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Ken’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring at a white ceiling. The unpleasant smell of disinfectant mixed with the smell of piss and body odor assaulted his senses, immediately bringing him to the realization of where he was. He sighed in frustration and sat up on the cold, hard, metal bed. He looked around him and saw a few familiar faces and a couple of new ones, all trapped within the confines of their own broken psyches. Some stared blankly at the walls while others paced directionless, mumbling incoherently like casting spells or perhaps curses. Just outside was a stern-looking attendant in white shirt and black pants watching them closely through the gaps of the steel railings. Without a doubt, he was admitted to the facility again. At least, he thought, at that moment, his mind was quiet. He raised the sleeve of the blue uniform he was made to wear, pressing his fingers against his skin until he felt a slight tenderness on his deltoid. He couldn’t tell how many he was given, but the disappointment in himself set in once he confirmed he was once again given at least one shot of antipsychotic.
Several feet away from him, he heard profane screaming coming from an older, sickly-looking man with greasy long hair that fell over his face. The attendant quickly got to his feet and shouted through the rails, calling the attention of the distressed patient. Ken could hear other footsteps hurrying outside as the old man started jumping up and down the bed, still screaming and paying no attention to the verbal reprimands. He, too, was getting distressed by the all too familiar scenario unfolding before him, and as soon as he heard the keys clanging against the metal door frames, Ken got up to get himself out of other’s trouble. He covered his ears with his palms to drown out the commotion behind him and kept walking through the rows of beds until he reached the much emptier far end of the ward. He sat on the floor with his knees up and his back against the railings and kept his head pressed between his hands as he stared at the concrete floor.
When the noises had died down, he slowly lifted his head to confirm if the scene was truly over but his sight was caught on hold by the figure he saw across from him. It was another young man, slim and pale, balled up in the corner as though it had shut itself away from the world. Ken noticed a tattoo peeking out of the left sleeve that reached shortly above the man’s elbow, and he quickly glanced at his own tatted right arm. He couldn’t see the man’s face and yet he felt as though he knew exactly how the man was feeling for he used to be that guy during his first confinement. If he weren’t in fearful hysterics, he was completely still, away from the others, shielding the world from the chaos of his disquieted mind. Ken was just staring at him for hours like he was studying his own reflection while waiting for any sign of movement, any semblance of being actually alive other than the quiet, slow rising and falling of its body from breathing. He wondered what the guy’s life must have been to end up in the same place that he did and he started guessing diagnoses in his head. Despite the curiosity, he couldn’t bring himself to come closer. After multiple returns, Ken could already tell how tall the walls people had built around themselves and he always tried to stay out. The one before him had a fortress that he was scared to breach especially when he could hear whispers around him again.
Ken had not slept the entire night, though he had already learned to pretend that he had. He lay still in bed with his face down, and tried to read the secret messages formed by the molecules of the hospital floor. He could hear mocking laughter on one ear and ominous warnings on the other, and he had so many questions in his mind but he kept his mouth shut for fear that the invisible bugging devices planted in his bed, on the walls and on the ceiling would pick up his voice. He just wished that the hidden cameras installed around him did not have the technology to read his mind. He wanted to get out but he knew that the security personnel were watching and he was just certain that the night duty attendant was monitoring him closely. He could perhaps form an alliance and come up with a plan but the other patients could just have been actors hired by the evil masterminds that wanted to keep him away from the rest of society. Perhaps, they knew he was special, that he could sometimes hear the voices of the gods.
He got up only when they were asked to queue for their morning rations of food and he made sure to keep his eye on the attendant’s hands just in case they tried to sneak something in his breakfast. But he had to pretend he didn’t know they were conspiring against him, and he politely expressed his thanks as he took the meal that he was given. As he made his way back to his bed, he saw the tattooed young man from the corner at the end of the line walking sluggishly with eyes staring soullessly at the floor. He finally caught a glimpse of his face and he was momentarily struck by the softness of his features that it was almost like staring at an angel. “Hurry up,” he heard the attendant shout aggressively at the young man and Ken felt his blood boil, but he kept his balled-up fists to himself and made a mental note that the pretty young lad was not his enemy.
