Katie's POV: This isn't what I wanted. I was ready to die, not be saved from myself. Fuck Ashley. Fuck Jayy. Fuck them all. Speak of the devils themselves. Jayy and Ashley just came in my room. This time Ashley's holding a bouquet of my favorite roses. Black with blue tips. I then notice Jayy with my overnight bag. Why? Am I finally getting out of this hellhole? I kind of doubt it. "We come bearing gifts," Ashley says, clearly trying to make me feel better, but failing miserably. I roll my eyes, then turn away from them. I hear one of them sigh in defeat, but I don't give a fuck right now. Jayy's POV: What did we do to piss Micro off so bad? Why won't she even talk to us now? Fuck it. She needs more help than flowers, gifts, and even we can give her. I hate to do it, but I think we'll have to put her in the psych ward. Even Dahvie thinks so now, and I've spoken to her doctor about it already. She'll be transferred tonight. I hate doing it, but it may be the only way to save her. (fast forward. Next day) Katie's POV: When I wake up I'm in a different room. There's a small bed in one corner, a camera in the other, small desk and chair in the other, and a mirror on the far wall, next to a steel door. Where the fuck am I? When I uncover myself, I'm in blue scrub pants and a white tshirt. Huh? Oh, wait. This must be the mental asylum. I sit up, sitting on the edge of my bed, then sigh, and begin to cry. My brothers words come back to haunt me now. An hour or so passes and then a woman comes in, wearing scrubs. Must be one of the nurses here. She tells me breakfast is ready, and takes my arm in hers and walks me to a large mess hall. She has me sit next to a girl about my age, who's rocking back and forth, murmuring something odd. "All messed up and slightly twisted. Am I sick, or am I gifted? Paper airplanes, open window. Here today and gone tomorrow..." Sounds familiar to me, but I don't know from where. Then it hits me. It's a Shinedown song. It's called I'm Not Alright. Wow. I sigh again, then look down at the unappetising food in front of me. Oh well. I did sort of ask for this, so I pick up the fork and take a small bite. Ugh, gross. After breakfast, the nurse comes back to get me back to my room and I ask, "How long am I in here for?" She looks at me with sympathetic eyes, and replies, "Depends really. They'll see how you are in a few days, and if you are well enough, we'll send you home." I nod, then think to myself, it's only a few days. I'll survive.