Heart - 16. Skin Deep

It wasn't the first time Tyson entertained himself by studying the behaviour of the other inpatients. They were pretty interesting in their own ways. Especially Charlie. He liked to hoard treats for nearly a week and then go nuts and eat so much he made himself feel sick - except for the cookies. Although the packets of miniature cookies were limited to one per patient per day, Charlie seemed to have several packs of biscuits. Tyson noticed this early into his stay, but he was tired and preoccupied and never thought much of it. Perhaps it was in his imagination. Without suicide planning clouding his thoughts, he was able to take in more from his environment, and one of them was that Charlie seemed to be treating himself to a bag of cookies more than once a day.

As Tyson continued to observe Charlie out of interest, to see what that damaged kid liked to do to keep himself occupied, the more he realised that cogs were turning in the boy's head. There was stuff going on in there. He wasn't stupid or challenged. Tyson was growing increasingly convinced he was just as smart as anyone else his age, but between his trauma and a lack of education, it was hidden. Obscured by the infant that suckled his fingers, spoke with a babyish whine and snuggled his pillow all day long. It all made Tyson so sad. Charlie had no family. No contacts. He was a ward of the state and so institutionalised by inpatient facilities that he reportedly lasted no more than a few days on discharge to a foster family or group home before having a horrible, violent meltdown and coming right back.

As the nurses weren't allowed to satisfy his curiosity and give up information about Charlie's mental illness or circumstances, Tyson's interest burned brighter by the day. The system had given up on him entirely. As he had no family, there was nobody to pay for the long list of treatments he would need, and thus no profit to be made from his recovery. So the bastards just did not bother. It wouldn't be a surprise to him if the heartless pricks just suffocated Charlie in his sleep and threw him in the dumpster out the back. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would likely notice he'd vanished from the face of the Earth. He was invisible. But the more Tyson learned, the more he began to realise that Charlie knew he was invisible. He would never accuse the young boy of malingering or playing an act, but it was so easy to underestimate him, and who would bother to understand someone the system had forgotten about?

The kitchen was accessible to all patients outside the meal hours, and all appliances and cutlery were securely locked away. Tyson was not allowed in without supervision - neither were two other patients with a high-risk rating. Charlie was free to roam in and out as he pleased. Yesterday, Tyson noticed him approach the kitchen door a few times to peer in, and while there were people in there, he slunk away and came back a little while later. When Tyson noticed the boy slip inside, he followed and peered around the kitchen doorway, and he saw Charlie filling the slip of his comfort pillow with the vanilla cupcakes that were supposed to be for everyone's afternoon tea! Suppressing a giggle, Tyson spun away and sat down on one of the chairs, watching intently as Charlie held his pillow tightly to his chest on his way to his room, knowing it was full of contraband. When Charlie returned, the pillowslip was empty!

Later that evening, Charlie asked his evening nurse if he could have his cookies - she questioned if he'd had them yet, but when he told her he didn't, she just gave him a packet. What kind of bullshit was that? Tyson felt like he had to go through a polygraph test to get treats in this place. Early in the morning before the night shift nurse handed over to the morning nurse, Charlie asked if he could have his cookies for the day, and she gave him a packet. After breakfast, when the nurses did the handover, he asked for cookies from the new nurse, who shrugged and gave him a pack. Tyson found himself in a fit of giggles, watching Charlie work his hustle. That devious little motherfucker! Next time there was a shortage on scones or banana bread, he knew where the goodies had gone!

"What's so funny?" Vladimir asked him, shoving him on the shoulder.

Tyson couldn't reply, laughing too hard to stop.

"Are you alright, Tys?" Jae asked, with an amused grin on his face.

"It's nothing," the boy finally wheezed, his cheeks damp with tears and his tummy ache.

"Are you starting to hear voices now? They lock people away in hospitals for that," Vladimir teased him.

Well, no, Vlady. They actually don't do that. Commitment to a hospital ward occurs only if there is no less restrictive way to provide safe and effective treatment, and people are not involuntarily detained unless they have proven to be a danger to themselves or other people. You're not here because you hear, see and feel things that aren't real, or because your brain tricks you into delusions. You're here because you were dangerous. You must have been.

