I rush to get to breakfast, and since Chuck is so excited about seeing Thomas, he doesn't question my eagerness. I'm ready quickly, and Chuck wheels me out, babbling on about what he wants to tell Thomas after not seeing him for so long.
Chuck didn't have any night terrors I was around for last night, but the thought of him having them alone breaks my heart. Since knowing the kid, I've begun to feel a sense of responsibility for him. He's only got the Normals. I wonder how many of them feel like their only family is each other.
Pondering this doesn't last long, because as we enter the dining room, my thoughts are focused on only Thomas. Why would they let him out? I'm glad they are, obviously, but it doesn't make any sense.
Just last night, Ava Paige was asking what to do about Thomas. They clearly see him as a threat, so why take him out of solitary? Especially when he'll be around Gally? And me?
That's another thing I have to worry about. Ava Paige doesn't want me to leave TIMI because I know too much. If I don't get sane soon, I don't think I'll ever get out of here.
Chuck helps me sit at the table, and as I do my tens, I feel sick. The only good thing is that Thomas is getting out of solitary. Whatever the reason, I'll have him back. Chuck will have him back.
I look down the table, past the Normals. It takes me a moment to realize, but Gally isn't here today. Did he do something to lose his privileges again? Or maybe something worse happened. Now I feel even worse, shaking my leg in tens in an attempt to calm myself down.
"Are you alright?" I look up to see Fry staring down at me, his head tilted. He sets down my plate, then puts a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I say, realizing how dumb that is as it's coming out of my mouth. Frypan nods, and I can still sense the tension between us. I don't want him to hate me. "Listen, Fry—"
"Actually, I'll be back in a minute. I still have things to do. Hold that thought," Fry says. It stings, but he still manages to sound polite. He pats my shoulder, then heads back towards the kitchen. I don't bother protesting. Maybe he will be back like he said.
For the next five minutes, I watch the door. There's conversation going on around me, so I distract myself slightly by listening to it. I don't join in until I see Frypan sit down at the table.
He doesn't look at me at first. I'm thinking he'll just flat out ignore me until he turns to me. He's sitting on the other side of the table, next to Zart and Jeff. So if I'm going to talk to him, it'll have to be over a bunch of people.
"What were you going to say?" Fry asks.
"I just wanted you to know that when I left TIMI—" I cut myself off when two different conversations come to a screeching halt after I start. They're all looking at me now. Great. "It wasn't to cheat the program. I want to get better, and I'm working on it. Promise."
It takes him a moment to respond, but he nods. "Alright, man. I just know you can recover, and I don't want you to throw it away."
This seems to satisfy the nosiness of everyone else at the table, so now it's just Fry paying attention to me. I'm relieved; I didn't want this hanging over me.
"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm not going to throw it away," I say.
When I got here, I never would have said any of this. Not believing it, at least. The goal was to get better, but it never looked possible. Not until recently.
I owe that to a few things—and the number one thing is walking through the door right now.
Thomas looks just as confused as I am about being here. Irrationally, it makes me smile a bit. Seeing him back here, feeling the comfort his presence provides. Because we're in this together. Whatever bad things are happening, I know he's going through it with me, and that means a lot at the moment.
He walks over, and everyone explodes into their chorus of welcoming him and questions. All except me, who just stares up at him wordlessly. He looks around the table, then his eyes land on me. It takes me a moment to realize why he looks surprised for a second, before softly smiling back at me. I guess I don't smile often—and it's definitely odd after last night.
Chuck makes Thomas sit between him and me, which Thomas doesn't seem to have a problem with. He's still smiling, and he fluffs Chuck's hair before hugging him, Chuck not having stopped talking for a moment.
"How are you? I missed you. How are you feeling? You were in solitary, right? Newt didn't tell us anything about what happened when you left. Can you tell me anything? Oh, also, I didn't have a night terror last night! Yesterday I had my panic attack in class, and I wished you were there." Thomas nods along to everything Chuck says, and it's almost comical how used to it he looks. Chuck really is a brother to him.
