Heart - 18. Take Control

Tyson woke up on his bed to notice that Masha had gone. He'd fallen asleep in her arms thanks to the sedatives he'd taken after he lost control of his emotions. That was a lovely surprise for him. He'd been scared the middle-aged woman would have torn him to shreds for... oh, yeah. His heart sank when he remembered the horrible things he said to Vladimir. Oh no. That wasn't a bad dream, was it? Oh no. Oh no. He looked to his hands and grimaced. They were bruised and battered and ugly. At least the painted wooden door no longer had any blood smears on it. Evan wasn't here either - having someone with the boy one on one while he slept his sedatives off was probably a stretch on the already understaffed ward.

You're a tool. An angry useless tool who always pushes away the people who want to help you. The people who care about you. Get a fucking grip. You need to take control of the situation.

Tyson was now taking medication four times a day. After breakfast, he would take fluoxetine - an antidepressant. At nine o'clock in the evening, he would take quetiapine - an antipsychotic for most, but for Tyson, it was to lessen anxiety and help him sleep through the night. He would also take small doses of diazepam three times a day - breakfast, lunch and dinner - these were to help him remain calm, but Tyson could request up to three larger doses of diazepam throughout the day if he was struggling with an urge to self-harm or was otherwise not doing well. If he was not asleep by midnight, he could also have a further dose of quetiapine. That was a lot of drugs, enough to concern him, but Cynthia reasserted that the harsh regime of medication was only temporary. She wanted to relieve symptoms and create stability while they worked on issues together.

In the afternoon, Tyson begged for some more diazepam, and Alice was happy to oblige. She often encouraged him to talk to her the moment he wasn't comfortable about something. She watched him take the pill and swallow, but she didn't notice that he stored it behind his back teeth. When she was gone, Tyson stored it safely away in his hideyhole inside the hem of the shower curtain. When dinner came and went and Neil brought him his diazepam, Tyson swallowed that one rather than hoard it.

Although the incident that day was recorded and kept on his files for Cynthia and Brianna to go over on their next visits, Tyson was relatively free of consequences after taking a hefty dose of... he wasn't quite sure. In his haste to avoid being locked in seclusion, he agreed to take whatever they gave him - something that didn't sit well with him in hindsight. Unfortunately, Vladimir was incredibly upset by their exchange earlier. He was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the afternoon, and he didn't join the rest of the unit for dinner or dessert. Neil took the meal to Vladimir's room, across the hall from Tyson's, on paper plates instead and checked on him every half an hour or so. The younger lad felt terrible guilt about the things he'd said and the way he'd pushed him over. Masha forgave him on the proviso that he make amends for his actions, but how could he do that if Vladimir wouldn't see him?

"Vlady?"

Tyson knocked on his door a little past seven o'clock. There was no answer, nor could he hear anything behind the door. For all he knew, Vladimir had gone home that day and Neil was keeping a pet dog in there.

"Vlady, please talk to me."

Nothing. Nothing at all. Tyson wanted to punch the door, to find a physical outlet for the overwhelming shame in his heart, to make it all go away, to punish himself for being so stupid. But he didn't.

"I'm really, really sorry. Can you please talk to me?"

Silence. Awful, horrible silence that made Tyson panic. What if Vladimir decided he hated him? What if he decided he never wanted to see him again, and then the whole Tchaikovsky family might reject him. What would he do then? He wouldn't have anyone. No. No, no, no. He would prove that he wasn't a lost cause. To himself and to his friends.

But how do I do that if he won't talk to me? Fuck.

Sleep didn't come easily for Tyson that night. Partially because of his long, long nap during the day, but mostly because he couldn't stop replaying the past six weeks over in his head. The horrible fall down the embankment towards the river that injured his ankle, the world spinning left and right and up and down as he tumbled and tasted mud and grit. Feebly trying to crawl to the water in a last-ditch effort to drown himself when the crisis dispatch team discovered him following a tip from a concerned stranger, only to have two grown men hold him down in the mud as he screamed and struggled and made threats. Spitting in the face of the kindly paramedic that did her best to soothe him when they got him back up to the road and forced him into the ambulance while his mother looked on with that familiar look of out outrage.

Breaking down over and over when Cynthia told him that there was no getting out of the pediatric ward without a stay in the psychiatric unit this time. Fighting and screaming with hospital staff, especially Neil, when he didn't want to accept his treatment. Spending time locked in that horrible seclusion room, though he admitted in hindsight that he calmed down quickly in there and never stayed long. He hated the psychiatric unit and spitefully made it his mission to make everything as difficult as he could for everyone forcing help on him that he didn't want. Arguing with his mother, who believed he was wasting her time and damaging her reputation.

