Nothing Flashed Before My Eyes- Michael Clifford AU
AN: It’s here, without being queer (I’m sorry I had to) after months i have finally finished this monstrosity, idk what to say tbh. But if you do read I hope you enjoy and leave a coment if you enjoyed.
TW: schizofrenia, attempted suicide, self harm, alcoholism (i promise i have tried to describe them as neutral as I could)
Word count: 8k (issa long boi from me)
“Nothing flashed before my eyes.”
I spoke softly as I stared up at the sterile white of the roof.
“What do you mean?”
He asked carefully, as though I would shatter and the world would collapse if he spoke any louder.
“When I took the pills…”
Suddenly the words were harder to speak, my throat clogging up. I looked at him, straight into his eyes. His cold, emerald- eyes. It seems like he has lost all hope for me.
“… everything kind of just stopped for a minute. And then I went to bed, hoping to never wake up. But there was no pretty angels, and no bright light, just nothing”
He looked at me, as if I had just told him God and heaven didn’t exist. I suppose I had. Then he walked out the door. Not looking back once.
----
Walking through the doors to the psych ward is scary. I’ve been to a couple before, but this place feels different, and I don’t get why I’m here. It looks too stupid expensive. With the soft white walls and view over the city. With the stupid billowing curtains and stupid leather couches. It looks like a normal house, except really big and spacious. I hate it already.
When my mum puts her hand on my shoulder, it feels like the weight of the world is dropped there. And while I know it is meant to be a comforting gesture, I can’t help but think that I don’t want anyone else to touch me today. I feel suffocated in the openness of the building, that I know my step-dad paid his way into.
“Hi and welcome to Hollywood Heights treatment centre.”-
I turn at the sound of a female voice that is way too happy for this place, and I’m met with the blue eyes of a petite lady. The only way for me to spot that she is in fact not a patient is her ID card that is fastened at her belt hoop. Her brown hair is short and spiky.
Mum rushes forward, taking her hand off of my shoulder, but leaving the weight, to shake the hand of the lady.
“Hey, I’m Mary, thank you so much for taking in my daughter. We appreciate it so much.”
I give her a tight lipped smile.
“Oh, there are no worries Mary! and you must be Riley?”
She directs the question at me, and I nod quietly, letting my eyes flicker over the flowers that are spread across the different surfaces in the entrance and reception area.
“Well, let’s just get you officially admitted, and we can begin the little tour.”
I have a sinking feeling this is gonna be anything but a “little” tour.
----
After thirty minutes of walking around the house and being shown every possible nook and cranny as well as its function, I have some time in my room.
Mum left a couple of minutes ago after she got a call from work, that she was needed. Immediately of course.
I start unpacking my bag, it isn’t a lot, mostly sweatpants and long sleeves. But I also brought my laptop and a few different chargers. I sit down on the not too hard mattress of the bed and stare at the annoyingly soft, white colour of the wall, until it isn’t white anymore.
The wall isn’t white, it’s red. Trails of red teardrops slither down the wall in front of me. I watch as it reaches the floor and starts sliding towards my bed, the bed where I’m sitting, as if the floor is tilted.
This isn’t gonna end well for you, dear.
Slowly I find the pattern and as my heart skips a beat, my converse clad feet jump around the floor as I try to reach the door. When I finally do, and twist the door handle, I slam it shut behind me. Leaning against the door, it feels like my knees are about to give out underneath me and my eyes are way to warm and stingy.
“You alright?”
I whip my head around and suddenly my eyes are met with a pair of green ones. I can’t quite make them out ‘cause of the fringe covering one of his eyes, and the dark pupil of his other eye. But I’m positive that his eyes are green. I quickly look behind me as I turn around, pulling the sleeves of my loose henley down my arms, and start walking away.
“I’m fine,” my voice comes out somewhat smothered, but I don’t hear any footsteps following me. I just hear the thud of something dropping to the ground. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to turn around. But I do. And I find his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, but still attached to his neck.
Got you, hahaha
“Fuck you,” I mumble to myself, turning around for the second time and continuing to walk god knows where.
-------
I find myself in the music room. Out of all the things I hate here, I really hate this place the most. I love music so much, but they’ve managed to make this even this room feel strange. It’s not that they’ve not put any effort into it. They’ve overdone it. A lot of the places I’ve been to before have had instruments and music rooms, but this is too over the top. Brand new drum kits, never used guitars, both acoustic and electric, and a selection of basses that have never been touched. The ivory keys of the grand piano have barely been played. That’s the moment I know that’s where I’ll be spending most of my time. Wearing in all the instruments.