He saw him again, still at the end of the line as they queued for their morning dose of medicine. He wanted to tell him not to trust the nurses, to hide the tablet inside his mouth and spit it out in the restroom as he did, but the guy just swallowed it immediately as though he had already given up autonomy for his own life. As the day went on, the voices Ken was hearing had become more belligerent, calling him names and shaming him for god knows what, and incessantly reminding him of the hidden cameras zooming in on his every action. He looked around and he was convinced that the other patients were part of the plan with all their judging eyes taking glances at him. He wanted to hide but all he could do was try to get away for a while. He found himself marching to the other end of the ward again where it was only him and the figure who had once more curled up in the corner.
He hoped he’d meet his eyes but the young man had his face hidden behind the arms he hugged his knees with. But Ken could feel the heaviness in the man’s every deep inhale and prolonged exhale as though the act of living itself was a burden. And he knew that feeling all too well. Every breath felt heavier than the last and he was tired, too tired that he wondered why he still bothered to take a breath. He moved an inch closer, the only distance he allowed himself to cross, and he rested his chin on his arms. He ignored the whispers that have been casting doubts and distrust and let them turn into white noise, along with everything else that seemed to fade into view. All he could see was the man in the corner and Ken sighed as he hoped that he would see him too.
Everything turned into a blur. Ken could not recall what happened and sometimes, it’s just the way that it was for him. Perhaps it was just his brain or perhaps it was something in the food or the tablets that tried to erase parts of his memories. He heard himself screaming, cold sweat dripping out of his pores. He was very scared but he wanted to fight back. The next thing he knew, he was being held down the bed with bulky men in hospital uniform. He felt the sharpness of the needle pierce his flesh and then he lost consciousness. He slipped in and out of sleep and he could feel the exhaustion with his extremities all tied up the bed. His wrists and ankles hurt with even the slightest of resistance but he knew better than complain.
Ken didn’t know if it was just a dream or one of the rare moments of benevolence from his active psychosis. He felt a presence next to him, a warmth that he knew the facility could not afford to provide. The lights had been dimmed and it was quiet, as was his mind. Perhaps, it was just from another dose of haloperidol working its way through his bloodstream. But he could sense a glow, a life amongst the graveyard of dreams and opportunities. He slowly opened his eyes and silently gasped in awe of the pair of compassionate dark orbs staring back at him. Their heads were only about a foot apart that even in the dark, he could make out the fine details of the man’s face and it almost compelled him to pray as though he was staring at something divine. He did not need to see the inks on its arms to know that this was the same being who had kept to himself from the far end of the ward. He watched its beautifully-shaped lips part as if about to say something but no words came out and Ken was left to take the message expressed in the man’s soothing gaze, letting it lull him back to sleep. As he was about to completely lose to slumber, he heard a soft whisper. “Don’t listen to the voices,” it said, and it echoed in his head until he was roused to consciousness by the morning rounds.
There was still some redness and pain on his wrists but what struck Ken more was the shakiness of both of his hands that he found some slight difficulty eating his first meal of the day. He argued whether he should inform any personnel yet despite the protest from the whispers in his ear, he knocked on the wall, catching the attention of the nurses. Don’t listen to the voices, he repeated to himself. He reluctantly took the medicine he was given after a moment of convincing himself that it wasn’t poison as he was being told by disembodied yelling. He thanked the nurse and quickly turned around, massaging his growing headache from the confusion he was having from trying to discern his actual thoughts from the ones his own mind was conjuring against him. He let his feet take him wherever, mindlessly wandering the ward. He didn’t know what it was but from the many turns he did, he was always drawn to the very end, to the corner where the young man had kept himself in.
