<3:45 pm, Monday>

"I want to die."

Abigail meant it as a harmless comment, joking to break the tension from working in the psych ward of a hospital. Tyler, being himself, flipped his shit.

"W-what? Why would you- you shouldn't-"

"I'm just kidding, Ty. Chill out. You okay?"

Tyler nodded, his heart thudding against his ribcage. Requested by Josh, Tyler had called his father earlier that day, asking if he could go over for Christmas break, when he was out of both school and work.

He said yes, but not before establishing a long and tension building pause. Tyler had not yet recovered from the traumatic experience of talking on the phone with his father after nearly two years of little to no contact.

"I'm- I'm dandy!" He chimed. "Just a bit- you know- excited for Christmas I guess."

Abigail didn't see through his lie and laughed, patting his shoulder. "Alright, I'm going to go check on Denise and Philip (not lester) in ward 7. You alright checking with Gigi?"

"S-sure!" He said, dreading it immediately. Abigail nodded and smiled, disappearing around a corner and leaving Tyler alone with only the hum of the half-working air conditioner.

Taking a deep breath, Tyler walked down the hall to Gigi's room, his hand hovering over the knob.

Most interns are assigned to two or three of the ward patients. It's mostly to apply the skills the students learned in real life and to assess how well they can handle actually troubled and unpredictable people.

Gigi was one of these people. She was twenty eight and diagnosed with drug addiction and ptsd; she was thin and pale with long blonde hair already turning white and menacing grey eyes. She used to be a heroin addict before landing herself in the hospital and had been there since Tyler arrived, maybe even longer.

She was beyond intimidating. To be fair, Tyler feared anything that wasn't in his familiar bubble, which included almost everything about Gigi. But it didn't help that she could practically read his mind.

Tyler opened the door, keeping his eyes on his notepad to avoid eye contact as he walked into the room. Gigi sat on the window sill, looking out. Before Tyler could say anything, Gigi spoke.

"It was Hobbes' fault. He stole my pudding, and he knows that shit doesn't slide with me," she said, looking back at Tyler. Her usual monotone and uncaring demeanor changed immediately, back straightening and eyes darkening.

Tyler cleared his throat, sweating under her stare. He hated it when people stared.

"Now, Gigi, Maurice told me you got into a fight with Hobbes during lunch. Can you tell me what caused you to attack him?"

Gigi swung her legs, still staring at Tyler. "I already told ya. Damn schizo stole my pudding."

"Now, you know it's rude to call other people names," Tyler chastised.

"I know, I know." She smirked. "You're depressed."

Tyler dodged the comment. "How were you feeling then- right before you attacked Hobbes?"

"Chipper. You have another panic attack, didn't ya? Where was it now, a restaurant?"

Tyler tried to glare at her to change the subject. "How have the new medications been working for you? Any side-effects you've been experiencing?"

"My dreams are more vivid, but they're not nightmares anymore. Did you try kill your-"

"Gigi."

"Alright, right. Just curious 'sall." But she grinned as if she knew what was going through Tyler's mind.

"It's good that the nightmares have lessened, have you had any other side-effects or-"

"Are you planning on doing it again?" Tyler nearly choked when she said that.

He looked up from the notepad. Gigi leaned forward, head tilted to the side.

"Why- why do you-"

"You're not nervous. Not as much as your regular nervous. Your stutter is usually ten times worse than this. Your ticks and fidgets are still there, but they're less precise. You're slumped more than usual. And you're becoming careless. I saw you walking here, you didn't bat an eye when that bicycle guy almost hit you. Usually you would have had an attack right then and there or try to move out of the way, but you just kept walking. Your eyes are droopy as if you hadn't slept properly in months, no, years. Broken arm, first attempt. I know it when I see it. I'd guess you'd either given up when the first time didn't work and are trying to rot yourself from the inside out or you have another way- maybe a more permanent way- to end it. You're just way too careless now, way too done."

Tyler clicked his pen. "Are you analyzing me, Sherlock?"

Gigi winked. "It's what I do best. Told you, psychology major." Her smiled faded quickly. "Do you remember why I'm here?"

"You attempted to take your own life by severing an artery in your-"

"I tried to kill myself."

"What does this have to do with me having a bit of trouble sleeping? This job isn't exactly a walk in the park if you haven't noticed-"

"I know the face of a person who's given up," she reached for Tyler hand, gently grabbing it. "I've been in your shoes and believe me, you don't want to end up where I'm standing. You have so much going for you that you don't know of. You have something- anything- to live for-"

He jerked it away. "I- I- I get that you care and all, but I am- I am not suicidal." He said the word with difficulty, like swallowing sand. The lie felt thick in his mouth, like he wasn't just lying to her, but to himself as well. Tyler was trying to convince himself that he wasn't as messed up inside as he knew he was. "I'm okay."

His real response would've been 'I have nothing left to keep going for. I hate my job, I hate my school, I hate myself. I can't sleep or eat. My family hates me, all my friends from school hate me, my sister is dead because of me, my best friend is suicidal. I can hardly talk to people I do and don't know, much less talk to the patients I try to help. And let's be honest, I hurt more than I help. It's like no one would notice if I vanished. So I'm going to vanish and no one will remember to valedictorian who ended up alone and worthless. And I'll finally stop hurting the ones I love. They will be okay when I'm finally gone.'

Instead, he slammed the door as he walked out of the room, his heart racing again. Tyler found the nearest faculty bathroom, locking himself inside.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, im okay, I'm okay..."

Tyler slid down the door, rubbing his face over and over until he was sure he'd stopped crying. He dried his face, examining his face in the mirror.

"I'm not okay," he whispered to his reflection. And that was the truth.