**TRIGGER WARNING** Depictions of a psychiatric stay are made. Orion's suicide attempt is addressed. Reader discretion is advised.

Imperfect idiocy

Perpetual piteously

These words are like knives

But I didn't mean 

To ruin our lives

--From the song Don't Send Me Happily To Death

Lyrics by Orion Bauwens

Tristan's face is still unreadable as he walks over to me. He sits in the chair that Gloria had been sitting in. It hurts. I wish he'd have sat on the bed. I wish he would've sat next to me. He seems so far away...Then again, I don't blame him.

Idly he takes one of the envelopes, turning it over in his hand. He's not paying attention to it though. When he speaks it's accusatory. It's not angry though--it's sad. Really, really sad.

"Did you do this to get my attention? If you did, you have it."

A tear drips out of my eye immediately. "N-no."

He's still staring at me blankly. "Then why?"

I look at my lap. "I haven't slept since--" I can't say it.

"Since us?"

"Y-yeah."

"Fuck, Orion, that's a really long time. It was like, a week ago now."

"Yeah..."

"You could've called," he speaks softly, almost sounding like the wind.

I laugh bitterly. "Could I have?"

Now he glares. "Yes."

"If you knew what I did, would you?"

"What did you do?" His face becomes hard, unreadable, a wall surrounding him to protect himself from whatever cannon ball I'm about to lob at him.

"I slept with Jake. I slept with Olivia."

"While we were together or after?"

"Jesus, Tristan! After! What sort of person do you think I am?"

"I don't know anymore."

I wish he'd be angry. I deserve anger. But this sadness? It's killing me. If I could just take everything back I would.

For a while we don't say anything. Tristan finally tosses the envelope back onto my legs.

"What's all this?"

"Fan mail Gloria brought me."

"Did it help?"

"I guess. Kinda. Sorta."

He runs a hand through his hair and I suddenly realize how exhausted and beaten up he looks. "Well, at least someone got through."

"Hey," I say gently, "you did too..."

"Really? Then why are we here, Orion?"

Another tear drips down my face and I can't look at him. "Call me Orio..."

"Why are we here, Orion?" he says harshly, and the tears start a steady stream down my cheeks. "If I got through to you, why did I get a frantic call from Jake telling me I had to fly out on the first plane I could snag from Texas to Vermont because you had taken pills and they weren't sure you were going to make it?"

I wince.

"If I did anything, why am I sitting here, in your hospital room, and you look like death warmed over?" He shakes his head, and he's still speaking softly, broken. "Jesus, Orion, you should see how pale your skin is, and how deep the bags under your eyes are."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I am too. I should've done more."

"Don't do that."

"What?" he says, "What, are you're gonna say, 'It's not you, it's me'? 'There was nothing you could have done'?"

"This was an accident," I say, my voice shaking with conviction, "I swear to you, I swear on my father's grave, it wasn't my intention to try and commit suicide."

Tristan looks down. "What all did you take, Orion?"

When I don't answer, he lifts his head again, face a blank slate. "How much of what did you take?"

"I took--I took an anxiety med to make me drowsy. And when that didn't work I took a sleeping pill. And when that didn't work I had Sim--I took some...stuff that was supposed to help me relax."

"How many pills is that?"

I swallow. "T-too many..."

"How many pills?"

"S-seven..."

"Is there any medication, anywhere on the planet, where you take seven pills at once?"

"N-no...n-not really, I guess...I mean, I know some people with mental health issues have to take a cocktail of meds, or people that have cancer, but--"

Tristan starts crying. It's not loud, it's not ugly. It's not even softly. He looks exactly the same, but wetness starts coming out of his eyes. His voice doesn't even change.

It kills me.

"You took seven pills, and you're really trying to sit here and tell me you weren't trying to kill yourself?"

I whimper. "I just wanted to sleep."

"I believe you. And that's the really fucked up thing. I honestly believe you. And that's scary."

I wipe at my face. "H-how?"

"That you're so fucked up in the head that it didn't occur to you that taking that much medicine to try and sleep was a bad idea."

I swallow hard.

"Like, you do get that now, right? You get that you OD'd? You get that you were unconscious and they had to shove three rounds of charcoal into you to clear your system? And that they were afraid you were going to choke on your own vomit because you were unconscious?"

"Y-yeah..."

"And they were really worried, too, because sometimes that procedure can cause perforations in a person's throat, and they know you're a singer, and there was a possibility you'd never sing again?"

"I didn't--didn't know that..."

He wipes his face and then looks at his wet hand. "Yeah, well. It's a thing."

"I'm sorry."

He rubs the tears between his fingers, looking at his gestures instead of at me. "You have nothing to be sorry for Orion."

"Yes I do--"

His head snaps up. "No, you don't. You're sick. And I don't think any of us really grasped how out of hand things were."

"That's no one's fault but mine."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

He holds his head in his hands. "Just--stop. Okay?"

