* take the white pill (OPEN)

[LILLIAN AIMEE MOORE]

lillian aimee moore

the sun had been setting for what seemed like endless amounts of time, casting it's burnt orange glow on the walls and causing shadows of everything in its path. looking out the window, the grounds of stanfield boarding school were illuminated, and in the distance lillian could see the top of the abandoned warehouse, the rest blocked by the main building that stood in front. lily's gaze rested on the building, and wished vainly that she could be in her block right now, writing some music and singing along to it. if she wasn't out partying or hanging out with her beloved friends, lillian would be found in the arts block. she loved that block, and the more time she spent there the more realistic her dream seemed. her dream was pretty much a simple one: she wished to have a band of her own, a band which would eventually become famous and well known around the world. however, lillian's childhood in care and her stay at stanfield had squashed her dream into nothing more than fantasy; something she'd never achieve. yet despite the tiny probability of ever succeeding with her goal, she'd continued on practicing singing and writing music, constantly improving the pieces she'd already wrote. lillian was determined to be the best, so she tried to forget about everything else except for focusing on escaping from stanfield. but if she didn't take her medication, then she wouldn't be allowed to leave. yet lily constantly refused to take her meds, and boy did it show. and ironically that was what today's meeting with the counsellor had been about.

lillian tended to bunk her therapy sessions and hide either in the arts block or her dormitory. unfortunately for her these weren't very original hiding places, so she was often found and dragged to her meeting within ten minutes of being absent. she was yet to learn to find a different hiding place. after all, it had to be somewhere where she could play music or drink. the three hours she'd spent in the therapy room had given her plenty of time to think, thus only coming up with one new hiding place. she almost chuckled out loud at her lack of muse, but thought better of it. any noise erupting from her mouth would result in one thousand and one questions from her counsellor, and god forbid should that man ever shut the fuck up. thankfully for him she was in a good phase of her bipolar, so she wasn't feeling violent and aggressive to anyone who spoke more than three words to her. this therapy session had been one of the most draining she'd ever experienced. the main problem had been her constant skipping of sessions and her refusal to take any form of medication, whether it was her prescribed meds or simply pain relief for a stomach ache. the questions that had been aimed at her were pointless and a complete waste of time. lillian hadn't hesitated before telling her counsellor that, and she'd only been asked another twenty questions in various forms about "why she felt that way". there was only so much she could take before cracking, and the counsellors knew this very well. that was how they managed to get so many students talking about their problems: asking thousands of questions, or as many as they needed before getting their answers.

she had been slumped in the same wooden chair for three hours (another way of getting students to talk) and her back ached like hell. her ankles were crossed, pulling her black skinnies tight against the lower part of her legs. as usual she wore her normal attire: a band tee, and a warm, comfortable hoody. her hands were tucked deep into her hoodie pockets, clutching onto her cell phone that kept vibrating every now and again. unfortunately she couldn't answer her texts as the counsellor would take her phone. last time she text during a session he'd threatened to confiscate her phone for a week. she'd scoffed at the time but was well aware he wasn't bluffing. counsellors were bastards. lillian had spent the last thirty minutes sitting in silence, ignoring the counsellors questions and staring past his head out the window. his questions had become repetitive, and lily had chosen to block him out and wait for her dismissal. thankfully, salvation came early with the noise of a fight breaking out in the corridor outside the therapy room. the counsellor had rushed out, only to pop his head back in the door and say "stay put, i'll be back as soon as i can," before scampering away. she sighed, the first sound she'd made in hours, and stretched her legs. they clicked and she winced slightly at the sound. the counsellor must have known she wouldn't stay put, after all what teenager listened to rules in this hell hole? stretching her arms she stood up, reaching to grab her ipod off the desk. it had been confiscated from her the minute she'd been forced through the door.

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CREDIT; moi
STATUS; finished
TAG; open
WORDS; 849
COMMENTS; don't be put off by the length, please XD

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[OLIVER JAMES STANLEY]

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Loud noises. There wasn't really any need, was there? He didn't look at them. He would have glared at the shouting boy, but he was too terrified of what might come of it as a result. He despised the violent inmates here. But he was terrified of them too, what they were capable of. He'd heard a few stories. Every violent in the place was put here because someone one the outside has been beaten, or mutilated, or is six feet under out there. Because of them. It was sick.