Coincidentally that is also where I am disturbed first. I jump a little when I hear crackling coming from the corner of the room. The voice belongs to Linda, the lady who showed me around when I arrived.
“If all patients would come to the kitchen, dinner is about to be served.”
I sigh and walk out of the room, headed for the kitchen area. When I’m in the stairs I pass by a tall blonde with curly hair and a bright smile. However, it is bright in a different way than what Linda had. More like friendly, which I find hard to believe in, considering where I’m at.
“Hey, you must be Riley, right?”
She puts forward a hand, expecting me to shake it. I just nod, but it doesn’t seem to affect her, as she puts her hand back into the pocket of her jeans, but continues to talk.
“I’m Lucy, I’ll be your psychiatrist while you stay here, I have to go right now, but enjoy your dinner, and I’ll see that you get a message tomorrow for our first official session.”
I nod again, and as I start to walk down the stairs, she doesn’t call after me, doesn’t stop me, she just lets me go. And I appreciate that.
When I get to the kitchen, it is bustling with something that looks like life. I find it a little bit funny, that something that is so depressing in the media, is so lively in real life. A couple of girls are chatting beside each other and a boy and a girl look like they are sitting a little too close to each other, because not a second later Linda is pulling the girl away from the boy.
I stand in the entrance and watch as a man puts two pots containing some sort of stew in it on the table, it doesn’t smell bad.
The only spot left by the table is in front of a guy in a black hoodie, that he has pulled over his head, but I swear I can see his blonde fringe from here. I step further into the room and a round, tall man introduces himself to me as Johnny.
Maybe we should cut his head open and put a mixer in his brain.
“Or maybe not,” all I do is hope that no one hears me whispering as I walk to the open spot.
Carefully I sit down in front of the boy in the black hoodie, and start fiddling with the fork. He looks up from his phone when he hears me picking up the fork. To be honest I expect him to look at me with sort of an insulted look, but he doesn’t. His eyes, albeit a bit sad, are filled with curiosity.
“Hey, I’m Michael,” he smiles as he reaches out his right hand.
“Riley’s the name,” I look at him, shaking his hand briefly but firmly and go back to playing with the fork.
“You want a little tip for staying here?” Michael says as his eyes dance over my appearance. He continues to do so, until he notices my eyes, and pulls the hood of his sweater down.
“Sure,” the fact that I’m constantly avoiding his eyes; must be annoying for him. I must seem like the most arrogant person he has ever met. Yet he continues to talk to me.
“Keep something to yourself, not something big or scary. But something, a dream, a hope, a fantasy, just for yourself. That way you can keep a part of you.”
He looks at me with these deep green eyes, and for the first time in a while, green doesn’t make me feel sick and empty. It doesn’t make me feel as excited as before, more on the safe side.
You still don’t get it? nowhere is safe for you, I will ruin anything and everything for you.
I roll my eyes as he whispers in you ear, his hands on my shoulders pressing down harder. To get rid of the feeling I roll my shoulders and try to focus on the conversation as well as my surroundings.
“Why? aren’t we supposed to do as they say and answer every question?”
It feels like a stupid question, because what he is saying makes sense, to me at least. A small, but tired smile makes it way onto his lips.
“Common misconception, but no. If you do that, they have the knowledge to persuade, control, almost own you. Not everyone knows all of themselves, but you seem like you do.”
The cheeky wink he sends me doesn’t go unnoticed, but as a bowl of pasta is set down in front of us, he engages in a conversation on his left side.
“How you doing Sandra, everything go well in your session today?”
To be honest, Michael seemed like the person that took care amongst the patients. Like he wanted to make sure that everyone was alright. As he talked to Sandra, I could tell that he genuinely cared about what she had to say.
“Okay, everyone, get ready for grace.”
Johnny announces as he sits down at the head of the table, opposite to the side where me and Michael are sitting. Everyone reaches their hands out and as the girl to my right reaches out a hand I hold it carefully, not really wanting to be touched more than necessary. Michael reaches out a hand, and I think he gets it, cause he holds me gingerly, but without fear. Like he isn’t scared that I’ll break any second.
After we finish grace, Johnny stands up and looks at me, with a kind smile.
“So everyone, we have a new patient here today, her name is Riley. Give her a warm welcome, and take care of eachother.”
