Notes:

Trigger warning / Spoilers: I want to be clear that this was so so hard for me to write, partially because this chapter has references to very real experiences psychiatric facilities. Please remember that Arthur is a fictional character in any case and that regardless of what it may appear, I'm not trying to make the statement that these places are either overall good or bad, but I cannot deny the help they can possibly provide. If you have psychiatric issues, please, do your best to seek medical help by any means necessary. Emergency rooms, crisis hotlines and outpatient therapy provide information in their own way. Do your research on what you think may be best for your particular situation and do not let this story be a substitute for medical advice.

This does not depict medical care in England and any similarities are coincidence.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

I tried to escape

Thoughts in my head, so great

But it was too late.

Wide eyes stared far into the distance as Arthur at in the waiting area of the hospital psych ward, feeling as though he were 3 seconds away from vomiting. He had returned to lucidity once they wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm in the ambulance, riding with Francis holding his hand by his side. Antonio had arrived as well, telling the technician about Arthur's personal affairs.

Once they got him through the triage, after taking his vitals, Arthur had to give up his shoes, keys, wallet and everything else he carried in his pockets to be put away in a large manila envelope the staff kept behind the desk. They gave him ugly, gray socks to put on his feet, which were covered in dark, splotchy blue polka dots, textured in a way to make it downright impossible to slip on the cold, hard floors.

Arthur crossed his arms tighter, every movement he made making him feel more and more paranoid. This was nothing like the way it looked like in the movies or on T.V. The staff were kind, but not condescending. No one was shoving a straitjacket over his head. The lobby of the psych ward bustled with an almost casual feel, with one of the desk attendants talking to a security guard about how cute her new grandchild was.

He was at least thankful for Francis and Antonio by his side, engaged with the world when he faded out of reality, their gentle touches of his arm reminding him of the security they held. Antonio especially, had a steely look in his eye, but the ends of his sentences held the smallest of pitch changes that only happened when he was nervous. The lawyer was fiercely present to help his friend.

Arthur stared down at his ugly woolly socks in disgust. Despite his surroundings being no more threatening than the dentist's office, they made him feel like a prisoner and it only added to his emotional discomfort.

" ?" called out a plump nurse, opening the door with a folder in hand, accompanied by a tall doctor by her side.

"That's you, come on." Said Antonio, nudging Arthur's shoulder and they both stood. Arthur tore his gaze up and nervously brushed his bangs to the side in the hope of appearing presentable. Francis stood up as well, quiet but biting his lip as he rubbed his hands together.

The doctor stepped forward further into the lobby. Arthur exhaled sharply and looked at him. "How long will it take?" he said, his voice scratchy and dry.

"Not long at all." Said the doctor confidently. "We just want to ask you some questions to see how you're doing, observe you for a while and see what we can do to help."

"We'll be waiting for you, okay?" said Francis with a meek, if not stressed smile.

"Yes, just tell them everything, okay?" said Antonio, giving a pat on Arthur's back before stepping to the side so he could go.

It wasn't okay, not in a million years but Arthur opened his mouth to speak, sighing instead as words failed him.

"We have their contact information in the file." Said the nurse. "So you can call them when we're done as well."

That seemed to have convinced Arthur at last. He forced out a smile, forced out an "Alright" and forced himself to walk alongside the medical duo deeper into the facility.

"So, , my name is Doctor Ike, and I'd like for us to to work together and figure out what exactly brought on this episode of yours today?" he said, opening the door to the office and sitting in a chair by the computer. Across the desk was a large, plastic purple chair with rounded edges, almost as though someone had built a much bigger version of a kindergarten chair and sanded down every point. Arthur cautiously took a seat in it, noting the scabby texture all over.

"Ah…Episode?" said Arthur with a blink, vaguely uncomfortable in the chair as he wiggled around, trying not to get his skin in contact with it.

"So in medical terms, we use words like an episode to describe a length of time where your physical, emotional or psychological health makes a drastic shift." Said Doctor Ike, moving his hands to show the concept visually. "For example, when an epileptic as a seizure, it's described as an attack or an episode."

Arthur felt his jaw unclench. "I see, well- I'm not entirely sure." Stammered Arthur, staring at the door. He didn't like looking at the doctor's eyes, it made him feel like a child. "I suppose it might have something to do with me detoxing…perhaps?" he said with a shrug.

"Detoxing from what?" said the doctor quickly. "Drugs? Alcohol?"

Arthur grit his teeth again and closed his eyes. "I used to drink a lot more. Like, rum and vodka, but I'm not drinking as much now."

"And are you in a rehabilitation program or-"

"No." Said Arthur, a little harder than he had intended. He cleared his throat. "No." He said again. "My ah…my house guest, limits my intake." He said, furrowing his brow at how odd that sounded.

"So how many drinks do you have a week?"

Arthur felt his face grow hot in dismay. "Look." He said sternly, glancing back at the doctor. "This has absolutely no bearing at all on what happened.

