Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Scar Tissue ❯ The Evaluation ( Chapter 18 )

Part 18

I couldn't help it. I started to laugh.

There was an hysterical edge to the laughter, as if at any moment it would dissolve into sobs. I knew I had to get myself under control, and fast. The woman, Anne, was giving me a measuring look, her bemused expression quickly fading. She walked over to me and put her hand on my arm. I jerked away reflexively.

"It's okay to cry if you need to. I won't think any less of you,' she said soothingly. Christ, what was it with everyone wanting me to cry? Her words echoed the ones Trowa had spoken not even five minutes ago. I shook my head, reigning in the half-laughter, half-sobbing until it had finally subsided and I was left taking deep breaths in an effort to catch my breath.

"I'm fine," I said. "It was just funny, you know, you walking in and making your pronouncement right after I threw a cup at the wall. Not exactly a winning first impression, I'm sure." There was no way I was even going to attempt to explain to her that her words had been amusing and ridiculous on so many other levels. She smiled faintly before stepping back and sitting in the chair.

"I won't hold that against you either. Everyone feels frustrated at times. I would be more concerned if you weren't experiencing strong emotions right now, considering the circumstances," she said. I eyed her warily, suddenly realizing the significance of her visit. She must be the one who would decide whether or not they were going to lock me up in the psych ward. Fear tingled in my stomach. I swallowed hard and tried to appear as sane as possible.

"I'll start off by explaining more fully why I'm here. I'm a therapist with the hospital. Our normal protocol when a patient is brought in following a suicide attempt," I barely managed to suppress a wince, "is to admit them to the ICU until they are stabilized. Following that we administer an evaluation to determine if the patient still poses a significant threat to themselves, in which case they are admitted to the psych ward for a complete two-week evaluation. Otherwise they are transferred to the general ward until they are well enough to leave," she explained matter-of-factly. I had to look away. I wondered if she realized how cold she sounded. Probably not. She probably thought she was being `warm' and `compassionate'. I mentally cringed. I was being unfair. She probably had only the best intentions. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't possibly understand.

"Now, Duo," she continued, "why don't you start off by telling me what happened last night?" I immediately bristled. How was I going to play this? How could I convince her I wasn't a danger to myself, when in all probability I was a danger to myself? The thought nearly made me cringe, as realization sunk in. I was. I really was. I was exactly the kind of person that they locked away. A danger to myself. The words echoed hollowly in my head. Someone who couldn't be trusted not to hurt themselves. Who had to be kept under watch, `for their own good'. I shuddered.

"Duo?" Anne asked, her voice breaking through my reverie. Christ, how long had I been sitting there staring off into space?

"Well, uh, you should know what happened. I'm sure they told you. I swallowed a bunch of pills, and my friends found me and brought me to the hospital," I stammered, sounding a lot more irritable than I liked.

"Well, could you explain to me why you took those pills?" she asked. I fidgeted. How was I supposed to answer that?

"I, uh, had a bad day," I offered lamely. What, was I supposed to try to explain to her the awful all-consuming pain that I was living in, that everything hurt, that just being fucking alive hurt, and that I had decided that it was too much to take anymore? As if even that could possibly fully explain it? How could I be expected to explain it to her when I couldn't even explain it to myself, when I didn't think there really was an explanation that could fully impart to her the pain and the suffering and the abject misery I was going through? There were no words that could sufficiently give voice to the depth of my agony. I swallowed hard, my chest aching. Anne merely nodded and wrote something in the clipboard that I hadn't noticed she was carrying. I grimaced and looked away. There's nothing quite like having someone writing in a clipboard while you're talking to them to make you feel like you're a specimen under observation.

"Do you often have `bad days'? How about those scars on your arms and legs, are they another way that you deal with bad days?" she asked. I gave her an incredulous look, but she wasn't even looking at me, she was still scribbling on that clipboard. God, weren't therapists supposed to have a bit more tact than that? And what could she be writing? I'd barely said a thing to her!