I pull my hands into my sweater sleeves and give them all a nod as they all look at me. Some of them nodding back. The girl Michael was talking to even let out a little “hi”.
---------
Being social has always been difficult for me, and as I sit here in my bedroom, I have no idea of what to do with myself. I’m sat in the only chair in the room. It’s hard plastic and I can tell it is going to annoy me for a while. I don’t wanna look at the wall anymore so I pick up my phone and start scrolling through different media.
On all of them, he is there, looking so fucking innocent, too fucking innocent. Like he has moved on from what I did to myself, what I did to us. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he is ignoring it like this, so easy.
There are two sharp raps on the door, and it opens, invading my space and making me jump slightly. Linda is standing in the doorway, with her bright fake smile on her lips.
“Hi, Riley group therapy starts in three minutes, you should come-” she smiles at me.
“It is mandatory, but if you don’t feel like going your first day that’s alright too.” It feels like she is trying to force me to go with her eyes.
“Nah, I think I’ll go next time.”
At last you get something right
“Okay, please let us know if there is something we can do for you.” Linda says before she closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my own head.
----
I go to sleep shortly after getting my medicine handed to me from Johnny. Here, like all other institutions we aren’t allowed to have our own medicine at our own disposal. And I think that might be a good thing.
------
I wake up still rattled from a nightmare. My alarm is still blaring beside me and I turn to shut it off, just as there is a knock on my door. Linda walks in not a second later.
“Breakfast is in five minutes, you’ve slept in for long enough now.”
The fake smile, everything about her ticks me off, especially her condescending tone of voice. I just nod and start getting out of bed, she stares at my thighs and I know she has seen the scars that litter the top of them. I’m just glad I still have my long sleeve covering my arms.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
Linda walks out of my room, but still throws a last glance at my thighs. Looking as if they suddenly might attack her or come alive. As the door shuts behind her I look down at my legs, feeling ashamed.
You deserve these, after all you did it to yourself.
“No, you made me do this, you said-”
And you listened. Honestly, one would think you to be stronger.
“Yeah? Fuck you”.
I go about my routine, which is basically changing my top and putting on deodorant. I also put on a pair of sweatpants and socks before going out the door and to the kitchen on the first floor.
When I exit I also see another person closing her door. I recognize her as Sandra. The girl Michael was talking to at dinner yesterday. She looks at me and smiles, and starts heading for me.
“Hi, are you ready for breakfast?”
She smiles at me. Her body is covered in a big knit sweater and baggy jeans, like she is trying to hide herself from the world.
You could just grab a kitchen knife and stab her between her ribs.
I close my eyes for less than a second and look at her, seeing her tired eyes and messy hair. In that second I can’t help but think that her and I will be good friends.
“Yeah, I think so. You?”
We start walking towards the kitchen and I feel the weight on my shoulders pressing me down.
“Not really, but I can’t give up now.”
Sandra looks down at her feet, which causes me to ask her a question out of curiosity.
“What do you mean?”
She looks at me nervously, before she starts talking again.
“Well, I’m not that good at eating? I suppose.”
I nod trying to come across as understanding, as she looks at me like she expects me to come up with some big ol’ scream, instead I decide to “become even”.
“It’s quite alright, I’m not that good at living.”
And I think this was one of the best things I could have said, cause she smiles at me and lets out a little giggle, as we enter the kitchen. Everyone else seems to be there, at least the people from yesterday, I still haven’t talked to anyone else though.
Sandra and I sit down at the same places as we sat yesterday at dinner. She is immediately engaged in a conversation with the same guy from yesterday, the one she was pulled away from. He leans in for a hug and her frame is engulfed by his rather muscular one. With red tinted cheeks she turns to look at me.
“Chris, this is Riley.”
Chris leans back in his seat, with an arm thrown around the back of Sandra’s chair. He looks at me kind of judgey before giving me a nod of approval, at least that’s what it looks like. I give him a nod back, but before he can say anything our attention is pulled towards two girls entering the kitchen. One of them looks like she has been crying and the other holds a comforting hand on her back as they sit down beside me.
They’re here to kill you
Yeah right, and I’m here to listen to you….
-----
After breakfast, as I’m headed up the stairs, I hear soft chords coming from the music room. Someone is strumming a guitar and it’s like I’m hearing music for the first time. Not only music but one of the prettiest voices I have ever heard is singing along to the song.
