31: Locked Up

Craig woke up slowly, taking in small amounts of what was around him and who he was. He saw the empty untouched twin bed across from him first. The blankets wrapped around him were thinner and stiffer than the one he always woke up in bed at Joey's. What? Still groggy and unsure, he had to look for something more familiar. Was this even him? He knew the lines on his hands and how his facial features would feel when he ran a hand over his eyes to brush the sleep out of them. This was him. He took a deep breath, curious if he was even still here, and his body answered him back with a cough.

More of his senses returned and he could smell the chlorine on his skin and in his hair. His memory poked at him a little, a sort of a 'hey you, time to wake up now.' He remembered being upset. There was a bandage on his hand and an explanation of that came to him in the flash of a memory of glass shattering. It was strange how now he couldn't even remember the sequence of events but he just knew that it was the kind of thing that scared the shit out of him. It didn't even seem possible that he would go that far into his head where it would drive him to a bottle of whiskey and then to drown himself in a swimming pool.

This wasn't something he would do, Craig reasoned when he noticed the hospital gown. Did it actually happen? Yesterday was still in fragments and he was confused about that as well as the strange environment he was in. There was no medical equipment around that beeped and flashed with its red numbers. Instead it was something he could only compare to a dorm room or the space he shared with a peer at camp; matching twin beds, desks, and closets. The bare white walls felt more like a hospital room; he remembered staring at them when he didn't want to watch his mother lying in her hospital bed dying of cancer.

Manning, Craig was what the hospital ID bracelet on his wrist said. Then it reminded him where he was; Adolescent Psychiatric. He had a vague memory of Joey leaving but he couldn't be sure if that was just a dream (and he always dreamt of this) or the actual recollection of the time his step dad told him to stay away from Angela and himself because his dad didn't want it. He hated remembering those days. Joey should have just hit him instead. It might hurt less than that sting of rejection. He doesn't want you around, like dad said. Dad didn't really seem to want him around either. What were these thoughts that were looping around in his tired head?

His eyes were droopy now and maybe he had a shot of sleep relieving him from this. He moved his head ever so slightly so it wouldn't throb and glanced at the window; he couldn't be sure of the time but the light indicated the sun was rising. He couldn't remember falling asleep last night. Sleep? That never happened. He actually rarely slept, unless he had a little chemical help. But that didn't keep him out. No he would always wake up from a nightmare and if he wasn't anxious from that, it was because he was itching with a craving to get a quick fix from his secret stash or write a song.

On a "good day," he didn't need the sleep. The concept didn't even sound like it applied to him. Because he simply had this yearning, like he was chasing something. He had his dreams of becoming an accomplished musician or photographer. He was so sure. It felt like it was in reach. It was so close and he couldn't be still. If he was still for too long it would disappear. It would flirt with him and then it left, like everything else.

God, he wanted to feel that way again. Just for a few minutes, an hour. He'd take what he could get because other times whatever it was that lived inside him just kept him tossing and turning in bed, irritable and doubting everything. This was probably the worst because as exhausted as he was, he couldn't sleep. He felt restless, but was too weak from sadness. And he would just lay there and wish for sleep. Anything that would take him away from this and he could escape from what was here, in him. He still was convinced that something else was making him do the things he did. Yesterday…the pool…that wasn't something he would do. Did it even happen? Craig's eyes were closed now and he saw nothing.

Last night felt so black. It was like something inside of him was reset. He had felt this before. Despite all his internal aching wounds, there was a part of him that was surprisingly at peace. The first time he oded on pills intentionally and woke up, he was a whirlwind of emotions but at the very core of it there was something that felt calm. It was contradictory but the attempt at his life made him feel more alive. Just 14 and weak from a stomach pump, the nurse brought in chicken noodle soup and he could still remember how strange it was to be eating like he was alive and a normal human being. It almost felt like he had been reborn; given another shot and allowed to appreciate all these details. At the center of the storm of all the repercussions of what he did, what his father did to him, there was calmness. And the thought that maybe he finally killed whatever it was that made him do the things he did.

He was still grateful to be alive. It felt a little hazy, complicated. There were nights he took enough pills and alcohol and quietly hoped he wouldn't wake up (he never told anyone about that and didn't plan on it now). Craig never thought much of it afterward; he woke up and then he had to stop aching. But now? He could feel the heat of his breath and the way he twitched a little before slipping further towards sleep…and he appreciated the sensation. He wanted to be alive. He wanted to feel the subtle details of being alive like how it felt when he took a breath. He wanted to be somewhere. He wanted to be here. Whatever Joey and Ms. Sauvé would say about what he did at the pool, they were wrong. He wanted to be here. If he could just be here but not be here things would be so much easier. The dark blankness of sleep washed over him and it felt like a blessing.

"What?" Craig mumbled, feeling his mind roll over from sleep and into alertness. There was a feeling of tightness on his arm.

"Good morning," a stranger's voice greeted. "Just taking your vitals."

It took a moment or two for him to be able to focus on the face. The guy was young, maybe fresh out of school. From the way he was taking his blood pressure and temperature, he figured he must be a nurse. He was dressed in street clothes however, not like the staff he used to see that worked with his father in his hospital ward. Craig's eyes scanned over the card pinned to his shirt: Andrew. This whole experience was strange, he thought to himself as his eyes fluttered shut.

"No, Craig. I'm sorry but you've got to get up now. We let you sleep in since you were admitted to the ward late last night and we haven't set up a program with your school for tutoring. But you have to get up now."

Craig struggled to obey. This hangover was a bad one. He would have liked a good half hour or more to get used to the idea of moving. The slight turning of his head made it throb and his eyes were dry and sore. What did he do yesterday? Jack Daniels whiskey. He was upset. Oh yeah. At least he was still groggy enough so that the thought of what he did at the pool didn't faze him much. This all didn't seem real.

He fell into the nurse's arms after rising out of bed. All he could do was look up at him wearily. What did I do, he wondered to himself.

"Hey. Craig. You feeling okay? I know yesterday was a heck of a day for you."

They knew what he did. Of course they did. "I'm just kind of hung over."

"Maybe a shower will help wake you up."

Andrew had a hand on his shoulder as he escorted him out of his hospital room and down the hall. The hallway looked more like a hospital with its shiny tiled floor and rooms that lined up on either side of the hallway. It was strangely quiet but Craig was thankful for that with the way his head was pounding. Two other nurses greeted him once they arrived at the nurse's station, where they gave him the bottle of shampoo and soap for the shower. Then Andrew handed over a stack of clothes.

"Joey will be dropping by some clothes for you later today. Hospital scrubs are the best we can do," he explained Craig's wardrobe switch from a hospital gown to scrubs.

Did he arrive in the ward in his wet clothes? It took him a moment to recall. He remembered walking into the hospital with Joey's arm wrapped around him and how he spoke to a nurse in the ER like he wasn't even there. Everything felt a little jumbled; hospital bed, needles from shots and taking blood, and doctors who reminded him of his father. His father was always so kind, reassuring, and gentle with his patients. When they were reconciling months after he moved in with Joey, he would remember those moments and want that same treatment. Why couldn't he have that? Then he would remember why he hated hospitals and there were hands on him again while a nurse tried to comfort him with soothing words.

Craig could remember this shuffle of interacting with people throughout the night. Joey was there (he wasn't here now, his brain reminded with a poke and he tried to ignore it). He remembered questions. First it seemed relatively normal, like they wanted to know that he alright after nearly drowning. Yes, he knew his name and the most basic details of his existence. Then it changed. There was another doctor. A shrink? He remembered him looking over his hands and arms, asking if he had ever cut or burned himself (no, he just punched out the mirror in his bedroom and that's why he had to receive the stitches). He figured he should stop remembering this and the doctor's other questions because it just made him feel helpless because his answers didn't matter anyway; they wanted to admit him to psychiatric. However he didn't think he put up a fight to be admitted to this ward. But he couldn't be sure as his memory was a fuzzy recollection of elevators, doors, staff members, and then Joey leaving him here.

This was actually happening. It still felt like a dream. It wasn't normal, it wasn't real. So Craig asked, "Can I at least have my shoes?"

"You are allowed to wear them when we visit the gym," Nora, the head nurse replied and then noticed how Craig looked a little bewildered by his new environment. Maybe he would find some comfort in knowing that the ward wouldn't be intense all the time, "You will have a lot of free time to do things like play basketball and there is a TV in the common area."

"Um, okay," Craig agreed in a soft tone and gave a nervous smile.

"The bathroom is right in here," Andrew said and steered him towards a door close to the nurse's station.

The bathroom. He was alone now. That was a little surprising considering what he had read in books and seen on TV. He couldn't help but gulp down water at the sink and faintly recalled doing so before in the private bathroom in his room. That one didn't have a shower however and at the time Craig hadn't even thought much of it. He took a moment to study his reflection in the mirror. He was here alone and in his head now though; processing how weird it was that they kept things like shampoo and toothpaste in the nurse's station.

He had to return them after his shower. What exactly was he going to do with a bottle of shampoo? Was it always going to be like this?

"You'll get used to the place after a few days," Andrew reassured. "How's your hand? Can I take a look?"

Craig extended the hand with the stitches, noticing how much it hurt to use the muscles to flex his fingers and how sensitive it was to touch as the nurse began to wrap it with gauze. "I'm not sure what hurts more my hand or my head. Can I have something?"

Nora nodded but didn't dispense anything until after glancing over what must be his hospital file. Craig figured that would explain why he was given nothing stronger than aspirin and the reassurance that if the pain increased, they would try to make him as comfortable as possible. He hoped his eyes didn't reflect the hope he had once hearing that, prescription medication names running through his head like he was making a grocery list.

There were questions about how he slept and if he had any trouble breathing. It felt strange talking so candidly about how it still ached to take a deep breath and he would cough; he did that because he had tried to drown himself. "Am I okay? Did you tell Joey that I'm okay?"

Nora smiled at him and reassured "You are going to be fine. Just let us know if you start feeling sick, coughing like you do when you have the flu. We'll take care of you. And we will be keeping in contact with your stepfather. You can call him tonight if you want to."

