Heart - 8. Ham, Cheese and Tomato (With Mayonnaise)

Cynthia's visit had given Tyson a lot to think about. For quite a while after she left, he sat cross-legged on his bed, alternating between silence and tears as every fifteen minutes Alice - then later on Neil - would check on him. The psychiatrist believed that it was the dynamics created by his parents that were the problem. They inadvertently taught Tyson to misdirect his feelings, and he took it out on others. His desperation to leave the toxic home environment was a significant factor of his tendency to hurt himself and self-destruct.

It's not my fault, he thought to himself. At least not all of it. No matter what Mum says, it's not my fault, and I'm not a failure. I'm not. I have shit to work on, but Cynthia can help me.

"Last chance for lunch, Tys," Neil poked his head through the door, his hair tied back and his hands dressed in latex gloves. He looked the same every single shift. "Do you want to come out and eat, or would you like me to bring you something?"

"I'm not hungry," Tyson murmured back to him, sitting back against his pillow and wiping the half-dried tears from his face.

"I'll bring you a sandwich," Neil decided before going to close the door. "Ham, cheese and tomato, right?"

"I said I'm not hungry!" Tyson shouted with an impatient grunt.

"So don't eat it," Neil shrugged and gently closed the door.

Hmph. If it's all the same to Neil, then I may as well eat what I ordered, he thought spitefully.

He slid to the side of the hospital bed and hopped up onto his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch. He wondered how long it would take to finally be rid of that bloody thing. Maybe Dr Okereke would have told him if he'd asked about it and not gone out of his way to be a little shit.

"Oh, so you're going to have your fish and chips after all?" Neil caught him as he hobbled along the corridor towards the dining hall, and the nurse was smiling, holding a sandwich on the plate.

"Yeah," Tyson grumbled, keeping his eye on the ugly blue carpet underfoot.

"Fantastic," Neil chuckled. "Then I'll have this sandwich for myself."

"What? Seriously?" Tyson eyed him off. Did Neil plan this? What game was he playing?

"Yep! What, did you think I'd throw it in the bin?" Neil shrugged. "I have to change my gloves first."

"Why do you do that?" Tyson finally asked him, curious about his habits. "The gloves and all the handwash and dressing the same way every single day? You look like you cryogenically freeze yourself after every shift and unfreeze right before the next one!"

"Well, gee Tys, thank you very much!" Neil pretended to take offence. "I have chronic obsessive-compulsive disorder," the tall, blond nurse told him candidly. "Doing things a certain way is fundamental to me, and I'm terrified of germs."

"A career in a hospital must be a wet dream for you," Tyson observed dryly. "All those pointless rules and the ridiculous red tape and the permanent smell of disinfectant."

Neil laughed, reaching back and adjusting his bun, slowly walking at the younger boy's pace, holding the plate with his right hand.

"I know you're being facetious, but you're right on the money. I could never be a full-time nurse in the general hospital - too many sick people! I fractured my ulna when I was your age, and I must have given everyone working in the Emergency Department a harder time than you ever have! But I love working in the AIU. You know, also when I was around your age, I spent five months in a place like this in Queensland because I wasn't able to function at home. I couldn't even leave the house or even my own bedroom. I couldn't eat. I couldn't live. Hospital isn't fun. I know all too well, but it was what I needed to get my life in order. I know you hate being here even, but I hope you feel the same way when it comes to an end."

Tyson felt himself being strangely sympathetic to Neil's story. He didn't like it. The feeling was foreign to him until he'd finally been admitted to the ward.

What do I make of this? Should I feel sorry for him? No, he thought. I don't need to. Why should I? He got help for his problems, and now, he's paying that kindness forward. He's a successful nurse. He got through it. He doesn't need my pity.

"I gotta go to the hall," Tyson looked away, realising that the sympathy he felt was beginning to curdle. Envy. Bitterness. Anger. Why anger? He didn't need to be angry. "Hope the sandwich is a good one."

"Cheers," Neil waved him off and strode in the other direction.

