Build me up (kickthestickz)

Chapter 7

*Chris POV*

He's in hospital a week. Someone, probably a therapist, visits him every day at 11. I know this because I see a stressed-looking man walks through the dining room, grabs a cup of coffee, and then heads in the direction of PJ's ward. I work in the kitchen, ladling soup at lunchtime. It's hard work.

I think about PJ a lot, but I haven't visited him yet. I can't stop the consuming worry in my chest. We're all pussies on the subject of suicide, aren't we? Preferring to look the other way and just toss in a therapist every so often. Are we scared? Or do we just not care? I don't know.

I think often of the park. Going to visit him. I come to the conclusion that PJ does not want to see me now, after i prevented his death attempt.

Why do people want to kill themselves? Every problem can be fixed. Every single one. He had me, didn't he? I don't know. I don't know what's true. I don't know what I think. I just know that I haven't slept properly since PJ attempted suicide, and more than anything I just want him to walk through the cafeteria door and throw himself at me. God. I don't know.

But one day he does just that, minus the second part. He is wearing plain jeans and a Misfits t-shirt and he walks uncertainly to where the food is served. He takes a bowl and holds it out to me, without looking up. I realise that he doesn't distinguish me from anyone else. I could be just another one of the random fat smoking dinner ladies, and he wouldn't know, because he hasn't fucking looked at me.

I should say something. Just to check he's okay. Maybe. I don't fucking know and it's so fucking dumb that teenagers do this. That they try and kill themselves. That they don't look up. And that they don't know what to do if their crush, who's life they incidentally saved, is right in front of them.

I jut pour soup into his bowl and let him go.

*PJ POV*

I hate hospitals.

Ever since dad died.

Hospitals are cold. Empty. Weird colours.

A bit like my thoughts, actually.

The therapist comes every day and I do my best to talk to him. I want to get better. I don't deserve to.

I'm allowed to the cafeteria after a few days; I don't know how many. Everything is the same in here. Nothing interesting.

I want to see Chris. Not all these shitty pushy therapists and my mother giving my pitying looks. I want to see the guy who I pushed away and who probably never wants to see me again. I don't know.

The food isn't great. Not that I'm eating it anyway. I want to get better, but I still need to be skinny.

I sit at a table on my own and start shuffling random thoughts in my head. I'm running through various lyrics when someone sits down opposite me. I don't look up.

"PJ," the person says, and I know that voice I know that voice holy shit is it really fuck. I look up.

"Chris?"