"Thomas, dude, what happened?" Minho asks like I'm not there.
Thomas shrugs. "I'll tell you later."
Minho furrows his eyebrows at Thomas, but lets it go quickly. "We missed your ugly face. I know you must have missed me in solitary."
"Oh yeah, I was lost without you," Thomas says. He then turns to me. "Hi."
"Hi," I say back, noticing but trying not to mind how close we are—knees and shoulders touching, squished against each other on the bench. The small smile I'm allowing myself doesn't waver. Maybe I'm sleep deprived? "Not that I'm not glad, but how are you here?"
"Trust me, I have no idea. I thought I was being pranked," Thomas says. "I'm not sure what kind of game they're playing, but I'll take it for now. We've got bigger fish to fry."
"We do," I say.
"Let's talk in your room after breakfast," Thomas says lowly. "About last night."
There's plenty to discuss. "That'd be good, yeah."
Thomas nods, then begins asking everyone in the Normals about what he missed in their lives. As I look around at this group of kind and misunderstood kids, I wish we were all anywhere else. I imagine us all in a high school, sitting together at lunch like I used to with my friends, discussing our days. They deserve that. We all do.
Today, Thomas wheels me back from breakfast. As I get into my chair, I see Thomas looking around the room.
He bends down so his mouth is by my ear. "Why isn't Gally here today?"
I fight not to jump at the suddenness of his voice and face so close to me. "I'm not sure. I was asking myself the same thing."
Thomas stands up straight again, pushing me forward while I complete my tens. "You don't think..."
"I don't know," I say. I'm not sure what to think at this point. There could be a million reasons he wouldn't be here, but maybe a handful of those are good reasons.
"Thomas!" I hear Chuck and quick footsteps coming our way.
"Hey, bud, what's up?" Thomas asks, using a voice that's sweeter than normal but not so sweet that it sounds degrading to Chuck.
"Where ya going?" Chuck asks.
"I need to talk to Newt for a bit, but we'll be together in class soon," Thomas says.
"Oh. Okay," Chuck says. I can hear the frown in his voice.
"Actually, Tommy," I say, looking up at him, "if you wanted to hang out with Chuck, I could probably use a nap anyway. We can talk after lunch."
Thomas frowns. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," I say.
"Alright, well, I'll push you back," Thomas says, before turning to Chuck. "Looks like we're hanging out after all. You can continue catching me up."
Chuck's face lights up. Just what I wanted to see. "Awesome," he says, before running off.
I'm not about to take Thomas away from Chuck. Not after they've been apart so long.
Thomas brings me back to my room, and asks me one more time if I'm sure before he leaves me to my bed, agreeing that he'll come wake me up at ten for medication time. What I said about needing a nap wasn't a lie, and I close my eyes as soon as my head hits the pillow.
After an extremely uncomfortable group therapy and a painfully long lunch, Thomas and I are finally seated on my bed, facing each other with our legs criss-crossed.
"So do you think Ava ever called Mrs. Flores?" I ask.
"If I know her? Yes," Thomas says. "I don't know if Mrs. Flores would buy it, though. I've got no clue what's going on from inside here."
"I know," I say. It's frustrating being trapped here, because you know you can't do much to help and whatever you do will be discounted. We're just the crazy kids in the mental institution to everyone else.
"Speaking of which, let's work on you. No matter what Ava Paige says, they can't keep you here. I won't let them," Thomas says. I get that warm feeling from before back. "If you're better by the time they have to examine you, they can't do anything."
"What about the legal reasons?" I ask.
"Don't worry about that. Worry about yourself. Well, don't worry—you know what I mean," Thomas says. "Have you given any thought to what I said?"
I've been actively avoiding thinking about it, actually. But I know what he said was right. "Yeah, I have. It's just hard to figure out where to start."
