Welcome To Brookside

Ok...so I created a group story a while ago. Well..I created the sign-ups that is. Finally getting it posted so yeah! sorry to everyone who's in the story for taking so long! and to see character list then click on this link!


Chapter 3

Brookside Mental Hospital And The Time I Cried

The voices wouldn’t stop. The constant flashbacks, but not anything I’d seen before. It was all so overwhelming and made my head pound. I was sitting in the front seat of the car, head against the window as I listened to the pounding of the rain against the glass, trying to get rid of my headache. Today was the day. Today, for me, Christopher James Thomson, though I didn’t know it yet, everything was going to change. Mother glanced over at me with concern.

“Feeling alright?” she asked. I sighed and closed my eyes in response. “Didn’t think so…” she muttered. Inside my head were the never-ending cries of others, the speaking of things that weren’t happening. The whispering slowly grew louder, though I couldn’t make out what any of the voices were saying until I heard just three words. ‘Brookside Mental Hospital.’ Instantly, my eyes snapped open and I sat up with a quick gasp. My mum glanced at me with wide eyes. “What is it, what’s wrong?” she questioned with clear worry in her voice. My eyes darted over to look at her.

“Mum…” I muttered, biting my lower lip. “Where’re we, uh… Where’re we going?” I asked nervously. She looked back at the road with a stern expression, but calm.
“The grocery, darling,” she responded simply. I glanced out the window, watching as we passed the grocery store. I knew where we were really going, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“We… We passed it,” I mumbled, touching a hand to the window. “Where’re we going?” I repeated with a bit more worry. My mother was silent and I looked over at her in fear. I knew. And it terrified me. “Where are we going?” I demanded again. She didn’t respond. Looking back out the window, I saw the sign for ‘Brookside Mental Hospital’ and panicked. “You promised…” I murmured, voice breaking. “You promised me you wouldn’t.” The car slowed to a stop and I looked at Mum again with terror and confusion. “You promised!” I shouted.

“It’s for your own good,” she snapped, refusing to look at me. I shook my head in disbelief, mouth hanging open with utter shock.
“But you said… You said after Daddy-”

“I know what I said, but now this is necessary. I’m sorry,” she replied quickly. I swallowed hard, my pounding heart making the headache all the worse.

“You said it was normal…”

“The clothing, darling, but when you told me about-”

“I thought I could tell you anything, but instead you… You lied. You… Why?” A tear slipped down my cheek, but I ignored it. I’d been to a mental hospital before, long ago, back in Northampton. I was just a boy then and my father had been abusing me in every way imaginable. When I tried to tell Mum, Dad merely sent me off to the mental hospital; made me seem insane in a number of ways. Not that I wasn’t already, being physically and mentally abused did that to you. As soon as my mother found out about the trick, we ran away, taking my brother Scott with us.

“You remember what they did? When I was a kid, do you remember?” I was now asking my mother as we sat in the car in the parking lot of the Brookside hospital.

“Yes, of course I remember!” she exclaimed, suddenly very obviously frustrated with my unwillingness to go. “That was before you were… Different…” I laughed in irritation and crossed my arms, looking away from her and shaking my head. Before I was different? I’d always been this way…


“Well what?” I snapped.

“You’ve changed! You’ve changed, Christopher.”

“Me?” I glared at her. “What about you? You used to be on my side, remember?” I yelled. “You and me, running from everybody else!” I paused. “Running from Dad!” I pressed my lips together tightly, staring at her sternly. “Running from… Anyone who thought I was mad.”

“I know, but now things are different. Without your fa- without your brother-”

“Oh, yeah! There it is!” I rolled my eyes, throwing my hands in the air. She always pulled that one. Used my brother as an excuse.

“It’s hard now! And you’ve shown me that you need help, Christopher! You’ve told me about the voices and I think you might have some sort of stress disorder,” she said through her teeth.

“I’m fine, mother!” I shouted in response. “I’ve had it all my life, it’s not going to change anything to come here now! Just let it go!”

“You’re not fine,” she said automatically.

“What am I going to do when I…” I trailed off, glancing off to the side nervously. I felt tears well in my eyes again and squeezed them shut. “How will I cope?” There were things I did most boys didn’t do. Not that I was gay or something, but… I knew people would just think I’m all the more crazy or simply make fun of me. Not just the nurses… The crazy people would make fun of me. She stared at me for a few moments, a bit of sympathy in her eyes, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “But this is the way it has to be.” I looked down and bit my quivering lip, blinking away petrified tears. I didn’t wanna go back. The first time was Hell and I wasn’t prepared to cope through that again. Course that was a different hospital. A different time, but… I didn’t trust any of them. Mum grabbed a black umbrella from the back seat and got out of the car, extending it in the pouring rain. I furrowed my brows and angrily climbed out of the car, my mother rushing over to cover me with the umbrella. I simply pushed her away, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and walking toward the doors of the tall, spooky-looking building. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. She’d promised I’d never have to go back to one of these places and yet here we were. She betrayed me. Worse, she was going to abandon me. She quickly followed anyhow, sadness in her eyes, for me I suppose and I hoped she felt disappointment in herself, though I couldn’t really tell so easily. All I knew was that she should’ve been ashamed. When we reached the inside of the building, I was soaked and freezing, shivering as I walked over to a chair and took a seat. Mum shook off the umbrella and pulled open the double doors, entering just a while after me. I was already sitting in the waiting room when she stepped inside. She looked over at me and sighed sadly at my dripping wet, trembling form. I was glaring at the floor, legs crossed, a puddle forming on the ground beneath me. My mother walked up to the front desk to sign me in, to explain the situation and leave me there for who knew how long. I didn’t want her to visit after all this. Ever.

The woman at the front desk seemed friendly enough. She was dark-skinned, her long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had a pretty face and a kind smile, her long nails neatly trimmed. She set down some paperwork for my mother to fill out and tapped on it with a smile. “Just go through those for now. Later you and…” She nodded toward me. “I take it that’s your son. Will talk to a counselor; find out where he’s best to be put.”

“Thank you,” Mother replied with a smile. She quickly began filling out the papers, but paused after the first few in realisation. “There are a few things you should know about him, though,” she began telling the woman at the front desk. I perked up at this, glancing up at the two conversing women. I wanted to see how this would go down. “He… Well, I don’t know if it’s normal, but he needs to have-” I quickly stopped her.

“No. I’m fine, mum. I don’t…” I bit my lip nervously. “I’ll be alright.” I sighed, swallowing hard and looking at the floor again. The woman looked from me to her in confusion.

“I’m sorry, is there something I should know?” she asked politely.

“No, if he says he’s fine...” She sighed. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

My heart pounded in my chest. No I wasn’t fine. Why had I said that? Stopped her from helping me? There was no way I was going to be fine. I wasn’t going to be able to cope, not without… How could I survive here? I couldn’t. That was the truth. There was no way she could make me stay here. I stood, about ready to bolt out the doors. I was 19, she couldn’t make my decisions for me anymore. I was an adult.

“I’m so sorry…” she breathed, noticing that I’d stood. I stared at her for just a few moments before dashing for the doors. The woman at the desk stood quickly and pressed a small button on the desk, calling in a few of the heavy built, male nurses that worked there. They quickly came in and rushed toward me just as I was reaching for the door handle. Grabbing me from under the arms, they began dragging me back inside. I screamed and struggled, clawing and kicking, but to no avail. They had me. And now, I was going to be in the mental hospital. For a very long time.

As they dragged me past the nurse at the front desk, I caught a glimpse of her sympathetic face and heard her say softly, in an almost soothing tone,

“Welcome to Brookside, Mr. Thomson.”

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