I have a vague feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know who is playing. I walk closer to the open doors, and as I see Michael sitting on the floor playing the guitar that previously hung on the wall, I kind of melt a little. His fringe and the little crease between his brows, it’s all very enamoring.
“I’m alright, I’m Okay, I’m alright I’m okay, I’m not a monster just a human and I’ve made a few mistakes.”
Not gonna happen for you though.
We’ll see about that, I think to myself.
He sings the words so carefully like he doesn’t quite believe them. He finishes the song and looks up, seeing me in the doorway. Immediately the frown is back, but not as enamouring, more suspicious. It almost hides the blush that is lightly covering his cheeks.
“Sorry, I can come back later.”
I say as he puts the guitar down and gets up.
“No no, do you play?” he inquires, seemingly having gathered himself.
“Ehh, a little bit of everything.” I answer as he looks at me.
Not as well as you like to think.
I roll my eyes as I look down on the floor, hoping he doesn’t see.
“A little bit of everything eh?” Michael says.
“Yeah, I was taught the piano from a young age, and a bit of bass and guitar. Drums aren’t the worst, but anything that makes me use my mouth to make it work isn't for me to play, how about you though?” I say as he stares at me quizzically.
“Well I’m self taught at guitar so I can’t really write or read music, but I still like to think I know how to.”
He stares down at his feet a little bashfully.
“Well, you have a good voice, it’s strong and vulnerable at the same time. I really like the song you were playing as well.”
“You do? I haven’t actually written it myself it’s called ‘It’s alright’ by-”
“Mother Mother, I know. I really like it.”
We stare at each other for a second before we both burst out in giggles. It’s been a while since I have smiled like this.
You know this won’t last.
---------
Group therapy is the first thing that happens that week. It’s always between breakfast and lunch. And I walk from the music room with Michael right after the call comes on the radio thing that crackles in the corner of the room. We walk side by side until we come to the hallway with all the bedrooms in it. He stops by the door that is closest to the stairs, three doors down from me.
“You aren’t going to group therapy?”
I ask, and hope the disappointment isn’t as obvious in my voice as it feels.
“Nah, I don’t do group.”
Michael says with a secretive, yet tired smile, and I decide not to press the matter, even though it felt like a weird thing to come from him, considering how caring of the others he seems to be.
“Well, I’ll see you at dinner then.”
He nods as he opens the door and I take that as my cue to leave.
-----
“Hello and welcome back to group therapy. For some of us, this is the first time we’re here, others have been here before.”
Lucy starts off the session with everyone I’ve seen sitting in a circle and it looks more like an AA meeting than anything else.
“Since we have a new patient here today I think we should all take turns and say what’s on our minds.”
She smiles at us, and it doesn’t seem as fake as it could have been.
“Why don’t you start Riley?”
With the friendly smile she gives me, I should have been able to meet her gaze, but a big, looming, black figure is standing behind her, so I opt to look at my feet instead.
“Well, hi, my name is Riley and today I don’t feel much like living, like most days.”
My voice comes out tired and drawn out, and I can see Lucy crossing her legs and readying her notepad in anticipation.
------
The days go like this, we do group therapy as well as one on one, and I discover that Lucy isn’t like most other psychiatrists. She listens when I talk, and helps me figure out different kinds of things. It is probably in my journal, but she hasn’t asked about the voices yet. And I prefer it like that.
I have also started to connect more with Michael. We both sit in the music room and wear in all the instruments, although the most frequently used ones are the piano and guitars. He has the sweetest voice when he sings: vulnerable, but still confident.
A few days ago he let me follow his instagram, and ever since I have been staring, wondering how to read him. He seems so different from the person he is here. Always surrounded by friends and always laughing it seems. Yet there is something that still bothers me. He always seems to be at a party. The glassed over look in his eyes, and the red cup in his hand. The photos seem to be posted in a small time frame, almost like he’s partying every other day. And suddenly I get what has been right in front of me since I first saw his instagram. At least I think I do.
One day we are sitting in the music room and it’s right before dinner. That’s when I decide to address my own thoughts.
“Michael, can I ask you something?”
He looks at me, like he always does, with these understanding, green eyes of his. So patient and calm. Like the green water that comes from glacier ice. We’re sat beside each other on the piano stool after playing around on the grand piano.
“You know you can ask me anything, right Riles?”
Michael bumps my knee with his, as he gives me one of his most reassuring smiles. And I feel the lump in my chest grow.