Meeting Vladimir for the first time - those tired blue eyes deep enough to swim in. That smile. The thick black hair, long enough that he would sometimes gnaw on the ends when he was concentrating or spaced out. Seeing Vladimir suffer from intense hallucinations for the first time during the night, and realising that Vladimir liked him back. Being accepted by Vladimir's family, especially his mother. Seeing how poorly Vladimir's doctor treated him. Making a deal with Cynthia, one that he frequently reneged on, to comply with his recovery team if she would take over as Vladimir's psychiatrist free of charge. Letting Neil talk him out of killing himself with the blade he stole from the crafts room and accepting his treatment.

After all the things he'd said and done to feel smart, superior and important, Tyson was beginning to realise none of that mattered.

The next day, Tyson was ever so pleased to see his favourite buddy out and about before breakfast. Vladimir's eyes met his as he sat down and waited for his breakfast, but they immediately left and he looked down at the table.

"Hi," Tyson awkwardly sat opposite him.

Vladimir didn't reply. He ran his fingers through his hair, something Tyson had noticed he often did when he was upset.

"Can we talk? Please?" Tyson whispered, wary that people around might have been eavesdropping.

"No," Vladimir replied coldly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your day out," Tyson ignored his refusal, unable to keep his guilt under wraps. "And what I said was the worst shit in the world. I'm so sorry."

That was enough for the Russian-Australian boy to hop angrily up from his seat and storm off back to his room. Tyson's lip quivered, and he could not bear to have everyone looking at him. He left to go to his room too, and he stayed there for quite a while, hating himself. Sue came around and gave him his morning pills - he swallowed them - as well as the breakfast he'd forgotten about. Masha's words continued to play in his head. Take control of the situation.

I intend to.

"What do you think is the main reason you reacted with hostility?" Cynthia asked him, looking radiant in a tight-waisted summer dress as she came in for her daily checkup.

"I'm an arsehole," Tyson shrugged, miserable with the situation.

"You're an intelligent boy. I know you have a better insight than that," she challenged him, scribbling on her notebook while she made the stupid chair squeak. "Vladimir told you he loved you for the first time. That's a big step, isn't it? Did it scare you?"

Tyson nodded, poking the tender parts of his ankle.

"Stop that," she tapped her pen on the armrest, shooting him an understanding glint with her eye.

"But it feels good," he moaned, obediently crossing his legs and folding his arms.

"Physical pain is much easier to deal with than emotional pain, isn't it?" Cynthia had a way of rephrasing the things he said. He noticed what she was doing. He was every bit as smart as her. "That's why many of the people with self-harming habits go down that path. But you're trying to change the subject again, aren't you?"

The shame of being called out was written all over Tyson's face, and she laughed.

"I don't believe someone can be 'too smart for their own good,' but it seems like your fierce intellect is a double-edged sword in some ways. You pick up cues, learn psychiatric patterns and strategies and then you try and control the conversation. For a lawyer, this would be a prized asset indeed! But as a patient, it gets in our way. Brianna has noticed this too - when we try to discuss something uncomfortable, you redirect the conversation to something more comfortable to talk about. Self-harm, for example. You knew I would pull you up on it, didn't you? Do you notice that you're doing this? Or is it more... reflexive?"

"I do... and I don't. I dunno. I guess part of me still doesn't want to get fixed," Tyson mumbled, taking care not to let more tears escape. "That's bad, right?"

"Well, it's not the ideal situation, but I'm impressed that you're quick to identify it as something we need to work on," she scribbled down more notes. Tyson had peeked at them a few times, but he couldn't read a word of her handwriting. They looked like a heart rate monitor on one of those machines - zigzags and loops all drawn by a single line. "But I haven't forgotten my question to you, Tyson. We've established that you tend to be aggressive when you're scared, but why did Vladimir's confession of love scare you?"

"How the fuck should I know? I don't know any of this stuff!" Tyson lashed out at her. "Nobody's ever loved me before!"

Cynthia very rarely reacted when Tyson grew impatient, upset or frustrated. She always gave him time to feel his feelings, and he appreciated it.

"I'm going to put a conclusion to you, and you can tell me whether or not it's accurate. Okay?" The psychiatrist smiled at him. He nodded. She did this sometimes when he struggled. "You pride yourself on your genius. It was one of the first things I noticed about you when I met you. I also noticed that there was no love shared between you and Mum. You've always known intelligence to be the most important priority - that's how you were brought up. But love is discouraged. It's not something you're familiar with, and it's not something you can navigate with your intellect. It doesn't surprise me at all that it frightens you. And, as we've established many times in the past, your go-to reaction to fear is to regurgitate it into anger, because that's what you learned directly from your parents. Does that sound okay? Or am I off the mark?"

