When it came to these sessions, the only thing Rachel walked away with was a hatred for clocks. Specifically the way they ticked away every other second. She used to think those were just used for effect in the television or movies people watched, but whenever it was time for another rousing session of therapy and judgmental supposed professionals, all it meant was Rachel would hear the near constant ticking. It didn't do much for the mood of the session; when the doctor asked about Rachel's 'homework' of talking to other inpatients, the question was buried under the anxiety inducing tick-tock-tick-tock. 

Of course she hadn't done her 'homework'. She hadn't been a fan of homework even when she was attending what school she did homework was simply a distraction from the other kids and their hurtful words. Having professionals suggest that talking to the other patients at meal time or free time was usually enough to make Rachel scoff internally while externally she simply offered a curt response with a shrug of her shoulders. Today was no different. The doctor with the glasses and the receding hairline asked if Rachel was making progress and inbetween the ticking and the tocking all Rachel could do was bounce her left leg and shake her head no. 

What would she even say to the others? What would they say back? She didn't need new friends. She already had friends, and every second of the ticking was just time away from them. When the session came to an end, Rachel had counted eighteen hundred tick-tocks. The longest hour of her day. She gave no word of thanks to the doctor when she was dismissed but felt a small sense of relief that the clock wouldn't torment her until next time. 

How she hated that clock.

Rachel shuffled through the hallway, shadowed by a volunteer who was putting on some weight and whose breath hadn't smelled nice since before Rachel's residency. Rachel knew the way around, back to her room, to the dining room, to the overly pleasantly colored walls where the inpatients were allowed to play with puzzles or other harmless toys and tools. At times, Rachel felt like a child again. It was almost ironic, then, that she looked forward to being with her friends. Her dolls. 

They were waiting for her in her room, as always. Blade. Peri. Pearl. The only friends she had. The only ones she needed. 

"I'm back," she spoke to them as she was let back into her room, after the door was shut behind her. At least the walls weren't padded, that had been a concern of hers, and though the bed was lacking in comfort, it at least had a mattress and blanket with pillow. She made a bee-line for the bed, sitting on the edge while her friends joined her. "I hate it in that office. It's so stuffy." It was nice to have someone to talk to. 

Someone that understood her.

The first order of business was to straighten out the twins' hair; it was a formality, really, but if Rachel didn't run the brush over those blue locks they would've lost their lustre and volume years ago. Plus, it gave Rachel that much more opportunity to carry on a conversation with them. Rachel told her friends pretty much everything, even now she spoke to them about the various goings-on in the institution as a means of venting. When the hair was done, Rachel shifted from the bed to the floor, bringing the dolls with her. 

The floor had more space than the bed and it was perfect for a playground, of sorts. Blade scared Rachel when she was younger, the knife and hook had a threatening vibe; but it passed in time. Now she knew Blade couldn't hurt a fly. Well. He certainly COULD but he wouldn't; he was much to preoccupied with Rachel and the twins. The four of them were presently enjoying their little session of play. A rousing game of hide and seek where Blade counted and had to find the twins (that game was once a little favorite of Rachel's, but it was so difficult to play in her new room. No hiding spots) or just imagining that they were on a little journey across the room. 

Time went by in a hurry when Rachel was playing with her friends. She could, and had before, spend hours in the world of fun with her and her friends. It was likely she would've continued until she was too tired to go another round but the hanging light in her room was dimming and brightening. Flickering on. Off. On. Rachel looked up towards it and blinked. Weird. She would've paid it no mind and written it off as the building being old, but then it started to flicker again. 

Rachel stood up as the light continued to flicker. Maybe it was simply on the verge of burning out. Whatever it was, she didn't like it. Just as she was going to consider knocking on her door until someone heard and opened it for her, the heavy looking entrance opened slowly, without a creaking. Someone was out there, right? Someone that could fix her light?

There was only one way to find out for sure.