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Casey's sneakers crunched in the snow, but he couldn't hear it. Not through the ringing. He couldn't hear the cars passing him on the dim road, or the streetlights flicker on as he walked under them.
Casey didn't know where he was going. He couldn't feel the cold bite into his skin. He could only feel a dull ache in the back of his head. His feet, a separate force, taking decided steps for him, walked on. Something waited for him at the end of their path.
After a time, Casey was at a front door. Not his own; the porch light was working. He looked through the frosted glass panes surrounding the door. They hummed with warmth. This is Will's door, he thought. His fingers, maroon and sticky, grazed the windows. Then his hand reached up and pressed the doorbell, neat and clean. He didn't hear it ring.
The front door opened and his senses were bombarded with stimulation. Music filled his ears, the creak of the door, voices. So loud, he winced. He could hear his own breath, gasping, and his lungs burned. The light that poured out onto the concrete was much brighter than what he'd been in before, burning his eyes, and a sickly, sweet smell wafted into his face along with a warmth he hadn't anticipated.
The face that stared back at him was indeed Will's. First blank, then smiling, then concerned. When everything else quieted down, Casey heard him say, "Jesus, Casey, you're- Are you okay?!" An arm quickly pulled him inside. Still processing, Casey's arms hung limp at his sides as his friend pulled him into a hug, cradling his head. His eyes stung. Pulling back, Will held his friend by the arms, looking him up and down. His fingers were freshly coated with dark, sticky blood. Someone came up behind him, an older girl, and she looked equally nervous about the sight. Will said something softly to her and turned back to Casey, now grabbing his face gently with both hands.
"Casey, can you hear me? We're getting help. What happened?"
Casey stared back at the boy, bewildered. His head was throbbing now. Was he bleeding? What time was it? How did he get here?
"Hey Will," he said, feeling his consciousness crash over him. He'd be going soon now.
-
He'd been in an ambulance when he spit up blood. He could only think about how gross it was at the time. Thick, metallic, and it burned his throat. Everybody, strangers, was concerned with other things, but he just wanted a glass of water. He was gone again soon enough.
Coming back, the first thing he felt was a sweaty palm clamped around his own. Casey realized he was lying down and opened his eyes. That turned out to be a bad idea, since, before he could even make out a ceiling tile, the light set fire to his synapses. His reaction, a squint and a groan, made the hand squeeze, then let go. Looking down, he saw Will standing from a chair at the bedside.
"Casey, Casey, you're awake. Oh, thank god." He bent down and buried his head in Casey's shoulder. He didn't know how to react.
His voice was merely a croak, but words did come out. "Will? Are you okay? What's up?" Speaking made his head hurt more. "God, please, turn off the lights..."
The light was immediately switched off, but Will never left his side. At the door was Mary-Anne and Serena, Will's mom and sister. His mom hurried over, standing at the foot of the bed. Serena leaned against the doorframe, lowering her hand from the light switch.
Looking around the room, Casey realized he was in the hospital. Shit. He immediately wanted to sit up and run out of here. But his body ached so badly, like it was an echo chamber of pain. He could hardly turn his head. It was weird having Will's family here. He didn't know them. They didn't know him. Sure, he liked them. But none of these people were familiar with his life or who he was. Especially not Will, and there was a pang of guilt with that fact, a twosome Casey knew all too well.
"Sweetie, we're so happy you're alright," Mary said, and the genuineness in her voice made him want to cry.
"What happened?"
"That's what we want to know," Will said. "You showed up at our door covered in blood."
Serena spoke up. "Will, leave him alone. I'm going to get the doctor." The woman left, but Casey noticed she, too, heaved a sigh of relief. He couldn't understand why.
Casey remembered, in that moment. He recalled how he'd gotten here, and why. And his throat burned again, and he felt like throwing up.
"I-I'm gonna-" He retched, leaning over the side of the bed. Mary shoved a container in his hands and he vomited, pushing tears from his eyes. It must've been at least 12 hours since he'd last eaten, but his body was trying to evict something. A warm hand rested on his back. When he finished, now sitting up, pain bloomed in Casey's abdomen. He wiped his wet eyes, laying back down and holding himself, like pieces would fall out of him. 2 people entered the room: Serena and a man in a white coat. A doctor, Casey told himself. Obviously.
Oh. A doctor.
What the fuck would he say?
"Hey there, Casey. It's good to see you awake." He shut the door behind him. A pair of glasses were balanced on his nose and the hairline of his brown hair sat far back on his head. The family sat down, leaving Casey to fend for himself. The doctor took the clipboard attached to the foot of the bed, flipping through the pages. "I'm Dr. Freidman. We've been trying to contact your guardian for a while now, but we've been having some trouble. Can you think of any reason why that might be?"
The man offered a friendly smile. It bounced off of Casey, paralyzed with a new fear. "Um, m-my dad's probably asleep."
"And there's nobody else we can get in touch with?"
Casey shook his head reluctantly.
The doctor nodded, seeming unbothered. He set down the clipboard, saying, "Well, we might need to send someone to your home to get your father, but you don't need to worry about that."
Yes, he did.
"How are you feeling? I see you vomited, but that isn't of too much concern right now..." Dr. Freidman set aside the bowl and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. "I'm just going to shine this in your eyes for a second." And that he did.
Casey winced at the sight, his head pounding and fighting the urge not to turn away. Clearly, not very well, because the doctor set a hand on his shoulder to keep him still. Casey flinched, and the man pulled back. "It's just for a moment. This is important."
He was still too scared to say anything of substance. When the doctor finally finished and stood, he rubbed his eyes.
"It makes sense if you're having some head pain; you've got a nasty concussion. The wound on your head is superficial. We just put in a few staples."
Casey touched the back of his head. There was a large square bandage where his pain was centered on his scalp. There was still dried blood under his fingernails. Casey looked at Will. The boy was biting his lip, his shoulders tense, but he was attentive to the doctor.
Remembering the vibrations that went through his skull, his teeth, as his head connected with pavement, Casey bite his cheek. Stupid, stupid. All he could think was how stupid it was. How could he have let this happen?
