Lockjaw (Joshler)

47. Infirmary

***Trigger warnings for mentions of death and violence, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, medical/hospital stuff, mentions of self harm scars, and mention of an IV.***

Start the song. It's Learning to Hate You As a Self Defence Mechanism by Flatsound.

Josh couldn't sleep anymore. He tried to, but the nightmares came so often that he just couldn't take it anymore. With lack of sleep came too much time to think, with too much time to think came increased depression, and with increased depression came suicide watch. Hoppus had been the one to put him back on watch after he'd come into work and heard that Josh hadn't slept in five days and saw that Josh had bitten his nails down to nothing. Technically the prison could count that as self harm, so Josh was back in the watch cell, too afraid to close his eyes and sleep, and officially out of ways to cope.

Tyler had already been visiting Josh and talking to him on the phone every day since Josh stopped sleeping, helping to talk him through panic attacks and depressive episodes. He'd even come in twice the day before even though Josh didn't say a word to him either time. Tyler talked to him normally, like he would any other day, except he told more stories and asked less questions. He never stopped touching Josh the whole time he was there either. He was always holding Josh's hands, kissing the top of his head, hugging him, and allowing Josh to trace the thick scar on the inside of his wrist with shaky fingers. He always hugged Josh really tight, kissed the top of his head, and told him he loved him before he left. Josh had been too tired not to cry when Tyler had left the day before, so Tyler had held him a little longer and promised over and over that he'd come back in the morning and that he would always answer his phone when Josh called him, even if Josh didn't feel like talking and just needed to listen to his voice for a while.

Hoppus had pulled some strings and gotten permission to bring Josh his sketchbook around three in the morning, but he was only allowed to use crayons from one of the art therapy bins. Josh drew all night, not having the energy or the will to speak to anyone as he drew Winston, Abbie, Jordan, Tyler, his mom, and anyone else his mind could still recall the face of. He was so tired that his vision was starting to blur, he couldn't remember how to speak without stuttering, and he felt sick with guilt whenever he saw how worried he was making Hoppus. He couldn't go to sleep though. It wasn't safe to go to sleep either.

It was six in the morning when Hoppus's radio let him know that Josh had visitors-plural. Josh didn't feel excited or relieved or nervous or anything. He was so tired and so depressed that he couldn't even think of what emotions he was meant to be feeling. He couldn't think at all as he followed Hoppus to the visiting room, his arm gripped tight in Hoppus's hand and a second guard trailing behind since he was considered a fall risk at the moment.

Josh was too tired to be angry or annoyed or frustrated when he saw his mom, his sister, and a guy he had only seen in pictures from Ashley's wedding. His mother and sister looked more concerned than he'd ever seen them when the guards sat him down before they took his handcuffs off of him. Ashley's husband kept nervously looking at Josh and then at her as if he was having trouble connecting the two of them.

"Are you okay?" Ashley asked fearfully as their mom instantly grabbed Josh's hands, surveying through teary eyes the mess he'd made of his nails.

Josh watched his mom's hands as she touched his all over before turning over his arms and feeling his forearms as well as if there were wounds there that her eyes couldn't find but that her hands would. He could barely focus on anything, but he was seeing his mom for the first time since before the riot, and he was trying as hard as he could to commit her to memory before she disappeared again.

"Is he okay?" Ashley asked Hoppus when Josh didn't answer her. Her voice broke, but Josh didn't look at her. He was still watching his mother's hands try to find the life left in his, but he didn't have the energy to move, so his hands remained limp in hers.