He's still cute, Tyson thought. Even if he's kind of crazy. No. Not crazy. We don't use that word anymore.

"Charlie," Tyson found the boy still cradling his big, plastic pillow back and forth, using his fingers to cram now tepid chips into his mouth, getting tomato sauce all over his face, pyjamas and hair. "Hey," he sat down next to him, wincing in pain as he turned his ankle a little too far.

"Mm?" Charlie's eyes locked onto his from behind their shield of greasy brown curls.

"I'm sorry about being so nasty all the time," Tyson pulled the chocolate frog that Cynthia gave him for cooperating in their session. He hadn't eaten it. The feelings of relief and release that washed over him were all he needed to feel good this time. "This is for you."

"Why?"

Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of the small treat his friend was offering him. Tyson remembered the time he'd been upset and Charlie offered to give him his biscuits. He remembered when Vladimir bought a can of Pringles from the vending machine and shared it around.

"You're always so nice to me, and I'm always such a dick to you," Tyson hated the acrid taste of humility. The Belmont-Lovett family were upper-class people. They were better than the under-achievers and the poverty-stricken. They did not apologise, and they did not lower themselves. It was a weakness. Edith often reminded him of this. Being humble is something losers do to hedge their bets. He powered through. "I wanna tell you how sorry I am. I don't try to be mean. It's just... hard being here."

"Yes," Charlie told him, his eyes glassing over.

"Hey Charlie, do you know if Vlad is around?" Tyson asked him, watching the boy shove more chips against his face. Why is he like this? I'd sure like to curb stomp the fuckers who did it to him.

"Quiet room," Charlie explained bluntly.

"The quiet room?" Tyson echoed, feeling ill as he remembered being locked in that horrible place. "What's going on? Is he alright?"

Charlie's face began to twitch, and he curled up around his pillow even tighter. He was a thin young boy, almost too skinny. It looked like he hadn't eaten a decent meal for months. He was small for his age, and he clutched the pillow tight enough to whiten his knuckles. Although he changed the pillowslip daily, this one was already covered in stains from breakfast, lunch and God knows what.

"He sees evil," Charlie whispered, and Tyson's blood ran cold. He remembered the night Vladimir had woken him with desperate shouting.

"How long has he been in there?" Tyson asked, and he barely noticed when Jae served the plate of fish, chips and salad in front of him.

"Mm-mm?" Charlie looked over to the television and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Gross.

"That spastic Russian guy?" The girl he'd seen dragged into the building and to the quiet room the day before rudely interrupted, sitting down in the chair opposite him with a careless thunk. Her hair was orange, curly and tangled, and she wore a stained red plaid shirt with blue jeans. "He's in seclusion. Total nutjob."

"Okay thanks random person, but what the fuck business is it of yours?" Tyson angrily spat back at her. How dare she say that about Vlad?

"Seemed pretty batshit," she replied with a shrug. "Crying about some drowned guy or something that wouldn't leave him alone. Pretty funny."

"Byebye," Charlie decided, looking over at Tyson with hurt in his eyes, upset by the girl's mean comments.

"Yeah, I'll see you in a bit, mate," Tyson reached over and patted his friend on the shoulder before looking back to this trashy cow, who sported a sneer he'd like to smack off her face. "Didn't you go right to seclusion when you came in screaming like a psycho?"

"So what if I did?" She challenged him, running her hands through her hair. She looked him up and down with jade green eyes. "I'm not happy about being here, so they locked me up in there to keep me quiet."

"Yeah, seems a bit rich that you'd make fun of Vlad when he's sick and you're just a cunt," Tyson verbally attacked her, incensed by her comments about the boy he liked. Nobody was going to disrespect Vladimir like that and get away with it on his watch. "You were in seclusion for nearly twenty-four hours, right? Because you're a fucking psycho?"

"The hell you say to me?" She stood up, anger flooding her freckled face. "Word is you're the psycho. Everyone knows that. Nice scars, by the way. You should have done the world a favour and done it right."