Tyson didn't reply for a long time. Cynthia didn't ask him any questions, though, or remind him that they were on the clock. That's what he liked most about her, he thought. She believed in quality over quantity when it came to words spoken. He thought about his family. Edith.

"I always thought that Mum loved me. In her own fucked up way. She's an insufferable bitch. But I don't know. Maybe I'm naive. I love her, even in spite of everything. I just thought she loved me. I thought she was trying to do what she thought was best for me. Now I know I'm just an idiot. She's just like me, you know? Or, more accurately, I'm just like her. She bottles everything up and lashes out. All the time. I try to hate her because it's so easy to do that, but... I think I feel sorry for her. Her life is so empty, you know? She's just as much a victim of my dad as anyone, but in saying that, she's always taking it out on me. What gives her the right to do that? Like, to make me feel like shit because she does? And... what gives me the right to do the exact same thing to Vladimir?"

"I really love these sessions with you, Tyson," Cynthia remarked when she realised he'd finished, and he felt himself swell with pride. "I do! It's just amazing to watch you draw your own conclusions. You're a clever young man and you like to think for yourself. I'd say it's a big part of why you struggled so much with your upbringing whereas Kelly sailed her way through. You have your own thoughts and beliefs battling it out in here with the toxic indoctrination you went through," she tapped on the side of her own head. "We call that--"

"Cognitive dissonance. Yeah. You and Brianna have mentioned it."

"Smartarse," she winked and drew some chuckles out of him. "Seeing you able to think mindfully about your mother's circumstance even after your experiences with her - it's impressive. I have no doubt you'll be able to make things better with Vladimir."

She began to pack up, but he wasn't ready for that!

"How do I fix it, though?" Tyson scooted across on his bed until his feet touched the carpet. "What do I say when he won't even talk to me?"

"Vladimir's a sensitive boy, and you hurt his feelings. I'm sorry, Tyson, but there's no automatic fix for that," she let him down gently and held out a frog, one he took with gratitude in spite of his disappointment. "Unfortunately, some things only get better with time. It'll suck, but I recommend giving him some space, and when he's ready, I think sharing a chocolate frog with him might be a terrific way to break the ice."

Tyson looked at the plastic-wrapped gift in his hand, and he immediately flushed at the thought of giving it to Vladimir. Giving him space? But what if he gave Vladimir too much space and he decided he hated Tyson for good? Or forgot about him?

"I'm shit at this," he sulked.

"In what way?"

She put her pen in her mouth as she straightened her clothes, something that always made him smirk. He thought psychiatrists were all old white men in white coats who never smiled or did anything out of the ordinary in their lives. Indeed, all the public psychiatrists he'd met after his suicide attempts were that way. He hated them on sight and told them what they wanted to hear. Cynthia wasn't like that, though. He didn't like her for detaining him in the hospital, but now he was so grateful that she did. It showed that she cared. When she went cross-eyed when she sneezed, when she couldn't help but crack her knuckles if Tyson did it first and the six or seven ways she wore her hair - it all made her seem so human. So much like him. The same thing happened when Neil opened up about his obsessive-compulsive disorder and his past experiences in locked wards. They weren't just a white coat or a nurse's uniform. It was easier to trust them.

"I never know what to say. How do I tell him I'm sorry? What's the best way to do it?"

"Well, if you work out a magic formula that always works, then make sure you let me know. I'm always upsetting my brother-in-law, and my apologies never seem to work," she grinned at him. "I suppose some things aren't supposed to be easy. Maybe that's why it feels so rewarding when you do it. I do have to go, Tyson. You're a delight, but I do have other patients. Try to have a good day, okay?"

"Are you going to see Vlady?" Tyson almost chased her to the door.

"Goodbye," she told him firmly, and she departed.

Giving Vladimir space - what was that? Should he stay alone in his room so that the other boy could go out and talk to people? It wasn't fair on him to have to be shut up all the time because Tyson had upset him. He sighed, the ugly feelings whirling around in him. Everyone else was confident that Vladimir would forgive him. He wished he could believe it too, but everyone else had friends and family and loved ones. Vladimir Tchaikovsky was nearly all that Tyson had. There was Charlie, sure, but he was broken and, though it sucked to admit it, doomed unless he were blessed by a miracle. Cynthia was his doctor, not his friend. Neil was a nurse and Brianna was a therapist. He had no friends and none of his family had spoken to him in a very long time. Without Vladimir, he felt alone and miserable. He couldn't do that. He needed his friend back, even if it wasn't what Vladimir wanted right now.

