i break things.

— gail lilian labonair bernath - nineteen - bipolar i + borderline personality disorder currently smoking the days away at st james' infirmary & lunatic asylum; 'healing'. “and i've been searching in the night, and i've been searching in the rain”

[luigerald]

Visit Original Link

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

Yann Tiersen | Le Moulin

[cillian-doyle]

Decide away. [Throws cigarette, puts out on the concrete.] While you do that, I’m going inside. [Turns to leave.]

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

[Exhaling smoke, a small smirk on her lips, Gail tilted her head to the side. She didn't seem to have a problem speaking to his back.] How is it that anytime you and I come close to having a conversation, you turn leave? The first two times, I was willing to accept it as a coincidence, but it just keeps happening.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

Extra Credit || Gail & Ryland

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

so-sick-of-being-human:

Ryland was not looking forward to the ball, but he was looking forward to dressing up. Surprisingly that was one thing he could do well. With all the church events he went to back in Minnesota, he needed to know how to dress well. Having managed to get into the laundry room one night, the Bennett boy had spent a good few hours hand washing, drying and pressing his suit. On the actual day of the ball, Ryland was dressed to kill. 

Hair slicked back, the boy made his way through the halls to the ballroom. His eyes scanning the mass of dressed up bodies for the date he was supposed to escort into the room. Seeing as how Ryland was terrible with putting names to faces, he had no idea what this Gail girl looked like. Stepping up to the door Ryland peeked inside, the place was overly decorated, the music for the orchestra was already terrible. The boy sucked his teeth before stepping back. He looked around and his eyes settled on the girl beside him, ‘Is this Gail?’ He questioned before clearing his throat. “Um, are you Gail? My assigned date for the evening?” He questioned. 

Music from the orchestra finally reached her ears, and she couldn't help but cringe. The violin was definitely off tune, or maybe some other string instrument, and it would make for an amazing migraine. Absorbed in her anxious thoughts, Gail only noticed Ryland when he stepped up to her. The girl supressed a groan when she realized that she would have to stare up at him even in heels, but she reckoned it could have been worse. At least Ryland, whom she realized she'd met once of twice before, seemed to have a concept of personal hygiene and didn't look ridiculous in a suit. Frankly, she'd take it.

“I knew your name sounded familiar,” she said, instead of answering his question directly. She took a small step back, eyes giving him a once over, then an approving nod. Not half bad, indeed. “Yes, I'm Gail,” she spoke again, smiling softly, if a little sarcastically.

[cillian-doyle]

Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. [He took another drag of his cigarette, which was beginning to run on the shorter side.]

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

Mind if I decide that for myself?

[cillian-doyle]

That’s not what I’m planning tonight, if that’s what you want to ask. [Cillian always had patients coming up to him for drugs and alcohol, which he gladly traded for outlandish barters. Something to keep him amused. She’d probably heard as much.] 

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

[The man remained a mystery to her, despite the couple of times they'd encountered each other. She didn't even know his name, much less whatever it was he was talking about, even though she could guess.] I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.

[cillian-doyle]

Fuck that. I made a runner when they told me I’d have to do that, found me dead stoned in one of the laundry trolleys at eight in the morning.

[He took a drag of his cigarette, wondering, momentarily if he’d given away too much.]

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

[She gave him an impressed if not surprised look, taking a drag of her own cigarette. She'd met staff that used to be patients before, it even seemed logical somehow.] Not bad.

[cillian-doyle]

They’re doing that still? This place hasn’t moved out of Victorian times, good god. 

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

Yep. We're supposed to walk in hand in hand and everything. Fun times!

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

Extra Credit || Gail & [OPEN]

— A box hab been placed at the foot of her bed, tied with a green ribbon. Gail knew it was from her mother as soon as she stepped closer; it reeked of the woman's perfume. She couldn't decline it, however. Apparently, they took New Year's celebrations very seriously in Yorkshire, England. It amused her that someone thought throwing a formal ball for mental patients was a good idea, but attendace was mandatory and frankly the whole ordeal had potential to go extremely wrong — she was sure she wouldn't be the only one to think of it as such. There was a time and place for mischief, and the St James Annual Ball might as well be it.

It was with all this in mind that Gail shoved her pride to a corner of her mind and put on the clothes her mother sent her and made her way to the ball room. All in all, it was a good look; the shoes were the right size and the heel wasn't too high, the dress fit her nicely and the best part was that she could hide a pack of cigarettes and her lighter in the pockets. She stopped before the entrance right as the clock struck 7PM. She could see the musicians making some last preparations, glimpsed some staff and patients, but her assigned date was nowhere in sight. The young woman felt her smile falter. She'd never been to something like this before. The venue was beautiful, the room bigger than she remembered, and she knew that hiding her discomfort would require some effort. 

[cillian-doyle]

Shouldn’t you be inside?

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

I couldn't find my assigned date and decided to sneak out for a smoke.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

xiastoleit:

Drugs are weird.

Sure are.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

cillian-doyle:

Trust me when I say you were better in there.

Shit, did someone go on a killing spree?

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

xiastoleit:

That doesn’t sound so bad. People are weird.

Except you get thrown into a room, white wall to ceiling, after being injected with enough sedatives to take down a pair of horses which cause complete disorientation, to the point that you don't know how long you've been there.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

siobhan-young:

A one person party?

No, actually. My demons showed up, too.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

xiastoleit:

What’s soli?

Solitary confinement?

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

siobhan-young:

Sounds like a hoot.

I had a blast, really.

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

—Whoever said that spending New Year's Eve and the day before that in soli isn't fun clearly has no idea what fun is.

[a-g-g-i-e]

"Oh thank fuck.” Aggie sighed in exaggerated relief, tugging one of them from its packet and setting it between her lips. “You’re a Nirvana fan?” She asked, referring to the song playing. With a smile, she held out the pack of cigarettes to offer the girl one; a simple, unstated sign of acceptance. 

[dearestgail-blog-blog]

“Love 'em,” came Gail's reply, an amused smile settling on her face. She reached to take a cigarette out, nodding her graditude, and tucked the stick behind her ear. “Thanks. Not here, though, they'll have your head. We're allowed to smoke outside only,” she continued. “Give yourselves lung cancer all you want, but not where we can see you, that kind of logic.”