"Wherever you want," Thomas says.
"I thought you were supposed to be the guide here?" I ask, to keep stalling. Thomas merely shrugs, leaving me to think. I know a place where we can start that he can probably help best with. The place he suggested last night. "Okay, but I've got some questions first."
"Shoot," Thomas says.
Part of me feels like asking these things is unnecessary. Like it has absolutely nothing to do with me. But at the same time, my curiosity always gets the best of me. "What happened when you told your family about Dmitri?"
Thomas' face falls the same way it did last time this came up.
"You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry, I just—"
"No, no, it's alright," Thomas says, looking down. "My mom made Brenda leave the room. I told them at dinner, and I didn't really think it would be a big deal. After all we went through with my father, what's my mom gonna do? Be angry her son is bi?"
"She was angry?" I ask.
Thomas suddenly looks up from his hands. His eyes meet mine for a second, then he shuts his, taking a shaky breath. "She said it was because of what I'd gone through. That I wasn't actually bi. It didn't help that I was seeing things, so she just chalked it all up to me being crazy."
"Tommy..." I trail off. What do you say to that? "I'm so sorry."
"She also said she didn't blame me. So she wasn't angry at me, no. She was angry at my father for making me insane," Thomas says, opening his eyes back up. "I never talked about Dmitri to her again, and she didn't ask."
I reach out and put my hand on Thomas' arm. He looks down at it, but I don't think he minds. "Nobody made you that way. You were born bi."
Thomas gives me a small lopsided smile. "I know. I can't control it."
"You can't." I agree with him quickly, then pause. My heart starts skipping beats and making up it's own patterns in my chest as I take my hand away. "Oh."
"Should I try to control it? Choose to be straight and only straight?" Thomas says.
I barely hear him, but at the same time, his words echo through my head. Maybe I wasn't ready for this after all. "You?"
"Yes. Me," Thomas says.
"No, you shouldn't," I say finally.
"I can't change or fix who I am, Newt. Even if my mother thinks I'm crazy, sending me here isn't going to make me like guys any less. I never let myself believe it," Thomas says.
"So what broke you and Dmitri up?" I ask. Anything to take the focus off of me.
"I started shutting myself down to everyone," Thomas says. "Dmitri didn't understand my symptoms. I was showing up to school less than half the time, usually in pajamas and not having showered for days. It wasn't pretty. He got scared, and I couldn't do that to him. So one night, I called him and broke it off."
I've heard a few breakup stories from my old friends, but I think the tragicness of that one tops any of theirs. They didn't break up over some argument, they didn't drift apart. It was over something Thomas didn't even understand himself. Something he couldn't help.
Unfortunately, my usual response to my friends of "That sucks" won't work here.
"I'm sorry you had to do that," I say.
"It's okay. I wasn't in love with him. Of course I liked him, but like I said, not a lot of options at the time. I just wasn't worth the trouble," Thomas says.
His last words feel like a punch in the gut. "That's not true. Don't say that."
"This isn't about me, Newt. We're supposed to be focusing on you. Were those all your questions?" Thomas asks me quickly.
I feel guilty for making him answer me, and I wish I could take the questions back now. "Yeah, I'm just sorr—"
"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you asked," Thomas says. "So you asked me about how they reacted. Are you afraid of that?"
Is there a point in dodging his obvious question? "I am."
"Then you have to make sure you're confident in yourself before you even have to deal with reactions. That's what I did," Thomas says.
"I've already been a big enough problem for my parents. How do I add something else to that? They have enough reason to hate me without potentially giving them another," I say. It all spills out in one breath. I've thought it before, but I don't know why it's all coming out now.
"If part of the reason your OCD is so bad is not accepting yourself, not doing that will only make it worse. You're pushing it away right now. Trying to find reasons to ignore it," Thomas says. "We're gonna break that habit, okay?"
Apparently we're going to try to break a lot of my habits. "Why do you make sense? It's annoying."
