Puma

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THURSDAY - DAY ONE.
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If the door clicking open didn’t scare the shit out of me, it was definitely the woman muttering my name.

The nurse seemed to be just as tired as I was, but forced herself to knock twice before asking, “Tyler? Tyler?”

It was difficult to answer her. I kept my mouth closed along with my eyes, grunting a response to let her know I was awake and alive.

But - *mental sigh* - she wouldn’t take that as an answer.

“Tyler,” she said louder now. “Wake up, dear.” The door finally creaked halfway shut, taking the monstrous amount of light it brought in with it. Wow. I just used the word ‘monstrous’. I’ll probably use it a few more times, just ‘cause. I remained huddled on the lumpy hospital bed that was covered with padding and sheets, only there to try and mask the thick plastic they dare called a mattress. I stayed stationary for a few more seconds until I sighed loudly, taking the pale blue blanket up and over my head momentarily.

I yanked it back down, groaning as I sat up slowly, sliding my legs out from under the covers. I scratched under my arms, ignoring the sterile gauze that cased both my wrists, but was forced to acknowledge my failed suicide attempt when my arms tingled in discomfort.

I was off morphine now. I am sadly remembering, once you aren't taking it anymore, it hurts your body so much. My entire body was aching. My neck felt okay; it was my back and my arms that felt powerless and weak. I was feeling how I expected, but the more pain I was able to feel, the harder this was hitting me. I wanted to go back to being emotionless.

I reached over to turn on the bedside lamp and squinted once the room lit up a bit more.

I looked at the cramped room I’ve spent three days in so far – two more since we’ve last seen each other, you and I. The room was decorated in colours designed to be soft but came off similar to that of the choices for a funeral home. I give the decorators props for trying to make it look like someone's bedroom but it seriously lacked personality.

The barred windows looked out onto neighbouring roofs and parking lots, but there was no real view.

The cold, institutional tile floor shocked my balls into jumping inside my body once my feet touched the ground. I cringed, heaving myself up. I gave a look to the bedside table and smiled briefly at the two stuffed plush toys.

Tyger Oakley, a tiger dressed in a pink shirt with the words ‘Go get ‘em, tiger!’ printed across its chest. Next to him was a kangaroo cleverly named Joey Graceffa. It was wearing a blue hoodie, a tie-dyed baseball cap on its head. I read its motivational quote – ‘It’s like trying to pin a kangaroo to a trampoline.’

Seeing them, I began to miss Allyson McClain heavily. I wasn’t used to being away from her this long. The only times we’ve ever parted for a number of days was after a fight. Now the reason was my inability to control myself in any aspect.

I gazed at the space where my I.V. pole used to be, recently taken from me the other day. I was back in my poor mood, causing me to ache again for the morphine to be pumping through my veins.

After another annoying sigh, I limply pulled the blanket up from the bed and onto me, tip-toeing to the ajar door. I hesitated before I stuck my head out into the intensely lit hallway. Nurses were pacing the hall; the one who woke me still did her morning rounds, knocking lightly on each door she came to.

I read the large words bolted at the entrance of the section of the building I was in.



‘Each floor has its own.’ I thought my psychiatrist’s words mockingly.

I drifted out into the hallway and padded my way passed about ten doors until I reached a closed door labelled ‘medical room’ or as I call it – ‘main bitch’s (nurse’s) office.’

There was a row of five chairs on either side of the door.

I studied the chairs lined up against the wall and the people sitting in them.

This being the self-harm/suicide care, most of the patients had on long sleeve shirts or jacket or blankets, like I. The first person skipped the first chair, sitting in the next with her blonde shaggy hair tied up in a tight bun, an oversized off-white knitted sweater dressed her obviously small frame, that I assumed was wracked by years and years of eating disorders. Her pale sunken-in face told me that. Must’ve been around thirty. She wore a hospital gown which was to be expected.

The chair next to her was occupied by yet another girl, appearing to be in her late twenties, huddled under a baby blue cover; light olive skin, dark black hair, and closed eyes as she hummed to herself, tapping her index finger rhythmically against her chapped lips. She was barely covered by the hospital gown, as well. Her legs were filled with scars, cut scars lined her ankles.