But Tyson didn't say that. If he was ever going to breach that subject with Vladimir, it was going to be in private, not at a table with an eighteen-year-old girl who kept picking her nose and wiping it on her napkin. Tyson didn't want to be in the ward for the first week or so he was here. Yes, he was a voluntary inpatient on paper, but Cynthia was going to admit him whether he liked it or not. If he had resisted, she would likely have put him in the high-dependency ward, and he would have certain decisions about medication, treatment and visitation made for him rather than with him. As a voluntary patient, though, he was allowed freedoms that he might have been denied. That did not mean the doors to the outside were not locked. This was an acute inpatient ward - acute being the key word. It was for people in dire need of help. Crisis. Being in the open unit versus the HDU didn't change that. Knowing these things was helpful, but in a situation like this one it left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew Vladimir did something to end up in the HDU, even if the older boy did not choose to talk about it. His boyfriend, Alexey - was it suicide? Is that the story they used to protect Vladimir? Is he actually dangerous? Why did he get kicked out of school?

"No voices," Tyson grinned at him, those thoughts running through his head. No, he told himself. If Vlady did something, it would never have been his fault. Cynthia is the best pediatric psychiatrist in the state. She'll fix him. "How excited are you to go out today, though? Are all the boys coming?"

"Yes, but they'll be bitching the whole time because you're not coming," Vladimir lamented, feebly combing his long, black bangs with his fingers. He was wearing a smart white dotted black shirt today, and more jeans that made his butt and legs look so... hot! "Can you call Cynthia or something? Maybe she can do something."

"She can't. It's a regulations thing. You're not my family," Tyson was blunt, not wanting to drag this conversation out. "But tell Ilya he's annoying for me. And tell Dmitry he's sexy!"

"Okay first, no! Dmitry's gross," Vladimir gave his best stank face, one that always made Tyson chortle through his nose.

"Ironic because you look exactly like Dmitry!" Tyson teased him, sipping his breakfast juice. "You all look exactly the same!"

"But I'm the best one, right?" Vladimir kissed the air between them, and Tyson blushed.

"Yeah. You're the cutest one."

"Are you sure you'll be okay if I go? I'd rather stay with you, I think."

"Okay, see, that shit's why they might lock someone away in a hospital," Tyson quipped, a look of confusion on his face. "Get the fuck out and enjoy your three hours of freedom! You've been in hospital for like, two months. I'll still be here when you get back."

"They should let you come with us. Mum's more a mum to you than yours is," the boy had been miserable since Tyson's request to go on a picnic with the Tchaikovsky family was shot down yesterday.

Tyson's feelings were stung by that. It was true, though. Edith had utterly abandoned her son in the psychiatric ward since the review with Cynthia went to shit. No contact, no calls, no visits. She was done with him, it seemed. It hurt a lot. He was even beginning to miss her, though he usually scoffed at that feeling when it floated through his heart and shoved it away. But Masha and Vasily visited every day. Every single day. Some days, they brought one, two or all three of their other children. For twenty to thirty minutes, Tyson had people outside the hospital who cared about him. But Edith, Chase and Kelly? There was no sign of them. Only the snippets of the campaign he saw on the television. His father looking confident and happy as he relied on tearing down minorities and the "parasitic" mentally ill to bolster his voter base, and Edith supporting him every step of the way. Fucking mole.

"You'll be okay until I get back, right?" Vladimir asked him, finishing up his french toast and wiping his mouth. "If I come back and you're in seclusion, I'll smack you."

"I'm pretty sure I won't go--" Tyson was about to say "schizo," but he remembered that it was a word to avoid and stopped himself. "Aggro on someone, unless they let that loud bitch Chantal back in."

He didn't want Vladimir to go. No way! Until the cutie arrived in the room opposite his, Tyson been lonely and disconsolate. Since then, they'd never been apart aside from that one long, horrible day that Vladimir spent the whole day shackled to his bed in the quiet room. But that was why he wanted Vladimir to leave. Two months was such a long time. Going out with his family for a few hours on a Saturday morning sounded perfect. He couldn't stand the thought of Vladimir passing that opportunity up because Tyson wasn't allowed to go with them. When Dale - ugh, Dale - came by to snatch Vladimir from the common room and take him away, Tyson gave him a tight hug.

"I'll miss you!" Tyson informed him.

"I'll miss you!" Vladimir looked like he was about to kiss him, but he pulled away instead, knowing Dale and other staff were watching. Disappointing.

