3

                                    

                                          
News that the new kid had tried to kill himself, and with a toothbrush, spread quickly through Tree Pine. There'd been a loud alarm ringing throughout the facility at eleven pm, followed by a man's voice saying, "Code Red" over the speakers. Everyone had tried to peek out of their windows, but a few care providers had hung back to try and help the patients stay calm and in their rooms. Josh had been one of the first to step out of his room, rubbing at his eyes in confusion and worry.
                          
Patrick had quickly walked quietly towards him as people rushed to the room next to Josh's, and they both realized together that something awful had happened to the new kid. A care provider took Josh by his arms and pulled him away from the room as he began to hyperventilate. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, and Patrick turned and ran back into his room, his gags barely audible over the alarm. Josh sat down in the corner of the hall, resting his head on the cool wall that separated the facility from the outside world.
                          
Pete eventually walked out of his room as paramedics ran in with a gurney, yet he was quickly ushered back into his room. The care providers began to force people back into their rooms as the paramedics ran into the new kid's room, yet Josh remained in his corner, breathing rapid and eyes wide. He had nowhere to go. There was no way he could go back to his room while a kid was dying or dead next to him. Thankfully, no one else was next to the new kid except him, so he sat alone.
                          
A care provider walked over to him, helped him up and ushered him to an empty room in the other hall. There, he collapsed onto his bed, slowly trying to calm himself and his breathing. And with his panic came his need to calm down. There was nothing in his room that he could use to calm himself, so he quietly asked his care provider for a marker and some paper. Without even a second glance, they got a few sheets of paper for him and a red marker. Thanking them with a convincing smile, Josh shrank back into the bathroom, where no one could see him. He took a shaky breath, lined the paper up on his wrist, and drew a long, slow red line on his skin with the paper.
                          
Josh winced, as paper cuts were not the preferable cut to get, yet continued to make lines on his skin. As the cuts appeared more and more on his arm, he felt the panic begin to diminish and settled into a low, barely noticeable mass in his stomach. There wasn't much blood dripping from his skin in the end, and he pulled down his sleeve and crawled onto his new bed.
                          
It wasn't until three am when the alarm ended, and, hopefully, the new kid didn't end with it.
                          
The next day was full of rumors and silence. The staff was extra attentive to the patients, and was even doubled. Josh felt worry appear once he saw all the careful eyes watching them all, yet once none showed any signs of body checks he simmered down. He sat next to Patrick, who was twiddling with a straw as Pete talked to him about a new song he'd written. Once they both saw Josh sitting down, they peeked up at him with curious eyes.
                          
"Did you hear what happened?" Pete asked, leaning forward on his elbows in interest. Josh raised an eyebrow, pressing him on. "New kid tried to kill himself," Pete whispered, looking around at the staff to make sure they weren't being listened to. Tree Pine had strict rules that no patients talk about one another, especially about any emergencies pertaining to a patient. They could easily get on peer boundaries for talking about what they were at the moment.
                          
Josh rolled his eyes, poking his foot with a plastic fork in disinterest. "I kinda figured from all the blood," he replied, and Patrick put down his straw, clearly not interested in eating if he even was. Pete's eyes widened at his comment, however, and he sat back in his seat in disbelief.
                          
"Did you see it?"
                          
"No."
                          
"Then...?"
                          
Josh chewed on his lips, remembering the strong, coppery smell stagnating in the air. "You could smell it," he murmured, and Pete's face twisted into disgust. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath.
                          
"Jesus..."
                          
Josh just nodded, unsure of what to say. Patrick just shook his head. "Do you think...he's alive?" He asked, voice barely audible as it quivered.
                          
Josh took a deep breath. "I hope so... I hope so." Something about how the new kid looked up at him from under his brow with such wide and lovable eyes hung onto him like that cat in those cliche posters. The way that he pulled on his sleeves and how he always scrunched in on himself haunted him with the smell of his blood, and Josh decided that he wouldn't eat.
                          
"What was it like last night for you, Josh?" His therapist asked him later that day in a green office with degrees and charts hung up along the wall. The man had taken of his glasses, setting them on the table as he waited for Josh's answer.
                          
Said man shrugged, leaning back in the comfy chair. "I dunno...it kinda sucked," he said, trying not to actually confront the subject. Hearing the alarms that announced a cute new kid was possibly dead wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his night, or any of his time. Barely being able to sleep because you swear that it still smells like blood and when you smell your clothes there's still that coppery tang that you can't forget. When you go to brush your teeth that night, you can only imagine it digging into the new kid's skin and you find yourself feeling more dirty than clean.
                          
His therapist clearly understood that it was a much more complex topic, and so he adjusted his position to a more serious one. Josh looked up at him with wide eyes, expecting to hear that a kid died next to him while he just hated himself and wanted to die like him. Maybe it was good Josh was in a mental hospital to experience a death. Or maybe it was bad. He wasn't sure.
                          
"Well," he began, clearing his throat. Josh's heart was in his chest as he waited to fall apart, to never smell anything other than a kid's death and to see nothing but his wide eyes. "I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that he's perfectly stable, and will be returning to us tomorrow morning."
                          
Josh breathed a long sigh of relief, dropping his head into his hands. The therapist smiled at him fondly, nodding mostly to himself. "He lost a lot of blood, but nothing we couldn't handle," the therapist informed him, and Josh nodded. "We'll have him under constant watch, and we'll be returning you to your room since the crisis has passed."
                          
Josh quickly remembered the strong smell of blood near there, and he began to chew on his lips at the thought. "Does it...not smell?" He asked, and the therapist quickly understood his implications. He quickly nodded, and Josh stopped chewing.
                          
"Now, is there anything else you wish to talk about? How about...when your depression began?" Josh's therapist asked, and the man quickly stiffened. Memories began to return.
                          
Loud voices.
                          
"Faggot."
                          
Alcohol.
                          
"Mine."
                          
Drugs.
                          
"Mine!"
                          
Blood.
                          
Blood.
                          
Blood.
                          
Josh didn't eat that day.
                          
And by the time he fell asleep, he'd written three songs, and his toothbrush was a few millimeters deep.