"How long am I going to be here because of what I did?"

"It's not a punishment," Andrew tried to assure. "You aren't here because you did something wrong and have to put in a certain amount of time. We just want to get you feeling better. Then you can return home."

That wasn't exactly comforting, Craig thought to himself. His hangover fog was lifting a little after the shower and things were starting to feel real. What was he supposed to do? He didn't mean for this to happen. Should he try to explain why he did what he did? If he spoke as quickly as he was thinking that would just make him seem crazier, he rationalized. Yesterday was pushing forward into his mind and he didn't know what to do with these feelings. Panic, fear, sadness, loneliness…

Despite all this, he smiled for the photo that was taken for his file. He always smiled for photos; shots taken around school while he was with his girlfriend and he was being the boyfriend, pictures at Christmas when he was with his real mom and dad. It was so easy to smile for photographs, like he was playing some role. Or maybe things were just better when they were in a photograph, stopped for that one moment of time. Most of the time photos lied. They put on a façade; he and Ashley weren't the ideal candidates for prom king and queen with his drama and despite all the toys he was given for Christmas that year, Dad's home was anything but joyful. But he smiled for this photo for his psychiatric file just like he smiled for the one taken for his high school year book

"It's nice to have someone smile for their photo for a change," Nora commented.

Craig shrugged, wishing he felt something with that smile. It was gone now.

"I ordered you pizza for lunch. That's usually a crowd pleaser," Andrew announced. "Want to meet everyone?"

"Pizza is fine. Sure."

Andrew led him back down the hallway and through a set of double doors and into what they were calling the common area. A couple of couches, a foosball table, TV; if you were to take a living room and make it clinical enough for a hospital, this would be it. He'd done his share of time in waiting rooms while his mother battled cancer and this felt the same despite the lack of fake flowers on side tables and pictures on the walls. He was waiting now, but for something different. The feeling was the same however. Craig just wanted out.

This section of the room started to spill into another open area that was adjacent to it. Small circular tables (he'd sit at these later when his family visited) acted as a midway from the carpeted area into the linoleum kitchen. This was what felt out of place in a hospital ward; they had a functional kitchen with a fridge, microwave, sink, and a chores and responsibilities chart he would later be introduced to. And they apparently ate at a large table in the center of the room like it was some bizarre Thanksgiving dinner. Andrew introduced him to the group, handed him his tray of food, and took a seat at the head of the table.

And his food? The pizza was one of the microwave oven varieties with the barely present pepperoni cubes. And the silverware was plastic. At least he was allowed a plastic knife. He didn't complain however. He was starving and realized that it might have been days since he actually ate. He finished his meal before everyone else had and then was able to focus on the people around him.

It was easy to pick out the friendships among this group of his peers. There were only two girls and they had distanced themselves from the guys by having a separate conversation. Craig noticed when the one with the bleached blonde hair with the blue streak looked over at him and smiled. She must have been here for a while; she had dark roots and the colored stripe was fading. It was harder to classify what clique everyone else would be in if this were high school. That's how it felt. Like high school. Everyone seemed normal. It was almost like sitting at a lunch table at school…where he was the new kid. He felt a little strange since he was the only one in hospital scrubs. And then there was the fact that there was a nurse sitting with them, only occasionally joining in on the casual conversation.

"What school do you go to?" one patient asked him and a few others took their guesses.

It never actually dawned on him that he could run into someone who knew him in here. He glanced around at all the faces. No one he had seen before. "Degrassi," Craig answered and got a few replies back. They were from a variety of different schools, some not even local. One guy's previous residence was juvenile hall.

And they were all here right now. Strangers brought together for whatever reason. No one had asked him why he was here, probably because Andrew was in the room. Or maybe it didn't matter in a place like this; they all had their reasons for being here. It wasn't Degrassi where the gossip was probably circulating about him at this very moment, his peers speculating why he wasn't in their classes. Craig felt a brief rush of relief wash over him and was thankful he was here and not there. He wasn't sure he could ever return to that school after all that went on this year. Why did he do the things he did anyway?

They had gone easy on him for the first few days of group therapy. Day one Craig listened…or sort of filtered out information. He only wanted to know the basics about these people because it wasn't his business to know what they did to find themselves locked up in here and they didn't need to know about all the crazy things he did or why he was here. Day two he got a pass and he met with yet another doctor. Day three they made him answer why he was in the hospital and let his short explanation be enough.

But today they were going to make him participate. Unlike the doctors he had met earlier, everyone called the social worker who led group by his first name. Today Frank had passed around a deck of note cards. There was a question on it but they weren't allowed to look until it was there turn. It was his turn now.

Craig flipped over the card and sighed heavily at the question. "What is your family like?" he read out loud, feeling exhausted before he even answered. "I live with my stepdad Joey, his girlfriend Caitlin…I guess she's my stepmom type person. That's what she introduced herself as once. And my half-sister Angie."

"What are they like?" Frank prompted.

He wasn't getting off that easy huh? "I moved in with Joey when I was in grade 9, just turned 14. He's always been great to me. I probably don't deserve it considering what I put him through. He's seen me through a lot of crazy times. So the bald dude you see visiting me at night, that's Joey."

"And Caitlin?" Stacey, the nurse who attended these sessions, asked.

"Caitlin is a journalist, works at CQJH. She's alright. I, uh, don't really know what to say about her. I like her. She's nice. It's good for Angie to have her around because she doesn't remember our mom and she needs a mom. Um, alright, Angie. She's eight years old," Craig laughed nervously. "What do you want to know about Angie? Her favorite color is yellow…because that was Mom's favorite. Her stuffed dog is named Snickers and her favorite cartoon character is a lobster named Scampy. When we play barbies…yes I play barbies, her favorite thing is when we throw parties. She's just an average all around great kid."

Craig's stomach was tight as he listened to silence. "I don't have any problems at home. I like it there." He silently finished, "The problem is me."

Craig's peers glanced around at each other. Which one was going to ask? They were all curious but no one wanted to put him on the spot and ask. They wouldn't want that done to them. "You live with your step dad? Step parents? Two of them?" Matt finally asked.

"Yes."

"Where are your birth parents?"

Craig sighed and stared off. Maybe he could pretend these people weren't here; the social worker with his files and his fellow patients who didn't need to know this. Frank and Stacey noticed when Craig's eyes glazed over, like he was checking himself out. The rest of his peers were just there and going through the motions, mostly grateful they weren't in the hot seat.

He was glad that Matt was the one who asked. During his first night hanging out in the common area his fellow patients wanted to know what he did to wind up in here. It took some effort to get him to talk about it and some of them had shared why they were there. Matt had explained that he was there because they were trying to figure out why he jumped around from foster home to foster home. Craig felt something at that moment. It was partial shame because he had a great guy adopt him and put up with his crap. Then the other half of him felt like he understood what that would be like. And maybe Matt would get where he was coming from as well, being without his birth parents.

When Craig spoke he couldn't help but sound distant, "My parents are dead. That's where things get kind of complicated."

He left it at that and looked to the person sitting next to him. The group was smaller today, just 5 of them sitting in a circle. Craig was baffled by this; some of them got to leave the ward? Why? Matt explained that they were part of another program at the ward. They also got to go home on the weekends. He kept having moments like these where one of his peers would clue him into how this place operated. Where was the laundry room? Oh, he couldn't be barefoot and had to wear a certain amount of clothing to bed at night? Was this even in that booklet that listed his personal rights as a patient and rules of the ward the staff had given him on his first day?

"What makes you happy?" Emily read her card out loud. Craig could tell she was silently debating this, a slow smile started to spread on her face at the first thought but she brushed it off and now seemed to be searching for an answer.

"And don't say drugs or alcohol," Frank warned before she even responded.

Emily rolled her eyes. "What makes me happy? I don't know. I like those moments where you feel infinite. That natural moment in a conversation or when you are just hanging out with friends, laughing and listening to music and it's like the night won't end. And I don't need drugs to feel that. Just saying."

Craig already knew what drugs she liked. That conversation happened candidly during one of their trips down to the gym. Everyone else had opted in to play volleyball while she had chosen the gym mats so he picked a moment to join her. His intention was to talk to her alone, despite already casually warned once the staff picked up on their attraction and playfully said to Emily when he was in her presence; "What was the name of the guy you were interested in last week?" But he couldn't get her alone. They were never alone. A nurse was always injecting themselves into their conversations and the one in gym was about drugs and Craig learned that she went for the usual weed, alcohol, various uppers and downers, and most recently coke. That was when her mom freaked out, she had explained.

"Do you have any hobbies that make you happy?"

They were always asking questions.

"I like movies. I don't even mind going alone. I'm the weirdo you see sitting alone in the theater. I kind of started actually paying attention, really seeing what was on the screen recently and trying to make my own," Emily shrugged that off and continued, "But I don't think it's going anywhere and I don't expect to do anything with it. That's right, I don't have a plan. One of the things my mother is so frustrated about."

Craig didn't make eye contact now. It was obvious she had been pressured to talk about her relationship with her mother before, didn't like the discussion, and wanted to avoid it again even though it seemed to have some residue left in all the group sessions and conversations. This was their idea of helping? So they talk about their problems until the sore is completely drained? Is that how you get better? His foot started to bounce as they went around the circle.

"What do I like best about myself?" Rachel read out loud. She was slow to respond, folding the card up in her lap as she thought.

Craig thought that the friendship between Emily and Rachel was a bit surprising; he wasn't sure he would see the pair together in the halls of high school. Rachel was much more reserved in group and even when they were all hanging out at night. Emily frequently was being called out by the staff for breaking a rule or being 'disrespectful.' Yesterday Craig witnessed her coming to Rachel's defense during group and said the things she wouldn't.

Today Rachel answered for herself, choosing her words carefully. "The thing that I like best about myself is how aware I am. I notice things others don't and appreciate them. I see things in people that they don't appreciate in themselves. It's also my biggest weakness and I'm too self-aware. I'm more understanding of others and don't allow that for myself."

