Rowan's Window (Open)

A rainy day. Rainy days were the best kinds of days because one could snuggle up inside with a nice blanket and a good book or movie, a bowl of popcorn or a healthy fruit bar in hand, the incredulous thought of lounging about not just today, but for weeks on end, for the rest one's life... It was nearly impossible to avoid being at least a little lazy on a rainy day. When going outside is just not an attractive offer, why not remain cooped up indoors, enjoying the atmosphere of a comfortably decorated home that one would normally not spend much time in, because of all the errands and come-ups and obligations that are always so ever-present in the life of a human being. Why not sit around like a sack of potatoes, letting one's stresses and tires out like a spirit at rest passing on into the green fields and blue skies of the Great Beyond? It all sounds so inviting that one might even hope for that rainy weekend day, a chance to get away from it all by staying with oneself for a change. Who needs friends? Who needs family? Hell, who needs people when you have yourself to keep company?

A slender, pale hand touched the flawless glass surface of a regular-sized window, complete with white cross-design paneling and matching wind blinds all wound up at the very tip-top. A string dangled down in the face of a rather attractive-looking young man, his youthful eyes following the small piece of plastic at the end as it swung back and forth, back and forth. The hand pressed against the clear surface slowly slid down the length of the window until it met a windowsill, where it momentarily grasped the edge before falling anti-climatically down to the young man's side. Perched like a bird, Rowan Campbell averted his gaze from the hypnotic blinds-bauble to the outside world just behind this thin length of glass. Of course, this was certainly not the outside world Rowan knew; it was only a slight pocket of space, kept nice and tidy for all the patients of Rowan's home, the Belkane Asylum. Vines and climbing flowers crawled up stone walls out in the Belkane Central Courtyard, threatening to invade the crisp, clean, perfect white wonderland on the inside. Rowan watched as a bird dipped its beak into the pleasantly refreshing surface of a bird's bath. A butterfly quietly fluttered from flower to flower, taking shelter under awnings and decorative wooden overhangs. A steady mist of rain poured down upon the entire scene, making the Courtyard seem more like an enchanted garden right out of a Disney fairy-tale. Rowan half-expected Snow White to erupt from one of the sturdy white doors nearby, bursting out in a chipper tune about forest critters and happy dwarves.

But, of course, that could never happen. This was real life. A look of irritation came across Rowan's face. "Yeah, I know. I'm allowed to have my own thoughts, aren't I?" There was a short pause between this random statement and the next to come. "Sometimes, I'm just not so sure. I'd like to just keep to myself a little right now. It's a rainy day." A smile crept onto Rowan's face, like some great secret had just dawned on him. It was his day to bask in the gloomy light of the clouded sky outside, watching the rain drops patter against the smooth grey cobblestone of the Courtyard. This rainy day was good enough, even if he did feel a bit cramped in this perfect, clean white room.

Suddenly, a ringing filled the room, breaking Rowan's pleasant moment at his single Window He responded almost akin to a robot, as if this course of action was all too familiar. Even though he had only been here no more than two months, Rowan Campbell had been quickly made immune to any surprises Belkane had to offer. The same thing happened every day for Rowan. He awoke, he dressed, he chatted with Liam, he visited his Window, he went to lunch, he chatted again, he returned to his room, he took a nap, he went to dinner, and he slept. It was not as if he were a prisoner to some sort of schedule here at the Belkane Asylum. No, Rowan had just learned to enjoy monotony. Not having to worry about unexpected occurrences, just going with the natural flow and rhythm of the next day ahead. When something out of the ordinary did happen, however... well, Rowan could not help but resist poking his nose into business. Such as last week, when the latest arrivals appeared on Belkane's doorstep. Among them, Rowan had befriended a well-enough young lady named Addison Green. Sure, she was a little unstable, but who at a mental institution wasn't unstable.

Rowan threw on a light white fleece jacket and straightened his clothes after spot-checking himself in the mirror. Then, he crossed the threshold of his room and headed down the hallway for the cafeteria.