"Oh, fuck up, you ratchet bitch," Tyson scowled at her, his heart thumping in his chest. "I can smell you from here. I'm pretty sure I could smell you when you were in seclusion too. What, are your parents too daytime drunk to get you a change of clothes?"

That was it for this girl. She leapt up and launched herself over the table, toppling Tyson over in the chair and his plate of food went flying. With a roar, she grabbed his hair with her left hand and swung her fist at his face with her right. Tyson felt her strike him once, twice and thrice before his superior bulk let him catch her fist and turn the tables on her. Soon, he was the one on top, subduing her the best he could. He swung his fist at her. One strike across the face. He didn't get to hit her again, though he would have broken something if he had the opportunity! Someone pulled him off her and picked him up into the air. The security guy.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Tyson screeched at her as the security man, Wilson, restrained his arms. "I'm gonna get you! Run, bitch!"

"I'll tear you apart, you freak!" She roared back at him. "Talk shit about me? I'll fuck you up!"

"Chantalle! Tyson!" Neil slammed his hand down on the table to make enough noise to shock the two warring inpatients. "That is enough!"

"She came at me!" Tyson panted, his teeth bared.

"He hit me! He hit me!" She shouted back at the same time, shrieking and still trying to reach him with her free arm.

"You both need to calm down right now!" Neil's voice wasn't angry, exactly, but full of authority. "Wilson, can you take Tyson to the sensory room and let him cool down? I'll handle Chantalle."

"Yep," the security officer picked Tyson up off the floor, pinning his arms to his sides and sparing his sprained ankle.

"No! I don't wanna go into the quiet room!" The young girl began to scream and cry for forgiveness. "He started it! He's a fucking freak! Aargh! It's not fucking fair!"

Chantalle was screaming and shouting abuse to the nurses who had her by the arms, but Tyson, knowing the quiet room was on the table if he didn't cease all aggression immediately, quickly went limp in the man's arms. Chantalle, however, was hitting at the two nurses trying to restrain her. Tyson watched in stunned horror as Neil eventually helped wrestle the girl to the ground and the three of them pinned her down.

"If you don't stop this, we'll have to inject you with a sedative," Janet warned the girl, but that seemed only to make Chantalle even angrier, and she tried her best to scratch and claw at her attackers.

"Hey man, I can walk, you don't have to carry me," Tyson, who had by now learned that trying to get his way by force was impossible,

"You gonna walk or am I gonna carry you?" Wilson asked, his shiny bald head reflecting the sunlight.

"I'm okay! I'm calm! I can walk!" Tyson convinced the beefy man, and Wilson nodded, but he kept a very firm grip on Tyson's arm. "Can I have my crutch?"

"When your nurse gives the okay," Wilson promised, using his strength to help Tyson traverse the room. "You're a bit of a troublemaker. If it were my decision, you wouldn't have it at all."

Well, it's not your decision. Tyson was bright enough to keep his mouth shut, though. A member of the security team with the gall to speak to him that way? Maybe I'll tell Mum to get him fired. She loves that sort of shit. Being on the same side for once would be nice. The sensory room was far from being the quiet room. The door was not locked, and there were was an "emotional first-aid kit" - a box full of toys that proved helpful for stressed-out kids.

Luckily for Tyson, the staff saw that Chantal threw the first punch, and that made all the difference between cooling down in the sensory room and possibly being transferred to the high-dependency unit. Wilson remained with him after he shut the door, presumably to make sure the boy didn't act out. Tyson, glum and subdued, flopped down in the beanbag and sulked, waiting for Neil to show up and tell him what a dumbarse he was. It took about ten minutes. During that time, Tyson repeatedly poked, prodded and twisted his injured ankle for the delicious, cathartic pain that shot through him like bolts of lightning.

"Tyson?" Neil's voice was calm and quiet. How does he do that? How is he always so calm all the time? "Are you alright?"

