Chapter Text
It smelled like bleach and musty old books. Like those kinds that have been sitting and rotting for decades, to the point where the pages turn yellow.
It was the kind that seeped into the walls of places like this; prisons, hospitals, orphanages. Places where men went in and didn’t come out the same. Or at all.
Louis Tomlinson had woken up that morning with the intention of getting dressed for work, dressing his younger siblings for school, and then cooking breakfast while his parents had gotten themselves ready for the day. He would crack the eggs on the stove and pop the bread to toast them.
He was the oldest of six sisters. Ever since he finished school, his parents always relied on him to help out with them, and he usually never minded, he loved the girls. But he found it difficult to find time for himself when he was constantly walking them to school, helping them with homework, doing chores and laundry.
His family belonged in the lower middle class. His father was the owner of a general store in town, so he was gone for a majority of the day. Louis would usually leave the house to help close up in the evenings, or he would work afternoons if it was a particularly busy day. He was meant to take over the shop one day, but Louis never saw that in his future.
His mother, who was meant to be their domestic matriarch, was a seamstress and dressmaker on the side and had recently started to devote more time to it as more women caught wind of her skills.
Louis did his usual routine that morning. Got dressed, dressed the girls, made breakfast, and walked them to school. The sky was deep blue, scattered with a few clouds, and Louis couldn’t wait to get his chores done so he could sit in the backyard and write his poetry.
But when he got home, two men in dark coats stood outside the house with a black motor car idling in the drive, awaiting his arrival. His parents stood by the front door, and when he walked up to them to ask what was going on, they didn’t say much. His mother fixed his collar like she always did and kissed his cheek, while his father only cleared his throat with his hands behind his back. They wished him well, and then the next thing he knew, he was shackled by the wrists and was guided to the car. He cried out just before he was shoved into the backseat.
Mother! What’s the meaning of this!? Where are they taking me!?
Now at Bradley Bay Sanitarium, just a mere four hours away from home, Louis sat still in the wooden chair with his hands in his lap, wrists raw from the cuffs they’d only just removed. His shoes didn’t touch the ground fully, and the legs of the chair were uneven. It creaked every time he shifted, so he tried not to.
Behind the desk sat a woman with thin lips and a tight chignon, flipping through a stack of manila forms bound in string. She didn’t look at him, just licked her thumb and turned another page.
“Name,” she said, her voice monotone, English but not particularly kind.
“Louis Tomlinson,” he replied with a small voice.
She scribbled with her fountain pen. The scratching of it echoed in the intake office, where the only other sound was the radiator hissing in the corner.
“Age?”
“Nineteen.”
Another scratch of ink.
Outside the narrow window, bare branches scraped against the frosted glass. The sky was the color of charcoal and the grounds were surrounded by fog. Louis hadn’t seen proper daylight since yesterday morning. It felt like a lifetime to him.
“Next of kin?”
He hesitated. “None.”
That was a lie, but it felt easier. He knew nobody would be coming for him. The moment the asylum came into view, Louis knew exactly what had happened. It was clear to him that Liam had told his parents of the secret he’d told and the impulsive thing he had done out of pure desperation. So in response? His parents petitioned through the local doctor in an instant, quietly, so as not to draw attention to the family and ruin their image. He nearly cried when the gates to the grounds opened.
The woman paused and glanced up at Louis for the first time. Her eyes lingered; not in a cruel way, but in that way people looked at dogs who’d been hit too many times. She made a faint sound in her throat, like she might say something, but didn’t. Instead, she stamped the corner of the page and rang a little silver bell on the desk.
The door behind him opened. Heavy boots thudded against the tile, before a hand landed on Louis’ shoulder, rightfully startling him.
“This way,” a man said. He smelled like tobacco and disinfectant.
Louis rose with stiff legs and followed.
No other words were exchanged between the man and Louis as they walked through the reception corridor. It was a bit brighter compared to the other parts of the hospital, Louis would come to realize that the more they ventured through the hospital. The reception hall had a vaulted ceiling made to impress anyone who walked in, high windows for natural sunlight, tiled flooring that echoed footsteps. A clerk smiled from behind the large oak desk before looking back down to sort through papers.
