Loony Bin

Rain. It was unfair that the clouds could cry and I couldn’t. My mother wouldn’t want me to cry and my father certainly wouldn’t. And I wasn’t going to give Georgia or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I clutched my bag tighter in my hands, trying too hard to memorize my surroundings.

Lakemont, Alabama. Probably the smallest place I’ve ever been to. It was beautiful, sure, in its own way. I’d never really had sweet tea growing up in New York. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cow up close either. But I’ve counted enough pastures for each finger on my hands and it’s only been ten minutes.

We’d driven past a small, wooden diner on the way here, and I figured it was filled to the brim with old people, what with it being Sunday and all. (If I were to be honest with myself, I’m surprised I even knew it was Sunday). The houses looked older than the state of Alabama, as did most of the people. But that wasn’t surprising in the slightest.

“We’re almost there, Valentine.” Georgia says, but I don’t respond.

I’d never heard a voice quite like Georgia’s. It was as if she were some kind of squeaky toy that had been broken and no one had bothered to fix her. Certainly, anyone could tell Georgia was not broken, not even close. At thirty years old, she was still living in a false paradise before reality hits.

Reality already slapped me hard in the face at sixteen. My parents’ death was the obvious cause of that. I like to think I’ve grown up, but if anything is true, it’s that I’ve only grown more dependant on my nonexistent parents.

I don’t blame them for any of this. Maybe I could make something out of meeting a great aunt I didn’t even know that I had. Georgia said Aunt Ophelia is rather eccentric. She didn’t elaborate further on that, and I hadn’t asked since. I didn’t even know what she looked like, but I didn’t care at the moment.

I couldn’t get the image of my parents’ grave out of my mind. I had shouted relentlessly at social worker after social worker because I didn’t want to leave my home. Georgia didn’t deal with childish antics. That’s the big reason she was assigned to me. She hated me and I returned her feelings whenever I got the chance.

My mother would reprimand me harshly for how I’ve treated Georgia and basically all the social workers I’ve ever met. I know they only want to help me, but I never asked for their help.

Lightning flashes a few miles away, and I marvel at the beauty of it, half wishing it would strike me instead.

My marveling is short-lived as Georgia parks the car on a dirt road. Do I dare look where I’m going to spend the next two, possibly more, years of my life? Am I brave enough to face reality? I know I’m not, but I pull my crap together and step gingerly out of the car, my shoes crunching the dirt beneath me.

The place in question is huge. It looks old but elegant in its unique way with gray shutters and dark wood features. It almost looked like something out of a fairy tale drawing. Willow trees surrounded the house, shading the already dark stone. Dark windows look like leering eyes staring deeply at the intruder that just so happens to be me.

A tremendously tall woman with a heap of red, distraught hair comes running out the front door. I almost shout at her to be wary of the stairs, but she jumps over them before I can utter a word, rendering whatever had been on my tongue to nothing. I don’t know how she did it in her floor-length green skirt.

I take the time to study this complete stranger as she speaks animatedly to Georgia, shaking her frail hands around wildly. Eccentric doesn’t even begin to cover this woman. Upon first glance, I’d almost thought her hair to be fire with as red and bright as it is. It looks as if she tried combing through it, but gave up. But really, who could blame her? Thick-rimmed purple glasses adorn her shiny, emerald eyes, nearly swallowing half her face. Her cheeks are rosy while the rest of her skin remains pale, and I can’t help but finally understand my own pale skin.

Her clothes look as if they’ve been worn for years, nearly dragging her fragile body frame down by how gargantuan they are compared to her. My mind compares her to a skeleton. Before I can stop her, she has her sinewy hands wrapped firmly around my shoulders, shoving me into her bony ribs. I try not to breathe her hair in.

“Oh, Valentine! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, honey. You’re so much older now than since I last saw you.” So this is Aunt Ophelia. I don’t know how else to respond so I settle with “Thank you”.

“Oh and you can call me Ophelia, dear. Aunt makes me feel old.” I want to say that I can’t imagine why it would matter, nothing could help her biological clock it seemed. But I just smile shyly and nod at her, too tired to ruin her blatantly ecstatic mood.