Next to her was a guy with his head shaven, multiple scratches and scars marked his face. I noticed he had mittens on both his hands, leaving me to suspect he did that to himself. He rocked himself back in forth in his chair, knocking his knuckles in tune of a song on the plastic chair. He was hidden in a pair of faded blue scrubs, wearing a long white sleeved shirt under the short sleeved top.

He looked like he was in his teens.

In the chair lining the other side of the wall was a repeat of this side, minus the humming girl. Their ages varied more than this side. Man of fifty, I’d say, and a guy a few years younger.

I didn’t know any of them. I haven’t been out of my room at all yet. This was the first.

It didn’t matter, anyway. I only had ten days here, the least. I could keep to myself.

Plus, I didn’t want to be making friends I was probably never going to see again. I didn’t want to distract myself from getting better. I have a habit of sleeping with my friends and ruining everything.

I want to work on myself now, then try for friendships when I’m marginally in a better mental state.

That being said, I have a feeling I will meet someone new and this story will revolve around us. They will be my new Ally. Cool. I know how this shit works.

I scuttled over and plopped down in the first unoccupied chair, the one blondie had avoided. I wondered what I looked like to them, dishevelled from lack of sleep, though I’ve done nothing but sleep since I’ve gotten here. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since, despite having my own little lavatory in the room. My hair was a big mess; I could feel bits and pieces sticking up wildly whenever I tried to flatten it to look somewhat presentable.

I also don’t think I’ve eaten since I’ve been here; they bring in food, but it’s disgusting. Jell-O and turkey sandwiches. Bland. I think there’s something weird with the water and mayo here. I don’t know. I tried to eat it, though, I did. That left me to think I was becoming pale, as well.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me and glanced about my clothes. Same as the guy, but mine were less faded than his. I at first was in a gown like the girls were, but made to change once I had confirmed I was willingly checking myself in.

I thought about the long, jagged and raised scar on the right side of my face. How did they think I got it? Did they think I did it to myself? I had a couple layers of gauze over the front of my neck; why couldn’t I have done the same to my face? Was I wrong about that guy? What it if what happened to me, happened to him?

I frowned at myself for possibly being so judgemental and focused wall in front of me.



It had to be early as fuck right now. Boo.

We all sat in silence, waiting for the head nurse to come out to call us in, one by one. We’d look each time the door shot open and tried not to stare at the new person who walked out. We would watch them once they passed the last chair. Some of the patients would walk back to their rooms or into a large room I suspected to be a community lounge type thing.

The chairs were never really empty. After one of them would walk in, someone else took the spot. A guy about the same age as me with long dreads took mine when I was nodded at by one of the head nurse’s minions.

The minion smiled kindly at me as I slumped into the room. Your standard nurse’s office. Not much to explain. The nurse only had one minion with her. She was a woman in her, errr, mid-thirties, I’d say. She wore pink scrubs with little kittens and puppies all over them.

The main nurse was a stereotypical Korean woman. Very tiny and adorable. Her hair was cut like Marilyn Monroe’s, fading from black to grey.

She gave me a look over as the minion shut the door.

“I’m assuming you’re new,” she said with a smile. No accent at all. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. My mind could be failing me.”

I gave a smile back to her, shaking my head. “No. I did just get here a few days ago. I spent a few days in the infirmary.” My Australian accent was thicker than a muhfuh on the count of grogginess. I always sound a lot like Steve Irwin when I first wake up.

She nodded thoughtfully, asking, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Tyler Williams.”

“I’m Nurse Jackie. This is Lonnie. I think we have your file right here, actually. The one you filled out yesterday, right?” She picked up a manila folder which had my name printed across it in black Sharpie. Flipping it to the inside cover, I spotted the same horrid photo that was in Dr. Kasler’s file of me. The nurse looked from it to me and smiled. “Looks like you.”

She handed it to the minion and said to me, “We’re going to start you off by weighing you. If you could just step over here with me…” I followed her to the other side of the examination table and stood a few inches away from the scale.