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Swaddled in layers of clothing, bundled tightly against the slight chill of the ward's ventilation system and the damp chill from the rain, Wren hunched in the chair provided near the door of his room and quietly looked out the window on the far side of his room. For now he was enjoying the relative solitude of a quiet afternoon that was only occasionally punctuated by nurses making their rounds. His little room was sparse but made comfortable with small additions like a few colorful comforters he had brought from home and a neat little stack of notebooks and sketchbooks on the table provided for him. A scattering of bright origami critters and small paper balls covered the rest of the table and windowsill, adding little spots of color to the otherwise stark room.

For the time being, Wren's china-boned hands were still. A flat square of cherry red paper rested on his knees and provided a bright spot against the muted colors of his sweats, a little blink of life in the quiet room. Tired violet eyes watched the rain patter against the leaves and branches of the foliage in the courtyard, then closed as he tried to tune out all noises except for the comfortable tapping sound of water against his windowpane. He has woken up sobbing and screaming again early this morning, his dreams viciously against his pleas for rest last night, and he hadn't been able to truly rest since then. Everything in his body ached from stress and his stomach was sour from the adjustment to a new living arrangement. The IV taped into his wrist that pumped his wasted body full of nutrients was itchy and uncomfortable, and the stand that held the bulging bag of fluid felt like a ball and chain.

His attempt to find some solace was cut short by a sudden twinge of itchiness at the site of his IV bandage. He sighed and gingerly rubbed at the wrapping, giving up on the new origami craft and setting the paper off to his side. He wasn't going to feel any better if he kept sitting here in dim light being upset about his inability to sleep. His chair scraped softly against the floor as he turned it towards the door, facing the hallway so he could watch people better. A few moments passed and he scooted his chair out further into his doorway, tucking his jacket tighter against him and balancing a sketchpad on his lap so he could doodle aimlessly to pass the time. Perhaps he could have a decent afternoon after all.

As soon as he passed the open archway out of his living quarters, Rowan detected something amiss. Like a sort of remembrance of something he had forgotten. Finding himself standing completely still in the middle of the hallway, blocking all of the lunch traffic coming from the other end, Rowan decided he should probably duck back in his room and try to find what he had left. Not wasting a moment, Rowan stormed back into his room, moving over to his bedside table and pulling out the drawer. There were a few scraps of paper with frivolous writing on them; letters to parents, a letter to a friend... For a few moments, Rowan stood staring down at the letter to a friend, trying to make out the writing from here. With sudden interest, Rowan picked up the sheet of notebook paper, and began reading it for the fourth time today. The teenager took a moment to sit down on his bed, propping himself up against the headboard. The letter was from a boy named Nate Willow, someone Rowan had met online a few weeks back. When he had transitioned to living at Belkane, Rowan had been forced to resume his conversations with Nate in the form of old-fashioned, hand-written letters. He also had done his best to keep Nate under the suspicion that his computer had just been taken from him by his strict parents, rather than that his parents had decided he was crazy and sent him to live in a mental asylum.

That was not to say that Rowan hated it at Belkane; it was all well and good and plain and simple. It was just a bit cramped. So, Rowan's single connection to the outside world was Nate Willow. At least, he kept it that way. Newspaper floated around the living quarters like sleeping pills did, but Rowan would usually just hand it down to the next room. Nothing in current news truly interested the teenager, just as it never had even before he had arrived at Belkane. Now Nate... he was interesting. And he definitely interested Rowan. There was something about the kid that Rowan was drawn to. He was irresistible. The way he dotted his i's, the way his character shone through his words in the form of little off-to-the-side scribbles and parentheses'd phrases interjected here and there randomly. He was an addiction Rowan could not break. Rather than spend a lot of his time conversing with the other crazies, whom Rowan found to be a bit too unstable at times, the teenager often carried Nate's letters with him, pulling them out and reading them when he felt bored or sad. It was like calling a friend to Rowan. He did it when he needed someone to consult, even if he knew he would get no reply with every passing reading.

