Growing Scars and Flowers {REWRITE FROM BEMOREBI}

{Prologue} ~ Rich's POV

Two months. Two months in that fucking hospital. Two long, torturous, heinous months of vicious therapy; emotional and physical. My dad's only visited me once. Oh yeah, that was only because he was pissed and wanted to yell at me for all the hospital bills I racked up and he now has to pay. It's not going to be fun when I finally leave this place to go home. However much I hate this stupid hospital with an unadulterated loathing, home is worse.

My only other living family I'm in contact with is my brother Chris, who's currently studying for finals at his dream university across the country. Seriously, he's longed to go to Stanford all his life. The moment he could, he moved out so he would no longer have to deal with our father. He calls every Saturday, though. 

I can't wait for college. Except of course Chris is perfect and I'm the family fuckup, so I guess I'll just have to get away from my dad, or face him. There's no way in hell he's paying for my education. Chris got a full-ride, but me? Nope. I probably wouldn't get any farther than the community college. Maybe it would be better to just run away.

For two months, I couldn't even shower by myself. I couldn't even take a fucking shower. I felt so helpless. I was helpless. I was absolutely hopeless. I still am. They're keeping me under constant mood monitoring. Antidepressants did not work. That's the understatement of the century. 

-

"I'm trying to help you, Richard!" the doctor shouted, ducking out of the way of Rich's flailing arms.

Rich held back a scoff. Oh boy, had he heard that before. Where did listening to that get him?

"I won't!" Rich yelled, eyes wide with terror as the doctors closed in on him, trying to force feed him the small pill that reminded him all too much of... something else. "I won't, I won't, I won't!"

-

Yeah, that definitely backfired.

The only good news is that I've gotten a therapist who prescribed me a service dog to help with my recovery. Yep, I'm going to be stuck with a dog for the rest of my life. Not that I'd mind, but my dad is going to be pissed about having to pay for it. Fingers crossed. I really hope that "conversation" won't end in disaster.

I'm going back to school soon. Only one week left until I have to face all my peers after what I did. Nobody's come to visit since Jeremy was discharged. I think my classmates (most of all Jake, I did kinda burn his house down) all hate me. No, more than that. What was that thing Christine Canigula kept singing? Oh, yeah. "Unadulterated loathing". 

Not even someone as sweet as Christine could ever forgive me. I never actually talked to her much, but it's not hard to see how kind and caring she is. (No wonder Jake and Jeremy like her) Maybe in a SQUIP-less world, I could have become friends with her.

A week from now, I'm going back to school. I wish I could put it off forever, but sadly, I cannot. As long as I stay inconspicious, I won't have to deal with too much shit. I make a guide for one-week-in-the-future me. Black clothes, head down, walk fast, don't interact with anyone. That should work. At least until I get my service dog. That's not exactly subtle.

Before I end this pity party, I just think about the fact that my life will probably be hell, starting now. Can they see past my scars? Can they see past my stupid trauma? Can they see past all the shitty things I've done?

Only time will tell.

-*~*~*-

A/N: SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE TWO MONTHS- GO CHECK OUT THE OG AUTHOR