I could feel my heart skip in my chest. I didn’t want to know how much I weighed.

The last time I checked was a few months ago and it was a pitiful number.

She coaxed the blanket off of me and took a stride back to let me step onto the scale after it beeped a few times.

Hooking my hands behind my back, I stared at the wall in front of me, trying to stand as motionless as I could until I heard Nurse Jackie make that ‘tsk-tsk’ sound. I stole a peek.

116.8

Or around 52.9 kilos for those who aren't American.

Instead of feeling as shocked as she was, I felt my mood drop. That much? I had gained four pounds since I last checked. I would rather have lost it.

“We need to put some weight on those bones,” Jackie remarked, scribbling the number in my folder. She murmured to me that I could step off the scale and told me to stand at the foot of the table. “Would you lift your sleeves?” she asked. “I need to check for any marks or scars.”

“Well, I,” I pushed out a laugh. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

“I thought so. Could I check the severity of the wounds? Those bandages need to be changed anyway – same for your neck.”

I momentarily cupped my throat, but nodded, gradually lifting my sleeves. I stuck my arms out for her to begin peeling the gauze off. I could feel the gauze stick to my skin where blood was refusing to dry or did dry, attaching to the wrap.

She removed the gauze from the right first and tossed it in the trash. Her eyes glided over my forearms and she frowned, right along with, uh, the other nurse. She lightly held my arm in her hands, fingers hovering over the stitched-up wounds.

This was the first time I saw what I had done.

Big, long slashes crossed over others. I could tell just from looking at them, they were deep enough to show the white inside my skin. Five on this wrist, only one still refused to scab with the other ones. I could see through the lines of stitches it was deep, real deep.

The string trying to hold them together made my skin tender and tight.

I couldn't wait to get them out.

She slowly unravelled the gauze on my left arm. A repeat of my right, but had more shallow cuts. Two were about half as bad as the worse one on my right.

I don’t think that last sentence made sense. Eh, it’s like six a.m.

Jackie observed my arms side by side, focusing on the old scars, cuts, and burn marks. I hoped she wouldn’t comment the circular scars on my inner elbow. She, however, made a comment on the eight words inked onto my forearm. She said it was nice, but she didn’t see all the fuss around tattoos.

She flipped my arms and asked if I cut anywhere else on my body.

“My stomach.”

“Can I see?”

I hesitated, but nodded, nonetheless. After she bandaged my arms and neck, I slowly pulled my shirt up until a majority of my chest showed. Scars varying in sizes and severity lined my ribs and ‘the penis pointers,’ as I’ve heard them referred to as. Most of my scars were up on my shoulders, but out of view for her.

She’ll probably check there soon.

She said I could pull down my shirt as she marked a few more notes.

“What about your legs? Are there any cuts or scars there?”

“Honestly, no.” I lifted my pants up to my knees just to show her.

Again, she nodded. I peeked to see what was on that magical little clipboard she held so dearly. It was like this...body chart, a blank outline of a human body, and on it were pen marks. I quickly I realised those marks were in the same place I had all my cuts and scars.

Cuts were red and scars were blue. A solitary purple dot on the inner forearm that replicated that nasty burn I did with a cigarette, however long back that was. It had scabbed up weeks ago, but last night, I ripped it open, leaving it to be a tender, red indentation in my skin. I finally got it to stop bleeding while I sitting out in the hall just now.

I had a mighty stain on the inside of my sleeve.

I frowned at the body chart.

I was going to get compared to that everyday, right? They had it so they could keep track of what was old and what was new.

As I mentally sighed, Jackie flipped through her clipboard.

“So," she said, "by your weight, I’m assuming you have an eating disorder.”

“Not that I’d say,” I shook my head, leaning back to sit on the table.

“But your weight would. How tall are you – five-ten, nine?”

“Ten.” 177.8 centimetres.

“That would make your BMI around…sixteen-ish. For a male, you’d be considered anorexic. We want that BMI to range between eighteen and twenty-five. Would you mind removing your shirt? Let me check your spine.”