"I hate them, Belle. I really do."

"I know. I'm here, Ollie, I'm here."

A tiny smile appeared on the boy's chapped, pale lips at the girl's whispers. She was scared they'd hear her too. They were always on the same page. Never disagreed. She'd never let him down, ever. Literally soul mates. The world was so jealous. He was the happiest, luckiest boy in the world, and they rained on his parade.

THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH HIM.

Absolutely, completely, nothing wrong. He was fine, he was happy - he was so fucking happy before all this. There were no words. Everything was so perfect. Too good to be true. Which was ironic, because now everyone's telling him his perfect world, his perfect girl, it isn't true. Except it's bullshit.

He held her hand tightly. It was warm, small and smooth. Perfect like the rest of her. A vibrant pulse in her wrist, boom-boom boom-boom boom-boom boom-boom, hummingbird-fast because she's scared of the maniacs. She was so, so real.

"Come on, Belle," he cooed gently, standing up. He pulled the girl to her feet, planted a kiss on her nose and opened the door they'd be waiting outside for the best part of an hour. There was no harm in waiting for Mr. Prickface in the office while he sorted out the freaks outside.
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[LILLIAN AIMEE MOORE]

just as her hand closed around the smooth casing of her ipod, the office door swung open and startled her. she hadn't been expecting the counselor to be back so quickly! dropping the ipod into her hoodie pocket she turned around, ready to argue her case and run if necessary. however, standing in the doorway was someone she was not expecting to see. titling her head to the side, lillian ran through all the names and faces of inmates in her head before settling on the right one. despite the fact lily hated a lot of people - and a lot of people hated her - she knew her way around the asylum, and was more than capable of breaking into the records room (or attempting to hack their computer system) to find out exactly who had done what. and this boy standing in front of her was a real nutjob. a small smile spread across her face as she lent onto the desk behind her, and crossed her arms, casually observing the boy.

his arm was out at a slightly awkward angle, and from the way his hand was clasped around thin air, lily knew she'd recognised the right person. "oliver," she said pleasantly enough, inclining her head in his direction and attempting to stop the smirk threatening to take over her features. oh, this was going to be so worth the hours she'd spent locked up in this office. the commotion from just beyond the office door suggested that the staff were having no luck whatsoever in controlling the fight. judging from the voices, lily guessed they were inmates from her own clique. it wasn't very unusual to have two violents having it out in the corridor - after all, her clique were notoriously famous for beating the shit out of anyone and anything. however, lily wasn't interested in the fight happening just outside the office; she was more interested in the insane teenager in front of her.

oliver stanley. the only reason lily knew him was from walking in on him talking to thin air. straight away she knew he was a crazy, and from the way he refused to anyone telling him that his girlfriend was a hallucination, he was in deep. like the charming girl she was, lily had proceeded to make his life hell. everytime they passed each other she'd dig at his imaginary girlfriend, severely wind him up, insult him and sometimes she even imitated talking to her own invisible friend. lily was well aware the impact she'd have on the teenage boy, but she didn't really give a shit. if she was stuck in here then she'd make sure everyone regretted their decision of imprisoning her in the first place.

"how's your girlfriend, oliver?" she asked sweetly, "oh wait, my mistake, i forgot you don't have one." another dangerously sweet smile crossed her face.

WORDS; 479. COMMENTS; woooo.

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[OLIVER JAMES STANLEY]

The colour drained from the boy's face immediately. The redhead was immediately recognisable, were it not for her hair, the malicious delight plastered across her face.

"Oliver."

Infuriatingly civil. It wasn't real; she was awful this way. Deceiving. Nasty. Oliver twitched involuntarily.

"Lillian," he responded tightly, through frozen lips. He wished very much he could simply turn around right now and walk out, but something - perhaps his fear? His pride? - held him in place. Isabelle had fallen completely silent beside him.

He couldn't stand the girl. She was volatile, totally unpredictable. Well, no, that wasn't strictly true. It was always guaranteed she'd hurt you. Just a matter of when, really. A girl like this really could make you insane. Thank God he didn't run into her very often. He couldn't stand her, and he was frightened of her. It wasn't just the things she'd done, the people she had hurt; no, he supposed as long as she never found a razor, he could hold his own. He was gangly, yes, a little on the skinny side, but she wasn't exactly tall in stature. The playing field was somewhat in his favour in that sense. No, he was scared of what came out of the bitch's mouth. And she'd smile like a little angel as she spat out the venom, and it made him sick inside, because she did worse than just hit him, she got inside his head and made him feel like pure shit...

