The first thing I could smell when I woke was smoke. It was always smoke, even though it had been a year since the smoke had clouded my lungs and I watched everyone and everything I’d ever loved die before my very eyes.

It was a dream. Or so I tried to tell myself.

I opened my eyes to the same room I had been living in for eleven months. White walls, little furnishings, and nothing sharp in sight. The bed next to mine on the other side of the room was pristinely made and barren of life. While I’d had a few roommates scattered here and there throughout my time here, I was usually alone- and for that, I was grateful.

The last roommate I had- her name was Eleanor or Eloise or something- had tried to choke me to death due to a nightmare on her first night here. I had barely been able to press the emergency button beside my bed in time, and I almost lost consciousness when I saw the nurse open the door. It was not too fond of a memory I liked to look back on often, much like the rest of my life since the day of the fire.

I lethargically got out of bed and dressed quickly. Once I was ready, I stared at the red light on the wall and waited for the door to unlock. The light flickered to green, and I scampered out before it locked back shut again thirty seconds later. I breathed out a small sigh of relief, knowing what it was like to not get out in time. No meals, no socializing, no way to tell whether it was day or night until it unlocked the next morning. It was not a mistake that I wanted to make ever again.

I began on the trek down to the dining hall. Looking at the freshly painted walls, I realized that this was the second time they had been painted in a week. Some less-than-okay girl probably snuck the markers out from the common room again. Typical of Hanson’s to cover any imperfections immediately.

When my parents died in the fire, my only living relative was a distant aunt on my mothers side, apparently. I’d never met her before, and I still haven’t. She was named Adaline or Agatha or something along those lines, and she was rich. Like, I-could-buy-your-entire-life rich. That’s how I ended up at Hanson’s, an all-girls psychiatric hospital in the middle of nowhere that looked more like a preppy private school.

Their uniforms didn’t look like scrubs or hospital gowns, they were black-collared shirts and khaki skirts with tights and Mary Jane’s. Therapy was called class. Doctors and nurses were teachers and assistants. To the parents, it looked classy, established.

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To us, it’s all fake. It’s a façade.

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Breakfast was the same every morning; two eggs, made however you preferred, a slice of toast, and organic orange juice (or water, for the ones who couldn’t handle the acidity). There was also the mandatory side of pills on the side of everyone’s plates, in different colors and sizes depending on each girl’s diagnoses.

I popped the pale pink pill into my mouth first, then the blue gel one, and finally the small white one, chasing each of them with a gulp of juice. After my plate was cleared, I waited with the rest of my class to be dismissed. Everyone sitting among me was talking or laughing with their friends, everyone but me- and one other girl. Facing away from me, she had her head tilted nearly into her barely-eaten breakfast. Her black hair was so long it nearly touched the bench she was sitting on. I hadn’t seen her around before, maybe she was new?

My thoughts were interrupted by the first warning bell, the signal for everyone to gather their trays. We all stood, forming a single-file line for each row of benches and took our turns depositing our trays before lining up at the doors. I stood at the door leading into the north corridor, as my first class was a small-group therapy session where we were supposed to talk about our feelings and whatnot. It was one of my least favorites of the six classes I had to take here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the new girl standing a few spots behind me just as the door opened and we were ushered out into the hallway. A girl in front began to walk faster until she was sprinting, rushing towards one of the few emergency exits. This kind of thing wasn’t unusual, but I typically wasn’t around to witness it. Now’s my chance, my heart screamed, now’s my chance to get out.

No, my logic kicked in, there’s too many people around for it to work, As fast as it started, it had ended. Two assistants had tackled the girl to the floor, and a stretcher was quickly brought in. This was routine; when one of the students has an outburst, they get sent to the hospital for a few days and, depending on the offense, are sometimes sent somewhere not as nice as Hanson’s.

I heard a snicker from behind me, and I turned to see the new girl. She was petite, and her features indicated that she was eastern Asian. But the look in her eyes… she was one of the girls who lacked empathy, who lacked any sort of feeling in their cold hearts. At least I understood why she was here now.

The final bell rang, and the unoccupied assistants hurried us to our next classes. So much drama, so much chaos, and the day had only just begun.

I couldn’t wait for more.