Rowan pulled the letter to his chest, closing his eyes for a little while, before neatly folding it back and slipping it into the sleeve of his jacket. With a satisfying nod, as if Rowan had just figured out what he had forgotten, the boy finally left his room and headed down the hallway for the cafeteria. By this point, just about everyone had left their rooms vacant, so that Rowan found himself almost completely alone in the quiet, perfectly white hallway. It had the feeling of a doctor's office and a school dormitory all at the same time. It felt like there was an authority about, constantly watching and testing you. And hell, with all the cameras all over the place, Rowan was positive he was being watched. But if someone were to look at this hallway, they would only find Rowan and a thin young man seven or eight rooms down. It was not unusual for someone to stay back, and it was mandatory for residents of Belkane to go to lunch. It was just assumed that most patients would, having been cramped up in their living quarters or grouped with people they do not know or do not wish to know.

As Rowan neared the other man in the hallway, he vaguely recalled seeing him around here before. When you spent every waking moment of your life in a building, peoples' faces stuck, even if you had never personally wondered who they were or spoke to them. This young man... his name started with an 'R' sound... Randall? Rowdy? Ross? Reno? It didn't really matter. Rowan was just going to lunch. But, somewhere in his mind he wondered why this guy wasn't going to. Then it dawned on him; as Rowan was just about to pass the man, he saw the IV pump, hanging behind the man in his chair behind him, attached to his arm with bandage. Though he felt sorry for him, Rowan was not surprised; he was extremely thin, emaciated-looking even. Trying not to stare, Rowan passed, unaware of the folded sheet of paper that fell from his pants-pocket at the seated man's feet.

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As the minutes ticked by and the hallway remained devoid of life, Wren's absent-minded doodles slowly took hold of his concentration. Amidst the little swirls and random designs he had scribbled were a few recognizable objects such as birds and a little sketch of a black cat, but the lower half of the page morphed into something darker. His dreams from the night before were still churning about uncomfortably in his head, and it seemed to him that the only way to try and free himself of them was to draw the most prominent scenes in fluid detail. He saw it as a mental blood-letting of sorts. Bleed out the bad images and poisoned thoughts in an attempt to clean his mind's eye.

The image that ended up scrawled across the page depicted a hallway not wholly unlike the one he sat in now, but certain areas were crammed with piles of junked chairs and debris, the doorways darkened or locked tightly, with no windows to be found. Wren scribbled and erased, then scribbled in again a strange figure halfway hidden by shadows, creeping from a hole in the ceiling. This faceless beast was thin in appearance, but contorted and leanly muscled. Wren had no good details to complete him with, the exception being the monster's misshapen hands that clung to the wall. Wren made a slight face at the image he had just completed, wondering how he could have dreamt of something so unsettling and wondering what it meant. He would have to ask his therapist about it later. It probably had to do with stress or the fact that his brain was most likely eating itself.

His scrunched-up expression smoothed out as his attention was diverted to the sound of patients milling about as they headed towards the cafeteria for some sort of wholesome lunch. He could smell the aromas of whatever had been made today as it drifted through the hallways, but it didn't move him in the slightest. He had no desire to lug his stupid tether and stand into the cafeteria just so he could people watch as the other patients chewed with their mouths open and jabbered, so he could push something around on his plate and witness the inevitable temper tantrum that would happen to some poor fragile soul because their sandwich was cut in half the wrong way. He sighed and leaned back in his uncomfortable little chair, cracking his neck and rubbing the base of his skull after sitting hunched over his crazy doodles for as long as he had. The one thing that sucked about being this thin was that he got tired and sore too easily, and more often than not he'd accidentally knock his elbows or hips or shins against some stupid wall or table and it would nearly send him to the floor from the reverberating pain. He had learned to wear more layers to add safety padding. Oh well, maybe he'd gain back enough weight to go back to his previous existence. He just wasn't looking forward to the diet and exercise regiments again to get himself back in shape. Like anyone, he wanted the rewards without the blood, sweat, and tears to get there.