"How's your girlfriend, Oliver?" she was inquiring politely, the expression on her face making Oliver wish very much he had the balls to punch her. "Oh wait, my mistake, I forgot you don't have one."

"Just give her it, Ollie," the tiny girl beside him murmured resignedly. "You know the truth. Just let it go."

He glanced down at her, noticed the unnatural shine to her eyes with a sharp stab of pain. Lillian was hurting her. Why did everybody want to hurt her?

He could have cried himself at that moment. Of course, that would certainly do it. Moore would beat his ego into the dirt for that one. Not terribly inclined to pursue such a fate, the boy rearranged his features into that of apathy and replied - the prospect of which usually far too dangerous to bother with. Only a tear had escaped one of Isabelle's eyes, and that simply wouldn't do.

"Maybe you ought to go pick on somebody else, Lillian," he said quietly. "We don't fight back here. There's a nice, fun looking scuffle out there for you to join in with, if you like."

We are above that, you malicious, nasty little girl, he added silently. He wouldn't dare say that out loud.[/color]

[LILLIAN AIMEE MOORE]

lily instantly saw the effect she had on the younger boy, and her cruel personality kicked in full force. she derived such pleasure from treating others horribly, yet she hadn't been diagnosed with anything concerning sadistic behaviour. no; her nasty habits came from her personality, and how she'd been forced to protect herself when younger. if anything you could blame her personality on the way she'd been brought up, and the unstable childhood she'd had since birth. whatever the reason, lily was a bitch, and loved it. after all, she needed something to pass the days, and torturing others mentally appeared to be the best option. getting into fights also - she was a violent. however, she enjoyed playing mind games more than fighting, purely because she wasn't the strongest person out there.

the very emotionless reply she received made her smile grow, and she straightened up. maybe for once in her life oliver would respond in a more physical way. of course she enjoyed these little conversations with oliver, but sometimes she wished he'd fight back with his fists. even though lily was diagnosed with various violence disorders, the asylum staff wouldn't accept a boy throwing the first punch in a fight with a girl. oh, she really was cruel. one day she'd provoke him into hitting her, but until then she'd continue enjoying the mind games. "you don't sound particularly happy today," she replied, her tone laced with mock concern. an anxious smile appeared on her face, but even lily couldn't hold the facade for long, and her concern quickly faded.

finally,finally, oliver had given her something worthwhile! some days her words would provoke no response, but today wasn't one of these days. she straightened up fully, letting her arms fall to rest on the desk behind her with an eyebrow raised. "but who else could i pick on?! i mean after all oliver, you are one of the craziest people in here, thus the easiest person to pick on," her smile grew dangerous, urging oliver to test her patience. she was in a 'good' phase of her bipolar, but that could change any second. one word could set lily off, and all hell would break loose. and like the sadistic girl she was, she was mentally urging oliver to do just that.

she snorted rather unlady like at his last words, rolling her eyes. "that so called 'scuffle' outside does not interest me. they're probably no more than fifteen years old, not worth my time."

[/color] she dismissed his words, but they both knew that if she'd been outside at the time of the fight breaking out, she would have joined in the fun. "besides, why would i want to join that shambles of a fight, when i have you to talk to."[/color] not being able to stay still, she pulled herself up onto the desk, finally becoming comfortable. resting her arms on her knees, she propped her head up with her hand and repeated her earlier question: "it's rather rude to ignore questions oliver, so i'm going to ask you again. how's your delightful girlfriend?"[/color][/size][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[OLIVER JAMES STANLEY]

Thump thump thump.
Blood surged through his temple, a throbbing, growing ache. If it were to beat any faster, his heart might burst from his chest. Predictably, Moore had gone for the weak spot, the ultimate Achilles' heel. If one thing would chip at the forced composure, Lillian had found it. And she played the card whenever the opportunity presented itself - which was every encounter.

Isabelle uttered the tiniest gasp, and her grip grew tighter around his. The office seemed to have dropped in temperature by about ten degrees.