This girl talked like she was in a job interview, Craig thought to himself. He wondered how long she had been here. If he had enough self-control and common sense he'd try to mimic what she was doing. Regardless of what the staff said, there was a right answer.

"What is your favorite place? What the hell kind of question is that? I've never really thought about it before," Matt followed up with note card inquiry. "I've never really stayed in one place long enough to have one."

"Any favorite childhood vacation spots?" Frank suggested.

He wondered if Matt mentally skimmed over the list of foster homes, feeling like he should pick one of them. Or maybe that was just Craig's preoccupation; always debating between Joey's and his father's, feeling like he had to choose. He tried to clear his mind…a favorite place. It seemed like a fairly easy question to dodge. He could give this guy an out "Don't you have a favorite place you like to hang out with friends? Or the venue that has the best bands?"

"Sure. I like to hang out at this pool hall downtown. Okay, moving on to the next."

"Who is the most important person in your life?" Johnny barely hesitated, "My parents."

Johnny probably missed them more than the others did. He was the youngest one at the ward and besides for his small size, his answers reflected his age. When Craig first saw him, he found it strange that a kid this young would be locked up with teenagers. But then he found out Johnny was thirteen so he wasn't in a children's ward. A psych ward for kids Angie's age; that thought was baffling. Someone that young probably didn't even understand why they were in the hospital. He didn't care if they were that sick, it didn't seem fair. Yeah he was still thinking that this situation was a punishment, no matter how many times a staff member reminded him that it wasn't. He really screwed up and was paying for it. What could someone as young as Johnny do to get in here?

Now it was his turn again. How long were they going to play this game? "What was your last dream?" Craig sighed again. He had only been here for a couple days and each day left him exhausted. It took so much out of him to deal with these stupid sessions, whether it was group or meeting with different doctors. It wasn't helping. "I gotta warn you guys, my dreams are messed up."

"We won't judge you," Stacey assured.

Craig nodded. Yeah right. "I think my dreams are intense because I wake up so frequently. Interrupts the REM cycle, you know? So it's easier to remember them."

"What was your last dream?" Frank asked, echoing the question on the card.

"Okay fine. You want to know. I had a dream last night that I was at my dad's funeral. And I'm looking around at the people in the church and I notice this girl has a gun. It was so strange how no one noticed. I don't even know who she was but she knows me and she comes up to me before I can run out of the church. And she forces me, by gunpoint, to sit down in front of all these people and talk about my dad."

"Now tell us how you really feel about group," Emily joked.

Craig smirked. "You wanted to know. So yeah. That's how I feel about group. Basically you are going to get answers, stories, whatever it is you want by waving a gun in my face," he paused. Maybe it was stupid but he felt that scared when they were trying to get him to talk. He could barely get himself to do it with school psychologist Ms. Sauvé and he had been seeing her for how long? "The girl in my dream was so weird because once I finally said whatever it was she wanted to hear, she looked so pleased and proud of me."

"How do you feel about the girl's reaction once you started talking about your dad?"

Craig shrugged, feeling disorientated. "It wasn't any of her business, even if she was trying to help."

The social worker's next question started to fade out. He couldn't be here for this. He could see other mouths moving now. Were they talking about him? Or did they move on? He tried to focus and picked up on a few words that suggested that they were analyzing his dream. Craig shook his head, trying to loosen the knots on the thoughts that continued to spin and twirl around in his head. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to feel about his past? What did these people want from him?

"Okay. Okay, I'm just going to say it. Announce it. My parents divorced when I was really young. My dad started to change after that. Then my mother goes and dies of cancer. She didn't just leave me with my dad, she had to go and leave the world entirely. And uh, things just got worse at home. Joey calls it a complicated relationship. But um, yeah…my dad used to hit me. So I went to stay with Joey. The guy that my mom left my dad for," Craig paused. He was strangely numb except for the occasional flare up of anger because he felt abandoned even though he tried to understand and rationalize the fact was that he was without his parents. And then there was the guilt that seemed to stab him as he spoke. He never really had it bad at home. And if he didn't leave then it wouldn't have happened. "My father killed himself."

Craig listened to the usual replies. The "I'm sorry's." He didn't try to meet anyone's gaze. He just heard it being said all around him. "And that's my tragic story in a nutshell. Maybe my dreams will be better tonight since I said what you want me to say."

"We hope that you will start to feel comfortable around us. If it's hard for you to talk in group you can write in your journal. That's what it's there for," Stacey said.

"The one I turn in at the end of the day and you analyze every single world that I use? No thanks." Craig already had feedback on his last journal entry. They prompted him each day with different topics to write about and his last one came back with words underlined and comments in the margin. Like what Ms. Kwan did for English class, only this time the criticism was about how he viewed his relationship with Joey (yeah, he still had that father hang up, thanks for the reminder).

"How about writing in it and then tearing up what you just wrote?" Frank suggested when he observed that Craig looked cynical. "You might be surprised by how much better you feel even by writing down what is bothering you. Keeping it inside…you are not free."

"And then it comes back again the next day. And the day after that."

"Five minutes of peace isn't a bad exchange," Rachel offered.

"Maybe you can start working through those thoughts as you write, encourage yourself of the bigger picture. You can remind yourself of ways to approach the situation. It's not going to get better overnight. You might always remember how you were abused and that your parents are no longer with you," Frank encouraged.

Craig stared ahead, trying to absorb this. He felt a hint of relief, like maybe he could be forgiven for the things he had done and maybe he could let go and forgive himself. Every once in a while he felt like things seemed manageable and his optimism he expressed in Ms. Sauvé's office was actually sincere. If he had more of those moments he might actually believe that things like therapy worked on someone like him and he would let the ghost of his father move on. But it never stayed. The odds weren't in his favor. He could never break even. There were days when he was normal but then he would end up in trouble because he partied too hard and got busted or couldn't shut up in class. There were days when he was normal but then the depression hit so hard it that felt it was like he was a physical battle (and it always won). What was he supposed to do? He obviously had to do something or he wouldn't be here. If he was doing something right he wouldn't be here and the staff wouldn't ask him each day why he was here, what he was working on, and if he had made any progress. They made it sound like he should have a plan. A goal.

He reassured Joey on the phone that he did. He was sorry he had been such a mess these past few years and he was trying to fix it. If he could just get Joey here to visit he'd see that he was okay now. Every now and then he felt that twinge of desperation. He had been feeling it ever since his mother remarried and he had to leave the Jeremiahs for home with Dad. He couldn't place the feeling; it was somewhere in-between fear and a craving. He needed Joey and Angie so badly during his grade 9 year. And he needed them now.

"Craig, you have a visitor," a voice came over an intercom.

He didn't even try to hide his relief and happiness. It was just like Joey to be late to arrive for visiting hours. He should have known and not been so hurt by not seeing him enter with the rest of the family and friends who flooded the common area. Joey didn't want him anymore, was the thought that immediately popped into Craig's head and he felt that familiar jolt of fear. Then he felt sadness; it was about time the guy gave up on him. The staff immediately picked up on his mood and asked too many questions. And Craig could tell Andrew was giving him extra attention as they, the patients who didn't have any visitors, were taken down to the gym. He wasn't in the mood and would rather sulk on some gym mats with the girls but Andrew challenged him to a game of horse.

"I bet it is Joey," Craig declared once he heard the announcement of a visitor and quickly abandoned the basketball.

"Come on, I'll walk you back," Andrew offered with a smile.

"I don't know why I thought he wouldn't be here. I think…I think that's always going to be the one thing I'm most afraid of. I sound like some little kid don't I? I don't know why I think that way. I don't know why I thought he wouldn't be here," Craig knew he was rambling as they walked down the hall but he couldn't get himself to shut up. He was just excited. Over this?

"I'm sure your step dad is eager to see you too," Andrew replied and watched as the boy continued walking past the nurse's station. "Craig. Craig!"

He didn't even hear him. He just saw Joey. Craig stopped when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You need to take off your shoes," Andrew reminded.

"Oh. Sorry, I'm sorry. I forgot," Craig said with an embarrassed smile. This place was so weird. He kept glancing up as he pulled off his converse sneakers. "Joey's still here," he couldn't keep from mumbling under his breath over and over. Why did he have to reassure himself of this? And why couldn't he keep the repeating thought in his head? He glanced at the staff as he handed over his shoes, worried about what they thought about him.

The only reply he got was, "You and Joey can visit in the common area," and Andrew escorted him down the hall.

Joey smiled at him once he saw him approaching and stood up to greet him with a hug. Craig smiled back and he felt relief. The kid wasn't angry at him for placing him here. And he actually seemed like Craig again. It was so good to see that smile. Then a loud noise from across the room interrupted his thoughts. Joey barely had time to process what was happening as a staff member was quick to usher him, other visitors, and patients out. He barely had a moment to observe a young patient hurling a kitchen chair across the room. Craig. His first thought was to get to Craig and keep him safe.

"What's going on?" Craig questioned, curiously trying to sneak a peek at whatever was going down in the common area. He only got a glimpse. It was the youngest kid on the ward. Johnny. And he was with who Craig assumed were his parents. He was trying to lunge at his father, but the staff was on him now.

"Craig, go to your room," Andrew instructed and Craig felt his firm hand be replaced by Joey's.

Craig nodded and heard Andrew clarify the room number to Joey.

"A lot of action out there," Joey commented once they were inside it. He said it with a smile even though the scene made him nervous. "Is it always like this?"

"Uh, no. Everyone seemed really normal until now. I don't know what's up with Johnny."

Joey had left the door ajar, not sure about the rules of this place, and they could hear sounds traveling down the hall. He should try to ignore them and attempt to make this normal for Craig. Earlier, when he had arrived at the ward, a staff member had encouraged him to keep the conversation away from triggering subjects; nothing intense tonight. Joey reached for Craig and pulled him into a hug. "It's strange not having you around the house."

"How's Angie?"

