Page 9 of Puck Me

How dare he do this to me? What kind of shit human being takes another person’s choices away? If I want to die, it should be my choice—mine! Besides, it’s not like I’m actually going to do it. I don’t think so, at least although I did come pretty close that one night. Without Noah turning up, would I have continued? I’m too much of a coward for that. Aren’t I? He has nothing to worry about, the bastard, and yet, he’s exerting his sick control over me anyway.

We get to the hospital, and I’m directed to a bed. I fling myself into it with ill grace. One of the nurses comes over with a clipboard and tries to ask me questions.

“I don’t want to be here,” I snap. “The only thing you need to know is that I’m here for the next three days, and then I’m out of here. Everything else is irrelevant.”

She nods and makes a note on her clipboard. “I understand, Chester. Thank you for your time.”

She gives me a kind smile and goes on to her next patient, leaving me feeling like an ass. This isn’t her fault. It’s my dumb psychiatrist’s fault and I need to try to not take it out on the staff here.

They wheel me up to the psych ward, which has firmly locked doors. I feel claustrophobic just entering this place, knowing I won’t be able to get out for the next seventy-two hours, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

I’m put in a room and left there for about an hour before one of the therapists comes to see me.

“Hello, Chester. I’m Kathy and I’ll be guiding you through your process here.”

I resist the urge to snap at her, remembering my resolution not to take my feelings out on the staff here. “Fine,” I say stiffly.

“We’ve got a number of workshops and groups that you can attend. Dr. Harris has recommended that you attend the Understanding Depression workshop, the depression support group and one of the hobby workshops. We have a variety of crafts, as well as a book club, a writing group and a movie club. There’s a small gym nearby which we outsource and take patients to use at select times, which you may attend under the guidance of your physical therapist.”

I can’t help but be impressed by the number of activities they’ve managed to pack into their program, but I’m not going to give Dr. Harris the satisfaction of seeing me cooperate with this.

“I’m not interested. I’m here for three days, and then I’m leaving. That’s all.”

“You may as well use your time here to try to help yourself, Chester. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I’m past help,” I snap.

“A lot of people think that,” Kathy says gently. “It can’t hurt to try, though, can it?”

“Yes, it can. Hope can hurt you.” I’ve hoped only to have my own mind betray me all too often.

“Well, I hope you change your mind. It can get boring in here, just lying in bed. If nothing else, the groups can help break up the monotony. Dinner is served in the dining area at seven. I’ll see you there, Chester.”

I glare after Kathy as she leaves. If she thinks I’m going to give in, she’s dead wrong.

Kathy… may have a point. After spending five hours staring at the ceiling—the savages don’t even give us TV, maybe to force us into their asinine groups—I’m beginning to go crazy.

At home, at least I can sleep the day away, but I can’t seem to fall asleep in this strange bed in these unfamiliar surroundings. I was fully intending to refuse to eat during my entire stay here, and I can absolutely ignore the growling of my stomach, but the boredom… Well, that’s something else entirely.

My crutches have been placed by my bedside and I snatch them up, muttering curses under my breath as I make my way out of the room and ask one of the nurses directions to the dining area.

There are about fifteen other patients there. None of them look particularly angry to be here, though a couple appear more like zombies than people, staring off vaguely into the distance, eating as if on autopilot.

I wonder if that’s what I look like.

“Hi, Chester. I’m glad you decided to join us.”

Kathy gives me a wide smile. She seems so genuinely pleased to see me that it’s not even that difficult to hold back the urge to snarl at her.

“Hi,” I say grudgingly, pulling a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes toward myself.

“Have you thought more about joining any of the groups?”

“I suppose it won’t hurt to join.” More like it’ll hurt not to join. I can’t take lying in that bed for three days with nothing to do. Kathy doesn’t need to know that, though.

“That’s great! I’ll give you the official pamphlet after dinner and you can look through it.”

“Great.” If Kathy picks up my sarcasm, she gives no sign of it.

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