Ken sat on the floor across him just as before, watching him breathe like it was a reminder for him to continue with his own respiration. He did notice that the air around them did not feel as heavy and the dream-like memories still lingered in his head. “Why were you sitting on my bed?” Ken asked without expecting any answer. He did not even know if he could hear him with the distance between them. But to his surprise, the man slowly lifted his head and curled his lips into a small smile when their eyes met. Ken felt a tug at his chest and for a moment, he forgot to take a breath.
“You look like you were afraid,” the young man said, his voice as gentle as he looked which made Ken even more intrigued as to how he ended up in the facility.
“And how did you know about the voices?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders, and rested his head on his arms. “Don’t you all have one?” he said.
Ken cocked his head in confusion, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle and his mouth turned into a frown. “Are you saying that you don’t?” he asked, and the young man just shook his head. Ken had met some of those before, though they weren’t common. Many were just like him. His gaze instinctively shifted to the young man’s arms up to his wrist and found nothing. In fact, the young man’s skin had looked pristine, a beautiful canvass to its darkly-themed but intricately done tattoo. He thought of illicit substances but he did not look like the type, either. “I’m sorry, but why are you here?”
The young man sighed and unfolded his arms from his knees. He shifted his weight to lean against the wall and hesitantly lifted up his shirt revealing a vertical surgical scar that went extended below the waistband and stopped just a few inches below his chest. It appeared to still be in the process of healing. Closely adjacent were three other similar scars of about three inches in length. The young man quickly pulled down his shirt seeing the discomfort in Ken’s eyes.
Ken removed his hand from his mouth and wrapped his arms around himself instead for he couldn’t do so for the other. “You did that?” He had heard of some cases like that before but he just could not fathom for someone so delicate could do something so violent. However, Ken did learn the hard way that even a child could host monsters inside of them.
The young man chuckled, and hugged his knees. “Maybe,” he said.
“You don’t remember?”
“Let’s just say it’s complicated,” the young man said, and buried his face once again, depriving the world from witnessing its grace. But Ken understood what he meant, or at least he thought he did. For years he had been told of stories he had no recollection of and haunted by nightmares that he somehow suspected were actual fragments of his life.
“I’m Ken, by the way,” he said, though he did not really see any point of introduction. Yet, in the silence between them, his yearning to be seen and known by another soul who seemed to understand his internal battles had become loud enough to surface.
“Cullen,” was the man’s almost inaudible response. Cullen, Ken repeated in his head, finally hearing a name he wanted to keep.
Though no words were exchanged between them after, it had become a part of Ken’s routine to sit across the young man called Cullen. Sometimes, it was just to avoid the menacing and threatening glances that he was getting from everybody else. To him, Cullen was the only person who wasn’t a part of the elaborate conspiracy against him. Sometimes, it was because he was so afraid of the way the other patients had transformed into demons, mocking him and urging him to do the most despicable things and it was only Cullen who remained to be a reminder of an existing Divinity, of a higher being. And sometimes, when everything else had calmed down and he was filled with the shame of living in a deluded reality that his illness had created, it was in that opposite corner where he found himself to be more forgiving of his own brokenness. Ken would just sit motionless and soundless, finding comfort in seeing another human who’s also just barely there. He’d find a sliver of joy and respite in the rare moments that their eyes would meet even for just a split second. It was all that he had, and it was somehow enough to give him enough reason to live for one more day amidst the overwhelming reasons not to.
The voices had been screaming insults at him again, and his heartbeat hastened as he looked around him, seeing only glaring eyes and judging cameras. He had managed to keep his composure the last time the doctor spoke to him but he had been worried that his façade had been detected. He didn’t want to stay there any longer and he wanted no more of those medicines that had been making him dizzy. Maybe, it was those medicine that were making him crazy. He wanted to escape, and as usual, he found himself at the far end of the ward, but Cullen wasn’t there. It was the first time that the tattooed young man wasn’t there. Panic was setting in and he looked around the ward but there was still no sign of Cullen. He stared at the attendant watching over them from outside but he didn’t trust him enough to ask. Not knowing what else to do, he dropped on the floor, hugging himself and letting his tears spill while he prayed for him, for both of them to make it out okay. But the voices only laughed at him, feeding him images of Cullen being dragged out and tied up in isolation, and no matter how much he pressed his palms against his ears, the voices remained as loud as the torment he was feeling.
