Before I Break (21 page)

“The ambulance is on its way,” she cried softly, staring at us both. “Is he alive?”

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t move.

I was soaking in my own blood, probably mixed with Avery’s; by the time the ambulance arrived, they had to pull my away from his body. All I could think of was all the good times we had before this night.

Meeting him.

Going to Boston.

Meeting Angela and signing Avery on to get his book published.

He had his whole life ahead of him but it was all going to be taken away in a matter of hours.

The first ambulance took Avery, and the second took me a minute later. Melissa was riding with Avery, but I was too gone to think anything of it. Everything around me was going red, and then before we arrived at the hospital, my whole entire world went black.

Avery died that night on the way to the hospital. It wasn’t like anyone could be surprised, not with wounds like that; we all just kind of hoped that it would turn out okay, or that he could make it through. While I wasn’t sure where Avery was, where his soul had gone or whether he stayed behind to watch us, but I know one thing for sure.

I was in Hell.

The rest of the week, I was in the ICU, recovering from the bullet wound. According to them, dislodging the bullet was surprisingly easy, and they said I would recover fairly quickly. The truth was, though, I didn’t want to recover. For me, recovering meant moving on, and I knew I was never going to move on from this.

When they finally released me from the ICU, they transferred me into the main hospital, where I had my own room, a TV, and more comfortable bed, and I got to eat when I wanted. Most people would have been happy to have survived the battle and then had all of this stuff handed to them, but I wasn’t. I truly just wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

The first night I was in there, I was also very uncooperative. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t drink. I wouldn’t even talk when the hot nurses asked me how I was feeling. Right then, nothing was important. Life wasn’t important.

For the longest time growing up, I’d never understood how people could be so upset with life where they fall apart and give up. I always wondered what it took to break them so easily. Well, now I knew. It didn’t necessarily take death, it just took something important to you to leave. I just was lucky enough that mine died, apparently.

The day after that, a lady came in dressed in a suit. Her name tag read INSTITUTE OF PSYCHIATRY, CHERYL, and I knew what this was for. You see it in movies all the time, and now here I was, getting a psych evaluation.

“Hello,” Cheryl said. She was fairly old with brownish hair and some wrinkles on her face. I wanted to make a snarky remark but then remembered I wasn’t talking. “My name is Cheryl and I’m here to talk to you today, do you mind?”

I minded, but didn’t say a word.

“They say you’ve been quiet since you got into the hospital. I read your file and heard about what happened. I am so very sorry.”

Yeah bitch, let’s talk about the issue some more.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

No, I thought. I want you to go away. Staring at the wall, I made sure to avoid her eyes because looking into someone’s eyes was like looking into someone’s soul, and without reassurance as to where Avery’s was, I didn’t want to risk breaking down.

“Your mother says you used to be very talkative. Were very expressive as far as she could tell. What made you stop talking to people? Was it the accident?”

IT WASN’T AN ACCIDENT,
I wanted to scream, but remained cool as ice. Now need to make the avalanche fall when unnecessary.

“Your mother is thinking about admitting you into the Psychiatric Hospital for some treatment. Would you be okay with that?”

Just pretend she doesn’t exist, I thought. She’s a waste of human skin.

She stood up and said, “Until you talk no one can help you. We’ll have your bed over there ready for you in the morning, unless you want to talk to someone before then.” As she walked out of the room, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this. Then I remembered the only person to blame here was myself.

Turns out Cheryl isn’t a liar. The next morning, Cheryl came back for me and told me that they were bringing me across the street to the Institute of Psychiatry. They brought in a wheelchair and rolled me across the street, into a lovely large building for the crazies. As we rolled up the elevator in silence, I realized that maybe this was for the best. If they kept me here, I’d never have to face anything again.

Arriving on the floor where I’d be staying, which was the Teen Unit, I wanted to vomit at the site of all the colors. They sure wanted to make this place friendly, not that most of us cared, but the truth was, it was comforting on a certain level.

They checked me in at the front, and one of the male nurses then took me into the back room and checked me out, asking me to take my clothes off and all sorts of dumb shit. I guess they didn’t want me carrying anything to harm myself in, but really, what could I bring in when I’ve been in the hospital for the last week and a half? If I really wanted to hurt myself, I could just hold my breath until my lungs exploded.

I had to change into another pair of those beautiful hospital scrubs—I have to tell you, these places really knew fashion—and then they sent me off to sit in the main room, where we all just stared at each other, and the ones who had been there a while and were comfortable enough played games. I didn’t want to play games. What I wanted was Avery back, but then I remembered I wasn’t that lucky.

There was a clock on the wall behind the desk, reading 11 a.m. I watched the second hand move, slowly but surely, and wondered how long they planned to keep me in here. Maybe long enough for me to hang in the adult unit.

Some girl beside me with a ratchet set of hair sat there biting her nails, staring at the clock as well. She was probably the definition of crazy, if I had to guess. On the other side of the room I was a blonde girl, one who looked seemingly normal, checking me out. While she was hot, the hospital didn’t seem like a great place to get laid.

A guy about my age walked over to me and took the empty seat on the other side of me. He had dark brown hair similar to mine, except better looking than mine, mostly because he looked like he had the will to shower.

“Hey,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine. He was cute (no homo, as we’ve established) in an Avery kind of way and it pissed me off. “My name is Austin.”

His name even started with an A too. Gotta love life.

I hoped that giving him the silent treatment would make him go away. To the best of my luck, it didn’t.

“You’re not a talker, I see,” he said, smirking. “Deaf?”

Oh, come on, now that was just insulting.

“Alright, well, if you ever want a friend, I’m here.” He held up his hands in defense, then left to go sit back on the other side of the room. I had a feeling this guy was going to get on my nerves and not make this any easier. I was right.

Things in life don’t always work out the way that we want them to and we learn that dreams are nothing but a waste of our intelligence. Our minds have so many possibilities and we sit here dreaming up futures that won’t exist, hoping for some chance of happiness. We have no control over what happens, though, and that sucks ass.

So how long did I stay in the Institute of Psychology? Well, the next day, after a long, restless night, I had a psych evaluation with the head doctor on the floor, who weighed what looked like about 400 pounds and counting. His name was Dr. Charles, but enjoyed thinking of him as Hippo, considering that was almost exactly what he looked like. Because I wasn’t speaking, I didn’t get to say it to his face. As much as I really wanted to say it out loud, there was no way to find my voice. I didn’t even feel like I had a voice anymore.

Anyway, this morning, I had to meet with Dr. Charles alone in the sitting area while everyone else walked around, possibly eavesdropping on the entire one-sided conversation. After five minutes of nothing answering any of his unnecessary questions, he said, “You’re going to need to speak eventually if you’re going to get help.”