//Taylor's point of view//
The first words I heard all over the place when I woke up were 'new admit.' they mean me. I guess I'm the first new guy in a while to be admitted into a residential stay, or long term. The sides are split. There's short term and residential and I of course sleep and eat and live on the residential side. In the mornings, we all eat breakfast together then the short term admits go to their side of the hospital. The long term admits are all excited I'm here. They all know why I'm here. I'm skin and bones and my arm is bandaged up to the elbow, so when I hear muttering of people asking why I'm here I know they'll mention something about my small body or my wounded arm. It's very obvious.
After being poked and prodded all night for nurses to ask me questions and do lab tests, I feel exhausted. My eyes barely keep themselves open and sitting down is a danger because my head will lean back and I'll fall asleep immediately. All the other admits stare at me, talking about me. I can hear it. "Who is he?" "What's his name?" "How long is he here?" As if they don't have the guts to come and as me themselves.
I lay down on a stiff couch made of some sort of plastic and heavy wood, so you can't throw it across the room. They call us in to breakfast and I don't move. I lay still and pretend to be asleep, as I already am so close. The weird thing about this place is. They won't bother you to eat. They just write it up and make you stay longer. They'll encourage you to eat after a while, but with breakfast, they don't necessarily care. I guess a lot of people skip breakfast. I understand why, it could make your stomach upset. But I simply just don't feel like eating. I don't feel strong enough, I'm not skinny enough just quite yet for me to start eating a little more than I normally do. Breakfast passes and we do a group I barely stay awake in. Some team building activity where people learned my name and what my favourite things were, typical 'first day' things you'd expect from a place like this.
"Do you want to participate in the rest of this group?" The question rolls through my head. I realize I just want to lay down and that telling people my name and favourite colour was too tiring to continue with the rest of group. I shake my head no and stand up, heading towards my room. They don't stop me. I'm guessing they wrote it up. Once I'm alone in my room, peace fills my veins and I'm able to relax, just sit and breathe for once in the past couple of hours. I lay down and begin to dose off, letting my body fall dull along with my breathing. Quiet, calm. Everything is delightful.
* * *
I don't wake up until next day when it's eight am. I freak out a little bit and sit up, walking quickly to the day room to ask the nurses why I wasn't woken up.
"Dear, we tried. You wouldn't wake up." I rub my hands together and nod, sitting down in another uncomfortable heavy plastic chair. I was gonna get really tired of this real quick. I realize that Marcus would be in school right now. In his first hour where we meet after class as we're just across the hall. But now we're across the state and I won't see him in an hour or so. It'll be weeks or months if he keeps his promise to visit. I stay quiet most of the time and now the other admits have started to call me the mute boy. It's irritating, and childish. They poke fun at me for not liking to socialize when half of them have social anxiety just like I do. I wish this day would end sooner because even though I just woke up I'm already drained from being around these people. This chemical smell. These heavy plastic chairs and over invasive nurses. I'm tired of it all. Being here. Being alive.
I stop myself from letting that train of thought continue, putting my focus back on Marc. Maybe he'll call today. Maybe he's already forgotten I- stop. Stop thinking like that. You know it hurts him.
I clench my fist and let my nails dig into the palms of my hand. It hurts a lot but it wakes me up a little, at least. Hours pass of group and watching cheesy movies, and now it's lunch time. I sit in the crowded room away from others and pull my meal towards me and look down at it. It's cold, but not supposed to be, and it looks somewhat under cooked. I push it around with my plastic spoon since we're not allowed to have forks. I take a few small bites and I feel my stomach wanting to reject it, so I throw it away and return to the heavy chairs I already hate so much. I ask a nurse for the time, as I do much too often and once again I'm dissapointed with how slow time passes.
I miss my family.
I miss living a normal life.
I miss being normal.
My thoughts begin to trail a darker and darker path with each word that comes up in my head, and I make myself stop again. I look up, and they've put on a movie. But this time it's not a cheesy movie. Well, okay yes it is but it's a movie me and Marcus always watch together during Halloween. The nightmare before Christmas. Which yes you're probably imagining some cringe worthy teenager fantasizing over jack, but for the many many years I've known Marcus it was tradition. We'd make loads of snacks, sit down and watch this movie until we got tired of it. This and Hocus Pocus. I watch every bit of it and pay too much attention to the detail in the animation to pass the time, before I realize it they've put on another movie as the last one ended. I take the normal routine in paying too much attention to it to make minutes fly.
A nurse calls my name, and I answer back with a light yes that somehow escaped my throat.
"There's a phone call for you."
My day lights up.
* * *
My phone call with Marcus was amazing, but short. Hearing his breath when it got silent may have been pesky because the phone makes his breathing ten times louder, however it was one of the best things. He didn't hang up when I got quiet. He stuck there for me and waited until we had something to say. I wish I had hours to just talk to him because I love hearing his voice so much. He asked how my eating was. I lied a little bit to make him feel better. But I think I'm going to actually try and start eating, just for Marcus. Just so I don't need to lie to those I love anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Pretty Boy.Teen Fiction
Taylor weighs a whopping 98 pounds, and in his mind he weights over 300 all thanks to a comment a few boys made in the locker room. He goes through sweat, blood, and tears just to become the pretty boy society expects him to be.