I thought about my shoulders where more scars laid. And my back. Oh, God, the scars that were there…

I still shrugged, standing to pull off my shirt entirely, turning my back for her to gaze over. She ran her fingers where I knew she would. The raised scars in the shape of an X, the raised edges of the scaly area of skin on my lower side.

She asked if it was eczema to which I nodded.

“A couple other patients have it.” Writing notes, she once again told me I could put my shirt back on before instructing me to sit on the examination table. She took my temperature, noting aloud, “97.4,” then asked me to lay out my hands in front of her so she could press down on my nails.

She said to the minion, “The capillary refill is good, but his nail beds are a lot more blue than pink. Fingertips are warm. Could you lie down for me, Tyler?” she asked. I complied and she placed two fingers on my inner wrists. Having someone touch my wrists made my stomach feel gross and I shut my eyes until she said a number out loud I wasn’t pay attention to so I can’t really tell you guys.

“Did you eat dinner last night?”

I nodded. I did, just not any of the other meals. It’s so bland eating the same thing over and over.

“We need you to eat,” she said to me, tapping her finger against my nose. “We need to keep you alive. Eat.”

“I do.”

She raised one of her brows, going, "Mmhmm,' before letting the topic go. We went through an entire questionnaire as she repeated what I had filled my file in with. Five minutes passed before she smiled at me.

“Are you feeling safe here?” she asked quietly. When I nodded, she smiled again. “Alright, you’re done for today. We’ll see you again tomorrow.”

I thanked her, pulling my blanket back over my shoulders, walking through the doorway when the nurse, whose name escapes me, opened the door for me. I re-entered the hallway, ignoring when the waiting patients peered up at me. I headed back for my room to get ready for today.

I was going to be able to make a quick trip home to get my things.

Cooped up in this room for three days was hell. I was homesick. I had another ten days ahead of me, hopefully no more. I had to be good or my stay could be for longer.

Throwing my blanket on the bed, I immediately turned for the restroom. Its door was much like the one to this room’s. Heavier than a fucker. I closed it behind me and checked out the room. Normal, I guess, but with handicap railing on the toilet and shower. I stared into the mirror. My hair was worse than I had thought. Hasn’t been brushed for three days.

I twisted the faucet to cold and cupped my hands under the water quickly before withdrawing them to pat my hair down with my drenched hands. That fixed nothing. I scowled at my reflection.

I wanted badly to look at the cut on my neck, but didn’t want to see at the same time.

I refrained from checking and went back into the main room, crawling into my bed until a few hours ticked by and another nurse was knocking at my door.

She left the room so I could change into a set of clothes Ally must’ve brought for me.

In less than five minutes, I exited the room to find the same nurse waiting for me out in the hall with two police officers at her side. Neither were Detective Metz or Winchester. They escorted me to my flat, following me up the steps.

It was empty. Not even Baby was here. Ally took her. I had hoped one of them would be here. I wanted to see Ally badly.

I quickly threw several items of clothing into three drawstring bags and a few other things like my iPod and a couple books. I almost grabbed a can of Pringles and a razor blade or two to toss in, but knew that was frowned upon.

In no time, I was being drove back to the hospital where I was in turn greeted by a male…nurse guy. I don’t know what he did, but after I was shown to a new room, he took my bags from me.

He told me to sit in the chair sat next to the barred windows and asked, “Can I take your jacket?”

I hesitantly shrug it off, leaving me in a white tank top.

His eyes grazed over the bandages, taking the jacket into his gloved-hands.

"Shoes."

I reluctantly kicked them off. He bent to pick them up.

“Don’t touch nothin’,” he said as another nurse strolled him. “We’re goin’ to check your bags. What we need you to do is sit down and relax.”

I muttered an, “Okay,” looking around my new room. It was the same as the infirmary room, but this time with two beds instead of one. Two. Oi. I was going to get a roommate, wasn’t I?

Something moved behind the guy checking my belongings. I squinted passed him at the opened door. Peering into the room were several faces, clearly patients. Three girls in their early teens. One girl looked like she was at least sixteen, the others fourteen. When I had spotted them, they whispered to each other.

