Emergency, Room 13 [o3] Leave Me Alone || Flick

I knew where they were taking me. Of course I knew. But, obviously, I couldn't stop them.
They tried being cheery in front of me, telling me was going to have a fantastic summer.
Screw them.
I hate my parents.
I've only been here about an hour, but I already know that this place is going to murder me in my sleep.
So, here I am.
Templeton Summer Mental Institution.
I got an info pack on arrival, and gazed at it carelessly as they checked my bags.
Yeah. I know.
The pack was filled with a timetable, a map of the grounds, a letter from the headmaster, and some reeeeeally cheesy camp t-shirts.
Oh, and a diary.
ICK.
We have to write in it every day, and hand it in at the end of each week.
I drag my feet to room 13.
Hey, whaddaya know.
Unlucky 13.
I open the door and silently slip over to the only bed that hasn't been taken over by the two other girls here.
Yep, room-mates.
One of the girls, an obviously severely anorexic blonde, looked up from her magazine.
"Hi." she grumbles.
I give her a tiny smile and an even smaller wave. UUURGH.
"So, I guess you're Felicity then?" the other girl, a brunnette, says quietly, not looking up from the empty plastic cup in her hands.
I glare at her.
"Flick." I growl. Damn, I hate being called Felicity. It sounds so...prissy.
"Right, okay then. Whatcha in for?" she asks. Whats so interesting about that cup?
I just stare at her for a while, and start unpacking my things.
"Hellooooo? What are you in for?" she repeats, slower this time, and finally tearing her eyes away from her precious empty cup.
Jeez, I'm not retarded.
You may have noticed, I don't talk.
Let me explain. See, just a over year ago, my life was perfect. Great friends, especially Alex. He was great.
Yep, was.
His parents split up, and his life went spiraling downwards.
He decided to confide in me.
He was planning on killing himself. I tried to stop him, but I knew it would be impossible.
The last words he said to me were 'Please, Flick, don't breath a word of this to anyone. Please.'
So, I didn't talk.
Ever since.
Except to correct people when they call me Flick.
Alex loved that.
"Great, she doesn't talk." the brunnette frowns.
Yep, I get that a lot.
I lie on my bed and take out the diary, starting with a simple instruction:
Dearest diary of mine,
Don't call me Felicity.
All my love,
Flick.
We're doing fine, and it gets better every time.
yaaaay I'm so proud of me. . .