“Well, Georgia. I’ll just grab her bag and you can go. Thank you so much for traveling all this way to bring her. I would’ve come myself, but I can’t leave my babies.” Georgia smiles in a fake way at Ophelia.

“It was no problem.” She squeals, pulling my suitcase out of the back of her Prius and setting it on the ground beside me. It’s an old, ratty thing because we never really left New York, so there was never any need for one.

I’d left the majority of my clothing back home to be given away. I didn’t want more things to shove memories in my face. So I settled for more conservative, dark clothing. I want to feel as if I’m invisible. I’m failing at the moment.

Ophelia wraps a thin arm around my shoulder and grips my bag with her other hand. I have a fleeting thought that her arm might snap off just from holding it. She nods to Georgia before steering me towards the house. She’s still smiling and I’m wondering how much her face hurts at night.

“I must warn you now, dear, that the house harbors a few problems. Well, they aren’t problems to me at least.” She breathes in my ear.

“They?” I ask aloud.

“Um, yes. Children. Not my children, goodness no. I do wish very much that they were my own sometimes. They require medicine to help with their illnesses.” My mind reels. Who has Georgia left me with?

“Illnesses? You mean to say they have diseases?” I ask.

“Yes, per se. Diseases of the mind.”

“You mean they’re crazy? You have crazy children living in your home? Is this a freaking mental institution?” Ophelia’s hand tightens over my shoulder.

“No,” She bites out. “They’re not crazy. They just need my help and loving care that their parents can’t provide.”

“Can’t? More like won’t.” Someone grumbles. My eyes shoot up to the tall, blonde girl standing on the porch. Her hair looks freshly straightened and her clothes look as expensive as the ones I’d left behind. One word pops into my mind: Diva. Her right hand is covered in shiny rings that catch the sun harshly.

“Aileen. Dear, I told you to stay inside like all the others. I don’t want Valentine to feel overwhelmed.” Ophelia’s voice sounds like she’s speaking to a child, but this girl looks to be about my age despite her features.

Aileen’s round, almost child-like face pinches into a scowl.

“Just be glad it was me who was first to venture outside and not Salem. You know he’d try to burn her to ashes the minute he realizes she’s sane.” Sane? What is she talking about?

Ophelia removes her arm from my shoulders and I’m glad that she had stopped the physical contact. She marches up the stairs and grabs Aileen’s petite hand. She doesn’t look towards me when she speaks.

“Come along Valentine. I’ll have someone show to your room while I handle a few things.” She waits as I come up the stairs and stand behind them as the door opens once more.

Ophelia leads Aileen, and me by default, into a huge entryway with stairs to the side and a living room it seems to the left. What looks like a kitchen is through a doorway straight ahead. A very tiny girl comes running out of the kitchen with her hands above her head, giggling away at something that apparently only she can see.

She rams straight into Ophelia who hugs her and blows raspberries on her cheeks, only causing her to giggle more. Her long, waist-length brown hair shakes around her as she tries to free herself.

“Stop, Lia! The butterflies are getting away. And you know how much Fufu hates butterflies.” She hollers. Part of me wants to blame what’d I’d heard on the fact that she can’t be more than ten years old. But the other side of me says that this girl is talking crazy.

Ophelia releases her and she darts up the stairs with her pink dress tapping the back of her feet.

“That was Rosie. She’s a schizophrenic.” Ophelia says quietly as she turns to me.

Aileen huffs, tossing her nose up and snorting loudly. “She doesn’t even know where she is half the time.”

“Now, Aileen. That’s enough. Go back into the kitchen with the others. I know what I said, but I’ll deal with you later.” Aileen saunters away towards the kitchen.

“I guess I’ll show you to your room now.” She steps quietly up the stairs, her feet barely audible on what I know must be old wood.

I follow carefully behind her. Upstairs are at least five doors and another set of stairs. The walls are painted a bright blue, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing the cracked wall that looks almost as if it’d been set on fire. Ophelia’s eyes follow my own.