“Well, I was just wondering-”
I hate this, I should back down, but I can’t stop now and before I can really think it through the words tumble out of my mouth.
“Do you have an alcohol problem?”
And the shift is immediate. His body goes rigid, he stops fiddling with the keys on the piano and his brows furrow.
“Not that question though, that is none of your business.”
I can see him shutting me out. He gets up just as Linda’s voice crackles through the room, calling us to dinner. Before I know it he has slammed the door to the music room shut, making me jump.
How did you really think this would go? That he would open up to you and cry on your shoulder? You really are more stupid than we thought.
The weight that had been lightening on my shoulder immediately goes back to crushing me, and regret is all I feel. What if I have ruined our friendship?
Probably.
When I enter the kitchen everyone is already seated and saying grace. I decide not to intrude as they complete. Opting to watch everyone else holding hands and in varying degrees keeping up with Linda who is leading grace.
They finish and once I get to the table and sit down on my usual spot, Linda scowls at me. I don’t really care for it. Just the fact that Michael doesn’t even look up when my chair scrapes across the floor, I hate it. I hate it so much.
Sandra looks at me quizzically. Usually me and Michael come down together from the music room, or we talk about music or books or anything that crosses our minds. The fact that he won’t even look at me is unusual to say the least. Which causes the entire dinner to be awkward. It’s like we have thrown the entire house off. Or I. I guess I did this.
Of course you did, who else?
----
Michael is the first to leave dinner, and I follow shortly after. I go straight to my room to get dressed. There is a little swing in the garden which overlooks the entire city, and I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I need some fresh air.
I just throw on a hoodie and grab my ear buds, putting them in my ears as I walk down the stairs and out the door.
I sit down on the porch swing in the garden and find a good loud song to shut out all my thoughts. I must have been sitting here for a few minutes when Sandra sits down beside me, making me jump a little.
“How are you?”
She asks this so softly, and I pull out my ear buds.
“Not too good to be honest.”
Her hands fiddle with the ends of her scarf as she looks at me.
“I figured, wanna talk about it?”
I can feel myself wanting to let it all out. I feel lonely already without the tiny touches from Michael. Fuck.
“I just, I don’t know, I think I might have made a big mistake.”
Sandra looks at me, gives me one of those looks, that says she already knows what this is about, but she has the decency to ask me anyway.
“What’s going on?”
Sighing feels like the only thing I can do.
“I, well it isn’t my place to tell, but I asked Michael something that I shouldn’t have asked about, and now he is mad at me. And I mean, he has every right to be angry, but it hurts.”
This time it is Sandra’s turn to sigh.
“You asked him why he’s here?”
“Something along those lines.”
“You should know Riley, that he has been here longer than most of us, and the walls he has built are so tall. When Chris first came here, he didn’t really understand why Michael was here. So he lashed out, and kept yelling about how Michael didn’t deserve to be here, and how he was more of an employee here than a patient. It definitely took a toll on him, even though Chris has apologized.”
“Do you know why he is here?”
I can’t stop myself from asking. I know I shouldn’t, but the words already slipped out of my mouth.
“No, I figured we all have our reasons and he doesn’t have to share them if he doesn’t feel like it, we owe him at least that.”
The sun is setting now, and the light reflects on us making warm hues glimmer across the city beneath us, as well as Sandra’s cheeks. Her hair looks like a black halo with golden edges.
“Yeah, maybe I should go apologize?”
“No-” she turns to look at me.
“You shouldn’t apologize, he needs to be asked this sort of questions if he ever wants to learn to live with whatever he is dealing with.”
I can’t help but agree with what she is saying.
-----
Lucy has one of the few nice rooms in the building, her office is more welcoming than I ever thought a psychiatric office could be. There is a good, comfortable two seat sofa in one corner of the room. Her desk is neat, but looks lived in for some reason. It’s like she has been here for a good part of her life. With a pair of running shoes, a couple of jackets hanging on the hooks by the door. But my most favourite thing about her office is the window though, which has a good look over the wild side behind the house.
That is where I’m looking when Lucy says my name, probably for the second time.
“Riley, how are you? You seem very distracted today.”
I look down at my hands, wondering how I’m gonna phrase this.
“I am.”
She cocks her head to the side, indicating for me to continue. I can’t though, it always has been easier for me to answer questions than to just tell someone what’s wrong.
“I noticed you and Michael haven’t been hanging out? it seemed like the two of you got a really good connection, what’s happened?”
“We can talk about anything else, just not that, not right now.”
