Scars (Ziam)

On Thorns and Flames

Chapter 27:

Anxiety disorder paired with PTSD. That's what the doctors told me I had. As if I didn't already feel absolutely mental, I had to have this to deal with as well.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Ruth questioned, and the doctor set down the file to reply.

"You said he's attending therapy, correct?" She nodded in response. "I think that's a great start. I'll print out some more resources you can look over. If you want to walk with me to the front desk to get his discharge papers, I'll tell you a little more on the way."

"Of course," She agreed, easily. "Liam, I'll be right back." She gave my hand a squeeze before leaving the room. My dad and Zayn were the only ones still left in the room with me. Nicola never came back in, and I didn't know what to think.

I turned to my dad, but seeing the look on his face was more devastating than any diagnosis I could have gotten. He looked numb as he stared at my arm that had a bandage over where they drew blood from. There were no underlying conditions that they found, only my mind attacking itself.

"Dad," I called out, pulling him out of whatever he was thinking and bringing him back into the real world. "I...." I trailed off. I didn't know what to say. I could tell a lie; say that everything was going to be okay. I could reassure him that this was just a minor bump in the road, but I couldn't grin and bear it any longer. I ran out of energy long ago.

"Maybe I should talk to Dr. Phillips. Maybe you need more than one session a week to talk things out," He offered.

"I don't," I stubbornly denied. "I'll be fi-" I cut myself off, closing my mouth and staring down at my bedsheets. Zayn stepped closer to my bed as my father didn't offer a response.

"Liam, nobody's expecting you to be fine. Nobody is even asking you to be. We're only worried about you because we care. Ruth is doing everything she can to figure this out, your dad only has good intentions, and Nicola is trying her best not to barge in here and talk to you about everything the doctor said."

"She's still here?"

"Of course she's still here," Zayn said with a gentle smile. It was stunning, but I still averted my eyes. "She's your sister, and she loves you to death, Liam."

I heard Zayn's words, but my mind was elsewhere, wondering how much of me was even left. I was just a walking dead man, it seemed. With each problem labelled, I became less me. I was all of those things instead. Depressed. Anxiety Disorder. PTSD. Scars. Mommy Issues. All of it took over my being.

"I also think... that maybe you should stop working at this café," My father voiced, making me tense up. I gripped onto the sheet they had on the hospital bed, fingers tightening until it was nearly painful. "Temporarily at least. You're going through so much, Liam, and the stress of a job is only going to add onto that.

"We need the money," I pointed out, words feeling detached from me. It was like someone else was speaking while I was drifting away inside; finding a metal door and bolting it shut, not wanting to be found or bothered.

"I am not going to be put money over your well-being. We will figure something out. Screw the money! You are my son, Liam. You will always come first."

My dad's voice was full of emotion. It shook and wobbled as he spoke; as he tried to remain strong during the whole ordeal. He was always trying to remain strong.

Again, I didn't offer a reply, and the silence droned on for a moment before my dad sniffled and wiped at his eyes. Then, he smiled. A small and weak smile that failed to fool me, and he stood up from his spot.