Puma

Chapter One --

THURSDAY - DAY ONE.

-

If the door clicking open didn't scare the shit out of me, it was definitely the woman muttering my name.

The nurse seemed to be just as tired as I was, but forced herself to knock twice before asking, "Tyler? Tyler, honey are you up?" It was beyond difficult to answer her. I kept my mouth closed along with my eyes, grunting a response to let her know I was awake and alive.

But she wouldn't take that as an answer.

"Tyler," she said louder now. "Wake up, dear."

The door finally creaked halfway shut, taking the monstrous amount of light it brought in with it. I remained huddled on the lumpy thick plastic they dare called a mattress. I sighed loudly, taking the blanket up and over my head momentarily.

I yanked it back down, groaning as I sat up slowly, sliding my legs out from under the covers. I scratched under my arms, ignoring the sterile gauze that cased both my wrists, but was forced to acknowledge my failed suicide attempt when my arms tingled in discomfort.

I was off morphine now. My entire body was aching. My neck felt okay; it was my back and my arms that felt powerless and weak. The more pain I was able to feel, the harder this was hitting me. I wanted to go back to being emotionless.

I reached over to turn on the bedside lamp and squinted once the room lit up a bit more.

I looked at the cramped room I've spent three days in so far – two more since we've last seen each other, you and I. The barred windows looked out onto neighbouring roofs and parking lots, but there was no real view.

The cold, institutional tile floor shocked my balls into jumping inside my body once my feet touched the ground. I cringed, heaving myself up. I gave a look to the bedside table and smiled briefly at the two stuffed plush toys.

There was a stuffed tiger dressed in a pink shirt with the words 'Go get 'em, tiger!' printed across its chest. Next to him was a kangaroo, wearing a blue hoodie with a tie-dyed baseball cap on its head. I read its motivational quote – 'It's like trying to pin a kangaroo to a trampoline.'

Seeing them, I began to miss Allyson McClain heavily. I wasn't used to being away from her this long. The only times we've ever parted for a number of days was after a fight. Now the reason was my inability to control myself in any aspect.

I gazed at the space where my I.V. pole used to be, recently taken from me the other day. I was back in my poor mood, causing me to ache again for the morphine to be pumping through my veins.

After another annoying sigh, I limply pulled the blanket up from the bed and onto me, tip-toeing to the ajar door. I hesitated before I stuck my head out into the intensely lit hallway. Nurses were pacing the hall; the one who woke me still did her morning rounds, knocking lightly on each door she came to.

I read the large words bolted at the entrance of the section of the building I was in.

INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

'Each floor has its own.' I thought my psychiatrist's words mockingly.

I drifted out into the hallway and padded my way passed about ten doors until I reached a closed door labelled 'medical room'.

I studied the chairs lined up against the wall and the people sitting in them.

This being the self-harm/suicide care, most of the patients had on long sleeve shirts or jacket or blankets, like I. I first noticed her blonde shaggy hair tied up in a tight bun, an oversized off-white knitted sweater dressed her obviously small frame, that I assumed was wracked by years and years of eating disorders. Her pale sunken-in face told me that. Must've been around thirty. She wore a hospital gown which was to be expected.