"I'm not crazy," Oliver said quietly, his muffled words almost incoherent.

He couldn't deal with it.

The madness card. It had been pulled out so many times, far more than he could count, but he still stumbled every single time. It never failed to hit him where it really hurt. He never ceased to react this way, and he knew he'd be in tears tonight, for the life he'd lost, the people who abandoned him because of...

I'm not crazy.

Why did they leave him? He didn't do anything wrong, he...

She didn't understand. She was just a bitch with busy fists, people still had hope for kids like that, they thought maybe, just possibly they could learn to exercise self-control. Employers would probably think, okay, anger management. Not mentally unstable. Kids like him, kids they thought were completely too far gone, what chance in hell did he have? He wanted to be a teacher. Who the fuck would take him now, with this on record?

He was shaking, deaf to even what Isabelle had to say. He didn't hear much else Lillian had to say either; he felt strange, as though he was hearing everything from underwater.

I'MNOTCRAZYI'MNOTCRAZYI'MNOTCRAZY
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[LILLIAN AIMEE MOORE]

lillian had a habit of pushing people too far. she also had a habit of testing people's limits, often to breaking point and beyond. it had become a hobby of hers since joining stanfield, and in her opinion she'd become quite good at it. she was one of those people that could judge a character after a few meetings, and often used that to exploit those she became close with. or in oliver's case, she used information she digged up to make their lives hell. and she knew she made peoples lives hell. she was cruel, sadistic, bitchy. any negative adjective could be used to describe her, and those with balls often threw the phrases around behind her back. of course, lily would always manage to find those people and make them pay.

just with one glance at oliver, lillian knew he'd reached his breaking point. it had taken a while for the girl to work out what exactly made oliver loose his cool - and after she discovered labelling him 'crazy' set him off, she made sure to use it every chance she could. a sly smirk grew on her face at his muffled words, and she sighed impatiently. "speak up oli boy! i didn't quite catch that," she tapped the side of her head, rolling her eyes at the boy who appeared to be losing his mind right in front of her. it was quite funny watching people lose their tempers: for lily it was more entertaining watching inmates from other cliques break down, they were all so different.

however, this time, lily knew she'd pushed her own luck to breaking point. instead of acting rationally and leaving now before all hell broke loose, her bitchy side persuaded her to continue her horrible taunting. oliver appeared to be oblivious to lillian's inquiries about his girlfriends health, and she frowned. she hated it when people didn't co-operate in her mind games. "hey," she raised her voice, snapping her fingers like you would to grab an animals attention. "do i have to come over there to get an answer?" this was it. just from having one question ignored, both her violence disorder and bipolar had kicked in at once.

she stepped down from the desk, moving toward oliver, taking a threatening stance. she once again clicked her fingers, louder this time, and really tempted to get even closer.

eh, started off bad.

[OLIVER JAMES STANLEY]

It wasn't cold anymore. Everything was burning, burning him, burning everything. Something flew across the room. An orange chair, perhaps? Then another. And a clipboard, a stack of paper, which flew in every direction, blinding him. He moved on however, marching around the room with vicious intent, grabbing everything within his reach.

"Ollie--stop! Please!"

What was he doing? He wasn't doing anything.

He glanced at her, at Belle, who seemed terrified. He looked down, noticed the books held in pale, skeletal hands. Oh. Oh. It was like being possessed - possessed by your anger. You didn't even realise. But he couldn't stop now, even with the knowledge it was him that was overturning everything within in his reach. The desire to break, to destroy, overpowered him, forced his legs to move forward, forced his arms to reach for the desk and throw it, overturn it, damage, destroy--

"Ollie!"

He did not hear the cowering girl behind him squeal. Something else crashed against the wall; glass flew everywhere, peppering his face.

"I'M NOT CRAZY!"

A shallow, course gasp of breath between each shriek. He wasn't just screaming the words; he was howling them now, throwing everything, screaming and screaming the same phrase over and over again. Vaguely, something registered dimly as pain as he clawed at his face, tearing at the paper-white skin, wishing to destroy everything, absolutely everything. And Isabelle was screaming no more.

"I'M--"

Crash.

"NOT--"

Crash.

"FUCKING--"

Crash.

"CRAZY."