"The main concern was the massive bruising on your abdomen and some minor bleeding in your stomach. We're going to have someone come in to check to make sure your body has started the healing process later, but right now..." Dr. Freidman stepped back and clasped the clipboard. "We all just want to know how this happened."
Will, Mary, and Serena looked at him expectantly. Casey's brain might as well have been made of cotton candy. Electric, painful thoughts stung him and didn't let any words come to his mouth. Any truthful words.
"... I fell down the stairs. On my porch."
It wasn't really a lie. He had fallen. After his father had shoved him out the front door and slammed it behind him.
Unfortunately, Freidman didn't seem convinced. "... Right, that could explain how you hit your head. But the blunt force trauma on your stomach and back aren't exactly consistent with stairs. They seem to be, hold on," he cut himself off, pulling up the clipboard again. "We usually see this type of trauma from people who have been physically assaulted. You know, your injuries are very localized to certain areas of your body, whereas if you'd fallen down stairs, they would be more random and sporadic, and-" He cut himself off, seeming to have realized his rant and its possible inappropriateness in the situation. It probably helped that Casey was frozen in place, unblinking to keep the tears from falling from his eyes.
"I'm sorry. Now, is there anything else you can think of that could have caused this incident?"
It took the teen a moment to shake his head, eyes still fixed on a blank spot on the wall. The doctor sighed. "Alright, well, we'll keep trying to get in touch with a guardian. You'll need to be monitored for quite a while, but someone will have more information for you all later." He curtly smiled and walked out of the room.
God, it was hot in there. And everything hurt. And he was being stared at now, by everyone left in the room, and they expected an explanation. How was he supposed to deal with this? And his father was coming. God, his dad.
The thought of a bottle crashed over his head.
Losing balance on the kitchen floor.
"Case?"
Will had pulled his chair back up to the side of the bed. His deep, anxious eyes waited. They flickered over his body. Casey's hair stuck to the sweat on his face and neck.
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't be here. My dad will be here soon."
Serena stepped up. "It could be a while, bud. We just wanted to make sure you were okay."
The silence was crudely pregnant.
"... Are you okay, dear? You've barely said a word," Mary noted.
Casey couldn't stop the shudders coming from his sigh, deep and pitiful. "I'm tired," he whispered.
-
They let him sleep for a few hours, but he didn't actually sleep all that much. He just lay there, his heart pounding, thinking of all the things that would happen once his father walked through the door.
He'd apologize. He'd be upset, probably with himself. And it would be real, but only for a while. Then they'd go home and everything would go back to... the way it was.
Please come soon, he thought, so you can answer all these questions for me. His dad had always been better at explaining, at telling his son what to say. Bruise on the cheek? Ran into the sliding glass door. Broken ribs? Fell over the front of his bike.
Fell down the stairs? God, he was disappointed in himself for that excuse.
He got up to use the bathroom at one point, a tiny little stall in his room. Lifting his hospital gown revealed an enormous multicoloured bruise across his stomach, left side, and parts of his back. The sight was horrendous, yes, but nothing too new. The pain, however... Even walking to the bathroom was a herculean task. Casey bit back tears as he twisted, testing his limits. They were very familiar with him, it seemed.
Serena left for work later that day, claiming she'd visit another time. Casey wished she wouldn't. Mary went home and returned with food for the boys, even if Casey couldn't eat it. He was disappointed when she came back. But most of all, he wanted Will to leave. He almost never left his side. He'd show Casey funny posts from his Instagram, or just sit next to him and read his book. But he didn't really ask anything. Even so Casey wanted him to go because he couldn't imagine his sadness, his frustration when he saw the type of man his dad was. Or worse, if he discovered the real reason Casey had showed up at his door that night. 3 hours went by, and the doctors confirmed that he didn't have any damage that could explain any memory loss, so the truth behind his reasoning became black or white. True or false. And why would he lie?
Because his dad still hadn't shown up.
Doctors kept asking him questions. He'd answer, timidly, if they were about his physicality. But even if he wanted to talk about what happened he couldn't. Words simply failed him.
"It's alright if you're scared, hun," Mary had said to him when Will was using the bathroom. "No one's going to hurt you in here."
It hadn't really helped. Casey got the idea that she thought he might have been attacked by some kids at school. If only. He would've been able to fight them off if that was the case. Yes, he was scared, and no, it wasn't alright, because there was absolutely nothing he or anyone else could do.
That panic didn't try to hide itself from him. It spread down his throat and poisoned his stomach, tightening his chest. It froze up his hands, his will, his dignity, if he had any left. Freidman was pretty particular about these behaviors, so Casey tried to shove it away, drown them. You're just a kid in a hospital. You fell down some stairs. Your dad will come pick you up, and everything will be normal. Everything is normal. So you have to act normal.
But that doctor was just too smart. With his stupid kind grin and soft voice.
"Alright..." Dr. Freidman walked in at around 9 in the morning. Will had returned home after his mother had forced him to 'get some real sleep.' Casey wasn't so sure about it. His friend's presence certainly helped alleviate some of the stress of the environment, but the moments he had alone, where he could let himself groan and whine from the pain he was in, were perhaps just as important.
"We need to have a chat, kid." The doctor sat in a chair, scooting closer to the boy. "I'm not an idiot. I know you must be so... so scared right now. I know you probably don't want to talk to me, or anyone. You probably just want to go home. But I can't let that happen."
Casey, interested, wary, and anxious, stayed silent.
"I can't let that happen because someone has hurt you very badly. And from what I can see in your medical history, you've been getting hurt pretty badly for a good chunk of your life."
He took off his glasses and set down his papers. "My job is not just to make people better. I'm under oath to make sure that I do everything I can so no one gets hurt in the future. And the way I see it, if we let you out of here again, we're going to end up right where we both started."
Very, very silent, hardly daring to breathe with his hands tightly clasped in his lap, Casey stared at the wall.
"I don't want to ask you the questions you've probably been asked..." He shrugged. "Dozens of times before, so I won't. But Casey, I'm going to ask you a favour."
Their eyelines met, and Casey stayed there, looking at this man who seemed to stare right into him, so sad, so genuine.
