Heart - 4. Cheese On Toast

Tyson didn't remember when he nicked his jugular with the knife he'd stolen and sharpened himself on the concrete porch while his family slept. All he knew was that he was happy. Blood gushed from his neck and splattered on the floor and the walls. It never stopped. It began to flood his bedroom, covering his brown toes and ankles. So much blood! It was thrilling! Tyson gleefully felt himself go faint and fall on his blood-soaked bedsheets. He did it! He finally did it! It was all over, and nobody could do anything about it this time!

"Hello, sunshine!"

Alice's voice woke him from his dream, and he grunted in disappointment when he realised he was still alive. He didn't die. Damn it. There was nothing as exhilarating as being on the brink of death, dangling over the edge. He'd done it a few times now, but in his dreams, he had done it hundreds of times.

I will get out of here, he groggily swore to himself. I will get out of here, and I'm going to kill myself.

"Good morning, Alice!" She dropped her Scottish accent as she replied on his behalf while she went about his room, unlocking the cupboards that kept most of his private possessions from him overnight. "Yes, I slept very well, thank you. How are you today?" She continued in her normal voice. "Well, I'm glad to hear it, Tyson. I had a great sleep too."

"Alice, please!" Tyson moaned and covered his face with the pillow. "Can you leave me to sleep? Or just kill me?"

"Did you have a bad night, hon?" She stood over him with a look of concern on her wrinkling face. "Bad thoughts?"

"They're not bad thoughts," Tyson argued. "They're good thoughts. I like them! Just because you don't agree doesn't make them bad!"

"Alright, hon," Alice wasn't in any mood to banter with him. She had a lot of things on her plate and letting Tyson bait her into another long argument about why he should have the right to kill himself wasn't a priority for her. "You let me know if you need anything, alright?"

"A lethal injection," Tyson challenged her, tossing the pillow off and letting it fall to the floor with a gentle thump.

"How about a cup of tea instead? Or Milo?" She smiled as she walked over to the doorway. Tyson was increasingly annoyed that she wasn't biting back.

"I will do it, you know!" Tyson told her, sitting up cross-legged in his bed and scowling. "When I get out of here! I'm going to tear myself to shreds, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

"Then I'll miss you," Alice shrugged and ducked outside. "Would you like your door open or closed?" Tyson didn't respond to her, so she left it open, but she spoke once more before she went on with her job. "I mean it, hon. If you're feeling down or angry, talk to me, and we'll see what we can do. You don't need to feel this way forever."

How dare she? She had no idea what he was feeling! She couldn't! He ignored her once more. She was only a nurse, after all. She wasn't Cynthia. He would like to talk to Cynthia again, he thought. It did feel nice to talk about this stuff, but he couldn't open up to people like Alice. People who settle to become glorified maids for a living. She didn't have a chance of understanding someone like him.

"Knock knock!" A cheerful voice interrupted his sulking from the doorway.

"Vlady! Hey!" Tyson immediately smiled when he saw his friend. "Can you please give me a hand?" He swivelled, crying out as his ankle twisted under the covers. It felt so painful in the best possible way.

"Are you okay?" Vladimir asked, cautiously approaching and picking up the crutch from the floor. He was still dressed in his pyjamas, and his straight, black hair was all over the place. Chronic bedhead. Tyson thought it was so cute on him. "Why don't you get some pain relief for that? It's one of the perks of being in here. We get pills for everything!"

"I like it," Tyson told him, immediately turning red. He wasn't supposed to admit that to anybody. Having a way to actively self-harm and doing it regularly was something that might qualify him for the high-dependency unit. "It's usually fine," he quickly backpedalled. "It reminds me that I'm alive. You know?"

"Oh, okay!" Vladimir seemed content with that, but a look of uncertainty didn't leave his face.

"What's up?" Tyson asked, hopping up to his sturdy foot with his friend's help and grabbing his crutch. "Also, you should stand out in the corridor or the nurses will have a fit."

"So if you like being reminded that you're alive, why did you tell Alice you're going to kill yourself when you get out?" Vladimir asked, as he slowly paced back to the corridor, nervously chewing on the bottom of his lip as though he were worried he might trigger Tyson's volatile temper. "Do you mean that?"

"Yeah," Tyson replied defensively, his right fingers automatically finding their way to the big scar on his left wrist and touching it. "I want to die more than anything."

