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Aug. 11th, 2012 07:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slow_burnAiden didn't want to be here.
That was the point, though, wasn't it? That none of them did. That was the entire reason all of them had to get locked up at night to prevent from escaping, or fraternizing, or--whatever. They were guarded.
Really, this place wasn't much different from juvie. Sure, he could spend a few hours outside (which he did) or make friends (which he didn't) easier, but it was all the same. Locks and chains. Click, click, click.
Room, medication, therapy, blah blah blah blah. So, no. Aiden didn't want to be here, sitting in the office of a counselor he's never really met, slumping in the chair with his hair pushed back and staying there. He'd been far too busy staring at a spot in the floor to give a shit when the other entered, though his bitten nails are tapping against the arm of the chair, an invisible beat in his head. Eventually, his gaze moves forward.
It's the pug one, he realizes. The 30-something with the wholesome face and the all american smile, not-too-short and not-too-tall. Easy on the eyes, at least--beat the hell out of the overweight imbecile who took care of group therapy, anyway.
"Hi," He greets suddenly, speaking first. "I'm Aiden. I've improved over the last few weeks because I didn't hit anyone." He had, he just hadn't been caught. "I've taken all of my medication." He'd made sure to throw it back up as soon as he could. "And I feel like I've treated my fellow peers and my doctors with respect." He'd called Tracy a fat whore and had nearly made her cry. Still, lying was going to get him out of this quicker.
That was the point, though, wasn't it? That none of them did. That was the entire reason all of them had to get locked up at night to prevent from escaping, or fraternizing, or--whatever. They were guarded.
Really, this place wasn't much different from juvie. Sure, he could spend a few hours outside (which he did) or make friends (which he didn't) easier, but it was all the same. Locks and chains. Click, click, click.
Room, medication, therapy, blah blah blah blah. So, no. Aiden didn't want to be here, sitting in the office of a counselor he's never really met, slumping in the chair with his hair pushed back and staying there. He'd been far too busy staring at a spot in the floor to give a shit when the other entered, though his bitten nails are tapping against the arm of the chair, an invisible beat in his head. Eventually, his gaze moves forward.
It's the pug one, he realizes. The 30-something with the wholesome face and the all american smile, not-too-short and not-too-tall. Easy on the eyes, at least--beat the hell out of the overweight imbecile who took care of group therapy, anyway.
"Hi," He greets suddenly, speaking first. "I'm Aiden. I've improved over the last few weeks because I didn't hit anyone." He had, he just hadn't been caught. "I've taken all of my medication." He'd made sure to throw it back up as soon as he could. "And I feel like I've treated my fellow peers and my doctors with respect." He'd called Tracy a fat whore and had nearly made her cry. Still, lying was going to get him out of this quicker.
