Like Suicide, Only Softer - pt. one

[ericasaur]

He could hear her screaming. He always could, but he couldn’t help her. He stood frozen in place, paralyzed with fear. It was the same scenario every single time. He could hear her muffled little cries for help; he could hear her calling his name. He could see her little body struggling, trying to find something to hold on to. He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t.

He calls her name, but he can’t hear his own voice. Her cries are faint now, her body barely struggling. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but that doesn’t make him any less terrified. It doesn’t make this time any different or any more substantial.

He watches her stop moving, her body now floating down the creek, and his eyes are widened and leaking helpless tears. He still can’t move.

“Ryan!” he hears. “Ryan, what happened?” The voice is louder now, right beside him. It’s a blur of sound and color, shrieks and screams as they see the tiny body floating in the water below. “What did you do?!” they scream at him. “Why didn’t you help her?”

“What did you do, Ryan,” he hears again, but it doesn’t sound like a question, it sounds like defeat, the voice coming out shocked and devastated now. There’s screaming, shoving, and then he’s on the ground. And yet, he still can’t move. There are hands on his shoulders, shaking him over and over, and he feels more than hears the scream come from his mouth. It hits him, the realization of what happened, and how he could have prevented it. He screams again and again, the shaking increasing rapidly until his mind blanks out.

“Ryan!” he hears, but this time it’s a different voice. The hands on him are gentle, shaking him out of his bad dream. “Ryan, it’s okay. You were dreaming. It was just a dream,” the nurse soothes. He’s breathing hard, only just now realizing that he was screaming. His eyes are wet, and he’s shaking, terrified. “It was a dream,” she repeats comfortingly.

“No, it wasn’t,” he shakes his head furiously back and forth, pulling his knees to his chest and rocking slowly. “It was real,” he whispers roughly.

“Was it the same dream, Ryan?” the nurse asks softly. A whimper leaves his lips, and he holds his legs closer to himself. He doesn’t answer her, just nods quickly. “We’ve talked about this,” she reminds him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” he yells, warm tears streaking his face. “It was,” he insists. “It’s always my fault. I could have - could have helped, could have saved her,” he rambles, mostly talking to himself, rocking back and forth faster now.

The nurse sighs resignedly, used to this happening at least twice a month. She hands Ryan a pill, and he eyes it warily.

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, you’re trying to hurt me. Those pills will make me forget,” he says, still shaking his head.

“They’re only to help you sleep,” she assures him, handing him a glass of water. “I promise, they’ll make the nightmares go away. You’ve taken them before, remember?”

Ryan stops moving, staring at her, his mouth tensing and twitching like it always does. He tries to slow his breathing, tries to remember if she’s telling the truth. Do those pills hurt him? Is she lying? “O-okay,” he agrees, bringing the pill to his mouth with a shaky hand, quickly swallowing it and washing it down with the cold water. “No more nightmares?” he asks her with big eyes.

She smiles kindly, patting his hand. “No more nightmares. Now let’s get you back to sleep.” She helps him settle back into bed, sending him one more smile before turning the lights off and exiting the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Ryan breathes deeply, his eyebrows creasing in concentration as he tries to get a hold on himself. He hums to himself softly under his breath. He’ll be okay.

* * *

“So, it’s Brendon, right?” the receptionist asks, attempting to get some kind of a reaction from the dark-haired boy sitting in the chair across the room from her, staring at her and looking thoroughly unimpressed. He’s slouching, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“Yeah,” he drawls, not any kind of expression on his face.

“Well, I think you’re gonna like it here,” she says like she’s talking to a child. “Everyone is really nice, and we even have game rooms and-”

“I’m not a fucking mental case. You don’t need to talk to me like I’m five,” he tells her, mocking her child-like tone. He ignores the fact that since he’s being checked in to a mental clinic, it kind of directly contradicts his statement of not being mental. But he’s not, really. Not like some of the other people here. He has issues; lots of fucked up issues - but he’s mentally stable. He tells himself that, anyway.

“Oh…” she trails off, clearing her throat awkwardly and pretending to be busy with the paperwork on her desk. Brendon kind of feels like snapping her neck.

He knows that his mother is doing the right thing in putting him here. He knows that, but it still sucks. Actually, he doesn’t even have to stay here if he doesn’t want to. He’s eighteen. But he can see how much it hurts his mom to see him like this, so he’ll stay. Maybe he wouldn’t mind getting some help either. He just seriously doubts that this place is going to give it to him. He’s cynical, pessimistic, and completely demented. Who knows, maybe he is crazy.

He didn’t really know what to expect this place to be like, but he thought it would be more… clinical. It mostly just looks like a really clean hotel. The flooring is carpet, and if he looks down the hall he can see door after door, each one with a different number on it. There are multiple hallways, each one looking the same. There’s an elevator, so he figures the other floors probably hide the more medical rooms. The ones that are more likely to scare people off.

“Okay, well I guess that’s it,” he hears his mom say. He looks up to see her and some doctor emerging from an office.

“If you can just grab your bags, Brendon, I’ll have Nurse Beth here show you to your room,” the doctor smiles at Brendon. Brendon stands up, a duffel bag on each shoulder, and gives the doctor a look of distaste as he passes by.

“Follow me,” the nurse smiles, and Brendon and his mother follow her to the elevator. “Now, you’re going to be on the third floor,” she says, pressing the ‘3’ on the elevator once they’re all in. Brendon read the sign in the lobby for all the floors, and he runs them through his mind, trying to remember what the third floor was. One is the geriatric ward, two is the recovering patient ward, and three is - three is the juvenile psych ward. They’re sending him to the psych ward.

“Wait, why exactly am I being sent to the psych ward?” he asks with clearly noticeable petulance, interrupting the silence as the elevator ascends. “I’m not crazy,” he informs the nurse, even though he’s sure that’s exactly what a crazy person would say. She turns around to face him, looking at him somewhat apologetically.