"I need you to believe me when I say we can help. I need you to help me uphold my oath. Help me help you."
Help.
Casey suddenly wanted to scream the word. What the fuck does that even mean?
"Do you want some more pain medication? You don't look very comfortable."
-
His father showed up at noon. Almost twelve hours after Casey had passed out on Will's porch. He sat in the chair farthest from the bed and people stood outside of the door, whispering and judging. The door was shut but Casey could see through the blinds.
"I, uhm..." The man rubbed his face, so clearly hung over. Stubble shaded his face and dark circles outlined his eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."
Casey shrugged.
"Y'know, when the cops came to the door, I thought you'd gotten arrested. Shoplifted or something." He chuckled weakly. "Come to find out..."
"... Do you remember last night?"
"Of course I remember, Case." He snapped, and the boy flinched. "I-I'm sorry. This is... a very bad situation." Standing, he wiped his hands on his jeans. "You told them you fell down the stairs. They don't believe you. Maybe... Maybe they'll just take my word for it. They ought to believe me, I'm your dad, for fucks sake."
Casey's father blinked a few times, like his eyelids were heavy. "Yeah, yeah, I'm your dad. Let me go talk to 'em again," he said, and walked out of the room, his steps stuttering, unsure.
The door was left ajar, so Casey was left with a bit of privacy for a moment. He let himself heave another shuddery sigh, feeling his throat get tight. He'd been worried his father had finally gone too far; pushed his body too much. Another reason he had a hard time sleeping was that every time he closed his eyes, the image of his father choking on his own vomit on the floor of their living room introduced itself. Or maybe he was still drunk, and he was on his way to the hospital. Then Casey would picture his dad in the truck, crushed by a telephone pole.
But he was here, alive, and mostly sober. So it didn't matter how long it had taken. Hopefully the doctors would be too busy to linger on the situation once his dad explained everything.
Shouting came through the crack of the door. Looking out the window, he could see his father speaking - now yelling - at Dr. Friedman, a woman in scrubs, and another woman wearing a pantsuit with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. She looked exasperated, the other two seeming distressed. The doctor put a hand on his dad's arm, clearly trying to calm him down, but it was swatted away. Minutes went on and the interaction seemed only to escalate. Finally, Casey's father stormed back into the room and approached his son.
"We're going home, now." He reached down and took a firm hold of the boy's arm, yanking him up. Fire sparked in his body, but he scrambled, stood, and followed as his dad pulled him, his I.V. getting dislodged. When the other adults blocked the door, his father let Casey's hand fall.
"These people are idiots. They can't do their fucking job, Case, so we're going."
Casey shrunk back as his father just stared at his challengers. But he was sober, he wouldn't start anything stupid. The woman in scrubs spoke into a pager. More footsteps came down the hall.
"Let me take my fucking kid, man. I'll sign whatever."
"We can't do that, sir, I'm sorry."
Casey, at his big age of 15, wanted to crawl into the corner.
A man in an officer's uniform pushed through and started instructing his father to leave. Casey didn't know if he wanted him to. But it wouldn't have mattered. No one cared what he wanted. After some more vile words and aggressive body language, he was escorted out of the room, pointing at his son and calling out, "You'll be okay, kid. We're gonna get you out of here."
The door shut behind him and Casey was left in the room with the 3 adults. A droplet of blood fell from his fingertip, encouraging the woman in scrubs to pick up the fallen I.V. and start preparing another. The lonely air bit at the back of Casey's neck.
"I'm sorry that happened, Casey," Friedman said, a bit disheveled. "Why don't we get you back in bed?"
Somehow, he managed to get his feet to move, but only to sit back down and clutch himself. His body hurt, yes, but he was keeping himself from running, running as far as he could from all of this. He crossed his legs underneath him and tugged at his hair. He couldn't keep the pieces in him, not all of them. He rocked slightly, shaking.
"Why didn't you let him take me, I want to go," he mumbled, grateful that nobody he cared about was here to see him like this.
The doctor looked to the woman - who Casey assumed to be a nurse - and motioned for her to leave. When it was just the three of them, Friedman closed the blinds.
"No, no, please no." The door was closed. No one could see into the room. Trapped, he was trapped here.
"We aren't here to hurt you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Casey. My name is Candace. Would you rather the blinds were open?" The woman glared at the doctor, and he reluctantly tugged them open again.
"I'm sorry, I just figured you'd want some privacy."
"I want you to leave me alone!" the boy cried, surprised at his own volume, but the tightening of his throat pushed the words out and he couldn't stop them, couldn't stop the pieces of himself from shattering on the floor. So they began to fall, one by one, like the tears he could no longer withhold.
Dr. Friedman took his glasses off and hung them on his collar. Candace sighed, looking mournful.
"I don't know you, you don't know me. I-I don't need help."
"You don't even know what we're here for, Casey. We don't want to take you away from your dad. We just want to ask some questions. Can we do that? Can we just talk?"
"No, no, no, I know exactly what you're going to ask. I-I'm safe, I get fed, please leave me alone." Casey grabbed at the thin sheets of the hospital bed, feeling his heartbeat throb in his head. He had to remember to breathe.
The man stepped forward, mumbling, "His heartrate's going up..."
"Casey, we need you to calm down." Candace peeked out the window. Casey didn't know what for.
"P-please, go..." Tears were streaming down his face now and every ounce of dignity felt like it was being ripped from him every second he was being witnessed.
The woman pulled Dr. Friedman back and said something under her breath with a serious expression. He nodded, slowly leaving the room. She sat in a chair near the door and took off her jacket. Then she sat criss-cross, mirroring the boy, and folded her hands. Casey felt only slightly more grounded.
"As I said, my name is Candace. Dr. Friedman called me in because he was worried about your well-being. We don't have to talk. Right now, I just want to make sure you're alright. I'm sure you're very confused, and we don't want to overwhelm you."
"I'm not confused, I know what this is," Casey spat, wiping his tears.
"Why don't you explain to me what it is you think?"
He rolled his eyes. "You want me to tell you that I've been lying to everyone around me, that someone did this to me."