With Vladimir gone for the morning, Tyson wasn't sure how to spend it. Time moved slowly in the AIU, but it came to a standstill on the weekends. No appointments - only medication. He could read. Watch movies with some of the others. Maybe play board games or sit in the sun - but it wasn't fun without Vladimir. He actually began wishing he was home so he could use his flute or swim some laps - while his mother would turn them into a tiresome chore, at least there was some variety to enjoy. Or masturbate. Going on nearly a month in the hospital without doing what fourteen-year-old boys did best was a challenge, but every time he thought about it, he couldn't go through with it. The frequent checks and hospital environment were such a turn-off. He giggled to himself when he remembered the one time he'd attempted to find such relief in the shower only to have Alice call out for his reply when she did her check, and that was the last time he'd bothered to try.

"Charlie!" Tyson knocked on the open door of the boy's room - it was a mess. He wondered where the youngster hid his contraband. "I'm bored. Come and play with me."

Charlie poked his head up from the other side of his bed, those big eyes mostly hidden by the curly hair that fell over his face. What was he doing over there? Gorging on the treats he stole? The thought made Tyson grin ear to ear. He got to his feet, wearing cutesy alien pyjamas today. He wasn't much shorter than Tyson, who hadn't done his big growth spurt yet, and incredibly skinny. He never brushed his hair, and Tyson wasn't sure how often he showered. At least he put on new pyjamas daily, but changing the pillowslip wasn't as frequent, and it had some stains from the last few meals. He was lazily suckling on the corner of his pillow - he always had something in his mouth. Perhaps it was a comfort thing? His fingers, the pillow, his hair - whatever.

Tyson felt chills when he saw again how institutionalised Charlie had become over the years. Utterly dependent - unless becoming a cupcake thief could be counted as independence - on having everything taken care of for him. Unable to speak or behave like a boy his own age and no idea how to groom himself. No family or friends. He didn't live. He existed. Most terrifying was the realisation that Tyson himself was slowly falling into a similar situation. The only place he felt safe was the hospital, however, he'd have to leave eventually - but the only place he could be released to was his family, and they weren't going to change. He knew in his heart that he would betray the promises he made to Vladimir, Vasily and Cynthia just to escape. He would die, or he would fail and return to the hospital. His family, if they hadn't already, would give up on him. As Neil said, long-term hospitalisation changed people. Tyson could well be looking at his future. Charlie. What could be worse than that? Being Charlie in a world where Chase Lovett had real power. There had to be a better way. But what could he do? He wasn't even old enough to legally give informed consent to his own treatment.

"C-man! Do you want to play Go Fish? Or watch TV? Or anything?"

Charlie gave a shy smile - an attractive sight. He usually looked so forlorn, with a tired look on his face. Tyson wasn't sure what medication he took, but it seemed to keep him emotionally flat. He walked awkwardly over to the doorway and stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him.

"Okay," Charlie set a brisk pace, forgetting that Tyson's ankle was quite better just yet.

"What do feel like?" Tyson asked, kneeling down by the bookcase full of different board games and packets of cards. "Uno? Jenga?" They were Vladimir's favourites. "Maybe Snap?"

Charlie made a strange whimpering sound to let his intentions known - he'd already set out a marker and a blank piece of paper in front of him. Holy shit. This kid was so full of surprises.

"You wanna learn?" Tyson asked him in amazement. "You wanna do maths?"

It had been a while since Tyson first helped Charlie learn maths - at the time, it had been a convenient cover for him to steal a pencil sharpener from the education unit. Being so focused on his singular goal of killing himself, he thought nothing more of it. Vladimir pointed out how much his younger friend seemed to enjoy teaching Charlie how to do basic arithmetic, and that seed of thought was firmly planted in Tyson's brain. He was supposed to be a politician, a surgeon or a lawyer. Why settle for being a teacher when he had all the resources in the world to achieve greatness? What even was greatness, though? Chase Lovett was great in many senses of the word. Successful. Famous. Wealthy. But he wasn't a good person. He was using his greatness for the wrong reasons. Tyson could be great, too, but where did that leave people like Charlie? And when it all boiled down, what really separated Tyson from Charlie but experiences, time and circumstance? Seeing first-hand the types of people he was supposed to despise and scorn, becoming one of them, had Tyson thinking greatness was overrated. Maybe he liked teaching. Maybe he was good at it. Maybe he could make the world a better place for the Charlies.

"How come you know everything?" Charlie asked him after he'd managed to solve his third problem in a row without needing any assistance at all.

"I don't know everything," the boy shrugged as he made up some new sums for Charlie to solve.

"You do!" Charlie giggled, gnawing at the corner of his pillowslip. "You do."