Neil made sure that Wilson was by his side as a bodyguard. Procedure, he supposed. In case he was a lunatic and tried to attack him somehow, busted ankle and all. Tyson snorted out loud. Maybe he could throw his fidget spinner and knock the two of them out with a ricochet.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

Neil spoke quietly with Wilson, who left and closed the door, then he sat down on the strange three-quarter-egg shaped chair. "Aw, I'm sorry about this, little fella. I know it's never fun to have someone put their hands on you, but we can't have our patients fighting like that. We had to make sure you can settle down."

"I'm settled!" Tyson whined, using his fingers to push and prod the most tender parts of his sprained ankle and enjoyed the soothing feeling of the pain that shot through him like lightning bolts. "She started talking shit and then she threw the first punch!"

"Yes, she can be quite aggressive," Neil agreed, kneeling on the carpeted floor and folding his hands in front of him so that he was not talking down to the youngster. "But she's not the only one who took a swing. That's not on.

"So I'm not allowed to defend myself when a crazy bitch comes at me?" Tyson asked, offended and angry, but Neil shot him a stern look.

"We don't use that word here. Either of them," Neil reminded him. "Now, let me explain, okay? I don't doubt for a second that Chantal was looking for a fight. But you overpowered her, and then you hit her. You can defend yourself, and you should, but you can't hit other patients. Now, I reckon we're all good here. Am I right?"

"I'm okay!" Tyson nodded frantically in relief. "What about her? What if she comes at me again and I'm not allowed to stop her?"

"I can't go into details, but you two won't see each other in the immediate future. Use that time to calm down, and if she comes back and starts up again, we'll intervene immediately. Don't let yourself get into trouble if you can help it. Everything goes on your record," Neil warned him. "No more fighting."

"I promise! It's just that she--"

"People are going to give you the shits in life," Neil stood up and extended a latex coated hand. "Don't let them drag you down and they won't be a problem for you," Tyson took Neil's grip, and the strong young man hoisted him to his feet.

"Do I get my crutch?" Tyson asked, letting his bare toes of the lousy foot graze the soft floor.

"Would you believe I forgot to bring it with me? But it's okay. We'll get it on the way," Neil put Tyson's arm around his broad shoulder and walked slowly with him from the sensory room.

Tyson couldn't help but flush in arousal as he felt the man's strong, muscular body against his own. Neil was beautiful. He smelled sweet, and although he was stern and firm, he was a sympathetic person. He followed the rules and regulations to the letter, but he always had something kind to say.

A shame he's not my age, Tyson thought, but then he remembered Vladimir, and he flushed all over again. Vlady. I hope he's alright.

"How was the sandwich, by the way?" Tyson asked as he hobbled out with Neil's help down the corridor.

"Bloody brilliant. If I say so myself, you missed out, my man."

"Do you think you can make me another one?" Tyson meekly asked. "I never got around to eating my lunch before she... ruined my day."

"Right! You must be hungry!" The blond exclaimed. "I have my rounds to finish first but sure, little guy. I can't have you starving on my shift. Ham, cheese and tomato?"

"And mayonnaise?" Tyson asked, managing to grin cheekily. Neil laughed out loud. "Please?"

He would have liked to make his own, but his high-risk status prevented him from being in the kitchen unsupervised. Neil handed him the crutch he relied on and gave a thumbs up, brushing aside that annoying lock of hair that always escaped his tight bun.

Tyson sighed as he slowly and painfully made his way back to his room. He looked across the hall to Vladimir's room, the door shut. He wasn't in there.

What the hell do I do now? Vladimir was the lighthouse in the fog in this place. The warm beacon of cheer. Those pale pink lips, brilliant blue eyes and the black hair that fell over his face so... beautifully. The kiss. Oh, the kiss. Tyson's first kiss. Vladimir. I hope he's alright.

The sandwich did little to shoo away his woes, and he couldn't concentrate on the book Cynthia gave him to help pass the time. While the older boy was locked away in seclusion, Tyson could think of nothing else. It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice that he snapped out of his trance and put his feet on the floor.

"... very distressed, so we've had to give him something to calm him down," Neil explained, his keys jingling.