The hallway eventually cleared out and resumed its white quietness, with the exception of one last late soul padding his way down the hall. His footsteps sounded loud in the relative silence they found themselves in now, and Wren glanced at him with mild curiosity. The boy was young, probably still in high school. Poor kid, having to stay here when he could have been enjoying time with friends and the freedom of the high school life. He wondered what landed the boy here, but brushed off the thought of it being anything too violent, like schizophrenia. Probably depression, but who knew. It was hard not to be depresses in a place like this. He ducked his head modestly as the boy came closer, not wanting to be that creep who stared at lone strangers as they passed, but glanced at him every so often with mild interest. He attempted to doodle a little more, but his concentration was lost and his thoughts were elsewhere.

A soft fluttering sound and movement caught his attention and he looked curiously in the direction of the boy's receding back, noticing a folded piece of paper forlornly left on the floor. With a little effort and manuevering so he wouldn't yank on his IV, he knelt to pick up the paper and glance at the contents. Neat script greeted him as he carefully folded it again and looked up. The boy was still within earshot.

"Hey!" He called out, but his voice was soft and a little hoarse from disuse, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey! I think you dropped your paper!" He stood there with his hand outstretched, thin fingers holding the letter out towards the young man's back, feeling more than a little foolish with that stupid IV stand behind him, gloating about his nutritional problems at the whole world of this hallway to see.

From somewhere behind his stride, Rowan heard the frail yelp of a voice calling after someone in Rowan's direction. Letting his eyes daze ahead of him for fear that this mystery person was calling after someone else, Rowan realized both that the mystery person was calling after him (since the hallway was absolutely deserted) and that the mystery person must be the delicate young man attached to the IV Rowan had just passed. Stopping in place for a few moments, Rowan prepared to make contact. This was always a bit of a hardship for Rowan nowadays; sure, he could talk to his regulars fine in the cafeteria, so much so that they even held a few spots in his daily schedule: "chat". But that did not really matter. Rowan still did not enjoy talking to people outside of his comfort zone. The teenager could have all the curiosity in the world directed toward some poor soul trapped in Belkane like himself, and never speak to him simply because it might make Rowan uncomfortable. Here in Belkane, you needed all the comfort in the world. It was not a prison, but it was certainly lonely and lacking the personable quality of the outside world designed for humans and animals without serious deficiencies, people unlike Rowan and the others.

With a heaving sigh, Rowan turned to face the young man sitting awkwardly in his knobby chair, a notepad sitting in his lap and an arm that lapped hungrily from the IV that loomed behind him, much like some sort of spectral creature feeding off of the young man more than he of it. Rowan felt abnormal, standing here and staring at this clearly troubled young man. A rush of sympathy passed over Rowan that made him almost forget why he was staring at him in the first place. Almost. "Hi there." Rowan spoke simply, eyeing the man up and down before noticing a small slip of paper clenched in his bony, thin-fingered hand. He was pale. Very pale. An idea hit Rowan that maybe this man was suffering much more than Rowan or more than half of Belkane's other patients. His body looked so... wrung out. Like the IV behind him had strung him out and drained his body of its natural fluids.

Rowan erased these thoughts from his mind, not wanting to start being obnoxious and asking rude questions, and stared down at the sheet of paper in the man's hand. Vaguely, he remembered having a paper that looked much like it. Feeling the back pocket in which he kept his pen-pal's letter, it dawned on Rowan that the very letter he cherished so much had fallen from his pocket and this young man had retrieved it, using his obviously lacking energy to give it back to Rowan almost immediately. If he had read it, he must have read it fast. Chances were, the young man had picked it up and offered it back without any sort of mischief at all. How noble...

"Is that mine?" Rowan asked simply, and now that he had opened his trap, there was no stopping the curiosity. "Why are you so thin?"

