What If..?

Chapter Four

|Song: Apologize-One Republic|

I can hear commotion outside. What's going on? I think as I carefully push myself off of the hospital bed. I carefully pull the IV out of my wrist, though I will probably get in trouble for doing so, and stagger toward the door.

Pulling it open, I see Mr. Callaghan. "Niall! Why are you out of bed?" Mr. Callaghan nearly shouts at me but lowers his voice to a low and warning whisper.

"Because I heard you out here. What are you doing here? Wouldn't you rather be spending time with Miss MacCarthy and the students You broke our Agreement for? Who, by the way, led me straight into that beating. So, thanks a lot for that one! I'm not joining the talent show. I'll find elsewhere to hide now." I snarl, starting to slam the door shut again.

"Niall, wait!" He actually shouts this time, stopping the door by slamming his palms against it. "I didn't know it was this bad, Niall! Why would you do that to yourself?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, hoping more than anything that he isn't talking about what I think he is.

"You've had so many chances to speak out and tell someone what they do to you! Why are you holding back? Why do you let them do what they do? I know you could hold your own if you tried!" He is practically screaming now.

"Because I deserve it! I deserve everything they do, everything they say! I. Deserve. It!" I don't have the strength in me to shout back anymore.

"Niall, you don't mean that. C'mon, talk to me." Mr. Callaghan tries to coax me.

"No, I will not 'talk' to you! You want me to let you in so you can see what goes on in my head, but I won't let you. Maybe a week ago when I had trusted you to keep me safe but not now. I refuse to tell you anything except this: Forget me being in the talent show for you."

With that, I slam the door shut and turn back to my hospital bed. Three hours I have been awake. That nurse, Sandra I found out her name to be, has only been in here twice when I am supposed to be under constant surveillance. That's been accomplished well, I think to myself. My body feels rather weak. I stumble back to my bed, the very same one I probably shouldn't have gotten out of.

Dr. Oliver walks in and frowns at me. "Niall, why have you taken out your IV?" He scolds me and quickly puts it back in.

Instead of responding, I lay there on the bed and stare at him. He sighs, "Can I get you anything?"

"Paper and a pencil?" I request.

He leaves the room for a few minutes before returning with a notebook and pencil as requested. When he places them in my shaking hands, I immediately open the book and begin to jot down the thoughts trapped in my head.

My mind is blank as I write words down on my paper. Every word coming from emotion and not thought. By the time I feel my hand cramping, I have nearly three pages written and tears pouring down my cheeks. I've bottled everything up for far too long.

I wipe my tears and look at Dr. Oliver who is staring at me. "Why do you do it, Niall?" He inquires.

"D-do what?" I hiccup, chuckling nervously.

"Hurt yourself" He speaks bluntly.

"I don't know" I lie.

I do know. I do it because I deserve it. I am such a burden to others that I question why I continue to breathe. I question whether living is worth it sometimes. I have yet to come up with a solid answer.

I'm so imperfect that it hurts to look at my reflection. I want to hide away and never torture the innocent eyes of others ever again.

Depression is a poison. It's not a choice or something that can be fixed with medication like many think. It is a poison that seeps into your veins with every harsh word others tell you. Harsh words you tell yourself.

Depression doesn't magically appear, but it doesn't go away as quickly as it comes. It latches onto your every thought until you have no good and pure thoughts left untouched. All are tainted.

My thoughts are interrupted when I notice Dr. Oliver's lips moving. "... you some medication for the pain. Your father will be here in ten minutes to check you out of here."

"Dr. Oliver!" I exclaim as he begins to leave.

He looks startled as he turns back toward me. "Yes, Niall?" He asks.

"Please don't tell my dad about my... My self-harm." I beg.

"Legally, I can't, but you can't leave him in the dark forever." With that, he walks out.

***

Before I can get my arms covered to hide the bandages, my dad and Greg walk in. "N-Niall, what is that?" My dad asks as he grabs my arms and carefully unwraps the bandages as I struggle against him.

"P-please don't do this, Dad.. Pl-" My protests are cut short by a sob ripping through my dad as he holds me against him.

I don't fight his hug, but I don't hug him back either. My dad looks away from me as he wipes his own tears away. "How could I not know my little boy was hurting himself?" My dad questions himself.

"Dad, it's not your fault..." I assure him.