When Craig broke out of his embrace with that question they sat down side by side on Craig's bed. "She's good. She knows you are in the hospital and is worried about you, but she's handling it fine. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"I'm going to miss her in that spring play her school is putting on," Craig realized. He had been the one who helped Angie rehearse the songs and her lines. He knew the whole show well enough that he could basically accompany the piano on his guitar. He found it difficult to care about much when he was so bummed out this past month but he managed to try to be involved in whatever Angie care about.

"You'll see it. We'll record it. Have you ever known Caitlin and me to be without a video camera during these things?"

Craig nodded a few times. He hadn't really started to feel the isolation until now. Before it felt like he was just in a strange new situation like some bizarre boarding school with questions about his moods and behaviors instead of history and math quizzes. But now he was realizing that things were going on outside of here. People were outside of here. "How's Caitlin?"

"She's just fine. She's brainstorming a new project with some colleagues." Joey listened to the silence. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm okay."

"Yeah? What's it like around here?"

Craig shrugged. "I'm still getting used to the routine of the place. They get us up at a certain time. We shower and eat at a certain time. We do different kinds of therapy…like group."

"Have you met with the psychiatrist yet?"

"Uh yeah. He just asked a lot of questions about what I'm like. That's all people seem to be doing, asking questions," Craig awkwardly informed his stepdad. Prior to meeting the shrink, a nurse had entered his room and asked the most absurd ones; did he know the date, the prime minister, and what province he was in. Some of the time the ward felt like camp because he wasn't at home and then other times, like that one, it was apparent that really messed up people ended up in here. "So far I've seen the psychiatrist, some psychologist, and then there's the social worker who leads group. Apparently it takes a whole team."

"Are you being honest with them?" Joey couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah. Of course!" Craig was quick to defend himself. It was a tricky thing, figuring out the right thing to say or do around here. It was obvious at times there were right answers. He felt like he was taking a multiple choice science quiz when he was handed a stack of papers they made him fill out. Did he prefer to hang with a younger group of friends or older? When angry was he more likely to yell or walk away? There were pages and pages where he had to check off what box was most like him.

"School is in the morning but I don't have any of my books. So I ended up filling out this huge booklet. It was like some weird quiz where they wanted to know everything about me. The next morning when everyone else was with the tutors I met with the psychologist. Testing, all kinds. I thought they just did the whole Rorschach test in movies. He even tested my IQ. I bombed the math section. You know how much I care about it during school, let alone for something like that."

"I dropped off your school books and some assignments tonight," Joey announced and decided not to tell Craig the comments the hospital staff made. He would let them reveal that Craig wasn't allowed wire bound notebooks and he wasn't allowed to read Dracula, despite that it was for his English course. "Each week your teachers will fax or email new assignments, tests…including your final exams."

They weren't expecting him back this school year. Wow. Craig knew that what he did at the pool was going to have consequences but it was times like this that made it real. "Did you have to tell them what happened?"

"They know that you are in the hospital. But they don't know the details," Joey decided to say and recalled how awkward it had been to be back in Degrassi's halls because of this situation.

Joey seemed to pinball off of various people in the school hallways, engaging with each for different amounts of time. He seemed to attract Craig's friends, who were curious about the situation or felt like they should say something. He wasn't sure how much to tell Marco or even if it was his place to. He had already intercepted a late night on Craig's cell phone the day of his suicide attempt and had to inform the worried friend that Craig wasn't at home. Today he decided to reveal that Craig was in the hospital, he'd let him know that he had asked about him, and it might be possible later for him to visit. They parted ways and he saw him head over to Spinner, who gave him a small wave.

Ashley was flustered and explained that she had too much to do to chat for very long and didn't know when she would be able to visit Craig; her mother was on her back about university, already wanting to plan fall tours and then there was this internship in London. She became more nervous when mentioning that; there was frequent tucking of her hair behind her ears and fidgeting with the books she held. Then she rambled about how she had known for a while but didn't know how to announce to her friends, to Craig. Then she wasn't sure she should go but her mom thought she should and maybe it wasn't a bad idea to try something new. That was something he knew they were going to have to tip toe around when it came to Craig. It was a bit surreal hearing Ashley discuss school. That wasn't really a priority with his son right now. Yes, he was about to head into the principal's office and attempt to save his school year. But university? Was that even an option right now? Craig certainly wasn't considering that an option when he tried to kill himself and end the timeline right there. Joey didn't know what to do.

"Do my teachers know? What did they say?" Craig asked with a nervous smile. They already thought he was nuts.

"I didn't meet with each one individually. Mr. Raditch will handle that. But I saw your art teacher in the hall and she asked about you."

"That's the one class I was actually prepared for finals in."

"Ms. Cohen showed me your final project," Joey recalled the moment.

He recognized a few of the photographs. They were larger now, the colors different and some made into a mixed media collage, but they were the same as the ones he had seen in the photo packet he had found on Craig's desk. Some were abstract, fields of color, but the rest were clear shots of the swimming pool he was found at. There were others Joey hadn't seen before, hadn't even heard his Craig discuss. He didn't hear about how he took photos of a schoolmate in the school swimming pool; she looked asleep and beautiful in a dress that floated dreamily with the water's movements. Craig was inspired by Shakespeare's character Ophelia, the art teacher explained. His entire project focused on the theme of drowning.

He couldn't help but ask the instructor if she had seen any signs Craig was suicidal. He had to know how the kid described the project to her. Was it some kind of suicide note? They had found him in that same pool, unconscious. His teacher looked sad, maybe even a little guilty. She hadn't seen the signs that he was thinking about suicide. When she saw what was probably a look of disbelief, the young teacher explained that she asked about his thought process while working but Craig never hinted that he was preoccupied with death, whether it be his father's or planning his own. He was more interested in discussing art materials for his collages or if the technical aspects of his color photos were correct even though Ms. Cohen made it clear that she was here for him if he needed to talk.

"I wish I could be there for the final crit," Craig sighed. "I worked hard on that project."

Joey nodded, not sure of what to say. Ms. Cohen encouraged him to take the project home. They would not be discussing it in the final critique as it might be hard on some of the students. Ashley was in the class. Joey cleared his throat, "Ms. Cohen thinks you are a smart kid. You will pass with flying colors."

Craig smiled at that. "I'm glad I don't have to finish the project here. We sometimes head down to this art room. It would be awesome working with the kind of safety scissors Angie uses."

Joey didn't know what to say to the sarcastic way Craig delivered that. "Your art teacher thinks pretty highly of you. She gave me some photography magazines for you. You might be expecting more art magazines once school lets out and she's cleaning up the classroom."

"Wow. That's nice of her."

"We all care about you and are thinking of you. She's just letting you know that. Your friends miss seeing you around school too."

It took Craig a few moments to respond. He fought against the staff's pressure to talk about his suicide attempt. He wanted to push the memory of that away. But having this conversation with Joey was forcing him to confront it. His father's suicide messed him up; did the do the same thing to his friends? Craig kept his eyes on the floor, feeling guilty and ashamed of what he did. "What do you tell them? My friends? You told Ash, El, and Sean that I'm okay right?"

Joey hesitated for a moment. Was this a topic that should be discussed? "They know you are okay. I told them once we knew. And…they know what hospital ward you are in. I figured they should know. Or could know."

Craig nodded rapidly in reply to that. After what they saw of him, that made sense. "Are they mad at me?"

"Of course not," Joey decided to reassure and gave Craig's shoulder a squeeze. He felt like he was lying; it was certain that discovering their friend after a suicide attempt had affected them. But Craig wasn't strong enough to handle that right now. "They've asked if they can call you. Some of your other friends have asked as well. Snake mentioned the other day that he'd like to talk to you, whenever you feel up to it."

Craig shook his head. "I'm not sure. It might be weird."

"It's up to you. The nurse's station has a list of names of people who can call or visit. But it's always your decision if you want to speak to or see anyone. No pressure."

"Yeah. Maybe it'd be okay to talk to some of my friends," Craig agreed with a nervous smile.

"You seem like you are doing better," Joey couldn't help but say with a grin and touched Craig's hand. He kept doing that, touching him reassuringly on the knee, shoulder, or hand. Maybe to confirm that this kid was still here; he had such a close call. Craig was here and he was okay.

"Yeah. Yeah. I think I'm okay now."

"You look a lot better," Joey thought out loud. The dark circles under his eyes didn't seem so heavy. Craig must be sleeping better. He felt guilty and that only deepened that when the staff described Craig's day to day routine to him, explaining that troubled youth like him often lack structure. Meals were at a certain time and apparently they were getting this kid to eat them. He felt like he was neglecting Craig. Why did he have such a difficult time with him at home doing the most basic things? What was he doing wrong?

"I have no idea why I'm like this. Where I just freak out and then a couple days later everything feels fine. But I'm okay now," Craig rambled, trying to explain. He felt a spark of anticipation. Could he convince Joey to get him out of here tonight? His foot started to bounce.

"Okay…that's good. Just keep working on getting better," Joey cautiously replied. "You'll get to come home soon. Until then…do you need anything else?"

Craig refused to look at Joey and started to fidget. While he was meeting with Dr. Belfour, Joey had dropped off a duffle bag of his clothes and other belongings. He didn't get to have it until after the staff had looked through it and later explained to him that he couldn't have the oversized flannel pajama bottoms he always slept in at home because of the draw string. They wouldn't fit without that so he was stuck sleeping in hospital scrubs at night. He felt bewildered by these rules at the time but now it just angered him. He wasn't that crazy or desperate that he was going to choke himself with the string from his clothing. This was insulting.

"They wouldn't let me have my mp3 player either. Like all the time. I only get it at certain times of day," Craig said out loud. "I can't sleep without it on. And it was really obnoxious because I overheard the staff talking about what kind of music they found on it. I hated hearing what they were saying, like they were judging me for it. Why does it matter what music I'm into lately? It doesn't matter!"

"I know it's strange being here. I know," Joey tried to soothe. He had unintentionally made this kid upset. And he had seen this kind of irritability in Craig before. He pressed his hand down on Craig's knee to get him to stop bouncing his foot and silently pleaded with him to try to control himself.