"I guess…," I said slowly, measuring my words carefully. Uneasiness coiled in my stomach. I didn't want to talk about this. At least she wasn't looking at me. I wrapped my arms protectively around myself, trying in vain to hide the scars she'd just drawn my attention to. Not that it worked, considering there were scars on the backs of my arms as well. I figured I should elaborate a bit more on my answer, even if I wanted nothing more than to crawl away and hide in a corner somewhere, anything but be here. "Um, I know it's not exactly the best way to deal with things, and I am getting help with it. And bad days come and go, just like with anybody else. I'm certainly not eager to repeat this… incident."

I reasoned that it was not an entirely untruthful answer. I certainly did know, all too well, that cutting was a stupid thing to do. I hated myself for doing it. I just couldn't stop. And technically, I had gone to Dr. Mitchell for `help', even if it wasn't working out, and I knew that there was no chance in hell that she'd actually be able to help me. And I sure as hell didn't want this incident to be repeated, but… that didn't necessarily mean I couldn't make sure I did it right next time. If there was a next time. Fuck, I sure as hell didn't want to think about that right now!

Anne actually looked up for a moment before returning her attention to her clipboard. "So you are currently in therapy?" she asked, sounding pleased. I nodded eagerly, even though she wasn't looking at me. If she was happy about it, I was sure as hell going to play on it.

"Yeah, I just started seeing Dr. Mitchell over at Everett three times a week. I think, given a chance, it'll be really good for me! Make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I have an appointment with her tomorrow, in fact, and I have every intention of being there," I lied. "That is, uh, if you guys let me out of here," I added sheepishly. I hated lying, but I couldn't exactly tell her that I was never going to go see Dr. Mitchell again, not if I could help it. And if she thought I was going to be willingly seeing someone, that was a better option than locking me up against my will, right?

Anne was nodding again. "Yes, Dr. Mitchell has an excellent reputation. I'm glad that you are already in the process of seeking help. It's a very good sign." She finally looked at me straight on. I met her gaze and tried to appear open and at ease. "So, if you are released from the hospital tomorrow, are you going to try to harm yourself again?"

I blinked. It took actual physical effort to keep from blurting out `Are you for real?' I didn't think that would go over too well. But I mean, c'mon! What did she expect me to say? `Why yes, yes I will! You better keep me here, because if you let me out the first thing I'm going to do is go and find a razor and slash my wrists. So by all means, lock me up and throw away the key!' I couldn't believe she was asking this. But she was, so I had to give some kind of answer.

I shook my head gravely. "No, I'm not. I realize what a horrible mistake this was. I'm going to go see Dr. Mitchell, and do my best to get better. I don't want to put my friends through this again. I want to get better. I'm never going to… do this again." There. I had absolutely oozed sincerity. Hopefully she bought it.

She was nodding again. Christ, was there a spring in her neck or something? She scribbled some more. "Well, you seem to be in a positive state of mind. Nothing like what the ER doctors described last night. You're in therapy and are expressing an honest desire to recover. I can see no benefit in keeping you here. You'll be transferred to the general ward for one more day of observation to ensure you've fully recovered from your overdose. You'll be released from the hospital tomorrow." She smiled at me. "I'll send a nurse to bring you to your new room. I'm pleased that you have such a good attitude about this Duo. Good luck with your therapy." She stood up and left, leaving me staring dumbly at the door.

That was it? She'd asked me maybe four or five questions, and had been with me for at most five minutes, and she had made her decision based on that? Of course I was relieved that she wasn't going to lock me up, but… it was disturbing on some level that she has been so easy to fool. She'd held my future in her hands and had blithely made conclusions about me based on a five-minute `evaluation'. The wrong conclusions, unsurprisingly. Positive state of mind? ME? Fuck! How can anyone evaluate anything properly in five minutes, let alone a person's mental stability! And why was I getting so upset over this? I should be happy! But I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been… cheated somehow. Overlooked, invisible, inconsequential.

