The last weeks were a blur. He had not heard from Bernie. Sometimes, he would forget what had happened, but those were just the few hours when he was accompanied by other people. When he is alone, all he could think of was his best friend's sudden departure, and how empty he felt afterwards. He wanted closure; some kind of an explanation, and he would gladly accept it even if it were just some silly reason. He has learned not to force himself with other people if they did not want him. He tried to think about their last months together; aside from their major fight awhile back, he could not think of a serious enough of a reason to make him leave him just like that. During the first week, he was able to attend work with no major problems. He would be distracted at times, but he fought hard to stay in the moment and that was what he did. Luckily for him, Laura and Emily did not ask him about anything, and he took this as a sign that he is an effective actor. He maintained his usual demeanor; kind, professional, and aloof. Avoidant.
He stopped going altogether during the fourth week. The week before this, he took good care of himself, still. He ate well, he took the time to go out for a walk, he tended to his needs. Slowly, he has lost some of his drive to maintain it.
He has tried his best to stay on top of things, but he has fallen back into his old cutting habits. When he stopped cutting, he hid his razor in the lowest drawer of his shelf. He still remembered where he hid it; and when he looked for it, there it was, wrapped in old paper.
He promised himself he would only do it once. He still remembered the warning the doctor gave him, and he did not want permanent nerve damage. He started cutting his skin. Once, twice, thrice. He has lost count. By the time his arm was bleeding all over, he started shouting for help. He had promised himself that it would be just one, but he could not control himself.
His head started feeling light; his vision became blurry. He heard people outside of his house, banging on the walls, on the windows, on the door.
The last thing he remembered is his eyelids feeling heavy.
====================
"No, believe me, I only did it once," Ray kept saying.
A week has passed since the incident. When he awoke, he found himself laying on a hospital bed. The doctors and nurses were cold. Some are even mad. He remembered being asked personal and invasive questions. They thought he had done it to purposefully kill himself.
He was allowed to be sent home on one condition: he would be given a therapist whom he had to call regularly, and they will have a weekly in-person session.
His new therapist seemed a lot colder than Rina.
"That is what all of my other patients say, too." she said.
"No, trust me. It was just some sort of a spur of the moment thing or something," he looked at the bandage on his arm. "I did not want it to lead to this."
"What made you do it?" she asked.
He knows that she will not believe him if he said that nothing disturbs him. Why would mentally stable people hurt themselves? So he chose to say something, although he would spare her the most intimate details.
"My roommate left me, all of a sudden. We had fought before, obviously, but I did not think it would lead to him doing this. We were fine," he said.
"If he is just a random roommate, why would you let yourself be affected that much? You can just look for a new roommate."
He hated sharing private information about himself, especially with people he did not trust. He likes Rina; her warmth, her friendliness, her genuine concern. He had talked to her several times. Everytime, he felt as if this therapist is doing this solely for a paycheck.
"He is my best friend. Was."
The psychologist seemed taken aback, and he saw her expression changing. Is that guilt he could see etching on her face?
"I see, I see," she said. "He must have been important to you. What have you been feeling lately? You must be really upset. Did you like him?"
"Of course, I liked him. I still like him, even after what he has done. I'll always love him, to be honest."
"No, I mean, did you like him that way?"
Ray was taken aback. He has never thought of Bernie that way. The idea seemed silly and ridiculous.
They talked, and talked, and talked. He did not want to share any more details, but she kept pushing him. Rina never did this. For every personal and invasive question his new therapist asked, he would think of an answer that seemed genuine and real. In a way, his answers are still comparatibly similar to what is the truth. He would just omit some details, and add ones he think would suffice.
After the third hour of the session, he tried to stop the session by telling her that he has work to do. She did not stop, and instead pushed his boundaries farther and farther. Ray could feel his emotions getting the best of him, so he tried to contain them.
By the fourth hour, she asked him about his disorders. He wanted to lie, but he thought that it may worsen the situation more. She wrote things on her notebook. She nodded at every word he said, and attentively answered his questions. She is firm and focused.
The smell of room, combined with the stress he felt during the session, merged into a headache Ray started to feel during the fifth hour. "I really have to go," he told her.
She held his bandaged arm and made him sat back down. "No. You must stay, we are not done yet."
He nodded, and started feeling nauseous. He started fidgeting in his seat.
"Are you okay? Your lips are starting to get pale. I will get you some water."
She got him a glass of water, and he refused to drink. His hands started shaking. "I have to go, I have to go," he repeated. She took his hands in hers. "Your hands are cold," she said.
He tried to remove his hands from her grip, but she is strong. She grabbed a phone from her desk and whispered something. A few seconds after, Ray sees a woman wearing a doctor's lab coat enter the door. Behind her are some doctors.
"Please, please let me go," he pleaded. The woman who just came in pulled out a syringe from her bag. "Be still," she told Ray. That is when he realized what was going to happen and the male doctors tried to restrain him. "No, no. This is unacceptable. Let me go!" he yelled at them. He felt a short, sharp pain in his neck, and he closed his eyes.
====================
"What is happening to you? You have not been yourself lately." Laura's concerned face is the first thing he sees after waking up.
He looked around, but a certain is separating him from the other beds.
"You fought with the doctors. Why did you do that? They were just helping you," she sternly said.
Ray heaved a sigh of exasperation. "So that's what they told you," he said.
"Isn't that what happened? That's what they told me."
He shook his head. "Stupid doctors. It's a long story. I don't have the energy in me to explain the whole thing," he told her.
"You have not been going to work. I'm left to do all of the things you were supposed to do. No one else can do it," she said.
Ray looked at her, waiting for her to continue. He knows Olga had been made aware. He is quite worried about the work he has not done, although he does not have it in him to continue going to work as if nothing is happening. He is unwell. He has not felt well for awhile now. Some of his coping mechanisms have helped him destress a bit. Sometimes, he would go out for a walk, but even reminded him of his memories with Bernie. Their house, his house, had a garden in the backyard. Most of the flowers were planted by him, but Bernie was quite interested, too. They would water the garden together during their free time. They talked about about all sorts of things when they did. Sometimes, Bernie would let Ray water everything, and he would just stand there, talking. Ray never let Bernie water the plants on his own. Bernie did not have a green thumb, and Ray did not trust him. "You will kill the plants someday." he jokingly told Bernie.