"Can I just come home?"

"Craig, I don't think your doctor feels that it's the appropriate time."

"He barely knows me. We talked for what? An hour. You know me. You know me better than him. You are my…like my dad."

It sounded like Craig had almost said it; "You are my dad." This was the first time he spoke of him like he had accepted him as a father. The moment felt bittersweet; why did it have to happen in this situation? "Yeah, I'm your dad. And I want what's best for you," Joey agreed and pulled Craig in for a hug.

Craig was stiff in his stepfather's arms. He hated this conflicted crazy feeling. How was it possible for a person to feel so much love and hate at the same time? Half of him wanted to clutch onto Joey like he was a life preserver and the other part of him wanted to punch him till he was bloody. Why couldn't he just take him home like he wanted?

"I love you very much. And I want you to get better. I promised your mom that I would take care of you," Joey tried to explain why he couldn't take him home.

Joey received a soft shove from Craig in return as he broke out of his embrace. The mention of his mother reminded him of his father; the anger he would have if he even uttered her name and the haunted feeling he felt inside when he felt like maybe his dad would love him more if he wasn't half of her. Craig was shaking now. He understood the complexities of his father's love. He understood how it was possible to fling someone against the wall and when they crumpled to the floor, kick them repeatedly. He also understood how it was possible to want to embrace them immediately after and apologize.

"Please leave," Craig pleaded with Joey.

"Come on. Let's not leave it like this. I don't want to leave you when you are upset."

"Joey. Please go," Craig warned. His stepdad didn't realize how much he was like his father.

"Okay. Okay," Joey agreed. He tried to touch Craig's shoulder but he shrunk away from him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," he managed to say. He wasn't sure he could with how heavy his heart felt. He left Craig's room but lingered outside the door and heard the moment he burst into tears. It took him several moments to collect himself and then he approached the nurse's station. How was he supposed to explain this?

"Uh, Craig wanted to cut our time visiting a little bit short tonight. He seemed upset; homesick, I think. Can you check on him?"

"Sure. Want to check on your buddy?" a nurse asked of Andrew, who nodded and tucked a file away in a drawer. "Can you tell me more about how Craig seemed tonight? What was his mood like?"

"He seemed fine at first, which was so great to see. He seemed like Craig. Then he became upset when I asked him if he needed anything else and he understood that he wasn't coming home," Joey explained and then tried to shake off the situation, "I think he's just homesick and upset with me because I can't bring him home. That makes sense."

They both watched as Andrew headed down the hall. Joey wondered what Craig's reaction would be. Maybe it was that simple and Craig was merely upset that he couldn't come home. He tried to ignore the mental itch that something else was going on. He was used to that feeling; Craig frequently felt so far away, lost in whatever he had going on in his head, and he couldn't reach him. Joey exhaled heavily when he didn't hear any shouting once Andrew had entered Craig's room.

Craig looked up once he heard the door open. He clutched his knees tighter, afraid of what he would do. The figure in the doorway was a blur and didn't come into focus until he blinked to clear his eyes of the tears. He remembered why he tried to kill himself now.

"What's wrong with me?"

Craig hadn't seen it until now.

He was actually surprised that he cared. He was curious when Johnny had his meltdown in the common area but he didn't feel the need to ask the staff about it. He would glance at the door of the isolation room he placed in as they passed it on their way to the gym. He only felt slightly bewildered by it because when he asked his fellow "inmates" about it, they seemed casual in their explanation. This was normal here. When Sean called and asked how the place was Craig had described it as expensive babysitting. Cameras in the common areas, a two way intercom that allowed the staff to eavesdrop on the blessed occasion when he was actually left alone with his peers and without the nurses who were trained to ask questions; he was never really alone. Throw a temper tantrum like Johnny over there and you get put in time out in a bare room with only a mattress.

Johnny was out now, back in participating in group and his family was even here to visit again tonight. It seemed like there were a few extra staff members milling around, watching. He was watching too. Trying not to but he was watching. He hadn't seen it until now. And it was obvious that the staff didn't get it or they wouldn't have let Johnny's father visit.

There was a reason Johnny was that angry. They were all put here because something was wrong with them. Craig didn't know what was wrong with him but he had been feeling it for a while now. And despite all the screwed up things he did, maybe it wasn't entirely all his fault. He should get to be angry. Johnny should get to be angry. Craig was staring so intently at Johnny's father that he actually glanced in his direction. He challenged him for a moment, taking on this tall older man with the nice suit coat and the cell phone he was trying to avoid, before looking down at the floor.

Now Craig was starting to wonder about Johnny. Did his family even want to be there? They brought along his sister this time. Craig's foot starting to bop up and down nervously as he watched the father remove the cell phone from his pocket and glance at the screen before refusing another call. He wondered what he did for a living. Doctor, lawyer, owned his own company…someone people wanted to get a hold of. Someone important. Someone respectable. Someone who wouldn't mistreat their own child. Or at least someone who wouldn't be suspected of such a thing.

Johnny was all smiles during this visit. No throwing of chairs. No shouting. Craig wanted him to. He should be allowed to be angry. Craig was sure he physically flinched when Johnny's father reached out to touch his hand. He hoped he didn't say out loud what was looping in his head; "Don't touch him. Don't touch him. Don't touch him." He doesn't want you touching him. Not after how he treated you. The gifts won't make up for it. The extra time you spend together is fake. He's only being nice to you for the time being because he feels bad. But nothing has really changed. Don't be so stupid.

Craig flinched again when he saw Joey's hand in front of his face, snapping his fingers. "Craig. You here with me, buddy?"

Irritated, he pushed Joey's hand away from him with such force that Andrew glanced in his direction. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine."

"I just asked you if you need me to bring you anything. Need any more clothes?" Joey decided to say, feeling rather confused and a little frightened. This kid was going through something. Maybe this was the best environment for it to happen but he really would rather it not happen at all. The punching at walls and the yelling were the first things that came to mind on the list of what he didn't want the staff to witness but knew Craig was capable of. He had always assumed that was because of whatever drugs or alcohol that kid was on. Joey couldn't get Craig to meet his gaze now or answer his questions. He didn't know where Craig was emotionally at but it was a place where he felt he couldn't reach him. What was wrong?

Joey just kept talking. Craig couldn't hear him but he knew from glances that his mouth was moving. He tried to pay attention. Something about the clothes he needed, or school, or Ashley. He couldn't even focus on the idea of Ashley. He felt some kind of emotion, some kind of desire flicker inside him and then it was gone. He should want her to visit. He should say something about this. But everyone in the room was talking so loud. He couldn't think. Not with it like this. When someone in the room laughed, a sincere hearty laugh, Craig couldn't help but tense up. He wanted to grab at his head, his hair and tug, but instead gripped his knee caps instead. It was so hard to focus. He tried to find Johnny sitting with his family but then someone in the room coughed or shifted their seat and he lost them. The room wasn't that crowded so why did he feel like he was overwhelmed in crowd of people during the holiday shopping season at the mall? It took so much effort to focus and then he found them, he could see Johnny now. He just needed to stay here and –

"Craig."

Joey's hand was on his face and he couldn't help but flinch again.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm just tired. It's just been a long day," Craig tried to explain. He hated what he remembered of Joey during that moment. He didn't see the guy who had taken him after it was discovered his father was beating on him. He didn't see the guy who was struggling to help him come to terms with the death of his parents. Instead he saw –

"Visiting hours are over. Let's get ready for bed guys," the head nurse announced.

"I'll be okay," Craig mumbled as Joey continued to ask questions and embraced him for a goodbye hug. Johnny gave a hug to his parents and sister as well. As he left the room he noticed when Joey approached Andrew and the two began talking, their gazes on him.

Why did Joey care so much now? Craig thought to himself as he started to prepare for the ward's nightly bedtime ritual. Joey didn't care that much in the past. He tolerated him during weekend visits when he had his mom and he was with his dad during the week. And after his mom died? He didn't bother to keep in contact. He didn't want anything to do with him. "Stay away from Angie, like your dad said." Joey didn't care what price he paid for that mistake once he got home. He didn't know. And he didn't care.

It wasn't like it was the first time. When he first started wearing the black and blue bruises at school, he assumed everyone would wonder. Blue jeans and long sleeves and if he ever wore shorts, he was prepared to answer the questions with some sort of explanation. But no one really bothered to notice and if they did, it was easy to lie. Not because his father was doing anything wrong but because he was too humiliated to admit where the bruises came from. It was normal, he told himself at the time. He was just bad and that brought on the shameful thoughts where he would silently curse at himself for not doing anything right. Then in grade 8 his history teacher who had it out for him. There were so many lectures and phone calls to home. And he couldn't explain why he couldn't stay awake during class or why he couldn't focus. He always did something wrong. That was the constant in his life. He didn't have parents to depend on but he could depend on himself to screw everything up and make people angry at him.

Craig wished that he had become angry like Johnny. Screamed until he was hoarse and let the whole world know how much he was hurt. The kid had balls for throwing that chair at his father the other day. He never would have done something like that. He wasn't ever allowed to be angry.

What did Johnny do to wind up in here? He was so young. It made him nervous to join the rest of patients at lunch during his first day and it was strange not sleeping in his own bed at night. And he was sixteen. Johnny was just a kid. Why would his mom and dad leave him here? What did he do?

Maybe they deserved it. Maybe they weren't fit to love.

The kid in his dream last night was like that. In the dream, Craig kept wandering down the hallways of his high school, trying to get from class to class and that kid was always there. It was just a grade school kid. Short, he nearly tripped over him. He was basically invisible. He didn't belong there. But he was always there, blocking his locker. Playing a game of four square with another boy in the front of the classroom he was trying to enter. Finally he confronted the kid and told him to go home. He didn't belong there. The boy didn't become violent at first. No, first he resorted to taunting him. Stalking him throughout the hallways and cursing at him. He began to hate that child. He wanted to throw him against a wall and bash his fists into him. Then the boy gave him a reason to when he became violent and lunged at him, scratching his nails deep into his arms. He didn't ever get the chance to react. The burning sensation woke him up.