Fuck! Why was this bothering me so much? I shook my head in frustration. This was a good thing, right? I was never going to see her again, and she probably saw a dozen wackos a day, why should I have expected her to really care? It was a good thing that she hadn't asked me about my behaviour in the ER, that she hadn't even asked me how I was feeling, or if I was okay…

I had to swallow back the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat. Was that it? I wanted a complete stranger to care about me? To ask me if I was okay? I hugged my knees to my chest, putting pressure on the stitches. For the whole year of the war, all I had wanted was for somebody to ask me if I was okay, and to sincerely mean it. To care. And why? I probably would have just lied anyway. But they still could have asked. And my friends did care, didn't they? Hadn't they shown that today? So why did it still feel like they didn't? Maybe… maybe because they still didn't even know me, so how could they care about me? They cared about who they thought Duo Maxwell was. But Duo Maxwell wasn't even a real person. I made him up. Maybe what was upsetting me was how easily everyone accepted this façade I put forward, even now. There was a real person under here, damnit! It's just that nobody bothered to notice that little fact. I was insignificant. My friends didn't want me to get better, they wanted Duo to act the way he had before. I couldn't really blame them, though, could I? Who wants to deal with a mentalcase? I wiped furiously at the tears that had leaked from the corners of my eyes.

Just then a nurse came in, pushing a wheelchair. On reflex, I smiled brightly for her. She smiled back and motioned at the chair.

"I'm here to move you out of the ICU and into the general ward. Lucky you, you get a private room all to yourself. Your friend Mr. Winner arranged for it," she said. I blinked, but then realized I shouldn't really be surprised. Quatre had never been one to deny his friends the comfort of his money. The nurse did one last check of my vitals, while I flirted with her jokingly. I don't know why I bothered, other than it provided a distraction from my dark thoughts, and it helped to hide the fact that I was mortified that she could plainly see all my scars. She acted like she didn't even notice them, though. Satisfied, she unhooked the heart monitor and helped me into the wheelchair. I felt rather silly being wheeled about like an invalid, but she insisted that it was hospital policy, and to tell the truth, I was still rather light-headed and dizzy when I stood up. I guess swallowing a hundred aspirin will do that to you. Go figure.

When we got to my new room, she helped me into the bed. Without a doubt, it was a lot nicer than the cubicle in the ICU. It even had a TV. And I realized then how horrible it would have been being in a room with other people who had `normal' injuries and sicknesses, with my scars on display and them all probably knowing why I was there. Thank you, Quatre.

"You're friends will be in shortly, but they can't stay long since visiting hours are almost over," the nurse informed me.

"All of them?" I asked, surprised.

"Yup. There's no limit to the number of visitors you can have at a time in a private room." With that she was gone. Fuck. Dealing with them one at a time had been bad enough. How was I supposed to handle them all at the same time? I wished fervently that I at least had long sleeves. Then maybe I wouldn't have felt so vulnerable. But it's not like they hadn't seen my scars at this point. The thought, unsurprisingly, brought me no comfort.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. I looked up to see a bunch of people clustered in the doorway, headed up by an extremely nervous looking Quatre. I had a moment of complete and utter panic, but quickly swallowed it back. I plastered a grin on my face.

"Hey, Q-man, thanks for the fancy digs! You sure know how to treat a person right." I said. His lower lip actually trembled for a moment, then he launched himself forward and hugged me. "Whoa, there! I'm fine, there's no need to get all worked up." I rubbed his back soothingly. After a moment he pulled away and smiled at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry… it's just… for a while there I thought I might never see you again. You scared me so much, Duo," he said, wiping the tears from his face. It was my turn to smile apologetically.

"I know. And I'm sorry," I said. It was true. I really was sorry that I had hurt him, and the others, too. I turned my attention to the others, who were quietly filing into the room. Trowa, Wufei, Hilde, and, oh crap, Sally. I noticed with a pang that Heero was nowhere to be seen. As if reading my mind, Hilde spoke up.

