Why We Laugh (#Wattys2018)

21. I Laughed Because He Didn't Understand it Was a Joke

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This is a very serious chapter and shows symbols of actions of suicide. Within the chapter I do explain the suicidal teen's issues and how he is harsh on himself. PLEASE do not be cruel to yourself. We are all beautiful and need to be kind to ourselves. The suicidal character is just going through a difficult time and has thoughts that are not true and exaggerated. The point of his thoughts is to show the pain people are in. If you ever want to talk PM me. I am putting a trigger warning on the chapter.

20.

I was sitting the car, my head pressed against the glass window. The glass was rimmed with fog, so I ran my finger drawing hearts through the precipitation.

"Molly," my mom snapped, looking at me cross. "Stop smudging the window."

"Sorry," I muttered, breathing on the heart to clear it.

I leaned back, bored. There was traffic, and I had been in the car for an hour, but this was my chance to see my brother.

The car was in silence ever since my mom threatened to leave my dad. But, they managed to sit in the car together, staying strong for me.

Well, the car wasn't silent. The heater hummed and rambled, and you could hear the thundering honks from the congestion on the highway.

"Screw it," my dad, bit, crossing over lanes to get off the freeway.

"Be patient," my mom responded.

But we were already gliding off the freeway on our way to the hospital.

Once there we walked in awkward silence up to the psych ward.

They took our phones and showed us to two heavy doors that read: AWOL risk.

I swallowed hard as the nurse slid his ID card and the doors opened slowly.

I expected something like jail or some horrid scene.

It felt like an uncomfortable hotel that had bland creativity.

The walls were pale blue, and the carpet was dark blue and to my right was a room, which I think was the living room.

I glanced through, and it had artwork and a TV, it didn't look that bad.

The hall waslined with heavy bolted doors with names besides it. Except there was a wall length window on the other side that let in true light.

"This way," the nurse said as I was trying to peek into the living room.

We were rounding the corner.

And I saw him.

Not my brother.

No.

The gay bad boy.

"Hunter?" I was stunned, more stunned then when I found out he was gay.

His eyes widened, and he looked sick. Vulnerable. I had never seen him so vulnerable.

But it lasted only a moment, then he smirked. "What brings you to the loony bin, Molly?"

My jaw dropped, "Visiting someone. What the heck are you doing here?"

I observed him; he was wearing sweats and shoes that had no laces. Along with that, he had on a sweatshirt that covered his hands, but you were able to see the patient tag.

"You laughed," he responded, the smirk playing tricks on me.

I didn't understand it right away.