“Well, the psych ward is for more than just mentally unstable patients. It’s for depression, eating disorders…” she trails off, raising an eyebrow at him. He bites his tongue, looking away from her and clenching his jaw. A lot of fucking nerve she has.

“Fine,” he says shortly. She smiles at him and the mood is tense until the elevator stops and the doors open. The nurse walks out, gesturing for them to follow her. This floor looks different. The floors are still carpeted, which Brendon is grateful for - nothing says ‘clinic’ like linoleum floors - and the doors are metal instead of wooden. That makes Brendon feel a little uneasy.

“I think you’ll like Ryan,” the nurse chatters, looking back at him. “I think he’s starting to feel lonely, so maybe this will help him,” she muses. Brendon slows down, creasing his eyebrows.

“Ryan?” he asks, sending a nervous glance to his mother, who smiles back reassuringly.

“Oh, he’s who you’ll be sharing a room with,” Nurse Beth informs him, finally stopping in front of a door with the number ‘117’ across it in black.

“Whoa, wait,” Brendon stops her from opening the door. “Sharing a room?” he repeats incredulously. “Nobody said anything about a roommate.” He definitely didn’t plan on having to deal with living with some fucking psychopath.

“Don’t worry,” she smiles. “He’s nice.”

Brendon huffs, shaking his head and sending his mother a look. “It’ll be fine,” she assures him, smoothing back his hair.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brendon demands, crossing his arms to show that he’s standing his ground until he gets an answer. The nurse looks hesitant, like perhaps she’s not supposed to say anything, but Brendon just raises his eyebrows at her. He has a right to know what kind of person he’s going to be living with.

“Well… Ryan is schizophrenic,” she admits quietly. Brendon’s mouth drops open. Great, his roommate is insane. “But he’s really nice,” she hastily adds. “He’s quiet, keeps to himself. He just - he can’t help it when he has an episode.”

“And how often is that?” Brendon’s mother butts in.

“Sometimes as often as a few times a week,” she admits straightforwardly. Brendon can feel himself becoming increasingly worried that his roommate is going to murder him in his sleep.

“He’s not… dangerous, is he?” Brendon’s mother asks worriedly, but the nurse quickly shakes her head.

“No, Ryan is mostly introverted, and he tends to take his anger out on himself. He-” she cuts herself off, sighing deeply. “Please don’t think that he’s crazy,” she says to Brendon. “He hates when people call him that. He’s fine for the most part. Schizophrenia doesn’t mean he’s going to go on a killing spree. He gets scared, hears voices sometimes, has hallucinations - but he isn’t violent toward others usually. There has only been one incident when he’s hurt someone here, and it was because he was getting an injection,” she explains. “Schizophrenia increases the chance of the patient developing phobias, and Ryan has a lot of them - needles being one. We had to figure that out the hard way,” she finishes with another sigh. “Just, be nice to him. His mind works differently than yours, and the things people say affect him.”

Brendon doesn’t know much about schizophrenia, but he thinks the nurse might be sugarcoating it a bit for his sake. He shrugs, waiting for her to open the door and just get this over with so he can sleep. The door doesn’t make any noise as she pushes it open, and Brendon walks in, taking in the room before him. It’s bigger than he’d expected, and again, it doesn’t really have the feel of a clinic. The walls are a beige color, and the furniture is all dark-colored and wooden. One side of the room contains an empty, full-sized bed with comfortable-looking white bedding, a desk and chair, a nightstand, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a big, cushiony reading chair. Brendon’s eyes trail over to the other side of the room which is identical except for the lanky boy lying back on the bed with a book in his hands. His eyes are wide and focused on the three people in the middle of the room.

“Hello, Ryan,” Nurse Beth smiles warmly. Ryan’s eyes flick from Brendon and his mother to the nurse, and his expression softens.

“Hi, Beth,” he returns her smile. Brendon is kind of shocked by the deep tone of the voice coming from such a frail boy.

“This is Brendon, your new roommate, and his mother, Linda,” she introduces. Ryan’s eyes move back over to Brendon, skittering over him and taking him in, trying to decide if he looks like he’d be trustworthy. Brendon watches Ryan size him up, and he looks guarded, tense, the book long forgotten and loose in his hands.

“R-roommate?” Ryan stutters quietly, turning his confused gaze back to Beth. So they didn’t tell him either.

“Yes, Brendon is going to be sharing your room,” she nods with a comforting smile. “He won’t hurt you, Ryan,” she adds when she notices him glancing warily at Brendon. Ryan hesitantly nods, his posture relaxing a little.

“Hi,” Ryan says in Brendon and his mother’s direction, not looking at them but instead opting to go back to his book.

“Well,” Nurse Beth sighs, “Brendon, you can unpack your stuff. I’ll give you two a minute to say goodbye, and then I’ll show you out, Linda,” she smiles. Brendon’s mom gives her a polite nod back, watching as she exits the room.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Linda smiles. “I’m gonna miss you, sweetie.” She leans forward, wrapping Brendon into a tight hug.

“It’s not like you won’t visit every chance you get,” Brendon reminds her.

“Yeah,” she chuckles a little. “I really hope you can get some help, Bren,” she murmurs, ruffling her son’s hair. “I just want you to be okay again.”

“We’ll see,” Brendon replies, pulling back from his mother.

They say their goodbyes, involving a lot of crying from Linda and a lot a sighing from Brendon, and then before Brendon knows it, he’s standing in the room with his bags hanging from his shoulders with nobody in the room except for a very frightened-looking Ryan. Brendon stays silent, bringing his bags to his bed and starting to unpack them. He didn’t bring much, just his clothes, some books, his iPod - they wouldn’t let him bring his laptop - and a picture of him and his mother that he places on the nightstand.

It doesn’t take him very long to get all of his clothes put away and the few other items placed neatly on the bookshelf. And then he really doesn’t know what to do, because when he turns around, that kid is still staring at him looking scared for his life.