"I looked everywhere for him, but I guess he left the hospital grounds. I'm sure he'll be back to see you tomorrow," she said reassuringly. I just nodded, uncomfortable with the disappointment I was feeling. So what if Heero had left? It just meant that there was one less person that I had to perform for.

Sally came to stand by the side of the bed, just looking at me. Frankly, she looked like crap, like she hadn't slept in two days. Several emotions warred on her face. She turned away. I realized suddenly that she was blaming herself, that she probably thought this wouldn't have happened if she hadn't gone back to L2. I reached out and grabbed her arm, and she turned back. "It's not your fault," I said quietly. She nodded curtly before going to sit in the chair in the corner.

Everyone else was standing around in an uncomfortable silence. I couldn't imagine a more awkward situation. None of them could even really look at me. I wanted to curl up and die. If someone didn't say or do something soon, I was going to explode.

As if on cue, Wufei cleared his throat. "So, they tell us you'll be released from the hospital tomorrow morning." I swear, even under the circumstances, I couldn't help but feel an evil thrill at Wufei looking uncomfortable. It's just not something you see everyday.

"Yup, no loony bin for me," I said, then winced. That probably hadn't been the best thing to say. Everyone looked even more uncomfortable, and Wufei looked vaguely horrified. "Shit, I'm sorry. Yeah, they're letting me out tomorrow. They decided I was no longer… no longer a danger to myself." I couldn't believe I'd gotten those words past my lips.

"Oh? How did they decide that?" Quatre asked. Then a look of horror crossed his face. "Not that I meant that they're wrong or anything! I was just curious…"

I smiled at him, even though what I really wanted to do was flee the room. "I know what you meant. Some therapist came and talked to me, said she was `evaluating my mental stability.' I guess she was satisfied, cause she said I didn't have to go to the… the psych ward." My face burned with embarrassment. I hoped it didn't show. It's just that I couldn't believe I was sitting there, discussing my close brush with being locked away in a psych ward! The very idea was making my skin crawl. It left me feeling indescribably exposed and vulnerable, for them to know that about me. That my ability to function as a normal human being had been called into question. Not that I had anyone to blame but myself. There was just something about having the possibility dangled in front of your face, like people saying `You're no good on your own. You can't be trusted. You have to be shut away for your own good.' I couldn't suppress a shudder. Quatre looked at me with concern. "I'm fine," I assured him, "just tired. It's… been a long day."

"How long did you talk with the therapist?" Sally suddenly asked from her corner. Panic gripped me. Why did she want to know that? Was Sally going to make a big deal of it, insist that they lock me up?

"Um, a little while. I'm not sure exactly how long," I said vaguely.

"And she was satisfied that you were no longer a danger to yourself?" Sally persisted. There was disbelief in her voice. It hurt. She had every right to be incredulous, she was right after all, but it still hurt.

"Yes," I answered, extremely relieved when my voice didn't break.

"Really?" Sally was on her feet again. I could see that she was really getting worked up. I swallowed hard, looking away from her in shame. The others eyed her warily. "Well you know what? I'm not satisfied. I wasn't here to see what happened in the ER last night, but the others told me about it. I talked to the doctor who admitted you. A desire to die that strong doesn't just disappear!" Her voice warbled, and she took a moment to get herself under control before continuing. I couldn't look at her, couldn't look at anybody. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Why was she doing this to me? "You tried to kill yourself, Duo! You're not fine! Stop telling everyone you're fine! It's a lie! You're lying! Don't you all see that?" She turned her attention to the others. None of them would meet her furious gaze. "You're all tiptoeing around, walking on eggshells because you don't want to upset him. Would you rather he end up dead? Because that could happen next time! And there will be a next time, if he doesn't get help! And this, this treating him like he's made of glass, this is not helping him." She swung back around to face me. Involuntarily I shrank back into the bed. "Do you even have any intention of going to see Dr. Mitchell tomorrow?" I didn't know what to say, so I remained silent. "That's what I thought." She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor. She took several deep breaths before coming to my side and placing her hand on my arm. I stared at it, the smooth unblemished skin of her hand contrasting sharply with my own marred skin. My stomach twisted.