And in this moment I swear I think she really cares.
But why would she care about you?
“Your suicide attempt then? The nurses wrote that you had a visitor when you woke up?”
Of course, it had to come eventually, I’m just surprised it took her this long.
“Yeah, there was.”
“Who was he?”
“Well since you know it’s a boy, you probably also know who he was to me.”
She looks at me with these really sad eyes. It’s pity, I know it’s pity, and I feel nauseous.
“I do, he’s mentioned in your papers a lot.”
“God, I know, I was so stupid back then.”
I sigh, trying to avoid the lump in the back of my throat.
“You weren’t stupid.”
“No, I was in love, and I hated it and it’s not gonna- it can’t happen again.”
I can hear myself, how pathetic I sound, and I can’t stop the tears from streaming out of my eyes, and down my cheeks.
“Riley, you are never stupid for having feelings.”
She sounds so stupid, so naive when she says that. She probably married her first love. I can see the ring on her finger, just taunting me by showing me what I can’t ever have.
Now you’re starting to get it.
“I am though, ‘cause it’s always the wrong feeling, or too much of it, too little, whatever it is, it’s never right.”
Lucy crosses and uncrosses her legs before speaking up again.
“So you’ve decided to not feel?”
Her saying this, it feels a bit like an insult, cause here I am, crying trying to bare my soul to her. And she accuses me of trying to not feel?
“Oh I feel, I’m heartbroken, and sad and scared, I’m frustrated and desperate.”
---
After my session with Lucy I’m tired, so when the screaming from my room increases I’m not really surprised. What surprises me is that they are screaming for mercy now. I don’t know what to do, but I can hear the most graphic noises coming from behind my door. The cries for help increase, as does the laughter. And just like that, I’m in tears for the second time today.
This time however, it’s different. I’m alone and the voices I know are just in my head, sound too real to be fantasy. I slide down the wall, not wanting to go inside my room, in fear of what I’ll meet. A mantra begins to escape my lips and I close my eyes while patting all my pockets for my earbuds.
“Please just stop, please just stop, please just stop,” escapes me over and over.
Suddenly, like lightning from clear sky I feel a presence sitting down beside me. His voice is calm as he says, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Michael is sitting beside me, I know him by his rough voice and the scent of him, laundry detergent, encompasses me entirely. My room goes quieter, and I start to get my bearings again. Wiping my eyes, I stand up and look at Michael. His eyes are red rimmed and he looks tired, but there is something familiar about it. His drooping, squinty eyes, for some reason he looks hungover. He can’t possibly be.
“I should probably, I mean, I’ll see you around.”
I stutter out, before I say something I shouldn’t. And before he has the time to respond I open the door and slip in. Not without missing the soft “fuck” he lets out, which makes me wonder if i have made a mistake.
When don’t you make mistakes?
I lean my back against the door, and sigh looking towards the bathroom, feeling the need for release really fast.
---
I get a snap from Sandra, whilst I’m sitting on the bathroom floor. It’s a picture of the living room, and if I squint I can see Johnny in the background of the screen. I put the camera of the phone down on my jeans and take a black picture. With shaking hands I type:
“Can you ask Johnny to come to my room?”
A few seconds later I get back a picture of Johnny exiting the living room with the text: “On his way, you alright?”
Before I have the time to respond there is a nock on my door, before it opens.
“Where are you Riley?”
His calm and steady voice made me feel worse. How the fuck am I supposed to explain this.
“Bathroom, you can come in.”
I feel the tears burning behind my eyes again, and the short relief I felt is gone, replaced with regret. Johnny stands in the doorway looking at me before taking another step closer and turning my wrist up to assess the damage I have done to myself.
“Okay, I’ll get you stitched up and then we can talk about what has happened?”
All I can do is nod my head as he helps me stand up. He folds a towel over my arms, tells me to cross them and then we head for the medical room. It is just down the hall, and I suspect that it’s no coincidence that it’s placed so close to the patient rooms.
Luckily we don’t pass anyone in the hallway, and I think I’m in the clear.
I lay on the medical chair as Johnny administrates the local anesthesia. It feels like something is stinging underneath my skin, until it all goes numb.
“I didn’t know you were allowed to stitch people up here?”
Conversation is a desperate attempt at distraction for me, but I’m grateful that he goes along with it anyway.
“Yeah, it’s just me and a few others who have the training though.”
He says as he methodically works his way through the routine I have witnessed too many times.