A patient stood near a dusty potted fern, whispering to it like it was a lover. When he accidentally caught Louis’s eye, he let out a high and piercing shriek, before collapsing to the floor in a fit of panic.
Louis froze. A shudder coiled up his spine. An orderly appeared from nowhere, dropping to his knees to calm the man, voice low and practiced. Louis forced himself to look away and swallowed hard, his throat dry as bone. The man guiding him kept walking as if it was routine.
Louis followed him toward the grand staircase marked EMPLOYEES ONLY in cracked gold paint. The air grew colder as they climbed. The walls were lined with framed portraits of men in starched collars; psychiatrists, directors, faces drained of light. None of them smiled. They looked cold and lifeless in the eyes.
They took a left from the stairs and passed a doctor in a lab coat, who exchanged a polite nod with the man escorting Louis. Louis kept his gaze down, taking in the hallway instead, which was lined with dark wooden doors with tarnished brass plaques of offices and names he didn’t know.
Somewhere on the other side of the stairs, a jagged scream ripped through the stillness, causing Louis to wince. The man, who hadn’t even reacted, raised his fist and knocked exactly twice on the door labelled Dr. Malik.
A thick accent answered to come in, prompting the man to open the door and shove Louis inside. Louis stumbled, eyes instantly scanning the office for the first time. A man sat hunched over at his desk with a pair of round-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was scribbling on paper, before stopping and tilting his head up to look at Bradley Bay’s newest patient.
The room itself was bland; a large mahogany desk in the middle, two chairs in front, locked filing cabinets, filled bookshelves of psychiatry and psychology books, philosophical and religious volumes, medical case studies.
His desk was cluttered in neat piles, a few manila folders sat in one corner, a pen and pencil holder in the other, a legal pad ready for notetaking. Louis could smell the mug of coffee steaming just from where he stood by the door.
The man broke the silence.
“Louis Tomlinson, sir.
And then he disappeared with the door closed behind him.
A second passed of utter silence, other than the analogue clock ticking and the sound of the heat kicking on. Louis stood in the middle of the office, not quite sure what he was meant to do. He could catch some of the text on the spines in the bookshelf, one in particular standing out, ‘Psychopathia Sexualis’ by Richard von Krafft-Ebing.
Finally, Dr. Malik spoke.
“Mr. Tomlinson. Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk.
He didn't smile, but his voice was pleasant enough in the way cinnamon can be, until it burns your throat. He wore a black wool waistcoat with a gold watch chain tucked into the breast pocket. His fingers were long, clean, clasped together on the desk like he had all the time in the world.
Louis very slowly sat down, his heart rate spiking as he did so.
“You’re very punctual. That’s a good sign. Suggests… compliance.”
He opened a folder and clicked his pen. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Dr. Malik then licked over his bottom lip like he was in concentration.
“How would you describe your state of mind today, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis’ lips parted, his eyes blinking as he tried to put a name for what he was feeling. He was feeling a load of emotions; betrayed, frustration, fear. That one especially clung to his ribs, obvious beneath Dr. Malik’s narrow, knowing gaze.
“Um-” He stuttered under pressure. And it was just the first question. “Normal…?” He didn’t sound too sure of himself, but it was the best thing he could come up with.
Dr. Malik hummed curiously. He glided his pen to the yellow legal paper before asking the next question.
“Have you ever harmed yourself or others?”
Louis chewed on his bottom lip, inhaled a shaky breath through his nose as the question echoed. Does Liam count?
“No…” He said it slowly and much quieter like a lie he was still trying to believe.
Dr. Malik didn’t challenge him, he just raised his eyebrows like he’d expected that answer.
“Do you experience persistent thoughts you cannot control?”
“I-” Louis furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t even noticed he was fumbling with his fingers in his laps. “What kind of thoughts?”
Dr. Malik shrugged nonchalantly. Like he was trying to bait him for something.
“Anything.”
Louis stared off past Dr. Malik’s shoulder, staring out the window at the overcast gloomy sky. The silence was loud, he felt like he could hear everything, like the clock ticking, the slight noise Dr. Malik’s lips made when he sipped on his coffee.