“Why are you crying?” he heard, and Ken glanced up at the familiar voice. He quickly wiped his face with his hands and his shirt and sighed in relief.
“The voices,” Ken said, half-lying. “Where did you go?”
“Just out there,” Cullen said. To Ken’s surprise, he sat just a foot away from him, and something about him seemed a bit different. He usually sat with his knees together, holding all of his bones close. But he had his legs spread out on the floor and he stared into the more occupied parts of the room.
“Did the doctor talk to you?”
“Nah,” Cullen said. “My, hmn, brother? Yeah, my brother.”
Ken was struck by the uncertainty and the disinterest in the young man’s tone, but he chose to ask something else. “Are you going home?”
Cullen snorted and turned to Ken. “I wish,” he said, and laughed a bitter laugh. He then sighed, clearly exasperated, and slung his head backwards. Several pairs of eyes turned to their direction after a loud thud echoed, but Cullen seemed unfazed by how hard his skull hit against the wall. “Said I should stay a bit more just to be sure because who knows what I’d be up to again.”
“Right,” Ken said under his breath. He felt guilty with the relief of knowing the young man did not seem to be leaving anytime soon but he also felt sad knowing all too well how it was like to be rejected by your own blood. “Sorry to hear that.” He turned to Cullen and the young man just shrugged his shoulders and didn’t say a word. His eyes seemed to have become heavier, his head slowly being drawn down to his chest as he lifted both of his knees. Ken truly felt sorry for the guy, and he felt an aching in his chest while he watched him turn into a helpless ball of flesh. He wanted to cheer him up but all he could gather from within was a dreadful amount of despair.
“I don’t know if any of my family would want to take me home, too,” Ken said. He wasn’t sure why he was talking to Cullen about his own predicament but he just hoped maybe they both wouldn’t feel so alone despite the loneliness that hovered around them. “Took so long for one of them to take me home last time, and even when I was home, I still didn’t feel welcomed. Never did.”
Cullen was silent but his breathing had become labored as though his mere existence felt heavy again.
“They said I got this from my mother- being crazy. I don’t really remember her, she already killed herself when I was two,” Ken continued. Aside from a doctor he felt comfortable with the first time he was admitted, he never really shared much of his life and yet he felt compelled to tell the young man. Cullen still didn’t say anything but Ken caught him taking a peek at him with a very slight nod that indicated he was listening, and perhaps, as Ken hoped, even understood what he went through. “Dunno what happened to Ma, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was my Father who drove her insane. I was just 17 when I was first brought here, had shadows following me all around, they still do sometimes. Beat my Father up after God told me he was the devil. Maybe he was after how he fucked me up. Would’ve killed him if our neighbors didn’t intervene. Either way, I’d still be locked up so who gives a fuck.” Ken pressed his fingers on his cheeks and realized he was crying despite the monotony in his voice.
Cullen quickly looked away when he caught Ken’s eyes at him. He slowly scooted away from him, inching closer to his own corner.
“I’m sorry, I don’t really want to hurt anyone,” Ken said, sensing that he had scared Cullen away. “Never really hurt anyone else, it’s just that my brain. I get orders I can’t refuse.”
Cullen raised his head and turned to look at him, and it was the same look he remembered from when he was tied up in bed. “Ken, don’t listen to the voices,” he said, and Ken was glad that the guy remembered his name.
Ken winced and tried to cover his ears. “But I can hear them now,” he said, speaking a bit louder to cut through the shouting around him, the fear apparent in his eyes. “What if they hurt me, Cullen?”