Tyson realised what he was thinking and hugged himself with his arms. No. It would suck, but he would survive.

Shortly afterwards, Alice came around to check on him, and he asked her for an extra valium. She gave it to him and watched him put it into his mouth and swallow, but when she left, he took it out from behind his teeth and stashed it with the others. Tyson noticed, as he left his door open, that Vladimir came and went from his room several times throughout the day, and against every instinct, chose to leave him alone. Taking control of the situation meant a lot of things, and one of them was to train his impulses. Every time someone came to give him his medication, he complied and took it without fuss. When he was allowed, he asked for his extra meds, which he stashed. It went backwards for the bedtime quetiapine dose. He stashed that one so he could stay awake until midnight - that one he swallowed and slept soundly until the morning nurse, Sue at the moment, woke him up.

The following day, Tyson did not sit with Vladimir, Charlie and whats-her-face with the birthmark on her neck at breakfast. Charlie unknowingly made that sacrifice easier for him by trying to eat his cereal with his hands and getting his honey toast in his hair. Tyson sat with Dalton, who spoke with a terrible stutter, and Bella, someone with incredibly powerful manic and depressive phases. Their chatter was inane and frustrating, but Tyson managed to make it through three glasses of orange juice and some cereal of his own. It wasn't as good as Jae's french toast, but Tyson had been a little alarmed when he weighed himself on the scales during a physical and seen that he'd put on three and a half kilograms since he'd come in! He wasn't impressed with that. He still looked much the same when he looked at himself in the mirror before he showered, slim and lean. Perhaps he was growing? He wasn't sure, but he did know that either way, he was taking too much sugar and fat without burning it off. He better be sensible at least until he was active again, he decided.

The next day, Tyson heard someone knocking at the door - presumably the nurse doing the checks.

"Yep," Tyson called out.

"Tyson," Vladimir was there, looking so, so beautiful. Tyson quickly hid the cover of his book from his friend. "Mum and Dad are here."

"Hmm?" Tyson quickly tucked his book away to hide it from his friend. For a moment, he was both excited and horrified. "Mine?"

"No. Mine," he replied softly, unable to look Tyson in the eye just yet. "Do you want to say hello?"

Tyson did. He really did - he wanted to apologise to Vasily in person for acting like such a brat and to listen to Masha's stories about the places she visited when she worked as a flight attendant. But fuck, that would be awkward to intrude on Vladimir's visit when they weren't even on speaking terms. Again, he decided to put what he wanted aside for his friend's benefit. Still, he was gladdened that Vladimir would make such an offer. It reassured him that all was not lost with him.

"I'll give it a miss. Thanks," Tyson said, resting his head on his pillow. Vladimir turned to leave, and the words just exploded from him. "I really miss you." Vladimir flinched and lowered his head, leaving even more quickly.

Damn it.

One night later, Tyson was fighting sleep and studying from his book - he liked to keep his mind busy, and he needed to reach midnight before he could ask for more medication.

My name is Tyson. Pleased to meet you.

"Меня зовут Tyson. Рад тебя видеть," he muttered under his breath. It wasn't bad, but he was sure he could do better. "Меня зовут Tyson. Рад тебя видеть." It still sounded horribly Australian, he thought with a smirk. He was sure that the Tchaikovskys would understand him, but it wouldn't sound terrific. He could work on it.

Vladimir's voice distracted him. Right outside in the hallway, he heard the other boy speaking in his family language. That got Tyson's attention. He'd identified it as a red flag. Vladimir did speak Russian fluently, but only to his family. It was a little before eleven o'clock at night, so they couldn't have been with him. As Tyson listened, understanding a few choice words - stop, please, come back - he realised nobody was replying. The hallway was empty out there.

Uh oh.

Tyson gingerly dragged off his covers and haphazardly threw on a shirt over his chest, then he opened up his door to investigate. He recoiled in confusion, seeing Vladimir looking as though he was talking to a specific panel on the ceiling, reaching up and trying to touch it.

"Vlady, what's going on?"

"Alexey," he said under his breath. His head snapped around to look at Tyson, and he smiled so warmly. "Alexey!" He sounded overjoyed, and he threw his arms over Tyson's shoulders. "Не убегай от меня так!" (Don't run away from me like that!)