"Oh. Okay," Vladimir's eyes were locked onto the scar as well, and Tyson did not bother to cover it up.

"So why did you tell me to come to your school yesterday? What's the point if you're dead?"

"It doesn't matter," Tyson decided he'd had enough of talking about it. He would wait until Cynthia came in for a session tomorrow. "How are you, Vlady? How's the...?" He tapped a few times on his head.

"Oh. Loud and inconvenient. I'm alright, though. Some days are better than others."

"Don't they have pills for that?" Tyson searched in his drawer for a shirt to throw on. While shoes and socks were optional in the common areas of the ward, shirts were expected to be worn by both girls and boys - the brief midnight trip with Vladimir to get a hot drink while he was having a horrible night a few nights ago didn't count.

"It's not like a headache," Vladimir explained as best he could, touching his fingers to his forehead. "I can't just take a panadol and make it go away, you know? I have to find the right combination of meds and shit that works for me, but my psychiatrist isn't very helpful. He doesn't listen to me, so... things don't really get better."

"What a dick. You should get Cynthia! She's amazing!" Tyson joined his friend outside and locked fingers with him.

They both liked to hold hands, it seemed. For Tyson, it was lovely to have some physical affection. Not just because this was a lonely place. Everywhere was a lonely place! Home. Especially home. With his parents obsessed with Chase's career and his sister busy being an overachieving showoff, nobody was there to hug Tyson when he needed it. To tuck him in and tell him he's a good boy and he has the potential - not the responsibility - to be great. Vladimir was affectionate. He liked to hold hands and hug and be close. Even when the older boy was in the throes of a schizophrenic episode last night, he calmed down when he hugged Tyson - a gesture that the Sri Lankan boy would hold to heart for the rest of his life.

"She's a private psychiatrist, though," Vladimir strolled out of the room and down the corridor at Tyson's slower pace. "I don't get a choice. I get whoever I get, and that's the end of it. I'm pretty sure he hates me. I don't see him much, maybe ten minutes once or twice a week."

"Wow. Cynthia visits me three or four times a week and usually for twenty minutes or more." Tyson's eyes flickered with guilt. "It helps a lot. Maybe you can come with me next time and talk to her. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Vladimir began to laugh, and Tyson was confused. "What?" He asked with a smile, squeezing his friend's hand hard enough to make him squeak.

"I mean, you won't come to visit my Mum with me!" Vladimir pointed out, his head falling and resting on Tyson's bony shoulder. "But you want me to come to your psychiatrist appointment! Priorities much?"

"I'll come and visit your Mum if you come and visit Cynthia," Tyson rested his head against Vladimir's. It was awkward to do this while hobbling on one good foot, but they made it work. "Okay?"

"Alright!" Vladimir took his head away, and the two walked into the dining hall, hand in hand.

Mealtimes were the best part of the day. Jae was a pretty decent cook, and he took orders for all three meals a day - though, the quality of the food dropped when he had days off. Even today, when Tyson was content with simple cheese on toast rather than crumpets or fresh muffins, it tasted like edible joy. At home, he'd be forced to make do with some high-fibre super cereal that was supposed to make him into some superhuman specimen. It tasted like mould.

"What's going to happen to Charlie when he's ready to be discharged?" Tyson whispered to Vladimir when the younger boy, having not said a word all morning, vanished back to his room following his morning meal.

"How should I know?" Vladimir replied grimly, resting his tired head in his hands. "Probably fostered out again. Probably keep coming back because his last family broke him."

"That's really horrible," Tyson felt dead inside when he thought about it. "I wish I could do something for him. He deserves better."

"You deserve better too," Vladimir pointed out, his incredibly blue eyes making contact and locking on. "But you want to die when you get out, don't you?"

"That's none of your business," Tyson replied coldly, and Vladimir frowned.

"How is that none of my business? I don't want you to die! If you're going to do it anyway, does that mean this whole friendship thing is a waste of time?" Vladimir asked sadly, touching his fingers to his forehead the way he did when voices bothered him. "Is that what you think?"

"That's not what I said!" Tyson folded his arms in a huff. "I like you! A lot."

"Yeah, well, I like you too," Vladimir stood up, drawing the attention of nurses and other inpatients. "That's why I think you're a jerk."