“How did you get the training, was it hard?”
Johnny is one of the very few who don’t use the rolling chair as he preps everything, but he has left it by the side of my reclined seat.
“Well, the military is pretty hard most would say, but as I learned things got easier, and when it’s all about saving a brother in arms, I suddenly just knew how to apply the things we had learned as recruits.”
This I kind of saw coming, but not the medic part. His burly build and calm exterior always reminded me of my father, who was a tank driver.
“My dad was in the armed forces, he died there too.”
Johnny turns around and rolls the tray with the needle and thread over. He then sits down on the chair and threads the needle as he talks.
“I’m sorry to hear, when did this happen?”
The weird thing is that this conversation doesn’t feel forced, even though this is something I hate talking about.
“I was like ten I think? So about ten years ago.”
Johnny nods, and it feels like he knows what he knows what I’m talking about. I realise that he has probably read it in my file, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it should, after all he knows how it is.
We continue to talk about all of this while he stitches me up. When he finishes up he suggests to me to take a nap to which I agree. Johnny puts on some huge medical bandages and follows me back to my room, which has been cleaned. I suspect Johnny sent a message to someone.
———
I’m woken up by aching in my arm and a cursed knocking on my door. Linda walks in before i can even say “come in”. I couldn’t have even if I wanted to. My throat feels dry as Linda sits down beside me.
“Come on, get up! it’s time for breakfast.”
And it’s so typical her, to not ask me how I’m doing, no sympathy. And for the first time in a while I don’t feel so choked. Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but the feeling of being treated like a normal person, no matter what I did yesterday.. it sort of feels good actually.
However, I’m not gonna let her know that so I just silently nod while sitting up in the bed.
When I come down to the kitchen everybody is already there, except for one person. Judging by the chair that pushed back from the table, Michael has already left.
As people sit and chat I go over to the counter and start making myself a cup of tea. Tea making and drinking is a part of being inpatient no one told me about, although I suppose it’s different for everyone. It has just become a thing I do everyday several times.
With my sweater pawed hands holding the tea cup, I’m sitting here listening to the other patients talk, smiling at the appropriate moments and sometimes laughing a bit. And in contrast to the last couple of weeks, it doesn’t feel entirely forced.
———
It’s late in the evening, I have walked past the porch and over to the edge of the garden, behind a tree. It shields from the view of the windows of the house and I’ve never actually been here. But it looks peaceful so I sit down at the base of the tree and overlook the city. I still can’t believe I agreed to this. Being so far away from all that I knew physically hasn’t changed me mentally, no matter how much mum wishes it did. She calls sometimes, but I feel like I would have to lie to her every time so i don’t answer at all. I know she still gets weekly reports when she calls the office lady, even though I never quite figured out where she has her office.
“Hey there.”
I look up and I’m met with emerald green eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses I’ve never seen Michael wear. He doesn’t ask permission or anything before he sits down. I suppose he doesn’t have too either.
“Hey, I can leave if you want some time alone or something.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I have the time or sense to think them through, and sooner than I expected I’m standing up. Until I’m not anymore. My hands are firmly planted in the ground behind my back, upper body bent and ready to get up, when I feel his calloused palm holding onto my wrist. It’s too close, I know it is. And again, I act too quickly. This time by pulling my hand towards myself, thereby sitting back down.
“Please stay. Unless you don’t want to of course.”
And it hurts. God it hurts to just hear the hurt and resignation in his voice.
“No no, I’ll stay.”
For the first time that evening I really, really take a good look at him. He looks tired, more so that usual. With a beanie covering his messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a beard that hasn’t been shaved in a couple of days.
“I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”
Michael sighs, and I know he dreads the conversation by the way his fingers immediately go to the strings of his hoodie, fiddling with them incessantly, when I tell him.
“Yeah, I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
He is still looking at his hands, as if searching for answers.
“You don’t owe me anything Michael, but I will take an explanation if you want to tell me?”
Again he sighs, probably debating how much he should tell me.
“Well, this is gonna be messy, but I just want to try to explain this so you can better understand why I act the way I do.”
Michael pulls his legs up to his chest and puts his hand on his knee. For the first time in a long long while I seek contact first. I put my hand on his and give it what I hope is an encouraging squeeze. Before I wrap my arms around myself again.
“You know as well as I do that treatment at this place isn’t for the poor, or even the middle class, it is kind of stupid really, how they leave treatment for those well off, fucking ridiculous.”
