Not One to Talk

Not One to Talk (Chapter 7)

Tyler:

     I didn't know how much longer I was going to be staying in the hospital. What I did know, however, was that no one was going to tell me. No matter how much or how persistently I asked the nurses, my words seemed to float right over their heads and out the door, where no one would hear them. To make matters worse, not only could I not stand the nurses who constantly ignored me, I despised the hospital in general. Maybe it was the sickly green walls and my rock hard bed. Or maybe it was the annoying-as-hell elevator music constantly droning out of the speakers on the wall.

     Whatever the reason was, I wanted out. Now.

     I wished that girl had stayed longer so I could talk to her, even if she did seem a little quiet. At least I would have someone to occupy my time with. And she was pretty, after all, with her golden blond hair and pretty hazel eyes. Of course, I hadn't even asked her for her name, and now I'd probably never see her again.

     Thinking about that only made my mood worsen. Unfortunately, I was an expert at doing that to myself.

     Luckily, my cell phone was in my pocket, so that gave me one thing to do. Don't ask me how it survived and made it into the hospital, but it was there, and I didn't question it. Before I pulled it out, I craned my neck to look around for any lingering nurses. If they saw that I had my phone, it would be taken away faster than I could even look up. 

     Once I turned it on, I saw I had a few texts from my friends, asking me to hang out. I immediately felt bad that I hadn't gotten back to them, but I had my reasons. They were boys, but surely they could be understanding of the situation I was in.

     Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand. Another text from my friend Alex.

     Where are u, man? U haven’t answered ur phone in days.

     Jeez, was he impatient.

     Even though my fingers were shaking and a little weak, I managed to reply: In the hospital. Kitchen accident.

     Footsteps echoed down the hall. Quickly I shoved my phone back in my pocket and waited. Eventually the steps faded away, so I was safe to text again. I flipped my phone open to find Alex's reply:

     Oh, ok.

     Alex, in addition to being impatient, was a also man a few words. I don't think I mentioned that.

     Giving up on that, I put my phone away and played with my fingers absent-mindedly. Only then did I realize how sore I was. My torso felt so stiff; it was almost as if I would never be able to move it again. Just the thought of that made me shudder. I still didn't know the extent of my injuries, and what if I had permanently hurt myself? What if I never got out of this place?

     Shuddering again, I made a promise to myself that I would not think that again.

     Attempting to get that out of my head, I thought more about that girl. That girl. It really sucked that that was the only thing I could call her. Names were so much more intimate. Without one, she seemed less real. Almost as if, in time, she would fade away into the depths of my mind. 

     Wow. I didn't know I could be that deep. Maybe it was the hospital messing up my mind.

     I didn't want to stay long enough to find out.

* * * *

     My parents weren't really the best empathizers in the world. Let's just say they didn't understand emotions at all. Or even if they were capable of it, they made a point not to understand mine. It was so infuriating that I've considered running away a couple times. More than a couple, actually. I couldn't help thinking that there was a better life for me out there, and over time I came to know for sure there was. How I was going to get there? Different story entirely.

     So I was pretty surprised when suddenly the curtain around my bed was pushed out of the way, revealing my parents. Julia, the nurse who started my hatred for nurses, was next to them. 

     "Oh, good. He's awake," she said. There was a hint a disgust in her voice and I knew her statement was a lie. Translation: Why didn't that little punk stay sedated? With another angry look at me, Julia left me alone with my parents.

     For a minute or so, the three of us just stared at each other. My eyes kept flitting back and forth from my mom to my dad, waiting for them to say something. I wasn't going to start a conversation.

     "How are you doing, Tyler?" my mom finally asked in a guarded tone.

      It took me a moment to answer, but I managed to choke out, "Fine."

     My dad folded his arms across his chest dubiously. I tried to ignore him. Meanwhile, my mom sat down on the edge of my bed carefully, like she was afraid it would break.

     "The nurses told us what happened," she informed me quietly.

     I raised one eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what did they tell you?"

     "Well, they said that, um . . . . That you-"

     "They said you tried to kill yourself," my dad cut in rudely. "They told us that the neighbors called 911 after they heard screaming coming from our house."

     Had I really been that loud?

     "The medics came," he went on, "and found you lying unconscious on the floor, covered in blood, with a bloody knife at your side. There was a puncture wound in your midsection."

     A small, strangled noise came from my mother.

     "Okay, guys, look," I said firmly. I had to set things straight. "I did not - repeat, did not - try to kill myself. I was cooking dinner, and as I was cutting the chicken, the knife I was holding slipped from my hand. That's what happened. It was a pure accident. I did not try to kill myself."

     Shaking his head, my father muttered, "I knew he would deny it."

     I stared at him. "Are you kidding me?! I'm not denying anything! Why won't you believe me? It. Was. An. Accident."

     "He's getting angry," my mom whispered to my dad, standing up. "Do you think we should wait to tell him?"

     "What's the use? We'll have to tell him sometime."

     "Tell me what?" I questioned through my teeth.

     "But I don't want to upset him any more today," my mom pleaded. "Let's tell him tomorrow."

     "Tell me what?" I seethed.

     "I don't care about upsetting him," my dad hissed. Then he turned to me, eyes blazing. "Tyler, we're putting you in a mental hospital. You need some serious help, and it looks like we're out of options."

     "The Rochester Psychiatric Hospital," my mom put in. "That's where you're going."

     At first, I had trouble processing their words. Me? In a mental hospital? But then it hit home, and I lost it.

     "I can't believe you two! How much more insane can you get? For the love of God, there is nothing wrong with me!"

     "We only want what's best for you," my mother mumbled.

     "If you did, you wouldn't be putting me in a freaking mental hospital! You two are the worst parents in the history of the universe!" 

     Although my mom looked devastated, my dad's expression only revealed one thing: pure anger. No one said anything for five agonizing seconds, but then my mom stood up. Without another word, my parents exited my little area, whipping the curtain closed behind them. 

     I would say more, but at that point I was too furious for words.

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Author's Note: Forgot to add this - the mental hospital mentioned in this chapter DOES NOT EXSIST. I didn't want to make stuff up about a real hospital (I have my reasons) so I made up my own. So if you are looking for a mental hospital for whatever reason, don't try to go to this one.

     - The Cat