It had been a while since Ian had forgotten something. About three days, yes. But it was the longest time he could remember that he'd spent not wondering where those past two hours had gone. He was just absentminded, was all. He'd get lost in doing something, doing nothing, and suddenly just loose track of time. Well, he'd concentrated well lately, and he was sort of proud of that. Concentrating wasn't easy for him- He didn't think he had much to do with his 'condition' or whatever they decided to call it this week, he'd always just had a hard time not slipping away into that mind of his... And then finding himself somewhere else, sometime else. That was probably due to the DID. Or MPD. Or whatever they wanted to call it.
Ian pulled his legs up so he sat crossed-legged on the old couch, oblivious to the rest of the people in the room as he picked at his nails. He was bored- what was there possibly to do in such a place, such a room? Everyone was staring dumbly at the television screen, watching one of those reality-television court shows. Why would anyone waste their time and brain cells watching a court session on a small static screen? The picture, fuzzed, and one of the ladies squealed and ran up to adjust the bunny ears, hushing the television as she did so; It was hard for Ian not to feel intellectually superior as the herd of sheep gathered around the TV set.
The boy sighed, running a hand through his hair, wishing there was a window in the room so he could at least occupy some time staring into the outside. He wished he had some books to read, some music to listen to, an instrument to play. Maybe he could persuade his brother to persuade the people who ran this place to let him have his violin, at the very least. It was a small instrument... A piano he could understand- he wouldn't be able to lug that thing into his room and keep it there, it was much too big, much too heavy. But the violin... He missed playing it. It was a piece of shit 'student instrument,' but he'd bought it with his own money and it played well, most of the time. He wondered how it was doing, collecting dust in it's case under his bed in his brother's apartment. Maybe He'd never be able to see it again- Maybe he'd be in here forever, battling his 'alters' or what not. He felt pretty functional just the way he was, even if he was a bit forgetful.
Scowling at the television screen, Ian untangled his legs before getting to his feet, habitually jamming his hands into the pockets of his grey sweater before walking slowly to the door- Ian had this odd way of walking, one foot front of the other, so that if you looked at the footprints he left in snow you would see just one dotted line of feet. He didn't pay much attention to it- it's not like he intentionally swung his legs around ridiculously. It wasn't even that odd looking. It just was. The boy in question blew a piece of hair out of his face as he pushed the door in front of him open, finding himself alone in the hallway. Alone, ha. There were Cameras hooked up to the ceiling, there were people watching his every move. Never was there a moment in this place that Ian was alone.
This place. It's what Ian routinely called the building he currently took residence in- he couldn't bring himself to call it asylum. Because that would definitely mean that he was completely, undeniably crazy. You know. Off his rocker. Maybe he was. Irritated, he set off down the hall aimlessly, head tilted up to watch the ceiling pass over his head. No, he decided. He wasn't crazy. Just absentminded.
...just to float away., open.