"My mum made me learn things all day," Tyson admitted, his heart heavy. "I'd go to school, then I'd come home, and I'd have tutoring until it was bedtime."

"What is tutoring?"

"It's like school at home. A teacher visits and they teach you stuff. Sometimes stuff you don't learn at school. It sucks," he handed the purple marker back over to Charlie, who began to dot his own skin with it.

"Is this toota-ing?"

"Yeah. Yeah! I suppose," Tyson ran his hands through his hair and decided to probe a little bit, more and more intrigued by his buddy. "Did you like school?"

"I don't school," Charlie's voice was quiet and full of shame. "I don't know things."

"You know how to add numbers together! You know all the characters in A Bug's Life!" Tyson leaned in and whispered, giggling as he did so. "You know how to take all the cupcakes from the kitchen."

Charlie turned bright red underneath his mop of matted curls and snuggled his pillow closer to his chest. He'd been caught.

"I'm not telling on you!" Tyson reassured him, watching him draw on himself. "I think you're brilliant, C-man. I never would have thought of that! Like, shit! You'd be a great super spy."

Charlie's mouth opened up into a wide grin at the praise, and he looked so flattered. He didn't look after his teeth, Tyson noticed, seeing how crooked and discoloured some of them were. It was criminal, the way nobody took responsibility for this kid and let him turn into a teenage mess. Heartbreaking.

"When will you leave?" Charlie asked him.

"I'm not sure. Nobody's telling me anything about what's going on," Tyson admitted. "I might be here forever, or they might kick me out today. I just don't know."

"Can you stay?"

"Why? Are you going to miss me?" Tyson teased him, and Charlie nodded. "I'll visit, C-man. I'll even bring you some cupcakes that you didn't have to take from the kitchen."

Charlie laughed and returned to his worksheet. It felt good to make the kid happy. He didn't have a lot to be pleased about, and... Tyson understood that. In the worst way. Being away from home and his restricting list of responsibilities for so long was enough to make him find some joy in life. Vladimir, most of all. But he would eventually be going home, and somehow, he felt worse off than he was coming into the hospital. He knew he meant nothing to Chase, but Edith could have been a different story. While his mother had been controlling, demanding and thoroughly cold to him his whole life, he always thought she cared about him in her own way. That maybe she was doing everything her way because she thought it would make him a better person. At least before the psychiatric review, even if he chose to avoid her, she would try to see him every day. It felt like she wanted him home not because his condition was a threat to her social standing, but because she wanted him there. Now that over a week had passed without any notice from her, now that he knew she didn't have any love for him at all, he was feeling more vulnerable and fragile than he ever had before, and he saw that part of himself reflected in Charlie's tortured blue eyes.

"Hey C-man, I know I've been an arsehole to you a few times, but I'm glad I met you. I get that things have been shit for you for a long time, but... you're special to me. Thanks for being my friend."

Charlie got up from his seat and shuffled closer. Tyson tensed up - Charlie had a violent streak in him if someone triggered him the wrong way. But the boy surprised him. Never had Tyson seen anyone touch Charlie - or be touched by him. It was one of the unwritten rules of the ward for staff and patients alike - do not touch the kid who was painfully traumatised by the horrible things that had happened to him. Charlie instead awkwardly fell onto Tyson and rested his head on the boy's shoulder. It was a display of affection, Tyson realised, but he wasn't brave enough to hug him back until Charlie grabbed Tyson's arm himself and put it around his back. He smelled unpleasant. Stale. And the pillow squashed between them was verging on gross. But still, the hug was lovely.

"Don't go."

Aww, shit.

"I don't wanna go."

He wasn't sure why he was starting to weep again. Tyson had become a damned mess since he came into the AIU. Always with the tears. Never did he cry at home. Not even as he tried to kill himself. But here, they spilt from his dark eyes every other day, it seemed. Whether he was sad, angry or even happy, he was always a stone's throw away from crying. It was frustrating.

"Nooo don't be sad," Charlie whispered in his high-pitched, juvenile whine that decorated all of his simple words. "Wait here."

The boy shot off like a bullet from a rifle, running in the pyjama bottoms slightly too small for him, arms wrapped around his safety pillow. Tyson wiped his eyes and took some deep breaths to slow himself down. Charlie returned shortly, and he forced an unopened packet of those rationed cookies into Tyson's hand, and the boy started laughing this time around.

It was inspiring that Charlie could be so damaged by his awful experiences yet still be such a lovely person inside.