Problems

|| Chapter 31 ||

Slowly, Alex nodded. He clutched John's hand a little tighter.

Dr. Mitchells glanced at the chart in his hand. "Do you know what day it is?"

A shake.

Dr. Mitchells nodded. "Okay. Today is Sunday. You were brought in via ambulance on Friday night around six, admitted to the ICU around two in the morning after we were sure you stabilized. Do you remember anything?"

Another head shake.

"Okay. When you were admitted to the ER you had lost a lot of blood due to the lacerations on your forearms. Due to the number of narcotics mixed with alcohol you ingested, your system was compromised before we were able to pump your stomach. You stopped breathing around 6:04 pm, we brought you back almost immediately and were able to successfully flush your system with activated charcoal and a mix of drugs to counteract the serotonin and alcohol in your system."

He paused, taking in Alex's wide eyes and pale skin. "Is there anything else you need?" This was spoken in a gentler tone, one that had sympathy laced through it.

"When do I get to leave?" Alex's voice was scratchy and caught on the last half of his sentence.

"We're going to keep you here for a few more days, just to ensure that you're stable. After that, it's up to you whether or not to go into inpatient or move on with outpatient therapy."

Alex stared at his feet, the thin blanket tenting over them.

Inpatient.

I can't even fucking kill myself.

"Okay." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Any other questions?"

He silently shook his head.

Dr. Mitchells left. A nurse handed Alex a cup of water, helping him hold it while his hand shook. John watched, quiet, eyes following the IV that snaked around his hand, the bandages wrapped around his forearm.

When she had left, it was still. Soundless.

When John looked up, tears were streaming from Alex's eyes. His face was empty, hollow and worn, as though he had aged 20 years overnight.

"I'm going to call Hercules and Laf," John murmured, and he stood up, pushing the door open and stepping into the hallway.

Even through the shut door, he could hear the sobbing.

"He's awake."

"Oh, shit-" John could hear clattering in the background and Hercules and Lafayette scrambled to gather their stuff. "Okay, we'll be there in 10."

John ended the call. He watched the nurses that hurried past, on their way with cups of pills and bags of saline. Doctors walked at a brisk pace, clipboards in their hands, tight expressions on their faces.

When he finally went back into Alex's room, his eyes were closed. John sat back down in the chair, wrapped his hand around Alex's.

"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, almost lost in the low beeping coming from the heart monitor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

John clutched his hand tighter, "No, no Alex, stop."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Stop."

Alex finally opened his eyes and turned his head, his face crumpled.

"I didn't mean..." The words were small and hung in the air, tiny and fragile as a butterfly's wings.