
I heard a knock on the door that seemed to echo through the room. "May I come in?" Said a man's voice. I didn't respond. "Anyone in here?"
                          
I hesitated. "He'll be just a second. I mean- of course."
                          
The man stepped in holding a small laptop and a file. He had gray hair and dark eyes. He had on what I assumed was reading glasses. He walked up to me putting his hand out. "Hello there young lady. My names Dr. Maverick. You can call me Dr. M. What ever makes you comfortable." 
                          
I put my hand out shaking his. "Nice to meet you. My names Brooklyn." I smiled.
                          
I heard the toilet flush. The sound of the sink running filled the room. It stopped followed by the bathroom door opening. Peter stuck his head out.
                          
"Oh." Peter said with distaste.
                          
He walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him. He sat on the bed. I sat down beside him looking at Dr. M politely. He seemed like a nice man. Someone you wouldn't question.
                          
"OK," he cleared his throat. "Peter, have you been having any problems lately?" I glanced over at Peter. He stayed silent. "My boy, I need you to talk to me." 
                          
"Why don't you just type nonsense about me on that computer of yours like you always do." Peter said through gritted teeth.
                          
"I can't type anything about you until you answer my questions." Dr. M furrowed his brows.
                          
I looked over at Peter once more."Peter it's ok to talk. It's not like he's going to repeat it to anybody." 
                          
"Thank you Brooklyn." He started typing then looked up at Peter.
                          
"I'm fine." 
                          
"Are you Peter?" Dr Maverick looked at him sympathetically.
                          
Peter looked at me then at the floor."It's just that they won't stop."
                          
"What won't stop Peter?" 
                          
"The v-voices." His voice cracked and so did he. He began sobbing.
                          
Hesitantly, I scooted closer. I wrapped my arm around him. "It's going to be ok." I assured him.
                          
"No. It's not." He said quietly.
                          
"Peter. I need you to tell me. What do the voices say to you?" Dr. M pressed.
                          
"You're a beast. You belong in hell." Peter spat. "Things like that." Dr. Maverick stared at Peter after his response.
                          
"Oh. Well, look at that. Our time is up. Thank you for talking to me Peter. It was nice meeting you Brooklyn." Dr. Maverick stood up walking out quickly, shutting his laptop.
                          
The door shut behind the therapist. Once he was gone I wrapped both my arms around Peter. He stopped crying. He continued chocking from crying.
                          
"They're going to do it. Just wait and see."
                          
"Do what?" I whispered into his ear.
                          
"Take me away from you. Take you away from me. A facility room is waiting for me Brooklyn."
                          
"Don't look at this all negative-"
                          
The door opened a crack. "Hello. Peter Allen. You have three days. You will be taken to a hospitalized mental institution. You will receive new therapy there." A nurse had informed. She shut the door the whole way leaving the room.
                          
He started laughing like a mad man. "I told you."