“Just a minor problem a few years ago. Nothing to worry about. There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms on this floor.” She points to the furthest door down the hall on the left. “That is your room. You don’t have to share. And I regret to tell you that the doors don’t lock. I like to be able to get in if I should ever need to.” She shoots me a look and I nod trying to tell her that I don’t cause trouble.

She leads me to my room. It’s small but doable with yellow walls and a large window. A closet to the right will easily hold all my belongings. A white day bed sits in the corner of the room. Sheets are neatly folded and laying at the end of the mattress.

“We didn’t have much use for this room until Georgia called me. It’s all yours now though. You can decorate it any way you like. And don’t hesitate to ask me for anything that you should need. There’s a bathroom across the hall. I’ll let you get settled. When you’re ready, come downstairs and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” She smiles brightly at me before kissing my cheek and walking back out into the hall.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I drop my bag and it clunks on the floor. Shoving my raven hair out of my eyes, I begin to make the bed. Once I’m finished I lay my shoes and clothing in the tiny closet, happy to know I’ve got a little room left. Rummaging some more through my bag, I pull out a few books.

“I didn’t know another loony was coming in today.” A deep voice says. I squeal, dropping my books and jumping around to see the dark figure in the doorway.

If I’d thought Ophelia was tall, she had nothing on this beautiful giant. His head almost touches the door frame. His black hair touches his shoulder and falls into his eyes. His black eyes could put the dark of midnight to shame. He was beautiful and probably the most handsome human being I’d ever had the fortune of laying eyes on. His white shirt clings nicely to his torso and I admired him as I openly stared.

“Are you done?” His deep voice draws out. Yep, admiring time is over.

“Excuse me?” I squeal. Dang it, Valentine. A squeak. Really?

“Are you done shamelessly checking me out? God, we’ve already got one slut around here. We don’t need another.” Boy, that voice sounds wonderful even though my mind registers that he just insulted me. I’m at a loss for words.

“So what’s you’re poison? You got an MP like Abigail? Do you like to steal?” His lips turn upwards in a sneer. Does he think I’m insane? Is he insane?

“I think you have the wrong idea-”

“Or are you addicted? You like booze? Man, finally someone I can bond with.” He interrupts. Definitely insane.

“Actually, I’m-”

“Or maybe you’re a schizophrenic like Rosie. Do you see dead people, little girl?” He chuckles obnoxiously. His laugh envelops me, and I fight the urge to sigh. Come on, Valentine! Focus.

“No, I most certainly do not see dead people! Sorry to disappoint if that’s what you’d had in mind. Ophelia is my great aunt and the only family that would take me in.” Mr. Attractive Guy doesn’t seem fazed by my slight outburst. His eyes rake up and down my body, and I try not to squirm beneath his gaze.

“Boo hoo. Backstory sob crab. We’ve all got one, little girl.” I can feel my eyes narrow. Who does this complete jerk think he is?

“My name is not little girl. I’m sixteen thank you very much.” As if that makes a difference. I’ve always been short. It doesn’t really help in crowds or anything else for that matter.

“Well, you look like a little girl to me. You can’t be more than five and a half feet tall.” He laughs, a real laugh, and I revel in it for two seconds before I glare at him.

“Damn, if looks could kill, I’d be safe in a room with you.” I huff angrily at his insults.

“What are you doing in my room?” At this point, I want him out of my room no matter how beautiful he may be. Part of me squawks at the idea of him leaving my sight.

“To be honest, that should’ve been your first question. Since you’re new, and I was bored, I decided to see who is occupying the room that just so happens to be beside my own.” I think I just lost my jaw. It’s probably on the floor beneath me but I don’t have the motivation to look.

“You have to be joking. Are there other available rooms?” He leers at the tone of my voice.

“Not any with beds in them. And don’t try to move yours, they’re screwed into the floor. Ophelia didn’t want anyone trying to block the door.” Great, just great. I’m stuck in a house full of crazy kids for two years with no way out.

“Well, little girl, I can’t say it was a pleasure meeting you or anything like that, but my name is Salem.”