This is an introduction to a story I have been contemplating on whether or not to write for a while, so it is quite short. This chapter is merely a tester to see what kind of response it gets and see whether it is worth pursuing. This Fanfiction is slightly different to the others, it is written in the form of Aria's diary entries and she is slightly more sarcastic. Ezra's character is also slightly more mundane, but the characters aren't completely OOC. I am not quite sure yet if it will be partly written from Ezra's perspective at all, but we will have to see about that. Without further a due, I hope you enjoy my story and here it is...

July 9th 2013

Day 13

The New Kid

9 o'clock on a Friday night and I was stuck here. I was 18, I should be out with my friends having the time of my life, but that wasn't an option. Admittedly, I am at fault. I am the reason I am in this hospital bed. I know now that this is not where I want to be. I learnt my lesson; I just wanted to go home. I didn't need to be watched like some faulty landmine that could explode at any minute. Just diffuse me. It would save all the hassle.

I had been here for two weeks, but only on Wednesday did it begin taking its toll on me. You want to prevent me from becoming depressed? Here's an idea, let me out of this melancholy hospital filled with people who are on the same mentality level as me. Surely that wasn't a good idea. Surrounding suicidal people with more suicidal people. It didn't make sense to me. The group meetings were a bust. Hearing people complain about their problems wasn't the most uplifting thing in the world. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel grateful for not having it as bad as some of them or complain that I had it worse. I did neither. Instead, I zoned out for 30 minutes and spewed some sort of pathetic explanation every time I was asked "Why did you come here?" As if it was my choice at all.

As I had already mentioned, I was 18. I was 18 and therefore, in terms of the government, I was an adult. If I knew being 18 meant I would be admitted to the adult psychiatric ward then I would have failed to commit suicide last year. Of course, I wasn't aware I would be surrounded by middle aged men and women experiencing a VERY severe mid-life crisis. Don't get me wrong, their problems are as important as mine, if not more, but I just didn't want to be there.

The worst part of this whole experience was that I was stuck here for the majority of summer break, but the best part was I no longer wanted to die. I guess the pros outweigh the cons. Though, I knew I had nothing to look forward to it was better than being dead. I guess. I mean, my mom had reassured me that this is just a phase in my life that we will overcome. I tried to tell her that not getting into college wasn't a phase and would ultimately ruin every plan I had for the future, but negative-talk was prohibited so, whenever they visited, we had to play happy families and plaster a false smile onto our faces until our cheeks burned with exhaustion.

The thing is, my family didn't know how to handle this, but neither did I. Mental illness had run in our family, not depression albeit it was still severe stuff, yet we didn't know how to deal with it. The mental illness that a few members had suffered from was usually the type that required help whereas my help was merely a suggestion that my worried parents were persistent in accepting regardless of my pleas and promises.

So, yeah, here I was at 9 o'clock on a Friday evening sitting in my shared room. I and my parents had agreed that I would share a unisex room due to the lack of space. Rosewood really made people want to kill themselves. It's pretty clear by now that, despite my ability to sympathise with these people, I was extremely insensitive. Life does that to you. It was hard to feel for these people when I struggled to feel anything at all.

I am going off track again. Anyway, for the last time, I am here at Rosewood Hospice at 9 o'clock on a Friday evening. This was a significant Friday evening, not only because three hours prior my parents managed to sneak me McDonalds, but because this was the evening he joined my room.

I was sat, scrolling through my phone, reading through the messages that had been sent in by family, all of which wishing me a "speedy recovery" as if I had caught some sort of terrible cold or broken my leg. In fact when I was 13 I broke my leg and received similar messages, but they contained more humour and less Bible quotes. See, I had no problem with religion, but I just didn't see the correlation between Mark 3:1-6 and the fact I swallowed a bottle of pills. I mean, Bible quotes were not what I should be receiving, if anything it was the opposite since what I did was considered very unholy.

I let out a groan and settled myself in to bed, an early night may be ideal since I had a hectic Saturday ahead of me filled with crafts, support groups, and convincing my parents that I am mentally stable. I was thankful it was summer since, being that both my parents were teachers; it meant that they had enough time to visit me every day for at least an hour. Although the conversations may have not been the most riveting, it was still something familiar. As much as I hated to admit it, being alone was kind of scary.

After trying to coax myself into sleep for 10 minutes, the door opened and a lit up the darkened room. Most of the people just groaned at the light and pulled their blankets over their heads. I, however, was intrigued by it. From the muffled talk between the doctor and the mysterious stranger I could interpret that the stranger was being admitted to the ward. The stranger, from what I could see, was a man; he was a man of average height and a slim stature. The man was directed to the only empty bed left in the room which was situated directly across from me. The man's voice sounded familiar, but I put it down to the meds playing tricks on me. The doctor bid him a goodnight. I remained still, watching him as best I could in the dark room as he settled into his bed. I wasn't being a crazy stalker bitch, but I was drawn to this person. I had been the last person admitted to this ward and I was strangely pleased I was no longer the new kid- technically, still the only kid though.

Soon I heard as the man began to breath heavy which told me he had fallen asleep and I should probably do the same. I checked my phone one last time to see notifications popping on my screen of updates from my friends who were supposedly partying their asses of at some Frat Party as they welcomed the new college life that was on the horizon. The thought already making me feel sick. I had no idea what I was going to do anymore. Without college I had nothing. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind as I drifted off into a much needed sleep, allowing my dreams to sooth my worried mind.

That night I dreamt about the voice. The voice brought me to an empty room with nothing but a chalkboard. The room was familiar, it was definitely a classroom. The voice spoke words I couldn't quite make out, and then came a figure. It was a silhouette of a man, the man that was admitted last night from the looks of things. He was average height and had a slim stature, much like the man. I travelled towards the shadow until it became something more. It was the back of a man; he was dressed in a white shirt and waistcoat and apparently had dark curly hair. It was then it hit me.

The sound of the nurse calling my name caused me to shoot up into sitting position, as I did so; the man across from me too began waking up. He slowly dragged his body up and rubbed his eyes. I watched him intently as I waited for his reaction. He removed his hands from his eyes slowly. I waited for him to look back at me. My nerves were erratic. What was he going to do once he knew he would be sharing a room with me? I knew once his eyes had adjusted on to me that he knew who I was. His eyes widened on to me and jaw dropped. My ex-English teacher, Mr Fitz, is my new roomie. Things around here are about to get a lot more interesting.

Finally, he spoke.

"Holy Crap."