He thought of Liam again and the way it happened, the thoughts that came before.
“No.”
But that was a lie. He couldn’t control his thoughts about Liam. The way he wanted to kiss him, to touch him. His desire was something he couldn’t control in that moment, and maybe that was what led to what had transpired.
The pen scratched again. Louis peeked down in an attempt to see what was being written, but Dr. Malik’s handwriting was nearly illegible, a series of tight, jagged strokes.
“Do you believe you belong here?”
Finally, a question Louis had known the answer to since he stepped foot in this place.
“No.”
Dr. Malik remained silent. He took an extra minute or two to write some notes, longer notes this time. Louis shifted uncomfortably in the chair, causing it to creak against the hardwood flooring.
Without looking away from his notes, he continued.
“What’s your understanding of why you’ve been admitted?”
Louis’ breath hitched at the question. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve known he’d have to talk about it eventually.
He gulped thickly, eyes finding their way to the windows behind Dr. Malik as rain began to softly patter against the glass. Dr. Malik had lifted his eyes to look up at him. Louis refused to meet his gaze.
“I…” Louis’ voice was suddenly small, almost vulnerable. He looked down to his lap, watched the way he rubbed the nail of his thumb against his palm in an attempt to distract himself, to fidget. And then the flashback hit him like a lightning bolt.
He’d taken his best friend on a picnic for his birthday. He had picked up Liam’s favorite fruits, pastries, even stole a bottle of Gin from his father for them to share. Everything was going swell in Louis’ eyes. The sky was clear, they were basking in the sun, and they were indulging in sweets with alcohol running through their veins.
Liam was as bright as the sun, his laughter sounded like a melody Louis hadn’t known he was missing. He made his heart flutter in ways he knew society wouldn’t deem appropriate. Louis had felt things for Liam that he should have been feeling for the girl his parents were trying to arrange him with.
But what did it matter if it was for Liam, and not a girl?
So Louis, too innocent for his own good, and alcohol dissolving the filter he once had, admitted these feelings. He was in love. He hadn’t realized it until Liam looked at him with sparkling eyes and that golden smile. Louis was sure he felt the same.
But he didn’t. And Louis broke.
“But I want to be more than friends, I love you. Don’t you feel it too?”
“No that’s- That’s completely insane. That’s disgusting, Louis.”
All Louis felt was a pang in his chest, a sudden panic that Liam was now seeing him differently. The light in Liam’s eyes was replaced by something repulsive. And when Liam started to stand up, Louis pounced. Because he couldn’t lose Liam, that was his best friend, his lover. He loved him, he had to feel the same way.
One thing led to another. Louis had tried to kiss him, tried to force himself upon him. He wasn’t even thinking, it was like his body spoke for him. But Liam was stronger, pushed him off, yelled obscenities, threatened to tell his parents.
And he did. Louis found it out the hard way when he arrived back from walking his sisters to school. He felt humiliated, betrayed. He could see the shame in his mother’s eyes and lack of emotion behind his father’s, but he knew deep down, his father would disown him if he ever returned.
“Mr. Tomlinson?”
Dr. Malik’s voice cut through the flashback. Louis’ chest was heaving, breath coming out in shaky puffs as he rocked back and forth with tears in his eyes. Dr. Malik was rapidly writing onto the pad of his paper like he was witnessing a reaction to an experiment.
Louis sniffled, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his knuckle before they could fall. Dr. Malik was watching him closely, eyes never leaving the fragile sight before him.
Louis finally answered after sighing.
“Because it’s easier for them to lock me away than admit I loved someone they didn’t approve of.” He mumbled, referring to his parents.
He paused. Then, his voice softened to barely above a whisper. “I just… didn’t want to lose him.” Louis sat rigidly in the high-backed chair, still trembling, his fingernails indenting half-moons into his palms.
Dr. Malik didn't speak again right away. The only sounds in the room were the low hum of rain outside and the faint scratching of his ink pen against paper. His writing was slow, almost as if it was deliberate, and Louis became painfully aware of how long it was taking.
