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Chapter 50- rehab.

Oh lord I'm bad at uploading.

Anywaysss it's been about 2 months and theres gonna be like no one reading this but hii :)

TWs- dissociation, mentions of self h4rm, eating dis0rder, throwing up, talk of hospital, brief mention of suic1de, talk of alcohol.

George's POV

I'm no longer in the hospital bed.

But I'm also not at home.

Sometimes I don't know where I actually am, because I don't even have Clay here to tell me anymore. Just a white room, a white bed, and a white door. I'm sure it has to have been days since I last spoke, even though they've tried giving me someone to speak to. I don't like these people here. They don't look real.

I'm meant to have my food here. At first a lady brought stuff in and told me nice-ish things to make me wanna eat it, but even when I did I just had a tiny bit and then threw it up in the shower. This worked for a while, but then they found out and someone started coming with me there as well, so I couldn't anymore. I don't like that. Sometimes I did it anyway, right in front of them, because what are they gonna do about it? But turns out they can do whatever the fuck they want, and now I have to have someone with me at all times. I don't like that either.
All of the 'doctor' people are mean. They treat me like a baby, they force me to eat when I don't want to and they ask me questions that I know I'll never feel like answering. So I don't. I pretend they don't exist, and go about my day as if alone in this empty place.

And that includes refusing to eat and throwing up whatever I do.
Hopefully they won't stop me from showering all together. That's what they do to the really sad people, who do things like try to drown or something in the water. I wouldn't like that at all.
I'm quickly finding out that I don't really like anything here.

Maybe I'll be able to leave soon, though. If Clay comes and saves me from them like he promises me when I'm dreaming. Or maybe when I'm awake- who even knows the difference anymore?
But there is, a tiny tiny possibility that he'll come along and get me out. I just hope it's soon, because I miss him. So much.
He's the only thing that makes me cry now, when I'm here. Because, when I think about him, I remember everything nice, everything lovely he did for me and how if I'm here forever I'll never get any of them back. That idea just makes me so...sad. I think maybe Clay believed that this place would make me happier, because they say it knows how to make people 'better.' But I don't think they care if I'm happy here, only if I'm eating. And eating makes me sad, so I don't, so yes, definitely I'm right in saying they don't care about how I feel about anything. They just want to be able to say they made me what they think is better.

But I'm not better. And here I don't think I ever will be.

Clay's POV

Two months later. (sorry for all the time skips the hospital got boring)

Today was the day. George was coming back.

And God, I couldn't be more excited.

While he was away I had significantly improved with my self harm and drinking, being 4 weeks completely sober and only having small cuts here and there on my wrist. It had been, to put it simply, unbearably painful- especially without my boyfriend's support or even presence to help me through. But I had done it, and I was hoping he'd be proud, and I really really really couldn't wait to see him.

Thinking about it now my hopes were definitely way too high- considering that they had extend his time in rehab TWICE because of how he had treated himself. I knew, really, that he probably didn't enjoy it, and that he could very possibly be a completely different person than the one I last saw. But for some dumbass reason, I had tricked myself. I had assumed that me feeling better meant George would too, because it was the easiest thing to tell myself. Though at the time, that really wasn't fair to either of us. So much happened in the previous few months without us even an realising it- at one point all we had to worry about was panic attacks and sad shit, but suddenly he was in a hospital bed because I had been too out of control to help him. We didn't have time to fix the problems we already had before there were more and God knows there were so, many more.