"I don't have anything in mind for you to tell me. You can tell me anything you like."
"I don't want to tell you anything. There's nothing for me to say."
"Then I'll just sit here, if that's alright." The woman picked up a magazine from the table next to her. Casey was confused. He sat back in his bed, staring at her. He wasn't even upset about it; he was even calming down fairly quickly. That didn't take away from the fact that this had never happened before.
They both sat there for a while.
But Casey had to say something.
"I don't understand why my dad can't take me home."
Candace looked up, expressionless. "I can imagine it's confusing."
Casey squinted. "Why can't he?"
She straightened. "Well, you're not ready to leave the hospital. You're still quite injured, and the best way the doctors here can make sure you heal is if they surveille you for a while."
"But they can't force me to stay. My dad wants me to go."
Candace furrowed her brow, tilting her head. "Why do you think he wants that?"
Casey, urged to shut off, shut down, because she was asking those questions again, bit his lip. He would answer. Just this one.
"He thinks that he can take care of me at home."
"That's what you think? Do you mind if I write that down?"
Casey hesitated, but shook his head. What harm could it do?
And then they sat in silence a while more.
-
90 minutes had gone by and dinner was going to be served soon, he was told. Will would be coming back that evening. Candace wouldn't leave, and ignoring her was proving to be more and more difficult by the second.
Now that his mind had mostly cleared, the things that occupied his mind the most were the pain and the embarrassment from his earlier... encounter. Candace had only asked him a few unassuming questions, one of which has been repeated over and over: 'How are you feeling?'
God, hell if he knew. Casey never knew that one. All those math questions he could never get right and this was the one thing that truly stumped him. His body hurt. He didn't feel good, no, not in his mind either. But he wasn't sad, not in the only way he'd ever heard it be described to him. There was no big dark cloud hanging over him. And he wasn't angry, and anger was a feeling he was more familiar with. No punching, kicking, or screaming necessary.
But something heavy clung to his shoulders. And a deep pit in his stomach was trying to crawl it's way out.
And he was hungry. When someone brought him a tray of food and he immediately started on the muffin, shoving a large, crumbling piece in his mouth, Candace smiled a bit. He almost did too, considering his diet was mostly constituted by instant noodles and whatever he could steal from the vending machines at school.
The woman had asked him about himself. The other questions he'd allowed had all been about him. Not his home. Not his school. Who he was, which was certainly strange. And when he'd answered, surprising even himself, she didn't look back down at her page to check off a box or write something down with a 'hmm.' She'd simply asked another question.
"What kind of music do you like?"
"I guess I listen to Alice In Chains the most."
"That's cool. My sister went to one of their concerts. Would you ever go to a concert, do you think? I couldn't. Much too loud."
And Casey had just answered. And they spoke to one another. They talked, had a conversation, and now they ate together, quietly. He took a big bite of the sub they'd given him, ignoring the pain in his face as his jaw stretched open.
"When are you going home? Is this like, a nine-to-five, or something?" he said through his chewing.
Candace took a sip of the coffee someone had brought to her earlier. "Not exactly. My hours tend to be different every day."
"Right. When are you leaving, though? My friend's coming back with his mom. I won't need to be chaperoned anymore."
Candace smiled. "I know you don't need a chaperone, Casey. I wanted to stay with you to make sure you were alright and maybe get to know you a bit more."
The boy swallowed, letting a thought bypass his brain and go straight to his mouth. "My dad doesn't hurt me."
Candace let a slightly confused expression pass across her face for a moment. "That's good to know," she said, looking into Casey's eyes as she sipped her drink once again.
Casey's phone buzzed but he was too busy staring back. It would be Will. He'd be telling him that he was on his way, and the thought plummeted straight through the floor and brought his stomach with him. He'd figured out who this woman was: a social worker. It wouldn't take much for Will to figure it out either, if she stayed.
"Will you go?"
There was a twinkle in Candace's eyes. Her fingers hooked around the strap of the saddle bag at her side. "Can I come back tomorrow?"
And Casey nodded.
-
Will stayed until the sun had set far below the horizon and his eyes couldn't focus on his dear friend anymore. He sat hunched over, his elbows propped up on his knees, holding his head up. They'd talked for a while, mostly about nothing. But now Casey was just lying on his side, holding a pillow to his chest, looking at the wall.
"You should go home," he mumbled.
"I don't want to."
"You want to sleep."
"I can sleep here."
Casey sat up. "No you can't." He was being stubborn. Will needed to get sleep, he had school in the morning. And even though the hospital was technically closer to the school, he wanted him to be comfortable. Not stuck here with him. "It's late. You're tired."
"But you're alone. What happened to your dad anyway? I thought he came." The boy sat up and scooted closer to the bed.
Laying back down, Casey sighed. "He's... He's been busy signing paperwork. And he doesn't want to bother us."
"Bro, I wouldn't care," Will shrugged.
Yes, you would, Casey thought.
A hand appeared next to his head on the pillow. "Do you need anything?" Will asked.
Casey shook his head, feeling both comforted and overly exposed by the figure who looked down at him.
Touch my hair.
Wait, wh-
"N-No, I'm good," he said, grinning through the obvious pain. He hated it. Before, he could get away with hiding the dull aches, since the pain was only apparent if he did certain things. Now, it was all over, constant, and inescapable.
Will smiled sadly, his hand brushing past his face as he pulled it back. "Liar." He pushed his chair out and stood. "I'm gonna get my mom to pick me up then, if that's okay."
Casey nodded. He'd be more comfortable knowing his friend was comfortable.
-
Candace returned as she said she would, this time when Mary was about to leave after dropping off some food for the boy. Casey practically felt his blood pressure rise as he witnessed the conversation between them in the hallway.
Thankfully, it seemed to be all smiles and understanding. What type of understanding, Casey didn't know. He was worried Candace would blab about everything she thought was going on. Well, then there was no way he would tell her anything. And Casey would lose a friend, because what mother would let her kid hang out with a fuck-up like him?
Candace closed the door behind her as she stepped into the room, and upon seeing Casey's tense expression, said "Oh, don't worry about that. She just told me about your friend."
