There's something special about psychiatric hospitals. And here's what:
The food. It's never memorable. It's mid at best and dry and tasteless at worst. They force you to wear socks with white treads that don't cover your ankles and you can only write with crayons, markers, or flexible pens that don't write for anything.
The adult side was full, it tends to get that way near the holidays, so they've put me with the teens since I'm only a few months over eighteen. There weren't nearly as many patients on the teen's side when I arrived. Only three of us including me. There's Me, Peter, and Alex. We spend our days hanging out near each other, passing the time with long conversations and group therapies. Though I haven't said a word since my arrival, they haven't pried. They all just know my name and they know I'm here for one reason or another and that reason is similar.
"I'm here for suicidality," Peter whispered to me the first day I arrived. He was the tallest man I've ever seen. At least six-seven, maybe six-eight. He has a deep, calming voice and walks with a slouch. His hair is brown and he combs it over to the side showing his steel-blue eyes.
"Anorexia," Alex said, which explained the brown tube that led into her nose and lined the back of her throat. They had an IV drip they'd bring out during our meals that fed her nutrients because she refused to eat anything. She was coloring in a printed-out picture of an owl with an ocean-green crayon.
I had only seen pictures and heard about people like Alex. I had never seen them in real life until that day. She didn't look like what I'd expect someone with anorexia to look like. I would've expected a bag of bones with some skin stretched on top of it, but it's a girl with a body just like Delilah's.
"I finally don't have to suffer from the new kid hazing anymore!" Peter said.
"There was never any hazing," Alex retorted, not taking her attention off her coloring.
"There should've been hazing," Peter said to me with a wink.
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It's been a few days, but I've been enjoying my time at Autumn Springs Hospital. Squid and my mother visit me every day during visiting hours. I tell them I haven't really talked to anyone and they tell me that it's okay. I don't have to share anything I'm uncomfortable sharing.
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We're all sitting next to the door that leads to a gated courtyard outside, basking in the sunlight when Peter asks something that surprises me:
"What do you think Delilah's boyfriend is going through right now?" He asks. Alex is sitting across from us while Peter is to my left.
"That's the gorgeous dead bedroom pop artist chick, right? Yeah. She was like—top eight on the billboards last time I checked," Alex says.
"Man death really boosts your ratings," Peter comments, "I remember finding her when she uploaded her first song. I remember her when she was just starting man."
"What was she like?" I ask. I know the answer, but I'm just curious to hear how other people perceived her.
"Aw—dude—" Peter starts, "Talk about a powerhouse of a voice. Think Hayley Williams and Dustin Kensrue had a baby. Just the richest, soul-infused, emotion of her vocals gave me chills. And the way she played man—Oh my God! She was basically another Robert Johnson in the making."
"I only heard a few of her songs," Alex says, "But she sounded sad yet hopeful at the same time in a weird way. And that's hard to create something that sounds like that—you know?"
"I listen to '... and I persist' when I'm angry," Peter says, "Which is a lot. As for her boyfriend—I don't know man. He must be going through Hell right now."
I could tell them the truth. I haven't even told them my name and I've told the staff here to call me by a preferred name. But I don't want anyone here to know who I am. It would just bring too much unwanted attention.
"What about you, Paul?" Peter asks me. Paul is the preferred name I've chosen.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You've heard of Delilah Lor?"
I laugh, "Yeah. Yeah, I've heard of her."
"What do you think her boyfriend's going through right now?" He asks.
I look out the window and into the blue sky of December.
"He probably blames himself," I start, "And he thinks that it's all his fault. If he just was a little quicker. If he just did this one thing a little differently. She would still be here. He wishes, begs, and pleads with God that he can have a second chance. But that chance will never come. As the world begins to discover how amazing she truly is, he was the first to truly know how amazing she really was. And she didn't need to die to prove that. Now every time he hears someone play a song. Every time he hears music. He'll think of her. And all he wants to see is her smile again. Just once. Just one last time."
They all stare at me, silent.
"Dude... for real," Peter says, nodding. Alex just examines me.
A frizzy-haired blonde woman in her mid-forties enters the unit with a Bluetooth speaker in hand.
"Music therapy everyone!" she says.
"Been waiting for this shit," Peter says, shooting up from his spot. We all stand and follow the woman into a separate room with a table and weighted chairs surrounding it. We all take a seat and she begins to take song requests.
