To Hell and Back for You

Chapter 14: Diving In

"Hey, Mark," the guy greeted casually, having suddenly zoomed up to my side and then slowed to match my pace.

"Hey," I answered absentmindedly.

"So how's her highness today?" he chuckled, referring to the psychiatrist, Dr. Stokes.

I shrugged my shoulders. My heart wasn't in the conversation for several reasons, but the greatest was the fact that directly after lunch, I might be facing McGraff again and I had no idea what to expect or do. Of course, that was granted my medicine didn't work which I was reluctant to believe it would. The dreams had returned before I had even gone to Hell so surely now, the second spirit inhabiting my body would further influence my mind toward sleeping hallucinations.

The man walking with me was pretty young, maybe twenty. That made me about almost a decade older. He was mid-height, same as me, but with a light brown complexion and dark eyes. He was also pretty thin like I was and his exceedingly friendly personality seemed sincere. We had met my first day here when he saw me just sitting at a table and poking at the food on my plate. He had grabbed his own tray from the table where he'd been chatting with two female patients and made his way to where I was.

Even though I was clearly alone, he had asked if the seat was claimed before taking the one in front of me. I didn't really respond. I may have shrugged, but couldn't remember. He sat anyway and told me his name was Devin. He was a talkative son of a bitch and had carried the entirety of the dialogue. In fact, I don't recall having said anything to him during it at all.

Still, he kept at it. He'd occasionally ask questions and when he received no reply, would answer them himself. For example, at one point, he inquired as to why I was in the hospital, and then turned around and said, "Yeah, I know it's hard to believe, but I actually have a pretty bad problem with my temper. I feel like I'm better than I used to be though."

According to Devin, he had a chemical imbalance similar to major depressive disorder except instead of making him saddened, he was easily agitated. And he was right, seeing him act the way he did these past couple of days, it didn't seem truthful, especially with how much he appeared to enjoy spending time with others.

Yet apparently, what had brought him in was a fight with his sister's boyfriend. Well, maybe fight was the wrong word. Basically, he was staying with the two of them as he hadn't been able to maintain a place of his own. Devin was having 'an off day,' as he had described it.

After a day of job-hunting, he came into the kitchen where his sister was and grabbed a beer. She had made a comment about how he really should cut down the drinking to help him stay level. Devin had complained that it was only one beer; she had said it always starts with just one; and when he bitched back, she just dropped it.

However, her boyfriend came home and when he heard about the spat, he approached Devin saying he didn't want any more alcohol in his home. "I remember saying something to the effect of how I wasn't an irresponsible drinker, but after that, I blacked out," Devin had told me. "The next thing I knew, I was holding the guy against the wall and his face was bleeding. I think I may have broken his nose."

He had kept a chipper attitude through the whole story, making it a bit unbelievable or at least like it didn't bother him despite how it had only happened a few days prior to my visit to Daytonsville. Thinking on it later, I wondered if his cheeriness was a defense-mechanism and he did feel badly for what happened.

He could just be good at remaining positive. At any rate, his sister had called the cops and, having his disorder documented, he was sent to the ward for medication adjustment after a night in lockup.

"It looks like I may be getting out tomorrow," Devin spoke again once we had reached the activity room in silence.

"Oh?" I finally said, "You have a court date set?"