Somehow, he felt compelled to believe her. And when she pulled out her clipboard, he even sat up, just slightly. He'd slept through the night, only having woken up to use the washroom. Newly energized, his mind had more room to drop the defense tactics and think critically about the situation. Similarly, however, it had more room to come up with every possible outcome that could be born of these conversations, the bulk of which were acutely negative.
So Casey was relieved by her reassurance, but only a little.
"In any case, I'm glad you have someone else coming by to hang out with you. I can imagine I'm a bit boring," she smirked.
Again, Casey was glad for the casualness.
"Well, I have news from Dr. Friedman. He said you are clear to leave in 3 days if there are no complications. They want to ensure you have no mobility issues or delayed immune responses, blah blah blah, I brought Uno!" And she sat down, grinning. It took Casey a moment to realize it was because he, too, was smiling.
One short game later (which he lost), Candace asked another question. A poignant thing that Casey wasn't expecting, and it slipped quietly into his mind with a sharp sting.
"You know why I'm here, Casey, don't you?" she said, shuffling the cards. There was no coldness to her words but that needle numbed his thoughts nonetheless. He nodded, his gaze freshly fixed on the table. She nodded, continuing, "I still don't want you to think I'm here to pry your family apart or prosecute anybody or try to make you say things that aren't true. But I came back because now that I know that you're alright," She paused, looking up from the deck. "My job is to make sure you stay that way once you leave this hospital. Do you understand?"
Casey did understand. At least he thought he did. She'd certainly built up some morale with him yesterday somehow, for reasons that he didn't quite understand. But in no way did he trust her. He couldn't because this was his whole life. His whole life was at stake, everything he cared about. For what? A chance at sunshine and rainbows and some idyllic family? He knew it didn't exist. Not for anyone, and that included him. Things were the way they were and they shouldn't have to change. They wouldn't.
But the boy still nodded, following each word carefully.
"Those questions you must be so used to answering," she sighed, dealing out the cards. "They're just a way we make sure you do stay safe. So you need to be truthful when you answer them. If you're comfortable with answering them, that is. Okay?"
He nodded again but soon realized she was expecting a verbal response. "Yeah, okay."
"Again, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. But I'll give you a little hint: the sooner we get through these questions, the sooner you can see your dad." She set down the first card of the game: A red seven.
He stared at it. He knew what harm this could do. He didn't want to talk anymore, but he also knew that one option presented a possibility of going home, and the other presented a guarantee that he wouldn't.
So he sighed, put down a red three, and said, "Fine."
-
He was sitting criss-cross on the edge of the bed, playing on the end table Candace had pushed up close to the mattress and sat near herself. Then she began. No clipboard in sight.
"So, tell me about your father."
He was yet again surprised, this time at the vagueness of the question. He said, "He's cool. He likes to watch TV. Sometimes we watch monster truck derbies together." He smiled at the thought. Candace smiled too.
"That's nice. What does he do for work?" A green three came down from her hand.
Casey only hesitated for a moment before putting down a green three as well. "He used to work at a marketing firm, but he's unemployed now."
"Hmm." A blue two. "How long has he been unemployed?"
"... Six months, I think."
"Interesting. And, just to clarify, is it just your father and yourself in the house?"
He nodded, following the card pattern. He wouldn't have any other blue cards to play after this. "Yeah. My mom died when I was six."
Candace frowned, the typical reaction. "That's a shame. I'm sorry. Are you in... The tenth grade?" she guessed. She picked up a card.
"Yup."
"How do you like it?"
"It's alright."
She continued to ask about his classes and if he liked any of them, and she asked about his grades. It was all very boring to Casey; they were the type of questions he imagined a school counselor would ask. Then she set down a colour change card. "Do you ever get into conflicts at school? Blue."
Casey frowned, tucking the reverse card back in his hand. "... Sometimes. Over dumb stuff." He picked up a card.
"What kind of stuff?" She didn't look up from the game.
Casey set his cards down for a moment to adjust his posture. "Nothing. It's different every time, but sometimes my friends will make a bad deal with someone and I get dragged into it."
"Your friends? Other than Will?"
He nodded, feeling his shoulders tense, and picked his cards back up.
"What kind of deals do your friends make?"
"It doesn't matter. I don't really care about that stuff anyway."
Candace just kept putting cards down as if her questions held no significance, and Casey kept trying to match them, put down the right card, give the best, most vague answers.
"Do they drag you into fights?"
Casey huffed, looking up at her. "Yeah, but that's not why I'm here."
"Alright then, Casey." She picked up a card. "Does your father know about these fights?"
"How much of this are you going to tell other people?" Casey felt the urge to raise his voice, but suppressed it.
"Whatever you tell me will not leave this room unless your safety is at risk. How violent are these fights?"
"It's not a big deal." Casey clenched his jaw for a moment, trying to focus on the card game. "Usually, no one gets hurt. It's honestly stupid."
Candace nodded, scooting back in her seat and crossing her legs. "That's good." Casey put down a +2 card. Candace didn't react, simply picking up the cards. "What does your father think of you getting into fights?"
"He doesn't know. And you won't tell him, right?"
"Of course not, if it's not a big deal." She echoed back his words. Casey sighed, relaxing a little. He was telling the truth; the fights weren't a big deal. A punch to the face every once in a while sort of came with the package when you hung out in the groups that he did. And it wasn't why he was here. But he was toeing a line. If his dad found out about this, his life would get much more complicated (if that was even possible) very quickly. And it was abundantly clear to Casey that if any information about his private life left this room, his life would be virtually ruined. There was still a big part of him that believed that he could get out of this scot-free. But that part was shrinking, and the space it occupied was being replaced with dread.
"Uno," Candace said, interrupting his thoughts. She was smiling as she dropped another card onto their pile. It was hard not to think if her as an enemy.
-
Casey did not want to play Uno anymore. So Candace out the deck away and pulled out her clipboard. She flipped through the pages, fidgeting with her pen, and Casey was afraid she'd write something down. But she did not, only nibbled on the end.