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Peter chooses 'It Gets Better' by COUNTERFEIT. He chose the song because he likes to listen to it whenever he feels hopeless. And listening to the song I see why. The song itself is a call to arms to all who have felt alone and hopeless; like nothing will ever get any better. But the chorus is a direct countermove to that statement:
"It gets better
It gets better
Say we are young and we're full of it
We're on track 'cause we're breaking shit up..."
I'm next, and I decided to go with 'There Was Time' by Koethe. I tell everyone it's how I feel about someone in particular who isn't here anymore. And I still can't believe that I'm getting away with it.
"Turn back the clock
The hourglass has run us up
When is 'enough' enough
Lies, Lies, Lies
Unending mess
Repeat the tale of who knows best
So unimpressed
With the lies, lies, lies
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One day for the ones who lead us
One day for the monument
One day we could watch it all burn down
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Losing sleep, we're caught and quartered
Make the leap lead to the slaughter
Six feet deep, head underwater now
Told there was time, but I fear that we've run out"
After my song, it's Alex's turn, and she chooses 'her smile' by Keanu Bicol. Once the song starts playing she says she chose the song because of me and something I said earlier about Delilah's boyfriend. And when he starts singing I'm captivated.
"So long my friend
I won't see you for a while
I'll take a chance
Just to see your smile again
I'm just hypnotized by the look that's in your eyes
And the way she flips her hair
Although she's never there
She doesn't bat an eye
Oh, I just want to find...
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I just wanna find a reason to love again (love again)
I just wanna see (I just wanna see) her smile in Heaven
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I don't want your lies
Nothing I despise
Give you my life
I don't care if I die
Take me as you please
Drag me underneath
Oh, I just want to see...
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Hello Mrs. Dress
Oh I won't hold my breath
I don't want to be so lonely
See me again I hope she
Recognizes me and
Gives me meaning again
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I just want to find a reason to love again
I just wanna see, her smile in Heaven (hey!)"
It continues into the final part of the song, the namesake of the song.
"I just wanna see, her smile again
I just wanna see, her smile again
(Again, again)"
When the song is over, I'm holding back tears. But the manager of the flood gates decides to say Fuck It! And the tears start flowing. Alex gets up out of her chair and starts rubbing my back.
"No touching!" the leader of music therapy says.
"It's fine," I sniffle.
Alex stops and we leave the group. I go to my room to contemplate my actions.
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I killed someone. It wasn't like they were an innocent life, but I, Judas Korver, killed an eighteen-year-old woman. Before she could be saved. Before she could be redeemed. I pulled the trigger. I'm unsure if there was anything to redeem, but that's not up to me to decide. Just like how it's not up to me to make that decision to take someone's life. No wonder Jesus hasn't been in my life lately. I've committed one of the worst sins imaginable. I deserve this punishment.
I'm sorry Delilah. I think about those two words she whispered in my ear. Those seven letters. How I completely spat on them with what I did right after. I ended a life and now I could never fulfill my girlfriend's dying wishes.
I'm a failure. I'm sorry God. But I failed you, of that I'm sure. I will just remind you of the pain forevermore. And when my sins are just a memory, faith restored. For now, I have failed you. To the core.
Someone knocks at my room door. I look up to see Alex.
"You okay?" She asks.
"I'm just going through a lot," I say, wiping a tear from my eye. She enters my room. We're not allowed to be in each other's rooms unless we're roommates. But as long as no one's looking they don't have to know that.
She takes a seat next to me at my right on my bed.
"My—my girlfriend asked me to do something before she died," I admit, "But it's too late to do it now and I just feel shitty."
"You're Judas Korver, aren't you?" She asks.
I nod.
"What was it she asked you to do?" She asks.
I tell her. And she nods.
"Then I did something that I couldn't take back," I admit, "I killed the person that was responsible for killing her."
"You killed a shooter?" She gasps.
"Yeah. I shot them with their own gun."
"I—holy shit dude I just gotta say I'm really sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not fine. No one deserves to go through what you're going through right now. I can't even imagine how painful it must be."
"I wanted to kill myself because of it. That's why I'm here."
"My brother committed suicide. I'm still angry at him. He left. On purpose."
