Unbroken (BVB Fanfic)

Visitors

Andy
I've been here for what seems like so long, I have no idea what day it is any more. They've put me in here for 're-orientation', but in reality I'm going crazy. What fucking year is this?! I beckoned to a nurse. "How long have I been here?" I asked her. "Two days, Andy." "Aw fuck!" I moaned and the nurse glared at me. "Language!" She hissed, glancing over at a young boy who was no doubt visiting his suicidal sister. I'd seen her, and she was bad. They had caught her trying to open the window at least three times last night alone. I rolled my eyes as the nurse walked away, flipping her off. The boy giggled and I gave him the biggest smile I could manage without bringing myself pain. Just then, a couple entered the ward, glancing around nervously, as if we were criminals in a penintary rather than suicidal kids in an asylum ward. Well, hospital. The nurse from before bustled over to them and after listening for a moment pointed them towards the end of the row of beds. Towards me. They nodded in thanks and approached me slowly. I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake them, scream "I MAY HAVE TRIED TO JUMP OFF A BUILDING, BUT I STILL QUALIFY AS A HUMAN BEING." What people without depression don't understand is that it's beyond our control. We try so hard to overcome our urges, but in the end it's still the same blade above a wrist, the same necklace of rope people wear to their deaths, the same toxic pills down their throats. I know. This has all happened to me. We were holding each other up, Lola and I. The only thing saving us from ourselves was each other. But I guess I didn't do my job well enough.

Close up, I recognised the couple. Lola's parents, Anthony and Stacy Smith. They looked absolutely broken, ripped into shreds and ground into dust. You can't reverse that process. "Andy." Mr Smith choked out. Mrs Smith obviously couldn't take it and dissolved into heaving sobs that racked her whole body, soaking my crappy hospital gown and staining the fabric black. "My little girl.." She wept. Then again, "My little girl!" She said fiercely. "That illness ripped her from us! How could we let that happen?" She asked me. Mr Smith gently pulled his wife up from where she was crouched on the ground, covering her head with her hands and burying her face into my bed. "We'll come back later," he said softly. "When we're better prepared." He gestured to Mrs Smith and escorted her to the bathroom. They hadn't even told me what they came for yet and we were already emotionally drained. I tugged at my damp sheets and sighed.