Sweatshirts in July *Solby*

June 31st

A/n: Sorry to those who already read this but I like this start a lot better. I'm warning you now there won't be trigger warnings set up because there will most likely be something triggering in every chapter so read this at your own discretion. Just know that if you can't read it due to it be triggering I won't be mad. Stay safe and enjoy! ~Nightmare

32 Days

    " I want to end it. I've been here for too long, nothing has changed. They haven't helped. I was promised Salvation, I was promised a new life, a future, one where my thoughts worked with me. One were I could get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Instead I'm stuck in this room with thoughts of seeing my own blood and plans to get the sharpest thing in this hospital to finally make that one last cut, a little deeper, a little better. To end. The doctors and nurses told me writing would help, but this journal has been nothing but repeats of I want to end. I'm suffering. I want to go. Writing can't change the thoughts in my brain from depressed ones to happy ones. There is no cure for me only death. "

A sickly thin boy closed the notebook he was writing in as he leaned his head back against the white wall. Everything was white in YT Psychiatric. The notebook was moved to his left side as he pulled his sweatshirt sleeves down lower to hide his trembling hands, his thoughts louder than ever. Encouraging, enticing, and disgusting thoughts that made his lips quiver and his wrists to beg for pain to be dragged across them. The boy was fucked up, the boy's mind wasn't what it was suppose to be. It was like the blonde boy was trapped and the only way to escape was to paint his world with crimson to only then fade to the scene of all black. He was an artist who had a vision but couldn't create his master piece of a plan all because of a sweatshirt sleeve that rose up a tad. All because he was deemed a danger to himself. The small boy knew he was more toxic to the air around him then himself. He deserved to be six feet under but here he was. Alone with his thoughts, nurses at his call, and a chair sitting in the corner empty. Samuel Golbach wanted nothing more than to die but instead he was stuck in a white room left to play with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. 

 Untouched food and his notebook occupied the space beside him as the door opened to reveal his doctor, her name was Mrs. Brock and Sam thought she was nice. She tried to help him which Sam always thanked her in his head for trying but in the end he knew she would eventually give up. All of his doctors did. This was his 5th Psychiatric after all, 

 "Good morning Samuel. I see you didn't eat your breakfast. You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Why don't you eat a bite of toast for me eh?" Sam internally rolled his eyes at the simple request wanting nothing more than to scream but stayed silent,as usual. His eyes scanned the white room until they landed on a figure hidden behind Mrs. Brock. The doctor stopped her rambling following the blue eyes that stared past her as she let out a small laugh, 

 "Oh Samuel I forgot. This is my son Colby. I thought you could use some company, Colby here loves making new friends and is your age! Let me take your food and check back on you two in about an hour or so? Oh and Samuel, I will make sure you eat lunch today." Mrs. Brock announced as she left the room closing the door behind her. Sam stared at the strange boy who awkwardly shifted underneath his gaze unsure what to do. The intruder had messily swept brunette hair that hung down in a slant towards the left like a fringe. His eyes were like a deep ocean blue that were electric. His outfit was nothing more than a black v-neck and skinny jeans. His skin was pale but not as pale as Sam's. The last thing Sam noticed were his hands, they looked frail and were adorned with abundant of rings. Finished with staring at the boy Sam turned back to looking at the white wall before him, his notebook still sitting beside him. 

 "Hi Samuel. How are you today?" The boy's voice was deep and pleasant sounding but Sam didn't utter a sound. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes though he always did hate that everyone called him Samuel. He also hated the fact that he couldn't wallow in his own self hatred today, not with Colby around. He realized the only way to get rid of the boy faster was to talk and Sam hated talking, 

 "Call me Sam." That was the first thing the boy could think about as the brunette sat in the chair that was pushed into the corner. His chair was no longer empty and he felt uncomfortable, "Um, alright, Sam it is. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" Sam wanted to laugh? What did the kid think he was going to say? 'I love sports and everything about this hospital. I love the color white and hey, even though I want to kill myself I still have fun!'  No way. Colby awkwardly waited as Sam sighed, "Why are you even here?" 

 Colby bit back a sharp retort as he let a fake smile fall onto his face, "I just wanted to help. Maybe even be your friend. My mom talks a lot about you." Sam's face didn't once change, "Cut the act Brock, how much is she paying you?" Sam deadpanned. He knew Mrs. Brock was getting desperate, all of his doctors hit a point of desperation with him but no one went as far as making their son spend time with him, "$150 per week. She said that you needed help and that I needed a job. We're stuck together for the rest of summer whether you like it or not." Colby responded as Sam blinked in surprise, he certainly didn't think Colby would respond truthfully. Silence followed as Colby sat in the once empty chair and Sam opened up his journal once more, this time not to write but to draw beneath his written entry, because as his doctor's had always said, drawing can help too.