"He didn't do it to hurt you."
"Then why? Why would he do something like that?"
"He did it—because he thought you'd be better off without him. When some people decide to kill themselves, it's like a weight being lifted off their chest. They really think they're a burden to everyone they love and they don't want to be in pain anymore. So they decide to leave. It's nothing against you. They're actually doing it because they love you, but we both know that we'd rather have them here than have them dead. That's the thing with suicide. It warps your way of thinking. It makes you think you're the problem."
"He left me a message on my phone before he did it. I still listen to it every now and again when I feel like hearing his voice. He sounds happy in the message. Like his cheery, go-lucky self."
"He probably wanted you to have that last piece of him to be like that."
Her eyes begin to well up.
"God dammit, Reggie," she says, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make you cry," I tell her.
She laughs, "Sorry? You just helped me, Judas! Thank you!"
Before I know it, her arms are enveloped around me. I hug her back and we stay like that for a while. When she pulls away she asks: "There were two shooters?"
"No. There was just one," I say, confused.
"But you said you killed one..."
"Right..."
"Well on the news they said they took the shooter out of there alive. They didn't say the name or gender, but they said they detained a shooter."
My world shatters into a million pieces. Lucy is still alive? Nick must have moved the gun away in time before I fired it, avoiding Lucy. Why would Squid and Nick hide this from me? Why would they let me believe I killed her?
"Thank you, Alex. You've opened my eyes," I tell her, kissing her on the forehead.
I join her in the day room then and think about the past few weeks and the horrible things that have happened. If Delilah had never died, I would have never planned to take my life, and if I had never planned to take my life, I would have never met Alex. And if I never met Alex, I would have never helped her with her brother or learned that Lucy was still alive. Alive. Even amid all this misery, there is still a little hope.
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I'm able to charm them into pushing my discharge earlier than usual.
"I'm sorry I'm getting out before you guys," I tell Peter and Alex.
"No problem man," Peter says, "Just get really drunk for me on the outs. Or high. Both would be preferable."
I turn towards Alex and she opens up her arms and envelops me. A nurse from behind the nursing station screams, "No touching!" But Alex doesn't seem to care.
"Good luck out there, Savior," she says. That's the first time I've heard someone call me that. I'm not sure how I feel about it.
"Likewise," I say in her ear, "You'll get through this."
We pull away.
"You know, you look a lot like Delilah's boyfriend," Peter says, raising a finger at me, "Doesn't he? I mean the music video he's in for that song is really grainy—it was the talent show song—but if the both of you were standing next to each other—wouldn't be able to tell the difference."
Alex and I make eye contact.
"Should we tell him?" She asks.
"Tell me what?" Peter asks.
"Paul, your mom is here to pick you up," A nurse from behind me calls out.
"I gotta go, God bless you guys," I say, following the nurse to the door that leads off the unit. I then see Alex pull Peter down by his shirt and whisper something into his ear. His eyes then go wide and he curses, his gaze locked on me. I wink at him and follow the nurse out of the unit.
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My mom and Squid are waiting for me in the front lobby. I ask my mom if I can have a moment with Squid alone outside and she gives us the clear. We then go outside.
"How are you feeling?" Squid asks as we walk around the building.
"Better," I tell them, "I've been through this whole routine countless times. There's nothing like a groupie sock vacation."
We round the corner and see a barren oak tree with a loan bench underneath it.
"Listen," I start, "I heard that Lucy is still alive while I was in there."
Squid stops. I turn back to them.
"I wanted to tell you," Squid admits, "Really—I did. But Nick had this plan. He didn't want the media to know anything about Lucy. He just wanted them to know about the students. And you. You see—too many times we focus on the shooter when it comes to this stuff. We really should be focusing on what you did Judas."
My eyes meet their grey steel gaze.
"I did what anybody would do," I say.
"I think we both know that's not true. Judes—what you did was inspirational. You really should see the stories on the news. All they have is a picture of your school ID. People don't look at you the same anymore."
"Why do I still feel this hatred then? This resentment? Why do I feel like a failure?"
"I'm sorry you feel these things, Judes. But maybe they aren't from the people around you. Maybe they're from you... I have a surprise for you. You feel like going back to school?"
"Isn't it winter break?"
"Something tells me the residents of Hawkins won't mind."
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