Cullen shook his head, and frowned. He glanced at Ken and sighed. “I’m not gonna let them,” he muttered before burying his face back in his arms.
A tall, overweight security personnel stood just outside the door. His bald head and intimidating demeanor were reminiscent of a villain from a popular comic book. Ken stared at him through the glass pane on the hardwood door of the sterile-looking all white room. He sat unmoving on the plastic chair and across from him was a lanky young doctor wearing a neatly ironed pale blue dress shirt and a pair of large, wire-rimmed glasses. Ken could see the doctor’s lips moving but the words were not getting into him as he was preoccupied with identifying how many cameras were secretly installed to survey him. Though he found it freeing to open up about himself to another, he had been incessantly pestered by thoughts that hidden microphones had picked up his story and the entire hospital were already planning on using the information he gave out against him.
“Ken.” The young doctor’s raspy voice finally reached him, bringing him back to their conversation.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” Ken asked.
The young doctor sighed and set aside the chart he was holding. He clasped his hands together over the table, a look of disappointment in his face. “What have you been staring at?”
“Nothing.”
“What are they telling you?”
Ken blinked at the doctor. “What?”
“You’re having hallucinations again,” the doctor said, sighing once more. “Maybe we need to up your meds. Have you been taking them?” The doctor looked even more disappointed when Ken did not answer and just stared at the tiled floor. “Don’t you want the voices gone, Ken?”
Ken turned to his side, the creases on his forehead deepening as his mouth turned into a frown. “They said I shouldn’t trust you.”
The doctor nodded and straightened his back. “Alright, let’s see. Do you know what you have?”
Ken nodded. “Schizophrenia.”
“And what does that mean?”
“That I hear voices, sometimes see things, that my perception of reality may not be what it really is,” Ken answered as he was told many years ago.
“Right,” the doctor said, picking up his pen and writing down something on the chart. “Can you see where the voices are coming from?”
Ken looked around him. “No.”
“Is it possible for a voice to come from nowhere at all?”
“I guess not?”
“Right,” the doctor said. He placed his pen back in his pocket and leaned closer towards Ken, looking at him like a parent to a child. “Then do you think it’s possible that these voices aren’t really there even if you hear them?”
Ken could hear jeering in his ears and felt a headache about to hit him. “Maybe,” he said, and though he wasn’t certain, he was getting tired and fed up with the noise.
“Well, then maybe if they aren’t real, you shouldn’t be listening to them, right?”
“That’s what Cullen said, too,” Ken said.
The young doctor had a confused look on his face. “Who?”
“Cullen,” Ken repeated, looking at the doctor directly. “You know, that other patient? The one with a large tattoo on his left arm,” he explained, demonstrating it with his hand.
The doctor was silent for a few seconds as he joggled his memories. “I see,” he said, almost mumbling to himself. “So his name is Cullen.”
“Don’t tell me he’s not real,” Ken said, panicked, scared with the thought that the only person he felt like he could trust was merely a figment of his mind. “Don’t you know him?”
“Ah, I do think I know him, it’s just that I’m not his attending physician,” the doctor said, his words quickly pacifying Ken’s anxiety. “He’s always by himself, right? Just sitting in the corner?”
Ken sighed in relief. “Thank god,” he muttered, clutching his chest. “Is he like me? But he said he doesn’t hear voices.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much. He doesn’t really talk.”
“Right,” the doctor said. “But since we both agree, give it a try. Take your meds and maybe I can get you discharged. How about that?”
Ken sighed and nodded. His headache was growing as he struggled through the internal battle between his own reasonable mind and his deluded perceptions. Even the mention of getting discharged put him in a predicament of wanting to escape such a bleak, colorless place and simultaneously worrying that the outside world wouldn’t be any different. Perhaps, it wasn’t truly the voices that was the problem. Perhaps, deep inside, he couldn’t find any more sense in getting better.