"Craig."

Craig glanced up and saw Andrew. His arm was outstretched. Reaching for him? What? His arms were burning now, like they were in the dream. He had to check them over when he woke up and felt the urge now. He was fine after he woke up but now? He saw angry red scratches, like he had been mauled by some animal. It's real?

There were more people in the room now. "Why didn't you do anything? It's not safe here!" Craig accused.

"Can you tell me more about that?" Andrew tried and was met back with a wide eyed look from Craig. The teen looked panicked and had tears in his eyes. For every step he cautiously took towards him, Craig took another two back. He was against the wall now. He tried to keep glancing up at the teen's face to monitor his facial expression but his gaze was always going back to the stitches still on his hand; Craig hadn't stopped with the scratching at himself.

Craig felt like he couldn't control this moment. The door wasn't an option. Leaving wasn't an option. He had to get out and there was no place to go. He glanced around the room and his eyes stayed on Andrew. He hated the shrink. Most days he hated the head nurse and the social worker who lead group therapy. The psychologist who he met with for the testing just asked questions and he didn't feel anything about that. The nurses rotated and he was starting to get into the routine of it but Andrew was different. He was the first person he met here and the first person who would take the time to go beyond the usual questions he heard from the staff. It was almost like he was a friend. Craig was one of the few left at the ward when other patients with privileges were allowed home for the weekend and when seeing how bummed out he was after knowing that his favorite local band was playing downtown, Andrew brought in popcorn and a movie. They were restricted from watching anything R-rated or intense and the pop was decaffeinated but at least it felt half way normal. Andrew was different from the shrink and the other staff. He saw him as Craig and not just a file. He saw more. It was like he cared. If anyone were to know that something was wrong, it was him. Because Craig trusted him.

"You are safe. You are safe," Andrew tried to reassure once he had ahold of the kid.

There were too many hands on him at that moment. Craig did his damndest to swing his fists. He didn't even care who it was at. Andrew was just like them. When he was brought to the school nurse by his teacher after arriving at school with a black eye, the first thing she did was call his father because he refused to tell her who hit him in the school yard. It never even dawned on her that Dr. Albert Manning, the distinguished doctor who attended all the parent/teacher conferences, would strike him across the face. And then there were the teachers he was around every day and they never noticed how much it hurt for him to sit in that desk.

No one wants to see what's going on. He used to try to leave hints, sometimes just in his eyes pleading that someone would see the truth and other times in carefully thought out sentences that he sometimes waited weeks to inject into a conversation. Even Joey didn't want to see it. He saw what everyone else saw; Craig was impulsive, he did things for attention, and there's probably something wrong with him. "Stay away from Angie like your dad said." Stay away.

Craig managed to dig his nails deeper into his own arm, unable to deal with how fast his thoughts were moving and taking him back to places he didn't want to go. He had built up this image of Joey so much in his head, putting so much energy into that "Perfect Family" scrapbook that contained the few photos he had of his mother and the many he had taken of Joey and Angie without them realizing. He saw so much in Joey…and Joey didn't care to even notice him until he was desperate enough to take those pills and pass out on his living room floor.

He tried to reach for the memory of Joey and how he had been there for him. It felt so far away from him. It almost didn't even matter. Instead it was what always mattered; his dad. Craig often had nightmares about his father; sometimes actual fights they had and other times there were dreamed up alternate versions, like a movie, where he fought back. Sometimes when he woke up he felt slightly delirious from the rush and spent a few minutes mentally rewriting the dream. He didn't just take the beatings because that was what happened in their house or that he deserved them for being the asshole that he was. He fought back, he yelled, and let his father know how much he hurt him.

It would be nice for just once, just this once, to be able to be angry back. It felt good for that moment to be able to scream. The consequences didn't even matter to him. He barely even felt the shot.

He woke up to that familiar sensation of his vitals being taken and the nurse's voice rolled around in his head. She kept talking to him and it took a while for her words to actually make sense. And it took Craig some time to actually acknowledge his body and move, as strange as that sounded. It was another few moments for him to realize that the psychiatrist he'd met a few days before was sitting on the foot of his bed.

"You were given some medication last night to help you relax and get some sleep," she explained.

Craig felt a little dizzy as he sat up in bed. After effect from the meds, he figured. He wondered what they gave him to knock him out like that. That was pretty freaky that it happened. Was he really that upset?

"Can I take a look at your arms?" Dr. Ryerson asked and noticed that Craig was a little slow to react before extending out his arms and turning them palm up, exposing the scratches he had inflicted on himself the night before.

Craig felt his senses returning to him the more he woke up. His arms felt sore and raw and he had even managed to break the skin on his left wrist; that was the area he had most furiously attacked on himself. Besides for the physical sensations, emotions were slowly filling him up. Craig glanced at the nurse and then back at the shrink anxiously.

"We had to sedate you to keep you safe. It's safe here. We keep you safe from other patients and from yourself."

Craig nodded in return, feeling frightened about what they were going to do next. "I'm okay now. I'm not thinking about hurting myself."

"Can we talk for a little while?"

He nodded again. Like he had any say in that. Now he just had to figure out the right thing to say and how much to say.

"I'll let you know when breakfast is here," the nurse said and excused herself.

The silence was awkward enough but it was also strange to be sitting here in his bed with the shrink in his room. It wasn't like this was a typical hospital ward. And in an odd way it made him feel more insecure, sitting here in his pajamas with messy hair and the shrink was there with his hospital ID card pinned to his suit. Then he realized what it was; this guy was an authority figure and he had the power to keep him doped up or toss him into that room Johnny had spent awhile after he threw the chair.

"What were you thinking about last night when you became upset? That you felt you had to hurt yourself to deal?"

He shook his head, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Things were reminding me of my dad, I guess."

"What about dad?"

Craig sighed. "It was just seeing Joey and all the other families last night during visiting hour. And it's just that…if it's as safe as you say it is here then why are you allowing Johnny's dad to be around him?"

"Why do you think his father shouldn't be around him?"

"If someone is that angry there is a reason. Why else would he throw a chair at his father if he wasn't hurting him?"

"Did Johnny say something to you in confidence? When the staff wasn't around? Something you want me to be aware of?"

Craig gripped the mattress for a moment and then fumbled with the blankets on the bed. What was he doing? What was he saying? "No. Remember when I was first admitted he spent a day in isolation because he kept freaking out. Why doesn't anyone care about why he's that angry? There's got be a reason. I saw his dad in the hallway before he got locked up…"

"What did you see?" Dr. Ryerson prompted when Craig trailed off and didn't finish that thought.

"Nothing…I just…figured that Johnny was that pissed off at his father because he had done something to hurt him. And then if you or the other staff members don't care to see it…that pisses me off."

"Craig, Johnny is not being abused. There's no record of any abuse. There was no evidence of abuse when he was admitted."

"Okay, fine. What does it matter anyway? He's just this 13 year old kid I barely got to know while in here and I won't ever see him again once I'm out. Who cares where he ends up."

"It matters because you seem to be seeing something in him that reminds you of yourself or something that happened to you."

Craig didn't like remembering how desperate he was when living with his father and how he never felt heard. He remembered how he took photographs of cemetery tombstones to bait his photography instructor into asking him about his mother's grave. He could tell her about his mother's grave and what his home life was like now. He couldn't remember why that never happened. All he remembered was feeling so helpless and worthless later. He would baffle his friends with questions about what their families were like and later snap at them when they asked about his, or god forbid, show up at his house unannounced.

He felt himself growing more frustrated, not just with the memories but with himself. Why was he still hung up and bitter about this? "I just wish that I had done something about what was happening to me at that age. No one cared what was happening."

"What do you wish that you had done differently?"

Craig shrugged. "Asking for help doesn't work. I know that's what people like you would say to do. Or it's like what teachers or magazines tell you. Go talk to someone you trust. It's never that simple."

"Are you remembering any specific incident?" Dr. Ryerson pressed on.

Craig ran a hand through his hair tried not to cry out of frustration. He never knew how to ask for help. He dreamt about it when he was asleep and awake. He crafted that "Perfect Family" scrapbook and lived in the dream that Joey would accept and help him. Craig flinched at the memory of when his father had found it; he was lucky he didn't kill him over that betrayal. It was around that time when he realized that he couldn't keep doing this, living like this under his father's roof. But what was he supposed to do? How do you ask for help? He didn't know. He waited until he felt trapped enough, took an overdose of pills, and passed out on Joey's living room floor. And even then he didn't tell him what was wrong. In response to the shrink's question, he simply shook his head.

"How do you wish that people would have reacted to the situation with your father?"

Craig let out a bitter half laugh, half sigh. "Saw that I wasn't the screw up? That I wasn't trying to disrupt their classrooms or their lives. There's this part of me that just wants to be heard."

It was then that it hit him. Craig realized out loud, "Oh my God…the boy in my dream. It was me."

"Want to tell me about the dream?"

Tell me about how you are feeling; tell me about your dream. This place was exhausting. Craig took a moment to simply breathe, remembering that the guy he was talking to right now was the one that would let him out of here. "There was this little kid following me around at my high school. He didn't belong there, so it was weird. And he was always getting in my way…playing in the hallways when I was trying to get to class. Just weird dream sequences that don't really seem to add up. You wouldn't see a kid playing with a friend in the middle of your classes."

Now for the part that upset him. It still rattled something inside him and it was odd how that dream residue still lingered. Why was he still troubled by a dream of all things? "I became angry with him. Or maybe he was angry at me first. I can't even remember. But it got ugly. Violent. I don't think I hit him although I remember wanting to beat the crap out of that kid and it was the crazy kind of anger that was hard to control. But the kid came at me first, clawing at my arms like some wild animal."

"When I woke up my arms felt like they were on fire. And then last night I…without even realizing it," Craig finished and looked down at his arms.

"Has anything like that happened to you before? You mentioned you have trouble sleeping."

Craig shrugged. "Hurt myself because of a dream and didn't even realize it? No. But I dream about my dad often. Maybe it's good that I can't sleep."