He laughs. I was only half-joking. "I told you I'm smart. Another thing—your relationship with your dad."
"Here we go," I say under my breath. I fight not to roll my eyes.
"Hear me out. If you have this out in the open, maybe you guys can repair your relationship a bit. I think you may have drifted because subconsciously both of you knew there was something being held back," Thomas says.
I consider this. It's not impossible. "What if it just made him more uncomfortable with me?"
Thomas goes silent for a moment. I know why. There isn't an answer to my question.
"Have either of your parents mentioned... this kind of thing?" Thomas asks.
"It's never come up much," I say. "My dad is kind of old fashioned. He hasn't said anything bad, necessarily. I don't know. I don't know." I'm starting to feel overwhelmed again, but I push it down.
"You know that anyone that isn't accepting is a jerk for it, right? Even people we love. Sometimes they just need time. I can tell your parents love you. Both of them; even if they're a bit rough around the edges. If they aren't perfect right away, I know they'll come around," Thomas says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I almost jump to shrug it off, but I'm trying to force myself through the situation.
"So I'm supposed to accept myself now?" I ask. There's still the nagging feeling that there's nothing to accept. I can't even bring myself to think the words. "If I'm accepting of others, why would it be so hard if it was me?"
"It's just something internalized. It happens to a lot of people—it happened to Dmitri. But you have to just try to ignore it. It's the part of you that you think you control, but you don't. It's controlling you. Take it back, remember?" Thomas says.
"I'm trying," I say. I'm trying as hard as I can, but trying to quiet the voice that tells me this is wrong is like trying to block a tsunami with a piece of paper.
It's a scary thought. That the thoughts I'm trying to control are controlling me instead. Am I really in charge of myself when my OCD is my whole life? When it's pushing away friends and family and ruining any normalcy I've ever had?
"It's not something that happens overnight, but you'll get there," Thomas says, his hand sliding down my arm and landing on top of my hand. He holds it. I don't meet his eyes—I just watch how his bigger hand can cover mine, and how I wrap my fingers around his thumb on my palm. "It's scary, I know. But being who you are isn't wrong. It never is. Have you felt wrong any time you didn't run from yourself?"
Just like that, I'm compelled to believe him again. About everything. "No. I haven't."
"What's that telling you?" Thomas asks. Now I want to see his face. I look up at him and he's looking back at me with wide eyes.
Looking at Thomas—or me, or anyone else in here for that matter—is always interesting. None of us are the picture of beauty or health. Mental illnesses aren't pretty. Nothing about them is.
But when you get to know someone like I've grown to know Thomas, your eyes see past that. I see his personality. His heart. It breaks mine when I think about what he's been through, and it sucks. He didn't want to have whatever he has, and he doesn't deserve it.
Just like I don't deserve to be plagued with OCD.
So I look at the boy in front of me, and I see him. The boy that loves TV and movies. The boy who's favorite season is summer and color is red. The boy who's showing me how to be my own cure.
"I'm ready," I say. "For real this time. I'm ready."
Thomas smiles.
"I changed my mind, I'm not ready for any of this."
"You can do it! Just try once. Do it once, and we'll stop for today. Pick a recent one."
I rack my brain. "The nodding one started the day they decided to send me here."
"Alright, let's start with that then. Maybe just try to nod once? You used to do it all of the time, right? Think about it, after you started that, something bad happened. How does that make sense?" Thomas says.
"I get you're trying to help, but thinking about breaking one of my compulsions is too scary to be comforted about," I say. "Could you restrain me or something? Keep me from nodding again?"
"I'm not supposed to. This is about you feeling the exposure and preventing your response to it," Thomas says.
"You sound like a textbook. Or a therapist," I say.
Thomas rolls his eyes. "I sound like someone that knows who they're talking about."
