Snippet #2999

Olli Braun had arrived at the Hospice on Sunday morning, and had spent the entire day half asleep in his assigned bed, ignoring his new location. He didn't care. It didn't matter. Inside his own head, he'd died the moment he took a razor blade to his own skin and watched himself bleed.
He hadn't intended to come out at all until his 'prison sentence' was over, but this morning he awoke to a disturbing screech of "I don't belong here," - the phrase that had been ringing around and around his head since he decided he was going to kill himself.
He grunted miserably into his pillow, pushing at his blanket until he ended up squirming his way onto the floor with a muffled wail. Once on the floor he had no desire to move, so lay there on the ground suffocating until it just got too uncomfortable and he finally dragged himself up from the depths of subconciousness.

It was his favourite state to be in, that half-sleep, not quite awake but ready to be pushed over at any second. He could think, but he didn't have to, and he could just enjoy the warmth of being alone in his mind. Sleep was good too. Being awake...not so much. Awakeness was cold and unfeeling monotony until he went with his best silver blade and dragged it across his flesh to feel something. Yes, he did realise exactly how much of a cliche he was, but that didn't really matter, because nobody needed to care.

Upon untangling himself from the sheets and rising off the floor, Olli realised that he was actually still in the same clothes he'd been wearing for about three days and he didn't exactly smell pleasant. His hair wasn't as straight as it should be, his eyes were bloodshot and lined with patchy black, and in general he just looked disgruntled, as if he'd been clubbing all night, every night for a solid week. Ew. Unacceptable, really, for first impressions... lucky this place was up-market enough to have ensuite bathrooms. Olli picked himself up and wandered off to his for ten minutes; when respectably clean he dressed in something generically scenester and painted on his eyeliner. Unfortunately his hair straighteners had been confiscated so he had to leave it to dry wavy...and then out of his room he emerged, wondering why he was even bothering.

He stopped just outside of a door, however, the one just next to his. That had been where the shout came from, hadn't it? And he was sure he could hear staff coming.