Dr. Ryerson nodded. "We're going to help you come to terms with any issues you have with Dad."

Craig didn't like the sound of that. "I don't know why I freaked out. I'm fine with my past, really. It happened years ago. I'm okay."

"No one said that there is a certain day or year when you are expected to be over these issues. You might struggle with them throughout your lifetime. We're going to help you learn how to handle them appropriately."

That felt like a daunting task. All of his thoughts were so confusing. He hated his father and fathers like him some of the time. He tried not to let it show, not at Joey's when he couldn't make sense of things after their fights or now. Craig's fist curled around the mattress. There were times when he freaked out at Joey's and he freaked out last night. His head was such a mess. He was angry, yeah. But then it was gone and often afterward all he felt was guilt and a sense of loss. After he moved out of his father's he spent that Christmas with Joey and his family. He was a mess, naturally, sneaking sips of wine and not belonging. But maybe deep down he liked that he hurt his father on that day. Craig wondered if he spent Christmas at work, putting on the facade that was Dr. Manning. Or did he spend it alone, bitter, and without him…and his mother Julia?

Some days he was happy with the latter outcome. His dad deserved that. But right now all Craig felt was guilt over it. He wished he had been there that day and could trust him. Why didn't he? Joey would have picked him up at six and it would have been fine. It would have been fine and he could have returned home quicker and then his dad wouldn't have had to kill himself.

Dr. Ryerson noticed the teen's agitation and his downcast eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Craig gave a small half smile out of embarrassment. He hated that last night happened and he had to have a conversation with this guy. "Overwhelmed."

"Want to start your day?"

"Yeah," Craig replied. He wouldn't ask this stranger if his freak out was going to come up in group therapy or if anyone had seen anything. Or heard anything. God…what was wrong with him? What he was feeling now wasn't new. He always felt embarrassed after incidents like this. He was convinced that people like Joey, Caitlin, and Ashley thought that he didn't try hard enough. It shouldn't be this way. It shouldn't be this hard to control himself. He hated this side of himself.

He was the last one to hit the showers thanks to his session with Dr. Ryerson and thankfully the rest of his peers were starting in on breakfast. Craig looked for Andrew as he passed down the hall, sheepishly pulling at the sleeves of his shirt to cover the marks on his arms. There was a part of him that was frustrated with the rest of staff but he liked that guy. He was sorry he lashed out at him. Maybe not the rest of the staff, but he was about Andrew. And about how he had been treating Joey. He asked if he could call him but the head nurse wouldn't budge on the rules; he would have to wait until the evening.

He was quiet and guarded while he ate breakfast while everyone chatted. No one was going to ask what happened? Of course they wouldn't. Did they talk about it later like what happened in high school? This place was so screwed up. It took half a day before it came up. Leave it to Emily to state the obvious while they were washing the non-toxic paint out of brushes the size Angie used in her daycare program during clean up after hanging out in the art room.

"I'm surprised they didn't bandage those up," she remarked and gestured to Craig's arm.

It wasn't that the comment was cruel. It was just matter of fact and there. Emily didn't seem to think it was unusual; maybe it was something that had happened here before. From the questions Craig was being asked, he was starting to assume that it happened more often that he knew about. But he wasn't like those people. He couldn't explain it any other way. He didn't know what else to do but roll down his sleeves. He actually forgot about the scratches he'd inflicted on himself the night before; the burning sensation like he was being imprinted by some ghost was gone and he no longer felt that itch to scratch at himself for whatever reason he thought he needed to be punished.

That was the only reason he could think of for why he did what he did. The staff wanted answers. Or that's how it felt when he and the other patients were sent to their rooms after lunch to write in their journals for an hour. At the top of a blank page he was prompted with a question; "how do I handle unpleasant memories of my father and what can I do differently in the future?"

When Craig read that there wasn't anywhere else he would rather be than in Kwan's English class during final exams. He didn't have the correct answer for this question and he was sure there was one. Of course he wasn't handling it appropriately, he knew that, Craig thought as he paced back and forth in his room. There was nothing to do but pace and absurdly observe every detail of the room. That was how he found something the staff had overlooked. Underneath his bed he found the corner of the carpet had been peeled back and underneath was a paperclip, something they weren't allowed. Initials had been scratched into the wall near the hiding spot. He did the only thing that made sense. He etched C.M. next to it and placed the paper clip back into its hiding spot for the next person. It felt satisfying to leave the mark that he had been here. After he left, he hoped the next person who stayed in this room would do the same.

The psychiatrist's office was nice. Walls lined with mahogany bookshelves that matched the desk with intricate carvings. It was much more comfortable than the plain room with fold out chairs he'd spent hours in during testing with Dr. Belfour. The arm chair in this office that he sank into was even fluffier than the couch in the dayroom at the ward. Craig glanced around a little, taking in all the details of the carpet and the fabric on the furniture. It was a little surreal. This room didn't belong here. It wasn't the first time Craig had been in the shrink's office but he had a hunch it would never stop feeling strange. He could only compare the feeling to being called into the principal's office at school. What did he do this time?

Dr. Ryerson got to the point rather quickly. This was one of the reasons Craig didn't like the guy; he remembered how easily the shrink was able to retell his troubled past. It wasn't that his father hit him sometimes or got angry with him (that was how Craig described the events); it was that he was physically abused. It never felt that black and white to him. While he was living with his father it was just something that would happen. Some days Craig was so hurt and angry about it that he wanted to kill him. But every time his father's mood shifted and fists swung at him he went back to being that scared little boy. And the really weird thing was that once he moved out (was removed from the situation, as the shrink called it) he started to blame himself instead. That only intensified after his father passed away. So it hurt to hear this doctor flatly state that his father committed suicide, like it was some dot on the timeline that was his life. And this session was simply another black dot being imprinted. This was another section of that file that was passed around from Ms. Sauvé to social worker.

"Craig, you are showing symptoms of bipolar disorder."

He just shook his head in response. He had an idea of what that meant and what questions he answered during the first session that made this doctor think that he was.

"Bipolar disorder causes dramatic mood swings. It's different than the highs and lows everyone experiences. When your lows caused by depression or the highs brought on by mania affect your ability to function, you are in need of treatment," Dr. Ryerson explained to his young patient and his guardian that accompanied him for the session.

He should have lied, was Craig's first thought when recalling their first session. He remembered trying to downplay everything. But then he couldn't help but be upset by the situation with Johnny. Is that why he thought he was bipolar? "I'm not usually like that though. That day I freaked out because of Johnny…that was just because I saw something in his situation that reminded me of my dad. We talked about that. I'm not crazy because of that."

"We are going to try to help you manage any issues you have with your past. We'd like you to start up some individual therapy sessions with Dr. Belfour that will focus on how you feel about events in your past and how you can address those emotions properly."

This all didn't feel like help at all. It sounded like it would hurt more than it would help. The sessions with school psychologist Ms. Sauvé would stir up things he'd rather forget. Group therapy here at the hospital made him feel insecure and strange. Craig looked to Joey, expecting him to look concerned. Overwhelmed. Disappointed even.

Craig was surprised that Joey didn't look as stunned as he felt. Instead his step dad looked relieved. "This explains so much," he said when he felt his gaze. The drug and alcohol use, the mood swings, fits of rage, and the problems at school. It all had an explanation now. And there was a solution, Joey realized.

"It seems so obvious to you all. It doesn't to me. Everything just always felt normal." Craig wasn't sure he was ready to feel a way that any different than this, even as shitty as things could be.

"There are times when you do experience normal moods. Other times during an episode you will experience a severe change in energy and behavior. We are going to start an initial treatment plan of medications to balance your moods."

"I think I'm just like this because of how it was growing up with my dad. If you want to know mood swings you should have lived in our house for a week. He had crazy ones and I had to react to each one of them. If he was happy, I had to be happy too and appreciate the gifts. And when he was angry," Craig's tone wobbled a little with that sentence he couldn't finish. He didn't want to describe what happened when Dad was angry and how well aware he was made of Dad's mood. "I never was allowed to be angry. I should get to be angry."

Joey wasn't sure what to say in response. Luckily the psychiatrist was quick to reply, "The talk therapy is going to help you work through these issues. It's going to help you understand what you are feeling and help you handle your emotions in an appropriate way."

Craig felt completely defeated. What was his next move? Say that he had done the whole therapy thing before with his high school psychologist and it didn't help? Why was he like this? Why would it help now? Did he even want it to? "I feel normal though. I don't think my mood swings are that bad."

"Do you ever have days where you feel more energetic? Euphoric? An overly good mood where it's hard to focus because your thoughts are moving very quickly? Or maybe you feel especially irritable?" Dr. Ryerson hit him with those questions again.

Craig shrugged. Sometimes he liked those days. He could get things done. But then there was times when he couldn't focus on the most basic functions. He remembered once staring at his phone, trying to figure out who he was supposed to get a hold of. Everything in his head was moving so fast. The room around him was still but he couldn't figure things out. It was sort of like being on an amusement park ride without the motion. That had to be because of lack of sleep though. Like he told the doctor in a previous session, he had a hard time sleeping and that will mess with your head.

"What about showing poor judgment? Making quick decisions that affect your school performance? Abuse of drugs or alcohol?"

"You could be talking about anyone my age. Are we all crazy?"

"You tend to push it farther," Joey spoke up and Craig glanced over at him with wide eyes. He was afraid he was going to say it, wasn't he? But why couldn't he say it out loud? It was in his hospital records and the file Ms. Sauvé sent over to the ward. "Craig, remember the party you threw earlier this year? And you drank so much you had to be hospitalized? What about when you pulled the fire alarm at school so you could take off to a rock concert 8 hours away? You were suspended for that."

He couldn't get him to meet his eyes now. Craig was staring down at the floor, scowling some and looking like he was lost in thought. It seemed like he might be willing to accept this now? Would he be willing to work with the doctors? "All this month you have been so depressed," Joey continued, wanting him to understand.