I glanced away to watch the guy trifling with my shit as he pulled the laces from my black and tattered Converse, leaving me with some lame ass, loose shoes that were now useless to me. He set them on the bed.

He picked my wallet from a pile of clothes and started flicking through it.

“Do you have any large amounts of money?”

I spent it all on heroin, so - “No.”

“Anything you want to lock up, you are responsible for. If we find any foods or weapons or any of that in your drawers, it’s all on you. Lock your cabinet at all times; keep the key with you at all times.”

“Got it.”

It was then that I finally realised what kind of place I was in. They had people sneak shit in like that before. I was going to be stuck in a place for two weeks with people who had either thought of doing that or had.

How swell. -_-

He handed the nurse my wallet and my iPod. “You can’t have these,” he informed me.

“My iPod?”

“It’s the rules.”

The nurse took them, plunking them into a small plastic tub. My phone joined them, as well as my house key, shoes and a few other minuscule things.

They went through all my bags and checked my pockets and such before handing me a pair of house slippers. Then they headed for the door, sending the three girls giggling as they sprinted away. But, sadly, the nurse and the guy didn't leave.

They shut the door.

With them on the wrong side.

To my raised brow they told me I was going to have to...well, strip so they could make sure I didn't bring anything lethal with me back into the building. And I know this is going to sound so cliché, but having to stand there in front of them in nothing but my boxers, I felt like they had stripped away all of my rights.

They had to take out aaaallll the stings from my hoodies and jackets; my belt was taken from me. I was a child. Not the adult I came in here as.

Crikes, right?

Once I was back in my clothes, they headed for the door and made their way through it.

The nurse said to me, “Thank you, dear. And good luck.”

I slumped back onto my bed. “Thank you,” I mumbled back, waiting for them to file out, leaving the door wide open. I sat in thought until a few minutes passed and another nurse came in to show me around. I slid my feet into the blue slippers and followed her out.

“This is the ‘living room’ area,” she said, taking me into the room I called a community lounge before. Gesturing around the room, she added, “There’s a TV, some couches and a book case. You know, things like that. You can spend your days in here – 7:00 a.m. til nine at night. Lights go out at ten. The other place I’ll be showing you is the dinning room.”

I looked around the large room, skimming over the faces that stared back at me before turning and following her to the lift. There were about ten people chilling in the 'living room'. Three of which were the girls stalking me earlier. I knew the rest of the patients were locked away in their rooms.

I hadn’t heard any crying or screaming like I thought I would. Only chattered talking, but nothing too extreme.

I was just waiting for a riled up patient to show up, causing a scene, the patient I would have the unexpected interaction with, forming an at first platonic friendship, but as the story goes on, the plot pins us as each other’s love-interest, but no face jumped out at me, like I had expected.

I slumped into the lift, watching the door slowly close as she pressed the ‘lobby’ button.

She told me that for the three main courses of the day, groups of five or so patients would be escorted down the lifts and into the caf with a couple nurses to supervise us.

“So this is our dining room.” I scanned the cafeteria, the long tables and open buffet. “Around it, we have rules and guidelines posted. We ask that you don’t bring any bags or blankets down here, for obvious reasons. We don’t want patients to hide or steal food.”

She handed me a pink sheet with the rules pasted on it and asked me to follow her back upstairs. I was brought into an office where I had my picture taken.

I was finally walked back to my new room, an empty room, ten minutes later. I tried not to jump at the notion that I didn’t have a roommate. One of the beds was personalised with Christmas blankets and a few pairs of sunnies were on the bedside table.

Whoo.

I fell back to lay on the bed I knew was mine and sighed, shoving my face into my hands.

The day wasn’t nearly over, but I was dead-tired.

I couldn’t focus. I just thought about how horrible life was and whether or not Arctic Monkeys time travelled from the fifties. But that’s when he walked in…the person who changed my perspective of this whole garbage dump of a situation.

I gawked at a loss of words.

Who was this dude and what was I feeling…?