"Oh, get lost!" Tyson flared up at him indignantly, banging the table in anger. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"Settle down please, boys," Janet piped up from her seat on the other side of the dining hall, the place where she could observe everyone. "Use your inside voice please, Tyson."

"It's okay," Vladimir told her, walking back to his room. "I'm fine."

He looked back at Tyson one more time as he entered the corridor, his eyes sad and full of concern. Tyson rolled his eyes. He never wanted to be alive. He never signed a contract, did he? So why did everyone get offended that he didn't want to live? Janet's eyes cautiously watched him in case he blew up and had a full tantrum, and that only infuriated him more.

Why should anyone have the right to stop me from dying? I hate this place. I hate it here! I hate everyone and I hate everything! I just want to die! Fuck anyone who disagrees! Fuck Vladimir!

As the rage surged through him and bubbled up, he grabbed his empty plate and smashed it on the floor underneath him. The nurses came down on him like a ton of bricks, and the man from security followed them. He always lurked around like a bad fucking smell in the ward, Tyson thought furiously.

"What are you doing?" Janet arrived first, followed closely by Alice and the security mongrel shortly after. "Stop right there, right now. I mean it, Tyson!"

"Just... argh! Leave me alone!" Tyson shouted at her, trying and failing to get up from his seat. "I'm sick and fucking tired of all of you!"

"Hon, you have two choices," Alice told him firmly, looking directly into his eyes. "We can act like adults and get a hold of ourselves, or we will have to look at seclusion."

"Stop talking to me like I'm a child!" Tyson snarled, but as Janet knelt down to start collecting the broken shards of the plate he'd smashed, Tyson saw the sharp edges. They gave him ideas, and the anger he had boiling inside him right now didn't seem as important as his long-term goal. He forced himself to look at his priorities. What good would another stint in the quiet room do him? He had bigger fish to fry. "I'm sorry," he said after a couple of seconds. "I shouldn't have done that or spoken to you like that."

"Thank you," Alice gave him a grateful pat on the shoulder. She spoke to him quietly so as not to let the remaining patients in the room overhear. "I don't like to come down on you so harshly, but it's been over a week now. You've had more than enough time to adapt to the rules of the AIU, and next time you break something on purpose or lose your temper, we might have to look at a transfer to the other wing. Do you understand? You scare the other boys and girls when you act out like this, and it's not much fun for the staff either."

"Sure," Tyson barely heard the words she was speaking. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before from everyone else. He was thinking about a potential opportunity with a broken ceramic plate. But how would he get one into his room?

"Would you like something to help you calm down?" Alice asked, snapping him out of his brainstorming.

"Yeah, okay," Tyson agreed, finally using some good judgment.

He was locked, loaded and ready to fire at any moment. Any inconvenience. He did not want to go into seclusion. It was awful in there. If a magic pill slowed down the part of him that wanted to scream and yell and hit things, then all the better. He felt terrible about upsetting Vladimir. That was what pushed him over the edge. Tyson reflected on his situation as he followed Alice to the nurse's office. If he behaved, they would leave him alone. If he kept going schiz-- Tyson caught himself. Vladimir hated that word, so he wasn't going to use it anymore. Still, if he couldn't stay in control, someone would always be watching him. He'd never get away with anything that way. He took the two white pills Alice gave him and sipped the water from the polystyrene cup.

"Do you want to see the social worker?" Alice asked, leaning against the wall. She looked tired. "To talk about things? Or maybe spend some time in the sensory room?"

"I didn't think Petra was in today," Tyson remarked, running his hand through his black curls. He needed to wash that hair today. It was getting greasy.

"She's not. I think it's Dale today," Alice mumbled, taking the two cups away from Tyson when he finished. "I can get him to come and see you if you like. If you want to talk and vent, I think that it would be good for you to get it out of your system."

"I'll see Petra," Tyson put weight on his injured ankle and grimaced. It felt good. It focused his thoughts. "I don't like to talk to guys about stuff. Does that make sense? It's just weird."

"I understand, hon," she smiled down on him. "It can be hard for men to talk to men. I'll pencil a note in for Petra to see when she's back in."

"I'm gonna have a rest," Tyson told her, bracing himself on his crutch. He was lucky to keep it after his string of tantrums in the past couple of days. This stupid ward was getting under his skin. "Thanks for the meds."