Brendon sits down on his bed with a sigh, raising his eyebrows at Ryan. “I’m not going to slit your throat in your sleep,” he drawls. Ryan’s eyes widen even more at that, and he obviously thinks Brendon is crazy. Ryan does this weird twitch thing where his mouth pulls a little and his fingers jerk.

Ryan opens his mouth to talk, stops, and then opens it again. “What’s wrong with you?” Ryan asks quietly.

What’s wrong with me? Brendon thinks. “Um,” he says slowly.

“I mean, why are you here?” Ryan elaborates. Brendon stares at him long and hard, trying to come up with an answer to the question. Why is he here?

He turns over, facing the wall, and mutters, “I don’t know.”

* * *

Brendon wakes up to something bony poking his side repeatedly. He swats at it, but it doesn’t stop until he finally groans and sits up quickly, scaring a skittish Ryan back a few feet. “What?” Brendon asks harshly, rubbing his head that acquired a headache sometime during the night.

“It’s time to eat,” Ryan informs him quietly with wide eyes. He backs away slowly and then darts quickly out the door, leaving Brendon staring confusedly.

Brendon isn’t hungry.

He tries to go back to sleep, but in less than five minutes, a doctor shows up in his room, the same one from yesterday. He knocks on the doorframe and Brendon turns over to face him. “Hey, Brendon,” he smiles. “I’m Dr. Burns, from yesterday? It’s time to eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry,” Brendon says flatly. The doctor’s smile falters.

“You know you need to eat,” he argues.

“Yeah, I know that, but I’m not hungry right now,” Brendon says, his voice taking on an irritated tone. Dr. Burns seems to be contemplating, standing half in the hallway and half in the room, until he finally sighs resignedly.

“Okay,” he gives in. “But I’d better see you at dinner.” He gives Brendon a stern look, and Brendon just nods back, turning around again and hearing the doctor’s footsteps retreating back down the hall. He rolls out of bed, peering out into the hallway to see that all of the doors are open. They told him yesterday that during the day the patients could leave their rooms. He decides to walk around, get to know the place he’s going to be living in.

At the end of the hall, there’s a lounge. He sees a few people sitting around on couches and chairs, chatting or watching TV. There are a few computers set up against the wall.

He goes back out and down to the other end of the hall, where the reception desk for this floor is. Behind it is the doctor’s office, along with a few exam rooms.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks. Her nametag says ‘Valerie.’

“Um, yeah. I was just wondering where the cafeteria is?” he asks. He might as well find out where everything is now.

“First floor, right across from the elevator when you get out,” she smiles. Brendon nods, heading for the elevator. He can already tell he’s going to get tired of using this thing every day.

When he walks into the cafeteria, he’s momentarily frozen in place. There are a lot of people in here and Brendon hates being around people. He sees some people sitting alone, muttering to themselves. He sees older people walking around looking like they don’t know where they are.

He spots Ryan as one of the people sitting alone and he’s nibbling on a sandwich, his nose in a book. Brendon walks over to the cafeteria line, informing the lady that he’d like something to drink. As he’s turning around, he hears a commotion across the room. He whips around to see a crowd of nurses around the table Ryan was sitting at. The woman hands him his drink and he quickly takes it and walks over toward the crowd.

“Get off me!” he hears Ryan shout. “No, stop touching me! No!” he keeps repeating. When Brendon gets closer he can see a doctor struggling to contain Ryan, the boy thrashing and writhing.

“Ryan, you need to calm down,” the doctor orders calmly.

“No! All of you - you all just want to hurt me! Don’t fucking touch me!” he cries when a nurse attempts to take his arm. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone!” he repeats over and over, bringing his hands to his hair and pulling on it. Brendon is watching the scene with wide eyes. The Ryan he’d seen last night was nothing like this. He was gentle and skittish, like a frightened animal. This must be one of those ‘episodes’ Beth was talking about.

Ryan starts scratching at his own face, and a nurse quickly grabs his hands and holds them back. “Sedate him,” the doctor mutters to another nurse. She nods, retrieving a syringe from her pocket and uncapping it. Ryan’s eyes widen with panic when he sees the nurse approaching him with the needle. He starts violently struggling and shaking his head back and forth, and Brendon remembers that Beth said he had a phobia of needles. He briefly thinks that it’s kind of cruel to do this when they know how scared Ryan is.

“No, please no!” Ryan begs, and Brendon can see tears falling down his face. Ryan screams when the nurse injects him with the syringe, and he thrashes for a few more seconds before his movements start to slow, his eyelids dropping halfway down. His screams turn to whimpers, and then his eyes close and he’s unconscious, slouching down in the doctor’s arms.

“Let’s get him to his room,” the doctor orders, gesturing for the nurses to help him lift Ryan. Brendon finds himself following them back to his and Ryan’s room and watching them settle the unconscious body from the doorway, unnoticed. He’s kind of stunned, watching silently until a hand on his shoulder makes him jerk, turning his head to see Beth smiling half-heartedly at him.

“So that’s what schizophrenia is,” Brendon comments, letting out a rush of breath. Beth huffs out a laugh, nodding her head.

“Yep. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine when he wakes up,” she assures him.

“Can’t he take some kind of medicine to stop it from happening?” Brendon wonders. There has to be something they could do.

“He does take medicine - antipsychotics. But they can only help so much. Schizophrenia is incurable. There’s nothing that can be done; he’ll have it forever,” she says regretfully. “He usually doesn’t have random outbursts like that, though. It’s usually triggered. But from what they said, he was just eating when it happened,” she shrugs, watching the doctor writing something down on a chart and the other nurses tucking Ryan in.

“Yeah, I saw him. He was fine one minute and then he just started freaking out,” Brendon confirms.

“Well, just try not to scare him when he wakes up,” she advises, patting his shoulder once more before heading back down the hallway.

“Oh, Brendon,” Dr. Burns says, stopping abruptly in front of Brendon who is blocking the doorway. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, I was just gonna lie down for a couple more hours,” Brendon says, walking past the doctor and into his room.