"I'm not saying this to hurt you, Duo. Please believe that. I want to help you. Every person in this room wants to help you. If you're not happy with Dr. Mitchell, then we'll find someone else. We'll keep looking, until we find someone that you are happy with. But you have to make an effort, too. I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, but for heaven's sake, Duo, stop hiding! Do you really think there's any point to it, after last night?" Her voice was gentle, but her words cut me to the bone. I knew that if it was up to Sally, I would be staying in the psych ward. In her own way, she was telling me `You're no good on your own. You can't be trusted. You have to be looked after.' It hurt, even if it was probably true. Suddenly I wanted to tell her that she was right, about everything. That I wasn't fine. I wasn't even close to being fine. I wanted to tell her everything, and beg her to help make it better. I wanted to ask them all for their help. I didn't want to hide anymore. But I couldn't say the words. I couldn't be open and vulnerable to her, or to anyone. I couldn't stop hiding.

"I'm fine," I said helplessly, because there wasn't anything else I could say. The words, uttered by me so often over the past few days, were like my shield, shutting me in and them out. She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head, and I felt incredible shame. I let her down. I let all of them down. I stole a quick glance around the room. Every last one of them looked disappointed in me. I wanted to scream at them `I can't help it! I'm sorry, but I just can't do this! Please understand!' But how could I expect them to understand?

A nurse poked her head into the room. "I'm sorry but visiting hours are over." Giving me one last look, Sally turned and walked out of the room. The others followed silently, Hilde and Quatre stopping to give me quick, crushing hugs. And then I was alone.

I spent the rest of the evening trying not to think too much. Easier said than done. I nervously flicked through the channels on the TV, never staying on one program for more than ten seconds. I was restless, agitated. Sally's words kept running through my mind. I barely even noticed when an orderly brought in a tray of food, eyeing my scars with barely concealed disgust. He returned a half hour later and took away the untouched tray. I hadn't even lifted the lid. Food was the last thing on my mind.

The thing was, I understood that Sally had good intentions. But I couldn't get past her thinking that I should be locked up. Hell, the others probably all thought the same thing, they just didn't have the nerve to say it. I tossed the TV remote aside in disgust and hugged my knees to my chest. I'd never felt so alone. It felt somehow like they were betraying me. But… but weren't they right? Wasn't I a danger to myself?

I looked down at my body. Did it deserve to be protected from me? I had cut it, beat it, burnt it, poisoned it with alcohol and now with an overdose of aspirin. The idea was disturbing. I felt mild panic, my mind swirling with thoughts that just didn't make sense. Suddenly I couldn't get the idea out of my head that my body and I were separate. What was going on? Was this even real? Somehow I couldn't really feel the sheets against my legs, the bed beneath me. Things were… out of focus. Fuck, why was this happening now? Sally's voice echoed in my head, jumbling together with my own erratic thougths. "You're no good on your own! You can't be trusted! You have to be shut away for your own good!" she yelled.

"No!" I murmured, wrapping my arms around my head, rocking back and forth. "This isn't happening, this isn't real. I'm not crazy!" Fear coiled in my stomach. What if I wasn't real? What if I wasn't really here? I rubbed furiously at my chest, gratified by the pain that lanced from my stitches, even as it caused me to grimace. My body was still here, I was here, I was real…

This was far from the first time that I had felt disconnected from my body. It usually happened when I had been drinking or cutting, but this was definitely one of the worst incidents. I wished fervently for a knife or a razor blade. I needed to feel a blade slicing through my skin, to see the blood flowing. There was no better proof that I could still feel, that I was real. And that more than anything was proof that I belonged in the psych ward, for me to want to be able to cut here and now, while in the hospital for a suicide attempt. My grip on sanity had never felt so tenuous.

