"Have you ever been to a mental unit?"
I felt a shudder spiralling inside me from my toes to my nose, jerking my head to the side for a second to fling it out of me. "No, I haven't."
"Well, with what you've told me tonight, it feels like a good idea for me to talk to your guardians about this and refer you to the closest children's mental unit." I heard my therapist's gentle smile through the phone but it felt so inappropriate. "Does that sound good to you, Noodle?"
I stuttered, speechless and mortified. I'd never really talked about my suicidal feelings with Russel, Murdoc or 2-D before and I wasn't sure I was ready - whether I'd be doing the talking or not. Now here my therapist was, asking me to hand the phone over to them and tell them where I'd be the next however many days. "I don't have a choice, do I?"
Charlotte was the kindest counsellor I'd ever met - and probably my favourite - despite not knowing many. However, I forgot what she was capable of as such. "Considering you are under the age of eighteen, you don't have a right to stay home without medically trained supervision." I looked down to my feet, engulfed by my regrets as I processed what I'd done to myself. "I'm sorry," she said.
I shook my head, even if she couldn't see me. "It's okay . . . What do I do?"
"Well, we expect you to go to your city's hospital and the closest children's hospital will send an ambulance to come pick you up," Charlotte supplied.
"Okay . . ."
"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"
"No, I'm okay."
"Alright. Any questions?"
I felt my body go limp, feeling helpless, "No."
"Okay, then." Charlotte was silent for a few seconds and I heard the familiar background noise of gel pen to paper before she spoke up once again. "Maybe I speak with an adult, please?"
"Sure," I said, lifting myself from my bed. I started out of my bedroom and toward the kitchen, pressing the phone to my chest and slowly opening the door across from mine, poking my head inside.
Russel and 2-D sat at the dining table prodding at their plates and chatting rather than eating. At the creak of the door squeaking open, their eyes leapt from each other to me hiding behind he door. With that, I pushed forward and ambled toward the table.
"All good?" Russel asked.
I bit my tongue and looked in between the two - Russel's curiously furrowed brows and 2-D's rather confused head-tilt. "She wants to speak to you," I murmured, holding the phone out for either of them.
Without question, Russel took it before 2-D had the chance, looking up at me cautiously before I turned back around. I ambled to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, and losing myself in my thoughts.
How long would I be gone? What would I do there? Did I need to bring anything with me? I guess it wouldn't hurt to pack a small bag.
I reached into my closet and pulled out a drawstring bag, spinning on my heel and taking a moment to think. What was and wasn't allowed at the ward, anyway?
Sighing, I wrapped a few elastics around the handle of the hairbrush, grabbed my deodorant and toothbrush and toothpaste, shoving them in my bag. I would start with the essentials, packing undergarments and an extra pair of leggings. I slipped off my pyjamas and swapped them for a sweatshirt and sweatpants, as well as my favourite novel, and heard a knock on the door.
I froze. "Come in."
Russel opens the door, slowly at first but when he sees me, it swings open and 2-D and Murdoc are standing behind him. Oh dear.
"Noodle!" Stuart cried. He squeezed past the two and into my arms. Well, he took me in his. Tightly. I couldn't breathe. "Are you alright, luv?"
"I-I'm fine," I say.
"But, you-"
"Why are they taking you to the fucking crazy house?" Murdoc demanded an answer, pointing a finger. "Did you do something?" He walked forward.
"N-no! I didn't do anything," I say. "They just . . . They don't think I'll be safe."
"Why wouldn't you be safe?" Russel asked. "You'll be with us," he says.
"What's the danger, anyway?" 2-D asked.
Oh no. "Uh . . . She . . . I . . ." How do I explain this?
"Of course," Russel intervenes, "you don't have to tell us. Confidentiality. Or at least not now." I let go of the breath I've been holding, relieved. "For now, you should probably get packing . . . I'll start the car."
"Are you sure you're alright?" 2-D asks.
I nod, "I'm fine, I promise."
He doesn't seem convinced - neither of them do (I am going to the children's hospital after all) - but I turn around and continue packing.
"Alright, well . . . You'll be there for at least five days, so . . . We can come by and visit you and bring you more clothes whenever you need," Murdoc says.
Five days? At least? "Thanks, guys," I smile.
"No problem," Russel says, opening my bedroom door and gesturing the guys to leave. He hesitates to join them in the hall, turning back to me. "Need help? Anything?"
"I'm okay, thank you."
"Alright . . . And you know you can always talk to us, right?"
"I know," I sigh. Every time I hear that reminder I just feel more and more guilty. "It's just . . . hard to express it sometimes."
Russel gives me a reassuring nod. "I get that. But don't ever feel afraid to come to us, okay? We love you."
They love me.
"I love you too."