Once the assessment with the doctor was done, his feet felt as heavy as his head while he dragged himself back into the ward. But he had a jolt of energy, unexpectedly seeing Cullen sitting on his bed. The young man seemed different with brighter eyes and a lighter aura about him. Though he still didn’t interact with anyone, he looked to be enjoying watching the other patients who were huddled and exchanging stories in the middle of the room. “Hey,” Ken greeted, and sat next to the young man.
Cullen turned to him, studying his face. “Ah, hi,” he greeted Ken back shyly. He then had a panicked look on his face. “Is this your bed? I’m sorry, I didn’t ask permission.”
“It’s okay,” Ken said, catching Cullen’s wrist and stopping him from leaving. “You can sit here as long as you want.” Cullen smiled and it was brighter than all the bulbs combined. Even his eyes sparkled with what only Ken could describe as pure joy. It radiated into him that he smiled back when he doubted that he could.
“Thank you. You’re so nice,” Cullen said, and even his voice was sprightly with a child-like cadence.
“Anytime,” Ken said, and almost instantly, the heaviness he was feeling melted into a peace that he had not known existed. “The doctor said I should listen to you.”
“Hmn?” Cullen shot him a quizzical look.
“I told him that you said I shouldn’t listen to the voices,” Ken explained. “He said I should listen to you.”
“What voices?” Cullen asked. “You hear voices?”
Ken stared at him and grinned. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” he said, gently elbowing the young man. But Cullen just stared at him, looking more confused and a bit disturbed, nodded politely before getting up. “Strange,” Ken muttered to himself, equally confused as he watched the young man walk away.
Ken fought with sleepiness through the night, burdened by thoughts of his own sickness and worried of the bizarreness of his interaction with the patient called Cullen. Against the wishes of the whispers that had tried to take control of his mind, he swallowed his nightly medication while he prayed through the vertigo that it wasn’t poison that he had allowed inside of his deceitfully fit body. He was afraid, but he found comfort in the realization that dying scared him, that he still somehow wanted to keep going. He threw his gaze across the ward, passing through the lengthy row of beds until he caught sight of the petite figure on the far end, all curled up as though it were sleeping in a womb. Suddenly his fear shifted into something else, something different. Cullen seemed different, but he liked seeing the guy in a much cheerier mood. But he was worried with what he saw in those eyes, worried that he had scared him away when what he truly yearned for was to get just a bit closer.
As soon as the commotion had died down after the morning rounds of medications, He made his way to where Cullen was. He was in that corner again, sitting alone by himself with no interest in everything else and the sight made Ken feel relieved that things seemed back to normal but also sad that the isolation was the norm that the guy had reverted to. As usual, he kept his distance, sitting by the opposite corner, and as usual, Cullen was as still as he could, seemingly unaware of Ken’s presence.
Ken let the minutes pass by until the silence had become more comfortable. “Cullen,” he hesitantly called out. It took several seconds before he detected some movement from the young man, and it felt like an eternity for Ken to sit through the pounding of his heart as he waited for Cullen to raise his head and meet his eyes.
“Oh hi Ken,” the young man greeted, his face expressionless and yet interestingly captivating.
“Uhmm, about yesterday” Ken started, waiting for a response before he continued.
“Yesterday?” Cullen asked, his strong brows slightly furrowed.
“Yeah, I may have made you uncomfortable? I’m not sure but if I did, I’m sorry.”
Cullen stared at him, seemingly recalling what had transpired in silence. “Nah, we’re good,” he said, giving Ken a small smile even when there was still a trace of confusion in his eyes.
“Thank god,” Ken said, letting out the breath he had been holding. “Sure?”
“Yeah,” Cullen said, and nodded at the young man across from him. “Oh, by the way, glad you didn’t spit out your meds today.”
“How did you know that?” Ken asked, shocked by what he had heard that was suddenly triggering his paranoia.
“Relax,” Cullen said, sensing the anxiety from Ken. “I just happen to catch you go to the bathroom after every medicine round and I did see you spit it out once.”
