you had been put in a lunatic asylum.

Everyone thought you were crazy. Everyone.

You had been put there when you were only 11. But that was 4 years ago. You were now 15.

Who had put you in there? Your father, of course. But your mother had let it happen. They didn’t allow you to see your siblings. As if you were some psycho. Your mother tried to visit you sometimes, but you denied the request every time. She had put you in here. Well, not her, technically, but she let your father do it, so she was just as much to blame.

You weren’t crazy. But your parents thought you were, as soon as you started telling them about how you could move things with your mind. You showed them. They still thought you were nuts.

Or maybe they just thought they were losing their mind.

So here you are. In a white room, on a shitty mattress. Your hands were tied together, in a chain that couldn’t be broken. The asylum knew you had powers. They didn’t think you should be out in the world using them. It was dangerous. After a minute, you figured out that your parents probably thought the same.

You had tried to break the chains on your hands. You couldn’t use your powers in this building, for some reason. Only stupid small things, like closing doors.

“Miss, you’ve got a visitor.”

You looked up.

“I don’t want my mom here, ive told you—“

“It’s not your mom.” The doctor answered. A boy stepped through. He looked your age, about a year older. Black, shaggy, messy hair, and green eyes. You recognized him after a moment. A boy who you’d known since kindergarten. Not friends, of course, but he was in all your classes up until 5th grade, when you came to the asylum. Kaleb Oak.