"Okay... Are you alright if we continue?" she asked, tucking some dark strands of hair behind her ear. Casey, ever reluctant, decided that he could. He could, even if he didn't want to, because he trusted that through was the best way out.
Candace looked up from the papers. "It says here that you told the doctor that you fell down some stairs. Quite the fall, it seems. You know, I used to live in a house with the steepest Dutch staircase. I always considered complaining to the landlord because I was scared someone would die on the thing." She recounted the story with a smile, but Casey knew she was just trying to make the hard questions easier, and it only made him more uneasy.
"So, can you tell me a bit more about your fall?"
Casey thought for a moment. It was a simple, concise story. Nothing to mix up or create loopholes out of. He explained, "The porch for my house gets really icy in the winter, and my dad hadn't salted it yet. I went out to take my shoes inside and I slipped."
A shove and a slammed door. The sound echoed against his skull. The whole thing came in flashes.
Candace nodded, pursing her lips. "And your head?"
"I must have hit it on the pavement."
He remembered the thud that made his teeth vibrate in the half second before he passed out.
The woman was checking over her clipboard again. Then she started writing. And Casey used all of his will to shut up and stay still. Simple, concise, but a story. A story fabricated to keep it safe, to keep the truth safe. Because it was only for him, only for him to know and figure out and deal with. And he was confident in his story. He started wondering what she would ask next.
When Candace set down her pen, Casey thought he was ready. She seemed to trust him. Maybe she even believed him. Maybe he was almost done. They'd been here for almost an hour now.
"Why do you think Dr. Friedman doesn't believe you?"
Casey scoffed. "I-I don't know. He thinks he's seeing something that isn't there."
"What might he be seeing?" Candace asked thoughtfully, her voice suddenly softer.
He pressed his lips into a tight line. "I don't know," he replied.
"I think you do, though, Casey. You've suggested to us that you've been put through this process plenty of times before. What were people thinking before?"
And God, he hated that question. He knew it was coming, or something alike. But he could never figure out the right answer. What did they want to hear? What could he say that would end this whole stupid thing? He'd answer, and they'd bring in a therapist to ask the same thing again. He'd answer, and they'd shove his X-rays into his face. Or they'd tell him stories about their own childhoods, or they'd use puppets, or whatever, and he never understood any of it.
"They think they know everything about my life. They think they know who I am and how I feel, and then they try to do what's 'best' for me. But here's my question: How the fuck would they know?"
He could feel that familiar emotion bubbling up in his throat. He didn't want to get pissed off at this woman. He still wanted to do this, get it over with without a fuss and just go home. But that God damn feeling was creeping up along with the anger: He wasn't going to get out of this.
Candace only nodded, looking at the boy with pity. "That's not very fair."
"No."
"And you think what's best for you is to go home?"
"Yes. Is that so unreasonable?"
"No, Casey. I want you to go home as well. But it needs to be a home where you're not going to slip on any more ice." She offered a smile, looking for some understanding. Maybe trying to level the playing field. Casey didn't know who had the advantage right now.
-
Candace stepped out to take a phone call, which left Casey plenty of time to think himself off a ledge. He tried, he really did, to convince himself that everything would be alright; that these people did really want to help.
But he'd been fucked with too many times. He couldn't even remember why he thought this was a good idea. Maybe he could escape the hospital. Maybe he could get home and his dad would take him away, away from the people who knew too much. Away from the friend he'd started imagining a future with.
Fuck it, he thought. Casey went into the tiny bathroom and stared in the mirror. His bruises had begun to turn blue around the edges. Stupid doctors didn't know anything about his 'healing'. They just wanted to keep him here, away from his father. His hair was greasy and still had dried blood in it. He probably smelled. He hadn't had a chance to clean himself up, not with all those questions being thrown in his face. The scrape on his cheek itched. The tightness in his throat grew, spreading down to his chest.
He was back sitting in bed before Candace returned. The winter clouds that usually blocked the sun had cleared, and the light coming through the window shone on Casey's back, making him sweat.
"Right, I'll just pick up where I left off... Here, now, these are the questions that you're probably going to be a bit annoyed to answer, but try your best to answer truthfully." She gave him a second to respond, but he stayed silently brewing.
"Does your father make sure you have food in the house?"
"Sure he does," Casey said, like it was obvious. He wasn't dumb; he knew kids were meant to be fed by their parents. And in a way, he did get fed, when he stole the extra cash from his dad's wallet to buy what he could from the gas station. And they did have groceries, just not very often.
And they often went bad in the fridge next to the cases of beer.
"Does he cook for you, or do you make your own meals?"
Casey wondered what that had to do with anything. "I cook for myself."
"May I ask why?"
"... My dad's real tired at the end of the day."
"Right. Does he make meals for himself?"
"No..." Casey squinted, less concerned about lying or telling the truth and more with why she was asking about it in the first place. "I mean, we don't really have too much money. I get hi- He gets takeout a lot."
"Well, that makes sense. Do you have running water and electricity in your home?"
Cassey nodded. He'd figured out how to pay rent on his dad's laptop when he was nine after their heat got shut off for the fourth time. They had the money, Casey just needed to make sure he stopped his father from spending too much of it on alcohol.
"Is your father actively looking for a job, or is there something hindering him from doing so?" She looked at Casey, right in the eyes, and seemed to appear so innocent. So genuine. But it wasn't real. Casey knew that. Looking for a fucking job is why Casey was in this whole mess.
"... Yes."
"Yes, what?"
He gritted his teeth. "He's looking for a job."
"Alright, that's good."
The door slammed shut. His father's stumbling footsteps echoed through the house from the front door, and Casey sat up. The steps ascended the stairs, and he took the chance of stepping out of the room.
His dad was in the hallway, trying to hang up his jacket and missing the hook, again and again. His tie was loose and his shirt, which had been clean and ironed when he'd left the house six hours ago, was now stained and untucked.
"Do you need some help, dad?" The boy asked cautiously.
"What I need... is a fucking break!" the man growled, slurring his words and turning towards his son with anger in his eyes.
"Casey? Are you okay?"
Candace had leaned down and tilted her head, trying to get the boy's attention. "Did you hear me?"
