Every day the same routine would play out. Rob was awake by 6:45 a.m., and breakfast was served by 7:15 a.m. Then it was chore time, which was a toss-up between yard work and kitchen duties. Rob always hoped for yard work, he loathed being cooped up all day. Occasionally, when he was raking the nonexistent leaves, he imagined he was on the outside of the institution walls, but the dream only lasted as long as he felt the sun on his skin and the wind blowing through his hair. Once he was forced back inside the endless monotony continued. Now, it was evening, which meant it was time for his therapy session.
Oh goody.
Rob considered it all to be a humorless joke. His therapist, Dr. Julian Connor was only a few years older than himself. Dr. Connor was what one would expect a psychiatrist to