It's seven now. After our serious talk before, Thomas said he didn't want to overwhelm me too much at once, so he suggested we just talk normally for a while. That ended up lasting until four, when Thomas had to leave for another class. It's good to talk to him about nothing. He makes it easy.
But now it's after dinner, and Thomas asked if I wanted to try ERP. In a moment of bravery, I said yes. I'm regretting that now.
"So I just nod my head and then try not to do it again?" I ask.
"That's the idea. Let it be totally out of your control. Don't come up with a way to make it fit your guidelines in your head, just do it, okay?" Thomas says.
I don't want to answer, and I also don't want a countdown to make this more daunting. So instead of replying, I do the most natural thing a person could do.
I nod.
Instantly, it feels like everyone in the world somehow has eyes on me. If the universe had eyes, they'd be boring into me right now. Maybe the universe does have eyes?
Thomas says something, but I'm just hearing the number one. Over and over again. All throughout my body, it feels like the number is being shoved at me by the very atmosphere. Are my eyes tearing up?
This isn't me having control. Now I know that. My OCD has an almost supernatural control over me. This isn't right. Is the feeling like doom is consuming your body supposed to pass?
My eyes are squeezed shut. I'm just noticing that. I reach out for something—anything—to ground me, and I feel Thomas grab my hand and hold it in his. If I wasn't so mortified, I'd be embarrassed about crying.
Are my parents okay? Is this going to punish them again? One. At this point, my anxiety has gotten as bad as it can get while I'm on medication for it, and I feel like I'm about to start shivering. It's paralyzing, so even if I wanted to move my head, it feels like I can't.
One. I want to get better. One. I want to get better. One. I want to get better. One. I need to get better.
How long has it been? I try to move my lips to ask Thomas, but I choke on my own words. My eyes open, and it's almost jarring when I comprehend how concerned Thomas looks.
I think he's asking me if I need something. What could I possibly need right now that isn't completing my ten? Now I think he's asking me to breathe. I try to focus on breathing deeply, but all I want to do is count my breaths. Why can't you breathe in tens?
Thomas rubs his thumb over my hand—that feels like pins and needles at the moment—and I try to center my attention on the feeling. The weight on my chest has me shaking all over now.
I didn't have this compulsion until a month ago. Before that, I'd just nod and shake my head once or twice. Why did my brain decide to loop it in?
Putting myself back in the moment, I think about the circumstances. I was in the school hallway, my nerves were on edge as usual. A school administrator nodded at me, and I tried to nod back. The new round of tens was born.
But why? Why couldn't I just nod once? Nothing told me I couldn't. I just did it.
I feel like I'm going to pass out.
"Do you want water?" Thomas asks. He sounds like he's not in the room. Or I'm not in the room.
I don't see how water could help me through an anxiety attack. What would help is the one thing I can't do right now.
Then, a thought strikes me. I did it. The small rational part of me is telling me that the world didn't implode. I just need to call my mother. See if she's okay. Does that go against ERP?
I can't let this rule my life anymore.
"Am I doing it?" I ask shakily, surprised my voice even comes out.
"You are," Thomas says. I hate how much I must be scaring him.
"I'm okay," I lie.
"You're not supposed to be okay, Newt," Thomas says.
"Okay. I'm not okay," I say.
"But everything else is," Thomas says.
"You don't know that," I say.
"Nobody ever does. You shouldn't. But I know you don't have power over that, and nothing that may go wrong will ever be caused by how you number your actions," Thomas says.
When he puts it like that, I sound ridiculous.
"I need to just let this—I need this to pass," I say.
"I'm here," Thomas says.
"Thank you," I say. Talking is helping. Talking is all I think about.
"You've got this," Thomas says. It's appreciated, but it still feel like this has got me.
One breath at a time, not counting them. Small exchanges with Thomas. Fighting off the yelling in my head. Trying to stop my shaking.
Slowly, I start to calm down. My breathing begins to even out. My thoughts are constantly being replaced as I ask Thomas to tell me random things. My body stops vibrating a mile per minute. My hand grips Thomas' for dear life.