Casey moved his eyes, previously affixed to the floor, back up. "Sorry." He slowly contracted and released his fists, his palms slick with sweat.
"That's fine. I just asked if you needed water or something. You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," he snapped, almost contentious.
"We can take a break whenever you'd l-"
"No." A break would just mean this would take longer.
"Okay. Next question. Has your father ever threatened your physical safety or neglected to keep you out of harms way?"
Casey didn't know why the question struck him like a sword. He'd been prepared. "No," he said, like the thing he'd been waiting for finally came along and pulled the trigger, cut the rope that was holding the 10-ton boulder up. Except he'd hoisted it above his head, and the hand that drew the knife was his own.
Candace looked like she wanted to say something, and Casey could see how she bit back her words and went to write something down instead. Her hand shook. Or maybe it was his buzzing mind and blurring vision. She sucked in a sharp breath.
"He's never shoved-"
Hands on his arms
"Slapped-"
A stinging cheek
"Kicked-"
His stomach wept with pain
"Or punched you?"
And though it took him a moment to gather his thoughts through the burning hellscape that was his psyche, he said, "Never." And it was an odd thing that happened, because when he uttered the word, no air came out of his mouth. Sound came out, a soft sound. A whine, twisted and deprived of everything that gave it meaning — the air that constituted words — escaped instead. The wretched knot in his chest and throat had wound itself so tightly he could no longer breathe. He tried again, "No, never," but he could feel how his face burned red and how his fingers tingled as he reached up and touched his collarbone with them, rubbing gently, then pushing the fleshy pads hard against the bone, as if to massage out whatever was keeping him from speaking. His teeth clicked together when his mouth closed.
"Casey? Are you alright?" Candace's voice seemed so far away now.
Please, don't, he wanted to beg, but to whom he did not know. Candace? The body that was betraying him? The memory of his father as his fingers dug into his shirt, shaking him, sobbing?
"Casey, are you breathing alright? Do I need to get Dr. Freidman?"
I don't know, he thought. I've never known. Don't ask me.
"Hold on, hon. Hold on." She briefly touched his hand, slipping away and leaving the room without a sound. Casey tried again, tried to push out some semblance of speech, but he felt like he was choking. His hand slid up, grasping over his Adam's apple. His hands were cold but the sensation didn't ground him like he'd hoped. No, they only reminded him further of the other hands that had hindered him from speaking all his life. Only his own now, only his own.
He rocked forward, his breath hitched. His vision became blurry as his eyes filled with tears. They soon fell, passing his cheeks and falling straight to the ground as he bent over the edge of the bed. Pain bloomed in his stomach and chest as his abdomen pressed against itself, but he stayed bent forward, his hands clasped together at his neck, praying for the strength to stop this.
If the door had creaked, Casey wouldn't have heard it. He felt a hand on his shoulder trying to pull him up, pry him open, but he couldn't. He was holding a disgusting, ugly pearl, and he could not let them see.
"-need to let us help you." Dr. Freidman's voice came through the static that was blurring his mind, his tone urgent and stern. Casey's head was pounding and snot had begun to drip off his nose. He felt his heartbeat in his face. He took whatever short, choked breaths he could manage, but the air was almost immediately pushed out of him with painful sobs. They rippled through his body and wreaked more pain than he'd ever known, because now it was in his heart. He could only think he was having a heart attack.
At some point the doctor managed to sit him up, but Casey fought him. He swatted the man's hand away, trying to stand. Get to the bathroom, he thought. It had a lock. Don't let them see you like this. But he was persistently getting pushed back down. "Casey, sit, please. We're trying to help you. You need to calm down."
This isn't my fault, he thought. Something's wrong with me. I don't want this either. "Let me go," he cried, drinking in a gulp of air. "Don't touch me."
"Casey, you can't breathe. We have to do something."
The boy stood, only to be knocked to the floor by his own crying. Massive, heaving breaths echoed through him, but they were fruitless. He felt himself get more lightheaded by the second. He planted his hands against the cool floor, but the arms that held him up shook, and soon enough they gave up on him. His shoulder connected with the cold floor and he let his eyes close. That tightness in his chest squeezed around his lungs and heart, forcing out more reckoning sobs, more choked-out words that made no sense to him nor anyone else. They must think I'm delirious. They know now, they have to.
Casey felt hands on his shoulders pull his head into someone's lap. They held his head up, and, through blinks, he could see the doctor pressing a mask against his face. It smelled weird; sterile. But it helped him to breathe. The oxygen flooded his lungs, and he felt the curling, twisted knot in his chest relax a bit. He felt the arms that held him pull him closer against their body, and he recognized the smell. It was the same smell he'd noted in Will's family's car all those weeks ago. A voice cut through the static again, and Casey realized it was Mary holding him. "It's okay, baby, just calm down." She sounded so distressed, so concerned, he wanted to vomit. But she stroked his hair and talked him through the waves of sobs, and it helped. It really did help.
At one point, Casey opened his eyes. He was still crying, but less violently. His mind blocked out less of his surroundings, so he saw Dr. Freidman crouching in front of him and Mary's bangled wrists gently holding his own. His gaze shifted to the door, where he saw a blond boy standing straight as a pin with his arms crossed and shoulders tense with discomfort. Will, oh Will, seeing him in this state. As this crude, raw version of himself. What would Casey have left after this?
After Dr. Freidman had gotten him to name 3 things in the room that were blue and helping him find the reins to his breathing again, Casey suddenly felt extremely tired. His body buzzed, and he felt how swollen his face must have been, but he was truly too exhausted to care. So, he allowed himself to be helped back into bed. Mary helped tip a cup of water into his mouth before helping him settle back down. His eyes must have closed for a few moments, because the next thing he saw was that Will had replaced his mother in the seat at the edge of the bed. Casey had no tears left to push out of him, but he felt that sensation of despair wash over him again. Until the boy took his hand. He looked uncomfortable before. Now, he just looked sad.
The feeling of being powerless was one Casey knew well. He felt it settle inside him again now, and he saw it on his friend's face. And it was oddly comforting, because he got the feeling that whatever happened, there was nothing else to lose. Everything had been ripped out of him and put on display for the person he'd least wanted to see it. And he was still here. Holding his hand.