He shifted, chair creaking, eyes flicking across the desk to the pad of notes resting on the desk. The handwriting was sharp, messy, but incredibly clinical. Louis squinted his eyes as he tried to read.
“Erotomania.
Sexual inversion.
Obsessive ideation.
Hysterical response.
Moral disorientation.”
His throat tightened. He didn't know exactly what all the words meant, but he knew what they felt like. It was like being gutted in real time, like he was being picked apart and dissected from everything he said, every little reaction he’d made during the interview.
He blinked hard and while looking back up, he swallowed the sting behind his eyes.
Dr. Malik didn’t look up from the page as he spoke. His voice was soft; he wasn't cruel, but wasn’t kind either. Just impassive.
“That must have been difficult to recount.”
He finally raised his gaze. “In your own words, would you say your actions that day were premeditated?”
Louis hesitated. The panic in his chest hadn’t settled. In fact, it coiled tighter. The doctor’s eyes were too steady, too calm. And Louis didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt even worse.
“No,” he said, voice raw. “I didn’t plan any of it. I just… I wanted him to know how I felt. I didn’t mean to scare him.”
“Yet you did.”
Louis flinched at the reply. There was no judgment in Dr. Malik’s tone and maybe that was worse.
“And now,” Malik added, “you’ve been removed from the general population for their safety. And, perhaps, for yours.”
Dr. Malik’s words lingered in the air, sending a chill down Louis’ spine. He’d never imagined this as the result, being locked up into an asylum just a mere three hours away from his family. The only thing he regretted out of all of this was forcing himself onto Liam. It was impulsive, he knew that, he knew he couldn’t change Liam even if he tried to kiss him or touch him, but he wasn’t going to apologize for being attracted to the same sex.
***
Louis was taken back to the first floor after his mentally taxing intake interview. It felt like Dr. Malik was testing him, trying to see what would make him crack, how he would respond to such questions. But all it did was put him on edge, walking tensely behind an orderly through each of the wards.
He couldn’t help his eyes from wandering. Patients lingered in the hall, either leaning against the wall or standing in the doorway of their room. Some eyed him menacingly, staring at his small frame with ravenous eyes.
The wards smelled of a mixture of musty dust and urine. He stared into some of the rooms as he passed, one man curled up into the fetal position on his bed sobbing as loud as his lungs would allow, another as young as him writing on the walls in chalk and speaking out loud about the Rapture.
Louis could feel the panic trying to creep into his chest as the orderly led him into his assigned room. It wasn’t much, just a wire spring twin bed frame with a cheap mattress on top with one blanket and one uncomfortable looking pillow. A bedside table with one drawer and a door below sat beside the bed with basic amenities on top.
And that was it. Not even a window, not even decoration. Just Louis, the bed, and bland concrete walls and pale gray concrete flooring.
His footsteps echoed as he lingered inside.
“I have to stay here?” Louis turned around, uncertain, the orderly standing in the doorway.
She could see the fear in his eyes, could feel the panic rising in him. It radiated off his body like heat. But she didn’t get paid enough to particularly care.
She just nodded her head, told him to change into the gown that was neatly folded at the end of the bed, and that was the end of it. She shut the gray-painted door behind her with a thunk. It had a grated window at eye level, iron hinges, and an external locking mechanism unbeknownst to him.
Changing into the gown meant he no longer had a choice. It officially made him a resident, a patient. Locked up with nothing but the thoughts in his mind. And giving up that freedom for the mere fact that he liked the opposite sex felt wrong. He didn’t want to do it. But he also didn’t want to get in trouble, so he forced himself into the cheap cotton, put on a pair of cheaply threaded hospital socks, and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.
Doors around him opened and shut, orderlies down the hall could be heard yelling for backup. Louis didn’t even realize he was visibly shaking until a woman appeared in front of the door, before proceeding to open it and enter without so much of a knock. Privacy didn’t exist here.
“Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson! Welcome to Bradley Bay! Please call me Miss. Cahill, I’m your assigned orderly today.” The woman’s voice was chirpy, her eyes sparkled with a genuinity. She looked like the only staff member who actually wanted to be here, and the positivity she created just by greeting Louis like he was an actual human being was a stark contrast to everything else in this asylum.
