Prisoners of Love ☾☾ Hayley Williams + Josh Franceschi

one ☽ these white coats

So, this is a short story that's been sitting in my google drive for two years. I dug it out, did a little editing, wrote a couple extra chapters, and now it's ready to go out on wattpad for the first time. It's 10 parts, and one part will be posted every week. I hope you like it! :)

"Josh," someone yelled. I would know that voice anywhere. It was one of my best friends, Matt Barnes. I panicked because, there was still blood dripping from my freshly-cut arm. I could hear Matt's footsteps on the stairs. I looked around and tried to figure out what to do. I couldn't stand up, not with my arm. It was too weak. I threw the small blade just as the door opened. I didn't have time to move my arm. I heard Matt gasp and I kept my head down.

Matt helped me to my feet, and turned on the sink. He helped me clean my arm and gave me some pain meds. I almost blacked out, but he splashed water on my face and kept me awake. I couldn't believe how helpful he was being.

"I'm not going to ask you why," he started. We were sitting on the couch and my arm had been bandaged up. I played with the ends of the gauze as I listened to him. "But I think you should get some help."

"They'll lock me up in the loony bin," I complained. Matt glared at me and I returned my gaze to my knees. Matt's expression softened and he put his hand on my shoulder.

"You need to at least see a doctor, see what he says. Please, Josh, I can't lose you," Matt begged. I could see all his emotions on his face. We both knew it was for the best, I just didn't want to believe it.

I sat on the chair in the waiting room. Matt was sitting in the car outside. I told him I didn't want him to come in with me. I played with my fingers and kept my head down. I didn't know how much time passed until the doctor finally saw me. It could've been hours or minutes.

"Joshua Franceschi," The nurse or whoever said, mispronouncing my last name. I stood up and pulled my sleeves down over my hands. I followed the lady back to a room. All the walls were white and there were black chairs. There was a computer and a bunch of cabinets and clipboards. The lady pointed to one of the chairs, and I sat.

The lady left me and I looked around the small room. Besides the plain walls and chairs, there wasn't much to look at. It smelled like you would expect a hospital or dentistry place to smell like: clean and sanitary, but still uncomfortable.

The door opened swiftly, interrupting my thoughts. My head snapped over to the doctor, who wore a white coat. He carried a clipboard and was looking through some of the papers as he walked in. He kicked the door shut, then sat down on the chair by the computer.

"So Joshua, why are you here today?" The doctor asked as he set the clipboard down. I could feel his gaze on me, but I didn't want to meet it. I was perfectly fine staring at the ground and pretending everything was fine.

"It's, uh, Josh," I mumbled. I looked over at him out of the corner of my eye. He nodded and motioned for me to go on. "My best friend, Matt, walked in on me," I stopped, suddenly unable to speak. It was hard to admit, to talk about. It was so much simpler just to push the sharp edges on my skin.

"Would you prefer to write it?" He said suddenly. I looked up, more out of shock. I nodded my head slightly and watched him scramble around for a clean sheet of paper. I stared at my hands until the doctor held a piece of paper and a pencil in front of me. I took it and started to write on the paper.

I had written a few good poems and people said I was good with words. I had lost those writing abilities at that point. I had a blank expression on my face and I stared at the pencil and paper like they were foreign.

"Are you okay? You don't look so well," the doctor finally spoke. I shook my head and dropped the pencil and paper to the floor. I stood up shakily and looked around. The doctor rushed over to me to find out what was wrong.

"Toilet," I said quickly. He guided me to the nearest bathroom and let me go inside alone. I was dizzy and nauseous and he was, luckily, an understanding doctor.

I had made it to the toilet just in time. I bent over as the vomit left my mouth. I'd never had to talk about my self-harming and, well, throwing up was the result. Maybe I had a little bit of social anxiety. Maybe it was just plain old anxiety. That happens with depression, right?

My doctor later diagnosed me with chronic depression and I was going to be admitted into the hospital's loony bin. It wasn't the depression alone that got me in there, it was the self harm. I hated myself and had no self confidence. I had convinced myself that I was worth crap. I couldn't even live on my own.

Another nurse led me down some hallways and into an elevator. She punched in a code and the elevator doors closed themselves. I wasn't afraid of elevators, but this one fucking freaked me out. It was clearly old and overworked. The nurse stared straight ahead like nothing was happening. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. The sounds and bumpiness of the ride were definitely abnormal.

The elevator of death came to a stop and a small ding came from it. The nurse got off first, which I didn't approve of. I wanted to get off that thing as soon as fucking possible. We walked through more halls. The thing that all of them had in common was that there was no color; All empty and white. No wonder the people here were insane.

"Wait here while I check with the receptionist," the nurse finally said. That was the first thing she'd said the whole time we'd been together. I sat down in one of the plain, plastic chairs. I could hear some whispers and faint talking coming from around me. I didn't want to turn around or acknowledge them.