He does lie down, thinking about how difficult his stay here is going to be. He never thought it would be anything like this. He still doesn’t really know what he thinks of it, but he does know that so far, he’s not getting any help.

* * *

Brendon wakes up for a second time that day, again by Ryan. But it wasn’t intentional this time. Brendon had roused from his sleep when he heard a soft sound coming from the other side of the room. He blinks his eyes open now, noting that it’s dark, and listens carefully. He hears a bit of sniffling, some muffled noises, and he turns over and peers across the room. Ryan is sitting up in his bed, pillow clutched to his chest, crying quietly.

Brendon’s eyebrows crease, and he sits up with a yawn, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Ryan?” he asks cautiously. Ryan jumps, jerking his head up and wiping his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs. Brendon blinks at how normal Ryan sounds, thinking that if he didn’t witness it for himself, he’d be convinced that Beth was lying about the schizophrenia. “You’re still here then.”

“Uh… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Brendon asks confusedly. Ryan laughs, but it sounds wrong, hollow.

“I wasn’t sure if you were real or not,” he says, smiling secretively.

“Um…” Brendon starts slowly, not really sure at all how to respond to that. He trails off when he notices Ryan trying to keep himself composed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks. He normally wouldn’t care - actually he doesn’t care - but he’s curious. Ryan shakes his head a little, shrugging his shoulders.

“I just wish I was normal, you know?” Ryan says quietly, raising his eyes to meet Brendon’s. Brendon can’t really see his features in the dark like this, but it’s like he can almost feel the sadness radiating from across the room.

“I, um…” Brendon trails off, again not really sure how to respond.

“It’s awful, really, being this way,” Ryan continues like Brendon never even said anything. “Sometimes I can’t even differentiate between my mind and reality. I spend so much time in my own thoughts that it’s hard to come back down to earth and realize that this is my life. This clinic, these doctors - that’s my life, forever,” he mumbles. Brendon realizes Ryan is mostly just talking to himself at this point, his eyes unfocused and far away.

“What do you mean ‘forever’?” Brendon asks. “You’ll get out eventually, right?” Ryan looks up at Brendon, a devastating look in his eyes.

“No, I won’t,” he shakes his head, dropping his gaze again. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Brendon is confused, because he wasn’t aware that Ryan lived here, as in he’s not a temporary patient, like Brendon himself.

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” Brendon says, pulling his knees to his chest and offering Ryan a half-smile. He figures the kid could use some cheering up. He feels bad for him. “Everyone here is crazy, right?” he laughs, but Ryan looks up sharply, hurt in his eyes.

“You think I’m crazy?” he asks, his words sounding hollow. Brendon freezes, remembering that Beth said Ryan hates being called that. “I knew it,” Ryan murmurs accusingly, starting to rock back and forth. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy,” he laughs, and Brendon thinks that he’s playing the part well, considering that rocking back and forth and laughing doesn’t exactly do much to help a person look sane.

Ryan brings a hand to his hair and starts pulling on it, still laughing. “If everyone thinks it then it must be true.”

Brendon doesn’t really know what to do - he’s never been in a situation like this. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he says quickly, because he is really not in the mood to get stabbed. “I was kidding.” Ryan stops laughing, stops moving altogether, and his eyes widen.

“What?” he whispers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to Brendon. He’s staring at nothing, his mouth doing that twitch again. “Stop saying that,” he murmurs.

“But I didn’t…” Brendon starts before realizing that Ryan is just talking to himself, not paying Brendon any attention at all.

“That’s not true!” Ryan cries, bringing his hands back to his hair and tugging, shaking his head quickly. “It wasn’t my fault, shut up!” he says, and Brendon can tell he’s crying from his choked-up voice. Brendon stands up, ignoring the rush in his head and walking over to Ryan.

“Hey,” Brendon says, grabbing Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan jerks and shoves Brendon as hard as he can, causing Brendon to tumble backwards onto the floor.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Ryan says harshly, a wild look in his eyes. Brendon just stares up at him wide-eyed. It’s like he’s a completely different person from five minutes ago. And didn’t Beth say that he wasn’t usually violent?

“I’m… gonna go to bed,” Brendon says cautiously, standing up and walking slowly back over to his bed before crawling into it. Ryan eyes him with a glare, sitting back on his own bed and muttering to himself again.

Brendon turns around, but he can’t seem to even focus on trying to fall asleep after what just happened. He’s not really scared, but it’s just - he doesn’t know if he can deal with living with someone like this.

Then again, Ryan is living with a pretty fucked up person too. He just doesn’t know that yet.

* * *

For the next week, Brendon tip-toes around Ryan. He tries to avoid him the best he can, but it’s kind of hard when they share a room. He has caught Ryan staring at him with these regretful looks though, like he feels bad.

It’s been exactly one week and two days since Brendon has been here, and it’s time for his first therapy session. Apparently, he has to attend one every Wednesday.

He walks into the office he was told to go to - the name plate on the door says ‘Dr. Clark’ - and sitting behind a large oak desk is a middle-aged woman. Why are his therapists always women? She has dull brown hair and a soft-looking smile. She may look trustworthy, but Brendon doesn’t trust anyone.

He trudges over to the cliché chaise lounge that the patients always lie on in the movies and takes a seat, sitting rigid and uncomfortably. He honestly has no idea what he’s expected to talk about in this meeting. If it’s anything to do with what happened, then she can forget it.

He doesn’t talk about that, because talking makes it hard to forget the awful things that you want to keep locked away forever.

Upon the clearing of the woman’s throat, Brendon looks up to meet her eager gaze, a gaze that so obviously says, ‘tell me all your secrets!’

“Hello, Brendon,” she smiles. It’s a smile Brendon recognizes; the one that all the doctors and therapists use with patients. It’s meant to offer comfort, he’s sure, but it only succeeds in creeping him out.