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Wren noted with some relief and a slight releasing of his tense shoulders when the boy who was quickly widening the distance between them heard his embarrassingly dry yelp for attention and turned around. Nearly as quickly as the young man had passed, he returned and responded with a cheery "hi". Once again Wren offered the dog-eared and creased letter to the boy, a polite but tired smile tugging at his lips as he nodded a greeting in response.

"Yeah, I reckon it is, as it fell out of your pocket." Wren's smile faltered slightly as he shrugged and handed the paper back, noticing in the moment during the transfer just how drastic the difference between their hands were. His brittle fingers looked as if they were made fine china and stretched over with parchment paper, while the boy's hand held a healthy color and muscles that filled out the frame beneath with plenty of strength and dexterity. He had been noticing hands lately, and for once the stark differences between the physically healthy and those ill like him were noticeable to him. Hands told a story about whoever they belonged to, and this young man before him was no different.

This young man seemed gentle enough, but appearances were often deceiving in this place. Wren shrunk back slightly into his chair, absently tugging at his sleeve to hide the IV entry, despite it being far too late to hide that ugly reminder of his nutritional shame. He was not so keen on being studied and sized up, but the look of childlike curiosity and something like sympathy that the boy wore made his blatant staring a little more forgivable. The next question that blurted from the boy's mouth was sudden and almost unexpected; Wren half-coughed, half laughed in immediate response. This boy seemed to have the social filter of a five year old, yet oddly enough he found it refreshing. Aside from his therapist, people hummed and hawed about what they saw and thought and tried to file their reactions away behind polite behavior.

"Uhm... well. It's mainly all up here." Wren tapped his head with his untethered arm, smiling wearily at the young man. "Clinical name is Anorexia Nervosa, but I got tagged with a few other self-destructive terms as well. It all kinda works together, I guess, and I turned into this after convincing myself that I can't eat." He shrugged and glanced up at the boy again, hands settling in his lap once again and nearly hiding his sketches beneath.
"I'm Wren, by the way. What's your name? And what brings someone so bright and lively to a place like this?"

The extremely thin patient's words filtered through Rowan's mind, registering with him as he connected the explanation to the patient's features. Anorexia was a condition that flew from mouth to mouth around Rowan's old high school, before he had been brought to Belkane by his mother and father; before Liam had become something of a problem. High school girls were always complaining about not being thin enough and just as many, as well some of the same, girls would complain about others being too thin. "Ew! Look at Britney, she's, like, fucking anorexic! I mean, you can be skinny, and then you can be that!" It was funny how teenage girls would just as easily comment negatively about thin, healthy women as they would curvy, also healthy women. High school was a rough world of social evil and the only way to climb the ladder of popularity was to be attractive. Working out couldn't always make you attractive in the eyes of the higher ranking "born-attractives". Typically fit cheerleaders and buff jocks. Just as being attractive is important to popularity in high school, intelligence is proportionately unattractive. A kid like this would have been eaten alive at Rowan's old high school. And then a hurtful joke would be made about eating in general.

For a moment, Rowan gave Wren the look anyone would had they been informed of his anorexia. Then, Rowan swiped that look off his face. That look was for outsiders looking in on the patients. Rowan would not stoop down to that level, where people were looked down upon with a justification of sympathy, that giving such a look displayed genuine care. No, that look was a formality, and Rowan would not stand to use it on someone else, as others would use on him when he spoke to Liam. But, he would sympathize in his own way. "It's better than being dead. Though I actually thought you were before you said something." A small smile passed Rowan's expression as he regarded Wren with some manner of respect. "The name's Rowan. And, I'm not usually this bright. I think I just have nothing better to do here, and I've lost a lot of my old personality. Probably a good thing, I was an ass." Rowan's own personal chuckle escaped his lips with that one; it was more for himself than Wren anyways.

Rowan caught Wren trying to hide the IV in his arm, and decided the best of it. "I'm off to lunch. Has that thing filled you up, or do you want to come with me?" He offered his hand to the boy, not entirely sure if he could actually accompany him, but willing to at least extend the same pleasantries to someone in better condition. If anything, Rowan mused that he could try to bring his lunch back.

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