"My poor boy," Masha's voice echoed down the hallway, and Tyson heard the two of them walking down the hall. "Is someone with him? Someone needs to be with him!"

"Of course, Mrs Tchaikovsky," Neil reassured her, and Tyson saw them walking past together. "Geraldine supervises him at all times, and I check on him every ten minutes."

"That's not the same as someone being with him! I thought when he came from the other wing you people would stop with this rot!"

Masha was in full mamma-bear mode, it seemed. It was nice to hear her being protective of him. Had Tyson been in seclusion when Edith visited, then his mother might have had some words with the nursing staff, but it sure as hell wouldn't be out of love and concern. She would be embarrassed and indignant. Some minutes later, Masha and Neil came walking back past. She was unhappy.

"... because he does not do well when he's alone like that. I don't care what the regulations are!" Masha was ranting in her Russian accent. "He is not dangerous! He is scared! I will be putting in a complaint, you can bank on that! It's not good enough!"

"Regulations exist for a reason, Mrs Tchaikovsky," Neil told her firmly, but calmly. His speciality. "They keep everybody safe, and that's our number one priority. I don't believe Vladimir has a malicious bone in his body, but when he becomes agitated, he can..." the voices trailed off as their distance from the eavesdropper increased.

So he's still in the quiet room, Tyson thought glumly. How long do psychotic episodes last? If I had access to the internet, I could look things like this up. Maybe I can ask Cynthia next time she comes in.

He thought about her again. Nobody had ever taken the time to understand him the way she did. She listened to everything he had to say - even if he was flippant or rude - and validated his feelings. She was intelligent, funny and warm. Vladimir would benefit a lot from her. It made Tyson sad to think that while his parents paid for the very best treatment available, Vladimir went with the bare minimum because his family wasn't wealthy. He suffered relapse after relapse because the public system just didn't do enough for him. What good was giving a broken-down car a tune-up only to send it back out with a faulty engine? He was never going to get better that way, and Vladimir not having to spend his days terrified of his own brain was the one thing Tyson wanted.

"Tys!" Neil knocked on the open door, that same lock of hair still framing his heart-shaped face. "You have a visitor. Is that alright?"

"Mum?" Tyson screwed up his face in disdain. Like this day needed to go any worse. "Tell her to fuck off."

"That language is appalling!" Masha tilted her head to see through the doorframe. "Why don't you say it to my face, hmm?" She laughed heartily.

"Oh! You? Hello!" Tyson was pleasantly surprised and put his book down, considerately memorising the page he was up to rather than folding the corner of the books. They didn't belong to him, after all. "Mrs Tchaikovsky!"

"Just Masha, darling!" The middle-aged woman looked at him with weary eyes, trying to hide her emotional state, he imagined. "May I come in?"

"Oh! Yeah," he beamed and sat up against his pillows.

"We'll be alright," Masha told Neil, still obviously peeved with him, but unlike Edith, she wasn't a bitch. Neil glanced between the two, smiled, nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. "Young Tyson! How has your day gone, darling? Are you okay?" She looked like a dominatrix, Tyson noticed. Every time he saw her she was wearing tight black clothes adorned with buckles and chains.

"Not great," Tyson admitted, and she tutted in disappointment. "I miss Vlady. I'm not allowed to see him."

"That's so sweet," Masha's icy blue eyes smiled as much as her maroon-painted lips did. "You care about him, don't you?"

"I mean... yes?" Tyson shrugged, not quite ready to be vulnerable and open with this woman and hugging himself with his dark brown arms. "He's amazing. I hate when he's like this, you know? Like, I know he can't help it, but it sucks to see him that way. I wish I could do something."

"It does," Masha breathed in deeply and exhaled. "I would trade places with him in a heartbeat, but I can't. I can't even get him out of that ugly, horrible closet the bastards lock him in."

"Oh, I hate that room," Tyson shuddered. He'd only been in there during his first week, but sometimes it came back in his dreams. "I want to help, but I don't know how."