Brendon raises his eyebrows at her, but otherwise doesn’t respond. She sighs, clearly able to tell already that he’s going to be one of those patients - the ones that never answer questions and remain sealed-up and closed-off.

“So, why don’t we start with something simple,” she starts, taking a seat in the big, dusty chair across from him. “How about we talk about your mom?” she suggests. Brendon doesn’t answer immediately, because he doesn’t quite understand what his mom has to do with anything. He knows she’s probably just trying to reel him in by starting out with unimportant things that he doesn’t mind talking about.

“What about her?” he finally responds, keeping his voice level.

“Well, what was it like living with her?” Dr. Clark asks, tapping her pen against her clipboard.

Brendon thinks about the question. He loves his mother; he always has. She’s always taken the best possible care of him, and what happened to him… it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t even know about it, god no. It would have stopped a lot sooner if she had known, but Brendon was always too scared to tell her. He didn’t want her to get hurt. So instead, he continued to take the ‘punishment’ - or that’s what he saw it as anyway, because why else would it have happened to him?

“Mom’s not the problem, here,” he responds, meeting her gaze. “She’s a good mom,” he adds, a little softer.

“And you don’t harbor any vengeful feelings toward her?” she asks, cocking her head. “You don’t put any of the blame on her?” Brendon’s eyes narrow, sharpening. Of course she must know everything that happened to him - it’s in his file. It’s still slightly disconcerting to know that all these people, these strangers, know his entire life story. It makes him feel like all of his feelings, insecurities, fears - it makes him feel like they’re just out in the open, written across his chest for the world to see, to judge him. It’s a suffocating feeling.

“No,” he says tersely. “It’s not-” he cuts himself off, swallowing. “It’s not her fault - it never was. If I had told her, she would have done something,” he admits, lowering his gaze.

“And why didn’t you ever tell her?” Dr. Clark questions.

“Because I loved her,” Brendon says simply, looking at the doctor like she’s stupid. “If something like that was happening to you, would you want to tell your mother, knowing that it would break her heart?” he asks, his throat going a little scratchy with the emotion in his words. He doesn’t think about this stuff much, nor does he want to, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to remember. “She trusted him, okay, she loved him, and I didn’t want to take that away from her.” Brendon stops talking, upset with himself for having revealed so much. He’s not used to telling people how he actually feels. He never has before, and he really doesn’t know if he wants to start now.

“So you continued to suffer the abuse for your mother’s sake?” she asks. She doesn’t look concerned, merely curious, maybe even a bit fascinated.

“Wouldn’t you?” Brendon counters, raising a stubborn eyebrow. Dr. Clark smiles politely, clearing her throat and putting her clipboard away.

“Let’s talk about you now,” she says, ignoring his question. Brendon’s stomach twists with uneasiness. He knows where this is going. “Have you been eating properly?” she leads with. He rolls his eyes. They’re so predictable, these doctors.

“Yes, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” he smiles condescendingly.

“On the outside,” she immediately responds, giving him a hard look. “When’s the last time you were hospitalized, Brendon?” Brendon’s breath catches in his throat, and his un-amused gaze turns into a glare.

“Isn’t all that lovely stuff in my file?” he grits through his teeth.

“It is, but I think we should talk about it,” Dr. Clark urges, leaning back into her chair and staring him down until he relents.

Brendon laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Two months ago,” he answers belatedly. “I was in for a week.” And hopefully he’ll never have to go through that again. He can’t even recall how many times he’s been in and out of hospitals because of the things he did to himself. But he does know that nobody is going to shove a fucking tube down his throat ever again.

“And what was that like?” she asks. Brendon is slightly amused by the typical cliché questions he’s being asked. It’s just like in the movies. What was that like? And how did that make you feel?

He’d assumed therapists in real life would at least learn to have a little originality.

“What do you think it was like?” he laughs incredulously. “It was fucking horrible. They strapped me down and forced food into me. Not exactly the most painless thing in the world to have a tube going down your throat.” Brendon immediately grabs at the rubber band on his left wrist, lifting it and letting it snap down against his skin. It’s a technique; it keeps him calm. He continues to pop the rubber band, earning the attention of Dr. Clark.

“Does that make you feel better?” she asks, nodding at his busy hands.

“It makes me not feel like punching every person that looks at me in the face as much, so yeah, I suppose so,” he quips. Dr. Clark’s lips quirk up and she grabs her clipboard again, scribbling something down. Brendon, he fucking hates that. He hates knowing that these strangers write down all their thoughts and opinions about him and his - his condition, and he never gets to know.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she says suddenly, standing up and opening her door. Brendon’s surprised - he’d thought these sessions would take longer than twenty minutes. He stands up and makes his way over to the door. “I’ll see you next Wednesday,” Dr. Clark smiles. Brendon steps past her without a word or a look and stalks down the corridor and to the other side of the floor where the rooms are located.

He’s discovered that this place is also overbearingly boring. Sure, there are lounges and TVs and computers, but he’s definitely always aware that he is in fact in a mental hospital.

When he walks into his room, he’s only mildly surprised to see Ryan in there, sitting on his bed and hunched over a book. A notebook this time, though. Ryan lifts his head upon Brendon’s arrival, looking dazed, like maybe he’s been sitting there in his own little world for quite a while.

“Hi,” Ryan says, sounding eager at first, but then maybe a bit hesitant toward the end. He’s sitting sideways on his bed, his legs folded under himself and his back leaning against the wall. He puts his notebook in his lap and stares at Brendon expectantly.

“Um, hey,” Brendon replies, a bit confused because Ryan hasn’t spoken to him since the incident last week.

“So, I’m really sorry,” Ryan rushes out, looking at Brendon with pleading eyes. “God, I can’t believe I did that to you, I’m sorry. I just - that, um. That wasn’t me, y’know? I mean, it was, but I’m not always that crazy.” he says timidly. Brendon blinks. Again, he’s completely shocked to hear this completely normal, shy, non-violent version of Ryan talking to him like this. It’s fucking with his head.