Tyson had been attempting to teach himself Russian as of late, but he wasn't able to piece together what Vladimir said. In a delusional state, it could have been anything. He'd heard the boy in his episodes before, spouting nonsense in both languages. The nurses and Cynthia called it word salad. Vladimir's hug was desperate and needy, and as much as Tyson wanted to squeeze him back, he was too concerned.

"I'm not Alexey. I'm Tyson."

Vladimir's reply was again in Russian, and Tyson realised that his friend really did think he was his ex. The one who died. A horrible thought crept into his mind and festered there. Vladimir was conflating the two boys he'd grown close to. Had it always been that way? Did Vladimir only like him because he was unwell and got confused?

"Меня зовут Tyson," he repeated the line he'd been studying only moments ago, hoping that if he spoke in Russian, it might get through the other teenager's head.

Vladimir pulled away, his beautiful blue eyes wide and disoriented. He understood this time. For a while, neither boy said anything. Only the gentle snoring of someone in a nearby room and distant doors closing interrupted the silence.

"But... where did Alex go?" The boy asked him, sniffing and wiping his ears. He was starting to get agitated.

"Why don't we come and see Neil?" Tyson asked him, gingerly taking him by the hand. "He might know where Alexey went. Let's go and ask him."

Vladimir wrenched away and cursed in Russian, then he advanced down the corridor. Tyson wanted to stop him, but with circumstances how they were, he didn't know if that was the best idea. He went the other way, directly to the nurse's station. Neil, vigilant as ever, saw him coming a mile away and already opened the door from the nurse's station. Even at this time of night, he still looked exactly the same as he always did. Hair in a tight bun, clean-shaven and his hands in latex gloves. Tyson wondered what he looked like at home. Or when he slept or showered. A slight blush coloured his dark brown cheeks as he tried to bury those thoughts.

"Trouble sleeping again, Tyson?"

"No. Well, yes, but umm... Vlady's having a bad night and he's looking for Alexey," Tyson cut right to the point.

Neil's face softened in concern. "Thanks for telling me. Do you know where he went?"

"Down the other way towards the laundry. I tried to get him to come with me, but he thought I was Alexey, and then he went looking for him."

The nurse closed the door behind him with a click, and a small beep indicated it had successfully locked. "It's probably best if you go back to bed now. I'll be around to check up on you soon, okay?"

It killed him to do what Neil said, but Tyson trudged his way back and shut his door. He tried to go back to his study book, but he was too upset to focus. When midnight loomed, he got right back out of bed and returned to the nurse's station so he could ask for his extra pill. Again, Neil was out of there before he'd had a chance to knock on the door.

"You used to be a good little sleeper, Tyson. One quetiapine would knock you out for the count a week ago," he frowned slightly, and Tyson fought not to give a reproachful look. "Maybe you're getting tolerant and need a higher dose. I'll put a note in for Dr Ellicott."

"Thanks. Is Vlady okay?"

"He'll be just fine, Tyson. I'm keeping an eye on him until he decides he's ready to go back to bed," Neil gestured to the couch most visible from the windows of the nurse's station before ducking back inside.

Tyson saw him there. He looked downright miserable, curled up around a cushion, his eyes open and half-lidded. The stuff they gave Vladimir during an episode was especially potent, and it knocked him right out. He wanted to go over there and cuddle him better, but he didn't know if it was appropriate.

"Tyson," Vladimir called over to him. "Tyson."

Tyson awkwardly ambled over to his friend with his faint limp. "What's up, Vlad?"

"Can you sit... with me?" He pleaded, not having an easy time with his words. "I don't... want to... b-be alone."

In spite of all the awkwardness between them, Tyson couldn't help but feel both relieved and happy by the offer. He kept a small distance, but when Vladimir's hand clumsily felt around and latched on to his, he gave up on giving his friend space and shuffled close, feeling the warmth of the other boy's body. He'd missed it so much. Usually when they cuddled on the couch together, Vladimir was the one with his arm around Tyson. Today, Vladimir was the one who - though in an utterly graceless way thanks to the aggressive medications - repositioned to lie down on Tyson's chest and let the younger boy hold him. Neil returned with the pill, but Tyson was not ready for it anymore. He had something more meaningful in mind, and that was making sure Vladimir never had to feel alone or scared. Even if he decided again in the morning that he hated Tyson, then that was okay. As long as he was feeling better.

I will take control. I promise

Hello! Thanks very much for reading my new chapter! I'd like to apologise for the delay. Between the chaos of life and general burnout, I needed to take a break. The next chapter shouldn't be long, but I'm not going to make any promises. Have a terrific day!