This is the end.
They think I'm mental.
Let me tell you my story.
From the beginning.
I've been abused ever since my mother died when I was 11 years old.
6 years later I decided to run.
So run, I did.
I ran till my feet couldn't take anymore.
I was about just over a mile away from my house - it hasn't been home in a while.
I figured I was in somewhat of a desert; I was already sunburnt and my torn up sneakers were covered in sand.
There was just me, a rope and the train tracks running through the sand.
Giving one last look around, I decided it was time.
I tied myself down and closed my eyes; letting the tears fall peacefully.
As I heard a train whistle in the distance, I muttered my final words.
' Ne quis me ire per '
' Don't let anybody go through what I did '
As another whistle sounded I closed my eyes, ready to die in peace.
I could have done it, if John didn't show up.
John was a fourty- something year old who delivered bread for a living.
He was driving through the desert when he saw me on the ground, and the approaching train which was about 15 to 16 feet away.
He took out a pocket knife and jumped to my rescue, cutting one side of the ropes with one hand and grabbing me away from the train tracks with the other.
He forced me into his delivery truck and after about half an hour I fell asleep.
I was awaken by a bright light shining directly on me.
" Hello, I am Doctor Styles," a woman - probably in her late fourties- spoke.
" Where am I?"
" Jordan Asylum," She responded, her voice firm.
" The nut house?"
" We prefer mental asylum or rehab, but call it what you want," she said, moving away from me and picking up a file which was lying by my feet.
" But I'm not mental," My temper was rising at an alarmingly high rate.
" Yes, but you've got problems," she said in the same dull and firm voice.
"Now honey, want to tell me your name?" She asked
"Aurora. Aurora Hawkins."
This is how I found myself being locked into room 304.
Apparently I'm suicidal.
I'll admit, I cut my wrists everytime Dad hit me, but never for no reason.
Surely that doesn't make me have a problem.
Well anyways, continuing with the story.
I was stuck in my room 24/7.
For a while, they gave me food through a narrow letter box styled hole in my barred door.
My drink? I got a plastic cup of water every half an hour. That's just about it.
After I was 'stable' enough, (they just don't understand that there is nothing wrong with me) I was allowed to eat in the cafeteria with the other people staying in this nut house.
Unfortunately for me, the cafeteria was full when I first pushed open the double doors.
I looked around, looking for a lesser crowded table with friendlier looking people on it.
I settled on a table in the corner, where only one boy who looked around my age was sat.
I walked up to the table slowly; trying to ignore the intimidating looks I was getting from all the other patients.
" Do you mind if I sit here? ," I asked as politely as I could to the boy with the brown curly hair.
" No, it's fine, come sit," he said with the same fake politeness in his tone.
" You don't seem very nutty," I muttered to myself.
" Neither do you."
" Sorry, you weren't s'pose to hear that," I said quietly, my cheeks turned a bright shade of red.
" So what's your name," he asked
" Aurora Hawkins, and you?"
" Harry. My name is Harry Styles."
" Styles? My doctor's last name is Styles too!"
" Anne Styles, she's my mother. She owns the place, I come here once in a while to help out; hence why I'm here now. "
" She doesn't believe me.
She thinks I have a problem.
But your mother should know,
I'm perfectly fine."
I felt myself opening up to Harry, we talked about the most random things and he came to the hospital everyday and we met at lunch. My father was informed about what happened to me, but he never came. He never came to visit. He never came to tell everyone that I wasn't mental. That I should be going to highschool like a normal teenager, not spending my days either locked up or in a cafeteria with my new-found best friend and a bunch of real physcopaths.