Bed of Roses(Climbing Class story)

Chapter One, Never Smile Again.

FW: Implied SH and suicide attempt, parents arguing, weed

I clutched the edges of the sink with urgency, striving to maintain my balance. The opulent marbled countertop was stained with blood. The bathroom light flickered intermittently, and I exhaled softly, attempting to regain my composure.

I whispered, "One," my voice barely above a murmur, rough around the edges. The sound of a ringing phone echoed in the room, drawing my attention to the device sitting on the counter next to the prescription bottles.

"Two." My vision began to blur, prompting me to swiftly close my eyes, as Hannah had advised me to do whenever I sensed that I might faint.

The phone began to ring once more. I wondered who could possibly be calling me at such an hour, yet I found myself lacking any genuine concern.

As I opened my eyes once more, the world around me came into focus, and I found myself drawn to the mirror once again. The glass surface shimmered, reflecting not just my physical form but the thoughts and emotions swirling within me. I leaned closer, searching for clarity in my own gaze, hoping to find answers in the depths of my eyes. But just as I began to understand the fleeting moment of connection, an overwhelming darkness surged forth, consuming everything in its path. It was a suffocating void that pulled me in, erasing the light and leaving me in a state of confusion and fear, as if I were being swallowed by the very essence of night.

* * *

"You're name is.."

"Joshua.. Joshua Washington."

The therapist fixed her gaze on me, holding it steady. I find it uncomfortable when people look at me like that, as if they can see all my insecurities laid bare. She reclined slightly in her chair, clicking her pen rhythmically while reviewing the notes from the doctors.

I cleared my throat quietly. "Do you enjoy watching movies?" I was trying to initiate a dialogue, even if my conversational skills were lacking.

"Not really. They're pointless." She didn't bother to look at me. I restrained myself, keeping my opinions locked away.

"At just 16 years old, you're facing something as heavy as depression." She lifted her gaze to meet mine, her eyes filled with intensity and unspoken pain.
"That's what my doctor said, isn't it?"

She looked back at her clipboard and wrote something down.

I shifted restlessly in my chair, acutely aware of her disdain. It was clear she doubted my words, convinced I was merely pretending. My gaze wandered around the sterile office, the walls a dull white, the tables and shelves meticulously arranged in a way that felt suffocating. It brought back memories of school, a place I longed for now. While my classmates were engaged in lessons, I found myself here, facing a social worker who seemed repulsed by my fragile presence. A week had passed since I last attended school, and I couldn't help but wonder if anyone even noticed my absence. My fingers fidgeted aimlessly, the heavy silence pressing down on me, almost too painful to endure.

"Are you on any medication?"

She was fully aware of the truth, so why did she even bother to ask? I looked at her in silence, confusion clouding my mind, until it dawned on me what she was really seeking from me. "Um, yes, I am."

"Do you take it? According to schedule? No more no less?"

I find myself in this familiar place once again, a sense of inevitability weighing heavily on my heart. I nodded slowly, the motion feeling almost futile. "Yes, I've been following the prescribed dosage as directed. Yet, all it seems to do is—"