Carefully I speak his name and he looks at me.
“Right, sorry. My dad is a really successful businessman, and we were always well off, but I think it came with its consequences. As I grew up, I was surrounded by all these rich bastards who were always looking for a deal, and I was a part of the picture perfect family. Except we weren’t.”
He looks away from his hands and up at the sky, I follow his gaze and see a few tiny little stars. A shadow flickers in the corner of my eyes, and I know it’s not real, and it gives me a little sting of fear anyways.
“I mean, sure we had everything we could ever ask for, except maye love. My mum and dad were constantly fighting behind closed doors and I grew up listening to them. She started doing more business meetings further away from me and my father, and I was so angry with my father for driving her away. So I started distancing myself, I can’t have been older than eighteen.”
I shuffle a little closer to Michael, feeling his warmth through his hoodie. Hoping it comforts him, but also that the shadow won’t see me.
“When you started…”
I’m not sure how much I can say to Michael without him getting angry, so I let the ending of the sentence hang in the air for a while.
“When I started drinking. It didn’t really start as an issue where I consciously went looking for solace in alcohol, but as I partied more and more, and found some sort of relief in it, i actively sought it out. I don’t remember a lot of the last couple of years, except for headaches and bottles. I also had shitty friends who kept pushing me to drink more.”
My heart truly aches for him. But at the same time, I know I couldn’t have helped him anyway. Maybe I can’t help him now either, but I can be here for him. And I intend to do so.
“It ended when I came home one night and my dad was home for once. A magazine was spread out on the kitchen table with me on the front page. It wasn’t pretty. He was so ashamed of me, said some pretty ugly stuff. As did I, cause what he said really hurt. I came here to be a forced inpatient. But after a few weeks, after horrible abstinences, and a solid few rounds around my own head, I accepted where I was and decided to be better, by doing better.”
Just as I’m about to say something the grip on my shoulder tightens, and I flinch a little. He doesn’t seem to notice though.
“That’s why, when you so easily saw through me, I was scared you too would be angry and ashamed, so I found it better to just shut you out. I made a really big mistake, some of my old friends stopped by with a bottle of something awful. I mean after shutting you out, nothing felt right and for a second I thought drinking would help, it didn’t. And the day after, when I found you in the hallway. I regretted it so badly, and I just want you to know, that nothing of this is your fault. I hope you can see that. ”
Finally he looks at me, and I can see his eyes, searching mine for an answer.
“I’m not angry or ashamed, I’m proud actually. For as much as it counts for, I’m proud of you for being able to push through this and for having the guts to talk to me about it.”
He takes a hold of my hand and intertwine our fingers. I don’t notice at first, and when I do it is too late. My sleeve has slid down on my arm and exposed the bandage covering it.
“Riley, you didn’t have this a couple of days ago..”
Michael lets the sentence hang in the air as I try to find the right words. He looks so sad.
“You do not owe me an explanation. Just so we’re clear on that, but know that I’m here for you.”
I nod and squeeze his hand, before pulling to me to study the bandage. It should be changed soon.
“You know, you reminded me of my ex-”
His expression says it all, he really doesn’t like where this is going.
“when i first came here. You have the same eyes, almost at least. Yours are a lot warmer, kinder. And you easily read people, respect their limits. David didn’t. He was always pushing for me to be perfect and well, it sounds a lot like your parents. In the end, when my schizofrenia got too much and I attempted suicide, I didn’t fit into his world anymore, and he left me alone in the hospital. Mum came by after a couple of days later, after her trip to wherever with her new husband. He works as a contractor or some shit, so he is paying for this.”
The frustration I feel as I explain this, I don’t know how to put it into words. However, Michael seems to understand.
“I harm myself because the voices tell me to. And it gives me some sort of twisted peace. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Michael shuffles closer to me, so we sit arm to arm, and I lean my head on his shoulder. For the first time in a long while I really like the world is a little safer.
“Wanna make a deal?”
I ask as I sit there. Hoping he will agree.
“Depends on the deal.”
“Well, I was just thinking, maybe if we promise to each other that we won’t hurt ourselves if the other person promises to do the same, that we can come to each other when we need to be distracted. This doesn’t mean like it’s our responsibility bu-”
Before I can finish my sentence Michael cuts me off.
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
As cheesy as it sounds, I swear, I can hear a smile in his voice.
“Also, another thing. Wanna join group tomorrow? It’s a great way to be there for others, and maybe let them get to know you a little differently.”
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