“No, yeah, it’s cool,” Brendon clears his throat, taking a seat on his own bed and pretending like his mind isn’t reeling. “So, um. What are you writing?” he asks, pointing to Ryan’s notebook. Ryan slams it shut, his mouth doing that twitch.

“Oh, nothing,” he says quickly, obviously flustered. Brendon’s heart skips a beat, afraid that Ryan was going to freak out again.

“Oh… kay,” Brendon says slowly.

“So you forgive me, right?” Ryan asks, looking more than apologetic. “I’m really sorry. I would never purposely do something like that to you, I just…” he trails off, biting his lip.

“Like you said, that wasn’t exactly you,” Brendon supplies, offering a half-smile. Ryan’s face relaxes, and he smiles a little back.

“Right,” he nods, opening his drawer and stuffing his notebook inside. It’s quiet for a moment, a little awkward even, and for the first time, Brendon notices a guitar sitting in the corner of the room.

“Hey, you play?” he asks, gesturing to it. Ryan follows his gaze before laughing a little and shaking his head.

“No, definitely not. I just… it was my mom’s,” he shrugs, the smile slipping off his face. “I wanted her to teach me, but she never got to.” He looks sad now, heart-wrenchingly sad, so much so that Brendon isn’t even sure if he wants to know the story behind that sadness.

“I can play,” he says instead, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Yeah?” Ryan smiles again, reaching over for the guitar and handing it off to Brendon. “Play me something.” The guitar feels smooth and worn in Brendon’s hands. He holds it carefully, plucking at a few strings and remembering when he used to love playing his guitar. He plays something light and happy, something to make Ryan smile maybe. He does smile, watching Brendon’s fingers slide over the strings.

“I used to love my guitar,” Brendon sighs, letting the last few chords ring out in the room before handing the guitar back to Ryan.

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Ryan asks, placing his guitar back in the corner.

“Don’t have it anymore,” Brendon says, leaning back against the wall. He can feel the ‘why’ about to come from Ryan, so he smiles. “I smashed it to pieces and set it on fire,” he informs him, shrugging and still with a smile on his face. Ryan’s eyes widen.

“Why?” he asks dubiously. Brendon considers not answering him for the pure fact that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he thinks better of it and turns his gaze to the ceiling.

“Because I hated the person who gave it to me,” he answers. He waits for Ryan to call him crazy, to say that he belongs here.

“Oh,” is what Ryan says. “That makes sense,” he nods. Brendon looks at him, kind of amazed. Ryan just smiles. Brendon thinks that it’s not a real smile. He spends a lot of time studying people’s smiles. He’s pretty good at picking out the genuine ones from the fake ones from the apologetic ones from the sarcastic ones from the pained ones. He knows them all. And Ryan’s smile isn’t a real one. It’s one that hides pain, putting on a content exterior and keeping the way he really feels hidden away.

It’s the same smile as Brendon’s.

He considers telling Ryan that he can see through his smile, but he doesn’t know what does and doesn’t set him off. He doesn’t want to take the chance after they’re finally starting to get along.

Brendon watches as Ryan grabs one of his many books from his shelf and settles himself into his chair, humming softly to himself and scanning his eyes over the pages. Brendon doesn’t know why, but the sight makes him incredibly sad. He’s just never seen a person look more alone. It hits him then, how true that statement is. Ryan’s alone. Brendon doesn’t know his story, but he knows that Ryan doesn’t have anybody. Ever since Brendon got here it’s just been Ryan and his books.

So that’s when Brendon finds himself asking, “Do you want some company at dinner?”

* * *

The food here isn’t as bad as Brendon had thought. He’s not too keen on food of any sort, really, but considering that, it’s not bad. Ryan told Brendon that his condition sometimes makes him not want to eat. He was reluctant to talk about it, but from what Brendon gathered, Ryan’s paranoia sometimes makes it impossible for him to eat food that other people have prepared for him. Brendon figures he thinks they’re trying to poison him or something.

But Ryan on a normal day is apparently a ravenous bottomless pit. Brendon watches amusedly as the boy who is nearly as skinny as Brendon himself scarves down his mound of food while Brendon nibbles on an apple.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Ryan asks around a mouthful.

“Well, you clearly are,” Brendon jokes, trying to avoid the question. Ryan laughs, taking a drink of his water.

“You didn’t think I was this skinny by choice, did you?” Ryan asks. Brendon ignores the rumbling in his stomach and smiles politely.

There are doctors walking by regularly, so Brendon doesn’t really know how he manages to get away with eating nothing more than half an apple.

* * *

They sit together every day after that, at every meal. Ryan continues to wonder why Brendon never seems hungry, and Brendon continues to wonder where Ryan puts all the food he eats. They find out a lot about each other, learning that they have even more in common than they’d thought. Ryan kind of makes Brendon forget that he’s perpetually angry at the world.

“What?” Brendon gasps. “No, no, no, oh my god, you’re fucking kidding me!” he scoffs at Ryan. Ryan crosses his arms, standing his ground. “Spiderman is so not better than Batman!” Brendon declares, shaking his head at Ryan like he’s crazy. Well, actually. Ha.

“He so is!” Ryan defends. “He can shoot spiderwebs, Brendon. Batman doesn’t even have any powers!”

“Hey, Batman is loyal and brave as fuck,” Brendon argues, feeling defensive about his childhood hero. “Spiderman can suck my dick.”

“Brendon,” Ryan gasps, bringing a hand to his mouth. “You take that back.” Brendon forgets what he was going to say and starts laughing instead at the insulted look on Ryan’s face. Ryan cracks a smile, and Brendon is pleased to see that it’s a real one, reaching his eyes and everything. “Okay, I guess Batman does have a pretty cool costume,” Ryan relents.

“And Spiderman’s webs are kind of awesome,” Brendon rolls his eyes, bumping Ryan’s shoulder with his own.