I'm not sure how long it takes at first. It feels like hours. But eventually, I can say I'm somewhat back to a state where I don't feel like I'm on the verge of actual death. I can breathe, and even though my mind is a mess, everything else seems to be okay. When I check the clock, it's a quarter to eight.
I'm exhausted.
"It's almost eight already," I say. I meant it as a question, but that's not how it comes out.
"I guess it is," Thomas says, glancing at it too.
"I'm—"
The door opens, revealing Chuck. He looks at us for a moment, opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Then, he decides to speak. "Newt, there's a call for you."
I look at Thomas, and he gets up, grabbing my wheelchair and getting it in front of me.
"Do I... count still?" I ask.
"You're supposed to do it one step at a time, I think. So unless you're feeling adventurous, yes," Thomas says.
I get up, counting my steps, and sit down in the chair. Chuck asks me why I look so shaken up, and Thomas tells him I'll be okay while I complete my tens.
He wheels me to the phone room, then a nurse makes Thomas surrender the chair to him. I want to complain, but Thomas seems to know better, so I follow his lead. He tells me he'll be where he was, then walks off. That means my room, right? I hope it does.
I'm taken up to the phone, and I pick it up, weakly telling the nurse on the other line who I am. I'm connected, and as soon as I hear her voice, I'm fighting off tears again.
"Newt, it's Mom," she says.
"Are you okay? Is everything alright?" I ask quickly.
"I'm okay, and your father is okay. The only thing that's not okay is that we're missing you," Mom says.
I bite back an audible sob as the tears instantly roll down my cheeks.
"I miss you guys," I choke out after a moment of trying to breathe.
"I know, sweetie. Listen, we called a bunch of people today, and we were told that involuntary—"
"You can take your time for a little while," I find myself saying. The line goes silent for a moment. "There's a hearing involved, right? I need to be ready for it. I'm trying to do that now. I'm trying to get better."
"Honey, are you sure? Is it actually helping you?" she asks.
TIMI? No. "I'm finding a way." For now, Thomas is the only one that's been able to help me progress. If the hearing was tomorrow, I'd be sunk.
"The hearing can happen up to ninety six hours after the petition is filled out," Mom says.
"Okay, so I'll tell you how I'm doing. That should give you enough time to get everything in order, right?" I ask. I know nothing about any of this, but I'm trusting she does.
"You're positive?" she asks.
I can't help how my voice wavers. "Yeah." If I survived a month in here, I can do a few more days.
"I love you so much," Mom says. "We both do."
When I'm wheeled back to the room by the nurse that took me from him, Thomas is sitting on my bed, Chuck sitting across from him on his own.
"What're you in here for?" I hear the nurse address Thomas from behind me.
Thomas narrows his eyes at him. "Did you guys make having friends against the rules while I was gone?"
"Just be in bed by ten." The nurse doesn't sound phased by Thomas' attitude.
"I will," Thomas says. He may be confrontational at times, but he's not stupid.
The nurse leaves the room, and Thomas looks at me.
"It was my mom," I say.
"And she was alright?" Thomas asks.
"She was fine," I say. "Actually, she said they're trying to get me out. The hearing takes up to ninety six hours to happen after they start the process."
I can't read Thomas' expression.
"Wait, you're leaving?" Chuck asks.
"I told her to hold off," I say.
"What?" Thomas asks incredulously.
"I need to actually get better before I can leave," I say. "You're helping me do that."
In the back of my mind, I know it's more than that. As much as I want to get out of TIMI, leaving behind the only friends I've had in a long time is going to be difficult. If I need to be here for now—despite everything else going on in this undeniably crooked establishment—I'll have them.
Thomas gives me one of his real smiles. The one that reaches his eyes and softens his features. "You're sure?"
The answer comes simply this time as I look up at my two best friends. "Yeah. I'm sure."
Operation recovery is a go.