"As a matter of fact." Said Doctor Ike just as sternly. "Alcohol withdrawal syndrome has a number of psychiatric symptoms so I'm afraid it really is very important, regardless of how willing you are to share the facts with me. Otherwise we can't help you, and in that case, there's no reason for you to be here if you're going to lie." He threw his hands up in a sort of shrug. "It's up to you, . Do you want to get to the bottom of this or not?"

Arthur was at a loss for words at the dramatic shift in attitude the doctor had made, and his face grew even redder. He dropped his gaze once again, heart pounding. He didn't want to be here. He wished it hadn't been such a big deal. He wished he hadn't been so lost in his own thoughts as to worry Francis. The look on his face… He swallowed hard, covering his face with his hands and trying to rub the sweat away from his forehead, clenching his hands into fists and putting them between his knees. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, still frozen and not knowing if he could answer. He gave a nod.

"Ok." He said at last, when the doctor showed no signs of continuing his questions after the nod.

"Alright then." Said Doctor Ike and Arthur sincerely hoped that he would get a couple of paper cuts as he handled files later that day. "How many drinks do you have a week?"
"This week was…17. Beer and wine." Said Arthur.

"And what was your average intake before this week?"

"I…." Arthur sighed. "I honestly don't know."

"Just take a guess for me."

Arthur tried to do the math in his head, but it was hard to go that far back into the past in the first place. "I…" he started, so the doctor wouldn't think he was avoiding the question. "Maybe…20…25?"

"Of beer?" asked the doctor."

"No, rum and vodka." Said Arthur quickly. He was deeply uncomfortable putting a number to his drinking. It never seemed like that much. In truth, it never seemed like enough.

"Alright, so I think what we could do is… said the doctor, pounding out the last few words into the computer. "We will provide a temporary dosage of benzos to see if the symptoms dissipate over time. "

"Alright, thank you." Said Arthur out of habit, although he didn't exactly feel more or less fulfilled by what the doctor said he was going to do, it seemed rude to not at least thank him for his time. The nurse nodded and opened the door, waving her arm in a polite gesture.

"Alright , if you just step out here I'll show you where you'll be waiting." She said.

Arthur nodded and stood up, feeling so awkward in his socks as he heard her sneakers squeak against the floor. He briefly remembered how he had always connected nurses with wearing heels, but that seemed to be more of a romantic thing seen in hospital dramas. It made very little sense, Arthur thought, looking at her shoes and their nonslip threads. Hospitals had tons of eerie fluids that would cause even the most sure footed medical professionals to break an ankle if they had to run to an emergency in glossy heels. Thinking of such fluids made him shudder. He wondered how many times people had vomited, peed or bled onto the hallway they were walking on.

"Here we are." Said the nurse, interrupting his thoughts. "There's a phone over there, you ask the someone at the desk and we'll connect you to one of the numbers you provided with us previously. There's a TV up there, a bookshelf over here and if you'd like to sleep, you can ask one of the staff members to open a room for you."

Arthur looked around at everything the nurse had pointed out. In the middle was what looked to be a cafeteria table, with a bored looked staff member playing on his phone while a young lady pressed closely against him, looking over the game in interest. The TV was completely encased high up in a plastic bubble with scratches marring the surface. On the screen an episode of Countdown was starting. Around the walls were more of the purple plastic chairs he had seen in the office as well as two comfy looking brown couches that looked so sterile, they seemed suspicious. Down the hall were a series of doors with windows so one could partially see inside. Arthur was struck with the worry that they were locked in but as soon as that fear struck him, a boy -who appeared to be no older than 14- opened the door with a frown and walked straight to the bookshelf. He knelt down to press the book into an empty space on the shelf before retrieving another one and settling down on the couch.

"Yes…" said Arthur, feeling incredibly overstimulated in this place so far. He regretted everything. "Thank you." He lowered himself onto the couch with a gentle nod. How low he had fallen this time. He peered over at the book the young man was reading and recognized the whimsical child like illustrations immediately. Normally, Arthur frowned upon the practice of reading over someone else's shoulder but the familiar work of Shel Silverstein, an American poet he had often read to Alfred and Matthew when they were young, made him forget entirely about etiquette.

YEARS FROM NOW

Although I cannot see your face

As you flip these poems awhile,

Somewhere from some far-off place

I hear you laughing—and I smile.

Arthur heard it. Heard her voice again as his eyes raced over and over those lines, which he knew were just the words of another dead poet. Another dead poet that sang the verses his pained heart howled while never anticipating of his suffering, never had an inkling of who he was and yet spoke to him so deeply. He thought of the book the two of them had shared. The fluffy pink collection of poems and writings he had stuffed under the bed because it had pained him too much to look at it. The book filled with the scraps of her early cries for help, the silent screeching hidden in her ink that Arthur had translated to the best of his ability.

His dear wife had been through so much. Arthur regretted his deep anger at her disappearance. Yet the note she had left behind- the audacity of her prose turning into pins that pierced Arthur's heart. The note that he had kept hidden in the Maneki Neko. The Lucky Cat Teapot. The note he had refused to share with his sons because the reality would destroy them. The note that made him hate himself and question what in the world he had done wrong.