"Sure. Come and talk to me first before you throw things," she warned him one last time. "I'll be in to check on you when I do my rounds."

Of course, Tyson thought. The bloody checks. Every fifteen minutes. How am I supposed to kill myself in that fifteen-minute window? I'll find a way, he told himself. I'm smart. I'm smarter than the lot of them put together. I've just been unlucky. It'll work this time. I'll be dead, and...

His thoughts paused when he got to his room and saw Vladimir's door. It was shut. What would happen to Vladimir if he died? He's suffering enough as it is.

Wow. No wonder he thinks I'm a jerk.

Tyson, already feeling calmer under the effects of the medication he'd been given - whether it was merely a placebo or not was something he was debating - steeled himself and knocked on Vladimir's door.

"I'm here!" Vladimir shouted. He thinks it's a check.

"It's me," Tyson meekly spoke through the thick door. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Vladimir acknowledged him, but that was all he did.

"Can we talk?" Tyson asked after a pause.

To his relief, he heard Vladimir padding over towards the heavy red door and opening it, a small smile arriving on the taller boy's pale face. He had a gentle sprinkle of freckles across his little nose and high cheekbones. So beautiful.

"I totally went aggro just before," Tyson admitted, his dark cocoa coloured eyes fighting his instinct and remaining on his friend's blue ones. "So I'm all drugged right now."

"I know the feeling," Vladimir replied with a sigh. "Why did you go aggro?"

"I felt bad about hurting your feelings," Tyson replied as honestly as he could. "It's this place. It's always getting to me. I'm sorry, Vlady."

"But do you know why you hurt my feelings?" Vladimir asked him, leaning against the wooden door frame. He'd put on a white shirt and purple jeans since he'd left the dining hall. Tyson appreciated how cute he looked before fishing for an answer.

"I didn't then, but I do now," Tyson leaned on his crutch. "I'm sorry. I guess I never saw it that way - that it might look like I don't care about you. But I do. So... yeah. I'm sorry."

"Aw, you're cute," Vladimir giggled before sidling up close and taking his friend's hand. It never stopped feeling good when Vladimir touched him, or when he touched Vladimir. It was always nice. "But Tys... why should we be friends if you're going to kill yourself? I like you too much to see you die. I can't do that. If I'm gonna be your friend, you have to promise not to suicide."

"I... I just... I don't know," Tyson slumped his shoulders. Vladimir put his arms around Tyson and hugged him, putting his forehead against the younger boy's. "That's all I want, you know? Well, that and you."

"I don't think you can have both though, Tys," Vladimir whispered into his friend's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "What happens to me when you die? Just... no, okay? I don't want to lose any more people like that."

"What do you mean?" Tyson asked, narrowing his eyes. Did Vladimir have a friend who killed themselves? Is that why he's so weird about this? "Another boy?"

"Let's just put it this way, alright?" Vladimir sniffed. "If you wanna be friends and get better and then we can be awesome together when we get discharged, then come and watch whatever movie's on in the TV room with me. If you want to give up and die though, then do whatever you like, but I don't want to be a part of it. Okay?"

"Okay," Tyson replied immediately, but then he paused.

He intended to die. Could he do that to Vladimir? He wasn't sure. He didn't want to think about it. Perhaps that's a good thing. He spent years and months thinking about terminating his own life. It was fun. It was good. It felt right - to die. Living was dysphoric. Like it shouldn't be happening. These thoughts plagued Tyson night and day, but he wasn't driven mad by them. No, he enjoyed them. He loved the idea of killing himself. Why now did he - even if it was just a little bit - push those lovely thoughts aside? Was it Vladimir? Did he like the guy that much?

"Yeah. Okay," Tyson smiled at him. "Do you promise to put up with me forever, though?"

"If you promise not to die for a very long time," Vladimir laughed happily. "I'll put up with you forever!"

"Can we watch a movie, then? Us crazy people?" Tyson asked, his tummy full of butterflies.

"Can I sleep on you again?" Vladimir's eyes shone with a type of joy.

"No! It's my turn to sleep on you!" Tyson asserted with a pleased titter when Vladimir poked his tongue out.

Before he knew it, Vladimir planted a small kiss on his cheek.

Oh wow!! He kissed me! He likes me! So... maybe there might be something to live for after all?