“But I think we can both agree that Superman is lame,” Ryan adds. Brendon laughs, and it kind of feels weird, all this laughing. He’s not used to it by any means. “Hey, what’s your favorite book?” Ryan suddenly asks. Brendon doesn’t even have to think about his answer.

“The Giving Tree,” he says, remembering how many nights he spent curled up in bed reading that book as a kid.

“Oh my god, why don’t you just stab me in the chest,” Ryan says, putting on an exaggerated pout. “That’s like the saddest book ever! The poor tree loves the kid and all he ever does is take from him.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it such a great book,” Brendon reasons. “It teaches the best lesson; you should appreciate what you have while you still have it, because one day it might not be there anymore.” He kind of doesn’t know where this all is coming from, because this isn’t how Brendon usually is. He doesn’t know how to be normal.

“I think my favorite is Romeo and Juliet,” Ryan responds. Brendon starts to smile. “I know that’s cliché, but whatever, shut up. They died for each other. And it was completely stupid because they were kids and barely even knew each other, but still,” Ryan shrugs, looking kind of shy and biting his lip. “You probably think it’s lame, I know.”

“No, it’s… kinda cute,” Brendon grins. He can see Ryan’s fair skin coloring above his cheeks. He’s really kind of feminine-looking, but Brendon doesn’t think that’s a bad thing. He has a small mouth, and his lips are always kind of pink, and he has a button nose and pretty, caramel-colored eyes. His skin is clear and looks like it’s really smooth, like it’d be soft to touch. His mouse-brown hair also looks soft, and he’s always pushing it out of his eyes, or pushing it into his eyes if he’s feeling shy.

Brendon’s so busy staring at Ryan that he doesn’t notice the change in the boy’s expression, how his face has gone carefully solemn and how his mouth is twitching. Brendon doesn’t notice until he hears Ryan muttering under his breath.

“What?” Brendon asks. Ryan ignores him, bringing a hand to his hair and pulling. Brendon has a sinking feeling, because he knows what’s happening.

“No, I don’t want to,” Ryan whispers, staring down at the cafeteria table and knotting his fingers in his hair. “Stop telling me to do those things.” Brendon wonders for a second how scary it must be to hear a voice in your head, telling you to do things. The thought alone is terrifying. “Shut up!” Ryan says loudly this time, attracting the attention of Dr. Burns who is standing nearby. “You can’t make me!” Ryan yells, pulling his hair with both hands now.

Brendon feels panicked, not knowing what to do. Dr. Burns comes over and grabs Ryan’s wrist, and Ryan yanks out of his grasp so quickly that he tumbles back into the floor, crawling back from him. “Don’t touch me!” Ryan yells, and then he hits the side of his head with his hand. “Shut up! Shut up and leave me alone!”

“Ryan,” Brendon says calmly, crouching down beside him.

“Brendon, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dr. Burns warns, and Brendon swiftly ignores him.

“Ryan, hey,” he says gently, inching toward the frightened boy. Ryan looks up sharply, backing away from Brendon and shaking his head.

“No, don’t touch me, no,” he mutters, his chest rising and falling quickly. “I’m not going to let you hurt me.” Brendon doesn’t know if he’s referring to the voice in his head or Brendon himself. His eyes get wide suddenly, and a cry leaves him. “Why would you say that?!” he exclaims, tearing up. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t,” he repeats weakly, curling into himself.

“Ryan,” Brendon nearly whispers. “Ryan, hey, look,” he says, grabbing Ryan’s hand and holding on when he tries to pull back. “I won’t hurt you. We’re friends, right?” he says calmly, watching as Ryan’s face is come over with realization. Ryan stops resisting, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Brendon, breathing heavily against him. “It’s okay,” Brendon murmurs.

“I’m sorry. Sorry,” Ryan says quietly. Brendon looks up to see Dr. Burns and the nurses looking at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. Brendon stands Ryan up, looking at him cautiously. “He won’t leave me alone,” Ryan whispers to him.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Brendon suggests. Ryan nods wordlessly, and they make their way out of the cafeteria.

There’s a garden here, which Brendon discovered only a few days ago when Ryan showed him. Ryan said he likes to go there to calm down sometimes, so that’s where Brendon takes him.

They walk along the stone path, Ryan still looking a little shaken and Brendon not knowing quite what to say. He decides against speaking. He knows all too well how much being in the presence of someone who cares can help, even if no words are spoken.

The sky looks dark and cloudy, and there’s hardly any light out. The garden is beautiful, with its brightly colored flowers and fairytale-esque architecture. Brendon can see why it’s Ryan’s favorite place.

He looks over at Ryan, seeing the tormented look on his face and wondering what it all must be like. He still doesn’t really get it, what it does to Ryan. “Hey,” he says quietly, coming to a stop in front of a bench and sitting. Ryan sits too, glancing at Brendon. “I totally understand if you don’t want to talk about this, but… what’s it like?” he asks hesitantly. Ryan fidgets a little but remains composed. He breathes in a little raggedly, turning his gaze back to the ground.

“It’s like… nothing ever feels real,” Ryan says. “Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between reality and what’s in my head, like I said before,” he shakes his head sadly, dejectedly. “I see things that the nurses tell me aren’t really there. And… and he talks to me,” he whispers.

“Who?” Brendon asks.

“I don’t know,” Ryan shrugs, biting his lip. “He won’t tell me his name. But he’s - he tries to make me do awful things. He won’t leave me alone until I do them.” He looks up at Brendon, and Brendon can’t help but look a little freaked out. Obviously this whole ‘hearing voices’ thing is a lot more serious than he’d thought.

“What kind of bad things does he tell you to do?” Brendon asks, partly because he’s simply curious and partly because he wants to know how dangerous this ‘voice’ is.