The note that turned him into an alcoholic.

With a start, Arthur noticed that the young man with the book now had his face deeply shoved into it, shaking all over. For a moment, Arthur was confused, until he heard how ragged his breathing had become, felt the tension in his face and brow, noticed his grit teeth. He had been staring down this poor boy this whole time.
"Oh! Ah..Ahem." Said Arthur carefully, trying to put on a friendly face and catch his breath. "I'm …I'm so sorry." He said, awkwardly glancing to the side. "I didn't mean to stare at you, young man, I got- ah, lost in thought."

The young boy peered up from the top of his book to sneak a peek at Arthur nervously and he had the widest eyes Arthur had ever seen. "Oh…" he said, lowering the book and relaxing his shoulders, although still quivering all over quite a bite. "Thanking you." He said with a sigh of relief.

Arthur coughed into his hand. Perhaps talking to someone who appeared to be in a similar position to his could help pass the time better, not to mention get his unsettled mind off of things that drove him deeper in the pit of despair. "I'm Arthur, What's your name?" he said. For an introduction it sounded far too simple, childish even, but considering the circumstances, Arthur found that it would be inappropriate to ask anything else. He would hate to set this kid off the same way he had unintentionally set himself reeling.

"Oh- Hi. I'm Raivis." Said Raivis, his eyes starting to clear and shrink now that the perceived danger had dissipated. "Have you been heres for a while?"

The question Arthur wanted to avoid so desperately was now being shoved back into his face. He wanted to ask Raivis the same question, especially intrigued by his accent and rather blunt manner of speaking. "Slightly, I suppose." Said Arthur with a frown. "I just got here for…things, you know?" he said, bullshitting most of his response and yet Raivis gave an understanding nod. "How about you?"

Raivis looked up at the TV, his grip on the book becoming tighter. "They had a bad sitcom on when I came, so it must have been really earlies." He said. "I know it was still dark outside, but I fell asleep right away." He said, closing the book, but putting his thumb between the pages so he wouldnt lose his place. "Do you lives nearby?"

"Ah yes, I'm from Manchester." Said Arthur with a nod.

"I'm from Rusholme, by the park with a heart shaped pond." Said Raivis.

"Really?" said Arthur in interest, enjoying the casual chatter. "I don't think I've been there. How old are you?" asked Arthur.

"I'm…16." Said Raivis, looking rather embarrassed.

"16!?" exclaimed Arthur in astonishment. Raivis grew a little redder and that made Arthur bite back what was going to be a comment about how small the boy was. "I have a son your age, actually."

"Oh?" said Raivis with a small, his eyebrows rising in an expression Arthur couldn't quite pinpoint. It looked like a cross between relief and…hope?"

"Yes, yes." Said Arthur, smiling as well. "Two boys, 16 and 14." He said, instinctively reaching for his pocket to show Raivis a few pictures before he realized his wallet was gone. "Ah…" he said, patting his hip.

"Where are they now?" asked Raivis, tilting his head.

Arthur frowned and sighed, clasping his hands together in front of him, laying his chin on his fingers. "At school most likely…" he said, glancing up at the TV before peering at Raivis. "I hope…that I can make it home before they do.

Raivis's smile faded and he opened his book again, glancing away from Arthur. "Um…I'm sorries but…that probably wont happen." He said, turning the page.

"O-Oh." Said Arthur, so shocked that his voice cracked. He wasn't sure how to describe this feeling overtaking him now. It was a rapid, rolling numbness coursing through him. Now he was going to disappoint his children again. What were they going to say? To feel? Would it spread? Would the other students make fun of them?

"Mister Kirkland!" said the nurse, shaking Arthur out of his daze once more as she touched his shoulder and gave him a smile. "It's time for us to do the blood work."

With a nod, Arthur stood up. He was afraid at what kind of results would come up because at this moment, every ounce of blood in his body felt as cold as ice.

Notes:

Thought you'd seen the last of me? I'd never be defeated so easily.

I'm in Connecticut now and two months later my leg is almost completely healed from the incident in February. So now I'm living with two wonderful roommates and trying my best to get a job while also doing art and managing art school at the same time. I frequently have flashbacks due to CPTSD from the trauma's I've experienced but I have it relatively managed with the support of my friends.

So yeah, this chapter was tough to write since I drew upon some real life references both of my own and others, but it's certainly not a play by play interpretation so don't worry, lol (for example, I never really talked to anyone like Arthur did here).

Arthur's certainly having a tough time as well, but what do you think about that note that Hana left behind? Why would Arthur even keep it :o Why is Latvia here? (Yes thats Raivis in case you were wondering) So many questions, to be answered, next time on An Angel on Princess Street Z!

I super appreciate all feedback, and if you'd like to get in contact with me directly, here are other places I can be reached!
Twitter: Yaoimeowmaster YaoiMeow_Art
Email: meowmaster5

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