Everything was blurring in front of his eyes, distorted, and he was suddenly scared and disorientated, weak on his feet, not completely sure what was happening.

Another object met object with the shrill sound of breaking glass. And again, the same chant was repeated in a tone too jagged and harsh to be human.

[LILLIAN AIMEE MOORE]

lily was a violent. being a violent meant she'd seen every single temper tantrum and fight going. christ, she'd participated in half of the fights that occurred within the asylum daily. having several violent disorders and bipolar wasn't a good mix, and made her far more dangerous than some people in her group. imagine lily in a bad phase of her bipolar, and someone manages to piss her off: the consequences would be disastrous. being in the violent group meant witnessing people loose their cool was quite normal for her, and she was no longer surprised when someone would suddenly start yelling, screaming or throwing something. however, for once in a very long time, lily was slightly shocked.

oliver had lost it. no, lily had made oliver loose it. he was a crazy, and lily's stupid mind hadn't bothered processing that fact before using the one word that made the teenage boy quite dangerous, and live up to being in that clique. she was a mere few feet away from oliver when he lashed out, throwing everything he could reach. she jumped back over the desk, moving back wards until she could watch exactly what he was doing from a safe distance. he really had lost it! paper, chairs, clipboards. everything he could get his hands on was being launched across the room. lily knew what it felt like to loose control. it was a magnificent feeling, being controlled by your anger. you just did not think rationally when being possessed by the strong emotion. for lily, it was her choice of drug.

however, her amusement at the scene in front of her soon faded when he started screaming at the top of his lungs, and glass smashed just a few inches away from her face. instantly, the nineteen year old had launched herself back over the desk and grabbed the front of oliver's clothes. just like that she had switched from being cool, to becoming a dangerous young woman. with a firm grip on his shirt, she pushed him back wards until he was up against the closed door. "do you want us to be put in solitary fucking confinement for a week?" she snarled, her face up close to his. "you might want to know that you almost fucking hit me then in the middle of your little temper tantrum." her grip would not slacken, and the more rational side of lily was fading.

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[OLIVER JAMES STANLEY]

Ow, his head. Why did his head hurt? Heat spread across the base of his skull where it had slammed against the wall. The air seemed to clear, become transparent again, and he realised he was being held by something. He realised, vaguely, that Lillian was a lot stronger than he had previously presumed. Possibly not quite as strong as his 6"0 frame permitted, but tough nevertheless. Even if he were able to break the smaller girl's grip, he made no attempt to. He stared at her dazedly, not really comprehending the furious words being spat from the face hovering just inches from his.

"I—sorry. I didn't mean to."

There was something he never thought he'd say. He almost asked her if she was okay, but a mixture of fear and pride held the words back, rendering him silent again. Oliver James Stanley never intentionally harm a woman — be her as insufferable as Lillian or not, he wasn't raised that way. You were scum if you hit a girl. He was sincere; he really was sorry for it. Whether he remembered it specifically ... that was a different story. Might as well apologise, just to be safe; all the evidence pointed to him anyway, he realised, noticing the myriad of cuts across the hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

For a moment he had forgotten his rage; confusion pushed it aside, distracting him from the problem at hand. There were a number of problems: one, the room was totally trashed, and Lilly wasn't about to take the wrap for it. (He wasn't completely sure he'd done it, either; he had no recollection, but nothing else seemed plausible) And two, solitary confinement didn't sound so appealing. He had an issue with solitary. And confined spaces, being just a tiny bit claustrophobic. The name suggested it might be a combination of the two. He'd never really learned the ins and outs of this particular punishment. He had no idea as to what scale 'solitary' meant. His body's response was to panic.

"What is—" he gulped, sweat beading at his forehead. "—is solitary confinement, exactly?"

He had attempted cool, and failed miserably. The panic near enough oozed from his shaking, skinny form. Thank goodness Lillian had him pinned; it had gotten to the point now where he wasn't sure how successful he'd be at standing without aid. He wasn't cut out for the sort of punishment this place offered behind closed doors. There was shock therapy. That didn't really need any clarifying from Lillian; he knew exactly with that comprised of. Knowing his luck, and the fucking biased pricks in this place, he'd earned himself a one way ticket. He'd seen people on TV lose it like this, throw a few things round; everybody had their pressure points. Only, they wouldn't see it that way. They never did.

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