"But you do help him, darling," Masha reached over and gently brushed Tyson's cheek. Tyson froze, unaccustomed to that kind of affection. "You know, I came to see him the day he met you, and I could not have stopped him talking about you if I tried!"

"What? Really?" Tyson flushed and instinctively giggled.

"Oh, yes! Babbled on and on. Blah blah Tyson blah blah. I hadn't seen him so happy in a long time. He was more like the cheerful, funny boy he used to be! But why don't we talk about you, darling? It sounds like you don't get along well with Mum. I will not pry if it would upset you, but you did have some strong words to say about her."

"Oh," Tyson rolled his eyes, already frustrated at the mere mention of her. "Yeah, she hates me for being in here. Every time she comes in she makes me feel like shit."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Masha grimaced and flicked her black hair over her shoulder. "I take it you don't enjoy the visits you get. Does anyone else come to see you?"

"Nup," Tyson replied shortly. "I don't have friends and my family thinks I'm fucking crazy. Mum and Dad told everyone I'm studying in Sri Lanka, so nobody even knows I'm here. Not that they'd care either. I'm just Chase Lovett's kid. That's all I'll ever be."

"Oh, darling," Masha sighed. "For what it's worth, my boys are all very impressed with you. I think you're a charming boy and I'm sorry to hear that your parents don't appreciate that. Come and see us when we drop in for a visit."

"I can't always do that," Tyson muttered bitterly. "That's your time to be with Vlady. He doesn't need me latching onto his parents, and I don't feel great about being a charity case."

"It seemed to be that Vlad was thankful to have someone engaging with Ilya and Sasha," Masha chuckled. "He loves his brothers to be sure, but the little ones are high-maintenance, so I don't bring them every time. And Tyson, I don't offer to visit you for pity. I offer because I want to see you."

Tyson didn't know how to respond. He wanted to, but he wasn't sure how to process the feelings going through his head and his heart. Emotions were a burden, after all. That's what his parents always taught him. Cynthia didn't agree, and he had more faith in her than in Edith, but that didn't mean he could flip a switch. His brain did not believe in expressing himself.

"Listen... I got a call from a private psychiatrist earlier today," Masha said after a long pause. "I believe you're a patient of hers - she didn't tell me, of course, but you've spoken about her. Cynthia Ellicott. She offered to help my boy free of charge. Did you have something to do with that?"

"Um... yeah, I did," Tyson admitted, looking her right in the eyes. "Cynthia's good. I mean, she's outstanding. Much better than I deserve. She and I made a deal that if she agreed to help Vlady, then I would comply with my treatment plan."

"You did that for my Vlad?" Masha teared up and put her hands to her face. "Oh, Tyson... I don't think you can comprehend the... magnitude of what you've done for him."

"It's fine--" Tyson began, but she cut him off.

"I'm a mother with four children and a husband who spends most of the time out at sea! One of my boys has schizophrenia, one is autistic and another battles depression. As much as it kills me, I don't have the money and resources to give Vladimir the support he needs. This... this is a huge deal. You may not think you deserve good things, Tyson, but I think you're a champion," Masha reached out to take his hand. "Thank you. Maybe now my boy has a real chance. That's all I've ever wanted for him."

"Stop!" Tyson shrank away from her and made himself laugh so he would not give away how close he was to weeping. "You're going to make me cry!"

"Sorry, darling!" Masha laughed, wiping her eyes. "Listen, I've written my number down for you, and Dmitry's as well. If you need anything, give either of us a call, and we'll do whatever we can. It's the least we can do after everything you've done for our Vladimir. You made him happy, you gave him hope, and now you've given him a chance. You're a much better man than your father is."

"Why are you giving this to me, though?" Tyson took the paper from her hand. "I'm not your kid."

She opened up her arms to hug him, and Tyson's icy heart melted. He leaned into her embrace, and she kissed him on the forehead. "From now on, you're one of my boys."

Thank you to everyone who reads Heart! ❤️ Don't be afraid to point out any mistakes you find!