She was holding a small paper cup with a single pill in it, and a half-full plastic cup of water. She smiled down at him as she neared the bed.
“I have your dose for this morning.” She shook the little paper cup to confirm.
Louis raised a single brow, eyes peering down into the cup like he didn’t trust what was being given. Because he didn’t.
“Um, what is it?” He mumbled.
Miss Cahill blinked mindlessly, like his question had thrown her off (it did. She made it too obvious). She wasn’t used to the patients asking what they were being given. Most of them did as told and swallowed. But she knew this one would be different. She’d gotten report on him from Dr. Malik, she heard why he was here.
“It’s just… for anxiety, that’s all. Just so you don’t get overwhelmed on your first day.” A smile. It felt too genuine. She sounded too sweet.
Louis hesitated. She only answered half the question, and didn't bother to tell him what exactly the medication was called. But he slowly reached for the paper cup, threw it back so that the pill would slide into his mouth. He slowly took the water from her, downed it like he hadn’t been hydrated in ages. The pill went down his throat with the water.
“Very good.” She smiled reassuringly while taking the cups back from him. “We have some ground rules we need to follow, okay? Taking your medication is one of them.” And then she started going on and on.
Breakfast from 0730 to 0830.
Lunch from 1130 to 1230.
Dinner from 1730 to 1830.
Curfew at 2000.
Assigned shower time is 1300 to 1400.
Visiting hours are from 1300 to 1600, supervised.
Weekly visits with psychiatrist Dr. Malik on Mondays.
Weekly visits with assigned Doctor, details to come.
No males are permitted on the women’s side.
Outside is permitted unless given permission.
No physical touch between patients.
No lingering in patient’s rooms.
It was a lot. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to remember any of this, not when he was suddenly starting to feel slow and sluggish as Miss Cahill gave him a tour of the men’s side. The location of the lavatory, the day room. They double backed to the reception hall, she showed him the mess hall where food was served and patients ate.
Miss Cahill made sure to tell him he had to eat, no skipping meals. And just when Louis wanted to ask why, he had the pleasure of witnessing a force feed when a patient was refusing breakfast. It was horrifying to witness, the way the man tried to resist, the way he yelled out like he was in danger. Other patients watched like this was curious entertainment for them. And maybe that alone was disturbing enough.
Louis wanted to throw up at the sight. It sickened him to see staff members force the patients to eat. It was deeply disturbing to see how harsh they could be, how they practically man-handled patients.
The tour had ended when they made their way back to Louis’ room. Miss Cahill said she would be around if he needed anything, but Louis was going to try to leave her be. He wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else for that matter.
When Louis was left to his own devices, he couldn’t tell what time it was. Clocks didn’t seem to exist in this place, other than in the offices and the reception hall, and there was no way he was walking all the way back there.
He ended up skipping lunch when no one came to get him to tell him it had started. So, he walked the halls and wandered aimlessly. He was drowsy from the tour, but his limbs were starting to feel heavier, his steps were growing slower, and his mind felt disoriented. All the anxiety and fear he once felt had been replaced with this numbness.
It was the medication. Of course it was.
He needed to sit down, but he had no idea what ward he was in at this point. There weren’t any indications, hardly any signs. His brain felt fuzzy, he could’ve sworn someone was trying to speak to him but it wasn’t registering. All he could focus on was a flicker of light across the ceiling as his vision began to tunnel.
“Are you okay, sir?” A male orderly had asked. The question sat in Louis’ mind for an extra moment. He slowly shook his head in a delayed reaction.
“Let’s get you back to your room.”
With the help of the orderly, Louis was gently walked back to his ward, back into his room. Patients in the same ward as him were watching out of curiosity, eyeing the unknown patient to them, some whispering to each other.
Louis could barely register what was happening, couldn’t even keep his eyes closed at this point. Once they found the door labelled with Louis’ name at the side, the orderly guided him over to his bed to help lay him down. The moment his body hit the firm mattress, he had instinctually curled up and buried his head into the pillow.
The darkness that followed consumed him like a black hole, swallowing every last piece of who he used to be.