I nod even though he doesn't see it. For a long while we just sit in silence, each respectively crying quietly. Then finally I find the courage to speak.

"Are we--are we okay?"

He doesn't look at me still. "I don't know."

"Are we--are we ever going to be okay?"

"I don't know, Orion."

I cry harder. "Are we ever going to be together again?"

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I don't know, Orion. I just don't know right now, okay? I'm sorry."

"D-do you want us to be together?"

He looks at me finally.

"Of course I do. I love you, Orio." I shut my eyes at the name, relishing it. "I just--" His gaze drops again and he whispers. "I just can't do this right now, and I'm sorry."

I nod and wipe my eyes. I've done enough crying. I know Tristan well enough now to know his convictions. When he says something, he means it. This is over now.

"I understand."

And I do. I'm not just saying that. And for once it doesn't come with the normal self-loathing or self-deprecating thoughts.

Tristan almost lost someone he loves. He needs time to collect his thoughts. He needs to contemplate if he's strong enough to handle me. Tristan needs to decide if I'm worth it.

And that's not a jab at myself. I get it. I am who I am because of my issues. And that's hard. God I know that's hard.

Tristan gets to his feet then, wiping his face. "There's someone else who wants to talk to you. I should get going."

"Y-yeah..."

Tristan comes over and kisses the top of my head. The kiss lingers, and I hear him catch a whimper. He pulls away and takes my hand. He's still not looking at me.

"I do love you, Orion. And I think I'm gonna always love you."

"I know."

And with that he leaves.

The last person who walks in is probably the last person I wanted to see on the planet right now. I watch as they enter slowly, almost as though they're afraid. Cautiously she touches the back of the chair, eyes locked on me. They fumble around a bit, never taking their eyes off me, never blinking.

I look out the window, the opposite way of this person, and mutter under my breath. "Oh fuck me..."

"Has--has this happened before?"

I bite my lip and look back at my birth mom. I am so, so, so ashamed right now. If I could just jump out the window and run away I would. But hey, guess what? Pretty sure the windows are locked and unbreakable in what I assume is a psych ward room.

I can't say anything. I merely shake my head. My lip is still firmly planted in my mouth, but for once I'm not biting down on it or tearing at the skin.

She looks as nervous as I feel. "Do you--do you mind if I ask what happened, Orion?"

"I..."

She waits for me to say something but I can't. What is there to say? I've already said everything there is to say to everyone else.

"There was a man who was here before me--is he alright? He was crying; did he--"

I shut my eyes and let out a slow breath. "He's my boyfriend. Well, was."

"O-oh."

My eyes snap open, suddenly defensive. "Homophobic?"

"N-no. Not at all. I just-I didn't know--"

I look down at my lap guiltily. I shouldn't have snapped at her. "Amy knows...sorry I didn't tell you..."

"Speaking of Amy. Um. The--the boys are here..."

I look at her and she shifts uncomfortably.

"They wanted to be here. But they--they don't feel comfortable seeing you..."

"Good," I say honestly and I look back out the window, "I wouldn't want them to see me like this, anyway." I flick my eyes to her. "Bad enough Amy saw me..."

"She wanted to. She's crazy about you, you know."

I can't look at her anymore so I move my vision back outside. "Yeah, I know."

There's some silence.

"Orion..."

I look at her. She's looking at her lap, wringing her hands. God, the amount of times I've done that...Are idiosyncrasies inherited?

She looks like she's going to cry. "I know I haven't been here. And I know you have a support system. And I'm not looking for changes over night. But Orion--"

She comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. Gently she caresses my hair. "I want you to know I'm your mother. I want to be that for you, please. If you'll let me."

Tears come to my eyes and my throat hurts even more. I nod my head, not daring to blink.

"Orion...You can call me mom. And you can tell me whatever needs to be said, no matter how silly or stupid you think it is."

I nod again.

She bites her lip. "And Orion...This might be cliche, and maybe people have told you this before, but...It's okay to not be okay sometimes. You know that, right?"

My cheek feels wet. She looks down at her lap.

"In my twenties I suffered from depression...I mean, I still do. It's managed pretty well now. But it was just really hard when everyone tried to change me. Their hearts are in a good place. They just want you to be happy. But the thing about happy people is that they don't understand what it's like to be incapable of being happy.

"They don't understand how isolating it is, how much you beat yourself up for not being normal, for not being able to force yourself to be normal. And them telling you it's going to be okay just makes it worse. And them trying to figure it out and sympathize with you makes it worse. And them telling you how strong you are, and how they wish they were strong like you is actually really patronizing..."

I put my trembling hand to my mouth. She looks at me directly, and my eyes stare back.

"Because I don't see how suffering is strong. I don't see how wanting to die is strong. I don't see how being unable to function is strong. I don't see how coping every waking hour instead of living is strong. And I don't see how being unable to change any of that is strong."

I pull her into a hug.

Finally. Someone gets it.