“Ah,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth, as he partially covered his face with his fingers in embarrassment. There was silence again, but it was loud inside Ken’s chest, suddenly conscious of how much Cullen was staring at him but he couldn’t seem to look away. Ken felt like the guy was reading through his soul, and if it were anyone else, he would’ve hated it, but in that moment, he wanted to be seen.
“I hope you’ll be discharged soon,” Cullen suddenly said, cutting through the stillness. “I’m sure there’s still so much life out there waiting for you.”
Ken didn’t know what to say for a couple of moments, taken aback by how much care and sincerity he felt from just two sentences. “You think so?”
“Of course,” Cullen said. “You’re still young and fighting.”
“You’re saying that like you’re older than me,” Ken said, unable to stop himself from grinning.
“That’s because I probably am.”
“No way.”
Cullen laughed, and it melted whatever was still left frozen in Ken’s soul. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said in a hushed tone. “I’m actually a hundred years old.”
“Right,” Ken said, laughing along, and it made him feel good. For a while, he was distracted from the whispers he was hearing and the deluded thoughts that crossed his mind every now and then. “Uhm, why do you always stay here by yourself? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Cullen sighed, and looked away. He slowly rested his head on his knee and stared at the blank wall beside him. “Too many people.”
“Am I interrupting you, then?”
Cullen shook his head. “It’s okay, Ken,” he said. “You can always stay.”
The ward did not feel as cold and it might have just been because the floors had just been cleaned or perhaps, he had gotten accustomed to the odor, but Ken thought the place wasn’t so bad. Even with a newly-admitted patient screaming his lungs out as he thrashed about in protest with the cloth restraints that tied him down in bed, Ken thought it was quiet. Or, at least, his mind was. The voices rarely showed up to disturb him and he could already laugh through the shame and absurdity of believing that he could see hidden messages on surfaces. Though he was still certain that the attendant on duty was still watching over him, he no longer cared whether there were cameras installed or not. And, for the first time since his confinement, he started to wholeheartedly look forward to stepping out into the world.
He was even smiling when he got out of the doctor’s office. For the many times that he had been there, he knew it was a good thing when he could also see the doctor’s eyes light up as they talked and they started having conversations that weren’t about his symptoms, his medications, or his disease. And if nobody would pick him, the doctor said maybe they could bring him home instead. Though home wasn’t exactly a thrilling idea, he started thinking of the jobs he could take and maybe he could have a life of independence that he had always dreamed of. And he held onto Cullen’s words that maybe there really was so much more waiting for him outside. But once he stepped into the ward, a commotion was already brewing. His ears perked up hearing what sounded like a child crying and pleading, and he doubted himself for a moment, thinking it could have been another hallucination knowing they were all adults in the ward. His smile faded completely when he realized it was coming from Cullen.
Ken shouted, calling the attention of the hospital staff and hurried towards a group of patients who were all circling around the young man. A bulkier and much older man held Cullen by the shirt and Ken caught its already balled up fist already about to charge. “No,” Ken yelled, trying his best to interrupt, but for some reason, he froze seeing how Cullen who was just crying like a child suddenly stopped, and the look on his eyes changed from fear to acceptance. He turned towards Ken, and shook his head, his eyes begging for him not to interfere. Ken heard the door swing open followed by the panicked footsteps of the staff but it was too late. Ken looked away wincing at the sound of two strong punches landing on Cullen’s body. “Are you okay?” Ken asked, his tears flowing as he rushed to Cullen’s side, helping him get up. He could see some blood coming out of the corner of Cullen’s lower lip and a bruising right below his neck. “What happened?” He asked again, but Cullen didn’t say anything. He looked utterly confused and he didn’t even glance up at Ken before he just shrugged him off and walked back into his little corner.