Craig nodded at that. That he couldn't deny. "Sometimes I just feel really low. But I feel okay now."

"You tried to kill yourself," Joey couldn't help but remind and Craig saw the concern in his eyes before he looked down at the floor again. Joey flashed back to the overdose that prompted the young teenager to move into his home. He had seemed okay after that too for a while too.

"It helps to think of bipolar disorder as a spectrum of moods. At one end you have severe depression and at the opposite end is extreme mania. There are many steps between them, progressing from a severe to moderate depression which shifts into a mild low. There is a more balanced or normal mood, which swings into a mild to moderate mania and then you are at the other end of the mood spectrum. Bipolar disorder is the cycling of high and low periods," Dr. Ryerson tried to explain again.

Joey was still surprised that he hadn't picked up on this before. He usually just saw the dramatic moments that would shake up the household. When he talked about them to his confidant Snake, he described them as rough patches because Craig always came out of them and seemed "okay." Now he was starting to realize that Craig's mood s alternated like they were set to tick off as if they were following the pattern on a clock. He couldn't help but feel guilty because he didn't see it.

"Uh, how often is it supposed to cycle?" Craig asked, still weary of all this.

"It depends on the individual. Some people with bipolar disorder only experience depression with milder episodes of hypomania. Others have more severe episodes a year. Some people experience multiple episodes a week, or even a day."

"I think it's been worse since I've been in here. But I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore." Craig was beginning to doubt every single emotion he ever had, like they weren't something everyone had. His were jacked up because of some chemical imbalance and just a disorder. Could he ever really trust himself?

"Children and adolescents with bipolar disorder often experience very fast mood swings. However it's not uncommon for an older adolescent with the disorder to display more classic, adult type symptoms. It helps to keep a mood chart. That will help you recognize if you are having an episode."

"It's just a little strange to like step back and think about the things I've done. I feel fine."

"You often will think you feel fine until an episode starts. That's why you need to be on medication."

Joey noticed how Craig seemed sad, so crushed. "You don't have to suffer like this. I know you say you feel fine but think about how low you felt on the day you attempted suicide. Or the weeks prior where you stayed in bed, like it hurt to face the world. It has to feel horrible to come crashing down like that."

Craig shrugged in response.

"I know the feelings of euphoria might feel pleasant or that you feel you are more productive. But not all the decisions you make while having a manic episode benefit you," Dr. Ryerson said.

He shook his head in disagreement but said, "Okay. Fine."

Joey sighed. It was like Craig's tone was more appropriate for losing a bet on a sports game or accepting the punishment of being grounded. It wasn't that he was being defeated on some argument here. "It's so hard to see you struggle like this. Do you know how that affects our family? We don't want to see you hurting. If there's a solution, let's try to work towards it."

"It's not unusual for an individual with bipolar disorder to fail to be aware of how their emotional instability affects those around them or impacts their day to day life."

The psychiatrist was replying specifically to Joey now, leaving Craig feeling stranger since they were discussing him. Craig just shook his head, not wanting to be a part of this conversation anymore. He kept zoning in and out; over the shrink's shoulder, past the blinds, and out the window where after a few moments he saw nothing. He could hear parts of the conversation at times before he wanted to go away again. Joey was asking the doctor about medications now, the dosages and side effects. It wasn't like he even needed to pay attention because he didn't have a say in any of this. There was an exchange of papers and the shaking of hands then Joey's hand was on his shoulder and they were encouraging him out the door.

"Want to come join us?" Andrew encouraged in the hall and gestured to the common area.

No, he didn't really want to. What were they doing today? Yesterday it was different than group. It was led by some new doctor or therapist. There were worksheets that asked about his routine in school and how he interacted with his classmates and teachers. Then they wanted to know about his family and what they would do together when he was discharged from the hospital. Craig was blank and could only think of to answer that he would spend the rest of the day with Angie and do whatever she wanted to do; barbies, playing house, and dress up were included. Then he was asked about what he planned to do long term to improve this relationship with his family. He noticed some of the patients were more used to this routine than he was; Rachel announced that was going to work more on the relationship with her mom and help her to understand what she needed at home so she wouldn't take all those pills again in a suicide attempt.

He didn't have a good answer to that question now either. Improve his family? He was destroying it. And now it was apparently some life long illness that they would have to put up with. He didn't want to do this to them.

"How are you doing?" Joey asked, rubbing Craig's shoulder. Craig hadn't said anything for a good ten minutes while they wrapped up the session with Dr. Ryerson. The shrink had excused himself rather quickly, leaving them to say goodbye as the nurse looked on.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. Bipolar disorder is just like any other illness. You can't control it if you get sick. Now we just have to work on getting you feeling better."

His stepdad was so quick to reply to that. Why did he forgive him so quickly? "It's not just that. All the things I do. If that was why I do the things I do…what if that's the way I'm always going to be?"

"Then we will work on that. You aren't alone here," Joey encouraged, trying to warm up for the goodbye. He hated leaving Craig here like this. But it was important that he didn't show any of the many emotions that were flowing through him right now. He had to pretend that this was normal. "Hey, buddy, you've got group to head to and I have to pick up Angie."

Craig just felt more guilt. This session with Dr. Ryerson felt as impromptu as all the others. They were fitting into his schedule and today Joey had to duck out of the car lot early for this session. "I'm sorry you missed work today to be here. Um, do something special for Angie today, okay? And tell her that I miss her?"

"Will do. She's been working on a drawing for you and I'll bring it by tomorrow night okay? You take it easy for the rest of the day. And maybe one of these days your friends can stop by. A day doesn't go by where someone asks about you."

Joey noticed how that comment seemed to make Craig even more uncomfortable. Should he say something? He should say something about that. "If you are ever up for visitors, I'm sure some of your friends would like to stop by. They don't judge you for being here. They care about you."

"I don't know," Craig replied, agitated. It was embarrassing enough that he kept putting himself in situations where Ashley, Ellie, and Sean had to rescue his ass. He didn't want to be the guy that needed to be saved all the time. And it was going to be even more awkward to admit to them what was wrong and that yes, he was that much of a train wreck.

No, Joey realized he shouldn't have said anything. "Okay. No pressure. Just try to take it easy tonight."

"Group just wrapped up and everyone's hanging out before dinner. Come on and join us," Andrew encouraged.

They wanted him to leave now. But Joey didn't want to. He didn't want to leave Craig here, especially during times like this when it was obvious that he was upset. It was difficult enough on the "good days" like the one where he hung out with Craig and the rest of the kids while they did arts and crafts on a Saturday afternoon. That almost felt like he was leaving him at some summer camp instead of a psychiatric ward.

But when he was distraught like this? It felt like he was hurting Craig. Or he was allowing him to be hurt. There wasn't a day that went by where he questioned if he was doing the right thing. And when he was notified that Craig had been sedated after what he called the "freak out over Johnny," it took hours of off and on conversation with Caitlin and Snake to reassure him that he shouldn't remove Craig from the hospital's care immediately.

"You are going to be okay," Joey reassured himself and Craig as he embraced him for a quick hug goodbye.

Craig nodded after his stepdad released him and said what he always seemed to say after things like this, "I'm fine."

"I'll call you tonight," was the last thing Joey said to Craig. It never felt right to say goodbye. Instead he promised him the next time he would interact with him. He even did this during their phone calls. Joey was at the main door now, waiting to be buzzed out, and couldn't overhear the conversation between Craig and Andrew. It seemed like he was comforting him. Maybe he shouldn't be paying as much attention as he was; Craig was picking up on his gazes and returning them like he was trying to communicate through his stare. The kid looked so sad. And he had seen that look before. Not when he had to ground him or break up his plans with friends for a family engagement and it obvious Craig was displeased. But he had seen it when Albert used to pick Craig up after his weekends with him and Julia. Craig never cried but something was always lingering in his eyes. He thought it was some message to his wife; her son either missed her and wanted their family back together or he wanted to stay with her at her new home.

He let this kid down so much. A nurse was talking to him outside the ward now. They always did that; apparently he frequently seemed that upset. Joey would nod in response every time. He knew he could call the nurse's station to check up on Craig's progress and was well aware of what visiting hours were. That wasn't the questions he wanted answers to.

He wanted to know when the child abuse started. Every now and then the anger would flare up in him and aside from wanting to confront Albert Manning and demand that he take out his frustrations on him instead of his son, he wanted to know how long he had been beating Craig. He couldn't do that. So the sore subject only came up a few times where he felt it was appropriate to ask. Craig's answers varied every time. Sometimes he understood the way he was treated was wrong and was understandably upset. Then there were other times where Craig seemed wracked with guilt as he explained all the things he did wrong and how sorry he was; and during those times he could not remind him that he was abused without seeing a burst of angry determined rationalizations. He wasn't abused, he wasn't. Sometimes Craig almost had him convinced.

He wanted to know why the bipolar disorder had to affect his son. The kid had already been through so much. With the child abuse, at least it felt like he could do something about it. He could stop that by allowing Craig to live with him and while that wouldn't heal all wounds it still felt like he was protecting him from further pain. He couldn't rescue Craig from a mental illness. There was control with sicknesses like the flu. He could do something about that. He could make him better. What could he do about this?

Joey entered the elevator and pushed the lobby level button. He guessed the only thing he could do right now was this and pray that he was making the right choice.

Author's Note: Excuse any bloopers; I hope I fixed all my name changes and removed any editing notes. This chapter is massive so I might have missed a few things. When I hit 26,000 words I knew I had to split up Craig's psychiatric ward stay chapter (and this chapter is still super long). So part 2 will be coming up next, hopefully this month since a large chunk has been written but knowing me it will end up much longer. It does have some sections I'm chewing on but let's hope I don't procrastinate for too long. Certainly not over a year! But hey this just proves to my faithful readers that this story doesn't have an end until I say it does.

This chapter is loosely based on a personal experience. A stay in a psychiatric facility likely varies based on your location and the size of the hospital. I have absolutely no idea what the Canadian mental health system is like. The group session with the note cards is inspired by a scene in the movie Manic (2001).