Will pulled the chair further forward. Casey's body was so numb he felt like a spectator, and he couldn't care to do anything anyway. Keeping his grip on his friend's hand, Will bent down and rested his head on Casey's shoulder, warm and gentle. He could feel the boy's heart beating, slow and steady, against his skin. It sang to him like a lullaby, rocked him to sleep. A very deep sleep, it seemed, because it was a sleep void of dreams or sensations, and when he woke up again, the sun was low in the sky and he was desperate for a drink of water.
Casey blinked to get the blurriness out of his eyes and sat up on his elbows, looking around the room. The walls were cast in a warm glow. His eyes shifted over to Mary, sitting against with her head dipped low in weariness. He called out for her softly.
"Mary?"
Her head nodded up and down slightly. "Mary," he called again. This time, her head snapped up. Her eyes lit up when she saw the boy awake. "Hey, Casey. How are you feeling?"
"I think I'm okay." He suddenly thought of his friend. " Where's Will?"
"I sent him home for dinner. You can talk to him on the phone, if you want. I need to go tell the doctor you're awake, okay? I'll be right back." She stood, stretching indiscreetly but giving a kind smile before leaving the room.
Even after such a long rest, the events of the day before had drained Casey to the point of emptying his mind. Really, he only wanted to talk to Will. In the time it took for the door to creak back open, he only thought about what he would say to his friend. When Dr. Friedman did return, it was just him and Mary. They walked very softly and spoke with a similar tone. The doctor sat in a chair next to the bed and smiled at Casey. Casey thought he was being weird.
"We're all very glad you were able to get some rest. You had a very distressing day yesterday, it seems. How are you feeling?"
"... I'm fine. Can I have some water?"
"Of course, I'll just-" The man seemed like he was bracing himself for what Casey was going to say. Or do. But Casey had nothing in mind. He was embarrassed, hurt, but most of all, still very tired. Dr. Friedman stood and took a jug of water and poured some into a plastic cup on the table in the corner before handing the cup to the boy. He drank it all at once.
"So... We have some things to chat about."
Casey nodded.
"You had a panic attack last night, Casey. A pretty severe one. Do you know what that is?"
He felt himself shrug. He'd heard of them before, used hyperbolically. But what happened to him felt like his body was falling apart, like his neurons were firing backwards, like the world was ending. Friedman explained that what happened the night before was apparently a result of anxiety and stress. Casey certainly recalled feeling stressed.
He thought about what his father would say.
'Pathetic. Having a tantrum because someone asked you a question? I didn't raise a little bitch.'
Something like that.
"We're going to have some more people meet with you later, but for now, you just keep resting, okay?" He patted the boy's knee and checked his watch. Hurriedly, he stiffly slipped out the door, leaving Casey alone with Will's mother. She stood and approached the bed. Pulling out something from her pocket, she pressed Casey's cell phone into his hand before gently laying a hand on his cheek.
"I'm going to get you some food. You must be starving." She knelt down, looking him in the eyes. She paused for a minute before saying, "Casey... We're all so sorry that this happened. These people, they just want to help. We all do." Mary tilted her head, as if to get a better look at the boy. "You're very special. William can see it, too. He cares so much about you, you know. And I care." He felt her hand grip his. "Just let us care about you."
She left, and Casey got up to use the bathroom. He felt slightly less sore, but he wasn't paying much attention to the pain anyway. What Mary had said was replaying in his head, and he wanted to believe it. So badly. The idea felt like a warm, white light that he could bathe in and be cleansed of everything that was hurting him and every way he was hurting other people.
But it couldn't be that easy.
Back in the bed, Casey found Will's contact. His finger hovered over the call icon.
The phone rang once. Twice. A shuffling sound interrupted a third ring, and there was a small silence before Will's voice cut through.
"Casey?"
Casey opened his mouth to speak, but didn't know what to say.
"Casey, are you there?"
"... I'm here," he croaked. He heard a sigh of relief on the other end.
"Thank God. I'm sorry I'm not at the hospital. My mom made me leave, but-"
"It's okay, Will. You should be at home."
Casey heard his friend try to start a couple different sentences before saying, "I want to be there."
"I was just sleeping."
"Still. How do you feel?"
Casey rolled his eyes, tired of that question. "Fine."
"Are you sure? Because yesterday, you, well..." He cut himself off. "Sorry. I was really scared for you."
His heart lurched and his throat felt thick, but Casey managed to say, "I know. I'm sorry. I don't really know what happened."
Will's word were slow and carefully chosen. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're... okay."
Casey swallowed. "Me too."
There was a moment of silence between the two, and he knew what was going to kill it. He knew what he needed to say. It felt like after all of this, after losing so much, some semblance of truth was all he had left, and Will was the only one who didn't seem like he was looking for it. And somehow, that compelled Casey to give it to him.
"Will, I-"
"Your dad hurts you."
It hurt more because the world didn't end. It burned so badly because it was true, and the planet kept spinning, and those words actually meant something. They weren't some piece of information that was right or wrong or something he needed to keep safe or lie to himself about. They just were.
His voice almost failed him again. "Yeah."
It was almost silent again, save for Will's breathing. When his friend spoke, he sounded on the verge of tears as well.
"I'm so sorry, Casey," he choked out.
So many things were running through his head that Casey could only think to smile, laugh, and say, "What for?" as tears fell down his face. It was only funny for a moment before emotion gripped his heart again and his lip quivered.
Will spoke again with the same strain on his words as before. "I should have noticed. I should have said something."
"I couldn't let you see me like this," Casey managed to say, wiping his tears only for them to be immediately replaced. "I hate that you did."
Like a shivering chick, still wet from the egg, still mostly caged by the concrete-thick shell, part of Casey wanted Will to be here, next to the bed, with him. "Thank you for staying with me," he whispered, afraid to scare off the vulnerability of the moment.
"You're not getting rid of me, Casey. Not like this. I'll come to you soon, okay? I promise."
He nodded to himself. "Okay." The phone screen went dark as he hung up.