“He tries to make me hurt people, and he tells me to lie, to steal, to hurt myself,” Ryan chokes out. Brendon puts a hand on his shoulder. “But I usually don’t do what he says because I know it’s wrong. But when I don’t, he won’t leave me alone. He yells and talks about - about her for hours, tells me it’s my fault what happened to her,” he says, and he’s nearly crying now. Brendon has no idea what he’s talking about, but all he can do is offer comfort.

“What happened to who?” Brendon questions, making sure to keep his voice quiet. But Ryan freezes at that question, his shoulders going tense under Brendon’s hand.

“Nobody,” he shakes his head, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before abruptly standing up. “Come on, I’m tired, let’s-” he’s cut off as he walks into the path of another patient. “Sorry,” Ryan apologizes to the boy with stringy black hair.

“Hey, hey, hey, better watch yourself,” the guy half grins, a crazy look in his eyes. “If you would have gotten my shirt dirty I would have had to hurt you,” he cackles, and somehow Brendon doesn’t think he’s kidding.

“Um, I - sorry, yeah,” Ryan says, backing away from the guy.

“Gerard, Gerard, my name is Gerard,” he nods quickly. “Some people call me Gee but I don’t want you to call me Gee because only my friends can call me that, like Frankie. Where is Frankie? Frank, Frank, where is Frank?” he sing-songs, darting his eyes around looking for the aforementioned Frank. “Fraaank!” he calls into the nearly empty garden. “Do you know where my Frankie is?” he says to Brendon. “You can’t have him, you know. He’s my Frank, mine,” he says defensively. Brendon doesn’t know whether to keep talking to the guy or get the hell away from him.

“Um,” Brendon starts, looking to Ryan for help. Ryan looks back at him with wide eyes, shrugging. “Sorry, I haven’t seen Frank,” Brendon smiles. Gerard stands in front of Brendon, his left eye twitching, and then backs away with a creepy smile.

“That’s okay, I’ll find him. Frankie loves me, so he can’t be too far away. He needs me so I have to go find him now, gotta find Frank. I’ll find him, don’t worry. Frank, Frank, Frank. Oh remember, I’m Gerard, Gee for short, but you can’t call me Gee, so I’m Gerard, Gerard who is going to find Frankie,” he says quickly before turning around and walking off. Brendon’s mouth opens and closes.

“For a minute I forgot that there are actual crazy people in this place,” Brendon laughs. Ryan chuckles quietly, looking to the ground.

“Even after meeting me?” he asks softly.

“You’re not crazy, Ryan,” Brendon says just as soft. “You’re just… different,” he shrugs, and he means it. After getting to know Ryan a little better, he doesn’t think he’s crazy; he’s just misunderstood.

“Thanks,” Ryan smiles. He looks like maybe he wants to hug Brendon - and Brendon doesn’t do hugs, but he thinks maybe he’d make an exception - but he doesn’t. He just continues to smile and starts to walk along the path back into the building. Brendon follows, falling into step beside him.

He’s only been here for a little over two weeks now - only been friends with Ryan for a week - but it feels like he’s been here for months. He hasn’t really decided yet if he likes it or not. He knows that he hates constantly being around doctors and nurses - it reminds him of being in the hospital, and that’s something he tries not to think about.

“Hi, boys,” a friendly voice says, bringing him from his thoughts. Beth approaches them, a small, skittish looking boy trailing behind her and staring at his feet.

“Hi,” Ryan smiles. Brendon has a feeling that Ryan looks up to Beth as a mother-type. She’s probably been there for him since he arrived. Which reminds Brendon, he has no idea how long Ryan’s been here. He’ll have to ask.

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” she smiles that warm smile that only women have the capability to produce.

“Yeah, actually,” Brendon agrees, glancing again at the short, dark-haired boy behind Beth. She notices, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders and bringing him closer.

“This is Frank,” she introduces. Frank. So this must be that crazy guy’s friend. “Frank, this is Brendon and Ryan.” Frank doesn’t look up, doesn’t say anything, just lifts his hand in a little wave. “Well, Frank doesn’t really talk to anyone, at all, other than-”

“Gerard,” Brendon supplies. Frank looks up at the name, and Brendon notices that his eyes look a little lost.

“Well, yes,” Beth laughs a little. “How did you know?”

“Oh, um. Gerard, we just met him a minute ago,” Ryan explains. “He said he was looking for Frank.”

“Well, I was actually just helping Frank here to find Gerard,” Beth says.

“He went that way,” Brendon says, pointing to the direction that Gerard wandered off to. Frank’s lip stretch into the tiniest of smiles, and he nods and gives another little wave before walking off in the direction Brendon pointed. Beth watches him go with a sigh.

“Breaks my heart, that boy,” she shakes her head sadly. Upon the boys’ questioning looks, she elaborates. “His father murdered his mother a few years ago, right in front of the poor boy. His dad went to jail and he didn’t have any other family. He hasn’t been the same ever since,” she explains, clearly sympathetic to Frank. “I remember when he first came here, about a year before you did, Ryan, and he was so closed-off to everyone. Didn’t speak a single work until Gerard came along a few months later. I don’t know why, but he clings to that boy like his life depends on it. They’re inseparable,” she says, a slight smile working its way onto her face.

“But…” Brendon starts. “Gerard’s so…”

“Mentally unstable?” she supplies with a short laugh. “Yeah.” Brendon’s never thought the term ‘opposites attract’ to be more fitting. “Well, you two should get to bed,” she raises an eyebrow, tapping her watch. She smiles once more before walking away.

“Brendon?” Ryan says as they walk back into the building and toward their room.

“Yeah?”

“You never told me why you’re here,” he points out. Brendon’s nerves tingle. He kind of likes being friends with Ryan, and he doesn’t want to scare him off, which is exactly what he’ll do if he tells him why he’s here.

They arrive at their room, and Brendon goes straight to his bed. “I’m really tired, um. Yeah,” he says, ignoring Ryan’s question.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Ryan says, obviously wanting an answer but letting it go for now. “Goodnight,” he says, crawling into his own bed.

Brendon sighs. “Night.”

Part Two