The guilt and questions Ken had kept him up. He didn’t even know what Cullen was doing in the middle of the ward surrounded by patients he was never seen interacting with before. He had also never seen him look and sound as helpless as a child. He thought that though the guy was often solitary, keeping to himself, he never struck Ken as someone who was weak and meek. More than that, Ken just couldn’t bring himself to believe the others’ accounts that it was Cullen who provoked the fight. And Ken kept getting flashbacks on the way that Cullen’s eyes looked, and he wondered whether he had misread him, that perhaps it wasn’t telling him to retreat. And he wondered if the guy was mad at him for letting the others hurt him when Cullen had previously declared he wouldn’t let anyone hurt Ken. There was some relief when a nice nurse told him that Cullen didn’t get serious injuries, that he would be fine, but Ken always thought it wasn’t the physical wounds that truly hurt.
He prayed for him, for the both of them, and he prayed for answers. Unfortunately, by morning, Cullen was already discharged to his brother, and when Ken tried to say goodbye, Cullen did not even spare him a look.
He was alone. Despite the number of people all around him, sharing the same room, the same predicament, Ken had never felt more alone. Though the voices seemed to have gone, he found the slightest sound to be too loud. The days felt much longer than they should and he started to feel the bleakness of the reality that there may not be one person willing to take him home. It never really bothered him before, but when there was nothing else to look forward to, the fact was screaming at him that not once did he get any visitors since his admission. When he tried to escape the heaviness of his chest and the darkness in his head, he was only met with disappointment upon the realization that the corner he sat himself in provided no comfort when the only thing he was staring at was empty floors and blank walls.
At times, Ken was tempted to spit out his tablets again and hoped for the voices to return. At least, the distorted reality kept him preoccupied instead of having to live through the quiet torment of his sane cognition. But he reminded himself of the hope that he had felt. He waited for the hours to pass by all alone in the corner, fighting the urge to just give up because someone out there once believed of a better world for him when he couldn’t do that for himself.
When he was starting to accept that maybe he wouldn’t be able to get discharged, he was put on a list to be brought home. And when he was finally out, the first thing he wanted to do was to find the young man who used to sit by the corner. Unfortunately, he learned too late that he knew nothing about him. He didn’t know where he was from, his full name, or how he happened to end up in that place. The only thing he had was a name, a face, and memories that were mostly of the silence they had shared. But, fortunately, sometimes life likes to play a game of fate.
With tired eyes and tired legs, Ken caught his breath as he stood still waiting for the traffic lights to change. The setting sun casted a golden glow upon them, but the smog of the congested city had dimmed it into a sickly shade reminiscent of a jaundiced skin. In a way, the busy streets reminded Ken of the psychiatric ward he was in, seeing troubled people talking to themselves around him all the time. Though the memories of his confinement were no longer making him anxious, and to an extent, he even looked back on them fondly, everyday he had to remind himself that the last admission would be his very last one. As the timer for the streetlights were nearing its end, Ken shifted his focus on the road he was about to cross but his heart stopped when his eyes landed on the petite young man with a tattooed arm across from him.
He wanted to scream his name, but he stood unmoving, in disbelief that the person he had wanted to see the most was just standing on the other side of the road. He could feel his gut tighten and his heartbeat hastening as the world felt like it was turning on standstill. Just like how it was, Ken stared at him wishing that he would see him, too.
Josh tapped his feet impatiently against the dusty concrete ground, staring back and forth between his wristwatch and the countdown timer on the traffic light. He hated how everything seemed to go wrong and slow whenever he was in a hurry. He felt his stomach grumble and he found himself checking the restaurants from across. But his eyes landed on a handsome young man with a beautiful tan skin across from him. He was staring at him, too, and though he did feel his heart skip a beat, he started to get overwhelmed with the chaos in his head the more that he tried to figure out the intensity of the gaze thrown at him. An inexplicable rush of yearning drowned in a sea of heaviness and loneliness flowed through him, and his breathing started to become uneven. He took a deep breath to calm himself and decided to just turn away even when he was left wondering if he had ever met him before.