I curled into a tight ball, completely and thoroughly exhausted. I had to keep touching my stitches to reassure myself that I could feel something. It was not long before I fell into an uneasy sleep.

I think I dreamed for awhile. Something vague and disturbing about being tied down, and choking. When I blinked into wakefulness, the room was dark, except for the pale moonlight filtering through the window. I felt disoriented, confused, my thoughts still all jumbled together. But instinct told me that I was not alone in the room.

"Who's there?" I called out. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Heero suddenly appeared at my bedside.

"Shhhh!" he hissed. "I'm not supposed to be in here."

While my mind was valiantly trying to process the meaning of Heero's presence, I almost asked him why he hadn't knocked the night nurse out or something, if he was so worried about being discovered. But then I realized that this was hardly an OZ facility, where that sort of behaviour would be appropriate, and even Heero the Perfect Soldier knew that.

I shook my head, still trying to pull my thoughts together. "What… what are you doing here?" I asked, taking care to speak quietly. He didn't answer. The silence stretched on. I began to wonder if he was really even there. This all felt so unreal. Was I still dreaming? Hallucinating? Maybe he was there, but I wasn't, and that's why he wasn't answering me. My earlier panic came rushing back.

"Heero," I whispered urgently, "am… am I real?" He stared at me for a moment, apparently dumbfounded.

"Of course you're real! What kind of question is that?" he asked irritably, looking away. I realized suddenly that he didn't know how to deal with this, how to deal with me. I felt guilty. What had I been thinking, asking him that anyway? I sat up, rubbing my face wearily.

"I'm sorry. It was a stupid question. I think I'm still half-asleep. So what are you doing here? How long have you been here?" I asked. I looked around the room, trying to ground myself. I flexed my hands, feeling the muscles move. I was here, this was real, I wasn't dreaming…

Heero fidgeted. He actually fidgeted. I blinked. "I haven't been here long. Just a couple of hours. I've been… watching you sleep," he finally answered. I suddenly remembered my first night at Quatre's, how I had woken a couple of times and thought I'd seen Heero sitting in the desk chair, watching me sleep. But it had been so surreal, I'd assumed I was dreaming. Maybe I was still dreaming. Why would Heero be watching me sleep? I shook my head, rubbing my temples. Heero was looking at me with the most peculiar expression on his face. This had to be a dream or something. I flexed my hands again, but with growing panic I realized I couldn't feel the muscles moving anymore, couldn't feel the bones working under the skin. I stared at them in horror, watching them move, but unable to feel a single thing. Suddenly it seemed as if the world had dropped out from under me, and I was floating adrift, discorporate.

"Are you sure I'm real?" I whispered. "I can't feel my body anymore! I can't feel my hands!" I clenched my dead hands into fists and pounded them against my thighs. I had to feel something, anything! Pain lanced up my legs but I didn't care, I just brought my fists down again and again. Swearing under his breath, Heero grabbed onto my forearms and shook me roughly until I looked at him. My thighs were throbbing, but I still couldn't feel my hands, and I was barely registering the iron-grip Heero had on my arms.

"Stop it!" he growled. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?! Snap out of it!" Heero was scared. I was scaring him. I felt bad. I started to cry. I couldn't stop myself.

"I don't know!" I said through the tears. "I don't know what I'm doing!"

Heero pulled me into an awkward embrace, and the sobs that had been threatening all day poured out. I just couldn't hold them back any more. I sobbed helplessly, my face buried in Heero's shoulder, because there wasn't anything else I could do. He didn't say anything, not one word. He just stood there stiffly, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, and let me soak his shirt with my tears. I clung on to him like he was a lifeline in a storm and let my agony pour out for what seemed like an eternity, my wracking sobs shaking us both.

I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew there was morning sunlight pouring through the window, and Heero was gone.

TBC