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Vic

Today I've learned that hospital rooms are strange.

Before the events that occured yesterday, I had never spent a prolonged amount of time in a hospital room. I've never broken a bone, never had a surgery, never accidentally slit my wrist open—check that one off the worst bucket list ever.

There's this unshakeable stagnation to the room. It feels like a moment lost in time. I can hear the world moving around me—the doctors and the nurses rushing around outside the door, the cars passing by the window, the TV that's playing the Wizard of Oz which loses connection every few minutes, the heart rate monitor beeping next to me reminding me that I'm alive—and it all somehow feels so far away.

There's a disconnection with these white walls and it's surroundings. Minus the static burning of my wrist that doesn't seem to cease despite the pain meds the nurse has fed me, I feel tranquil. Alone with myself, and okay with it. For once the silence isn't deafening, for once it's welcomed.

I look to the TV screen as the picture regains connection. Dorothy's house spirals in the twister until it lands and everything is suddenly still. Then she silently makes her way through the house to the door which she then opens, revealing a land of technicolor.

I'm waiting for that moment. The moment I snap out of this mental sepia and colour returns to my life. But I'm not there yet. I haven't opened the door.

My bleeding arm was very much the tornado, and I'm Dorothy from Kansas who just went through a whirlwind, unaware of the wonders outside. And as if on cue, in walks Toto.

"Hey," Tony says, frowning at me.

I don't know why he's frowning, he's not the one stuck in here.

"Hey, what's up?" I say numbly, looking away from him. I can't look at him. The shame that would come with eye-contact would be too much for me.

He doesn't respond to my question, not that I wanted him to, as he takes a seat on the murky-green pleather chair. I watch him from my peripheral tensely hunch forward and cup his hands in one another.

"Vic, what happened?" he sighs softly.

My dry mouth becomes dryer as I swallow the little saliva I can muster up.

"Did you tell anyone?" I ask bluntly.

"No, I didn't. And I won't. But I need you to be honest with me." he explains.

My chest feels tight as Tony spills the chaos of the outside world into my safe little room.

"What happened?" he repeats.

I look down at the gause that covers my stitched up wound.

"I broke a glass. Had an accident." I lie.

"Bullshit! Come on, Vic. I need you to be honest with me. It's the least you could do." he snaps frustrated, but his voice cracks at the end.

It's that voice crack that makes me look at him and our irises align. His glassy eyes hit me with a tsunami of shame.

"It was an accident." I admit, giving in.

"Vic," he groans.

"No, it really was, Tone. I mean, I meant to..." I trail off. "But I didn't mean for this to happen."

I try to lubricate my throat again but there's not a drop of moisture left in my mouth.

"I didn't mean to go so deep." I whisper.

His expression softens and he nods.

"What's going on, Vic? Why are you doing this again?" he asks gesturing to my lacerated arms that are on full display for the first time in weeks.

I think about Carter, I think about my uncle, I think about Kellin, and I want to bury myself.

My numbness persists though, or maybe it's the dehydration, because as much as I know I need to cry, I can't.

"I don't know, Tony." I whisper, unsure if I can admit my wrong-doings to him.

We used to be closer, Tony and I, before life got in the way. But even then, I couldn't tell him things like this. I've only ever talked to Kellin about these things and I don't feel like I can burden him anymore.

A nurse comes into the room, eliminating the tension with her presence. She looks down at her clipboard then smiles at me. I'd usually be the kind of person to smile back out of politeness, but that's just not who I am anymore. I don't know where that person went. I feel like an imposter.

"Vic—can I call you, Vic?" she asks and I nod. "I have a few routine questions I need to ask before we can make any decisions on your release. Is that okay?"

I nod again, suddenly feeling nervous. Fuck, what if I answer something wrong and they don't let me leave? I need to get home. I'm sure Kellin hates me already.

"Okay, how are you feeling?" she asks.

"Fine, I guess, a little sore." I admit.

She checks something off on her clipboard.

"Are you experiencing any thoughts of suicide or self-harm?" she asks.

I shake my head earnestly. The agony in my wrist makes me never want to self-harm again. But I don't know how long that feeling is going to last.

"Can you tell me what happened to your arm?" she says.

"Broke a glass." I say instinctively.

"Vic," Tony warns.

I sigh and roll my eyes. "I cut myself, purposely," I admit.

"Would you say you were attempting to take your own life?" she asks. Her demeanor is flawlessly professional but I can see a hint of humanity in her eyes.

"No, no, definitely not. I was self-harming. I didn't mean to cut so deep." I assure her.

She writes something down then looks back at me.

"Do you have any plans to end your life?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Okay, that's good. Do you have any prior diagnoses of mental illness?" she questions.

My stomach sinks a little. I want to lie but Tony's going to call it out if I do.

"I was diagnosed with depression when I was fifteen." I admit.

She nods and makes a note of something.

"And are you currently on any medications or involved in a counselling service?"

I shake my head again.

"Do you have a family history of mental illness?" she asks.

"No," I answer, but Tony's quick to chime in, much to my confusion.

"Vic," he sighs.

"What?" I frown confused.

"Your tio." he says like it's obvious and I feel as though someone has just slapped me.

I almost refute his comment, tell him that my uncle wasn't mentally ill, but it suddenly occurs to me that healthy people don't take their own lives. And it's so obvious now that I think about it, but I guess I've been avoiding the thought of my tio for so long that I hadn't the chance to consider his mental health.

But he never seemed mentally ill to me. He was always so happy-go-lucky. His suicide seemed so out of nowhere. I didn't even believe it at first when my dad broke the news to me.

I look to the nurse who's looking at me expectantly.

"Uh, I guess. I had an uncle that committed suicide." I admit.

The words make my tongue feel numb. I remember the first time I said it aloud. It was when I told Kellin, and I just broke down as the words left my mouth. And he held me for hours as I cried.

But there's not a tear in sight today.

She marks the clipboard once again.

"Okay, well if you feel safe to go home and if you're sure you're not going to be a risk to yourself, I'm happy to discharge you." she chirps.

I sigh relieved and nod. It's only 10am so maybe I'll get lucky and Kellin will have slept in. Maybe I can get home before he wakes up and pretend I came in late last night. I need to start working on an excuse, and it needs to be a fucking good one.

The safety of my world away from home disappears as I'm prepped to leave the hospital. I get dressed, I get pain meds to go, the nurse gives me a card for a counselling service I'm not going to call, then Tony and I leave. We get into his car and he drives off, taking me home.

"What was all that about your tio?" he asks me.

"All what?" I frown, annoyed that he's bringing up my tio again.

"Why did you lie about his mental illness?"

"I didn't lie. I just didn't know." I shrug.

"You didn't know? He was hospitalised, Vic. He killed himself."

Once I recover from the bluntness of his words, confusion sets in.

"He was hospitalised? What? When?" I ask confused.

I see realization flash through his eyes. "You didn't know."

"No I didn't know. When did this happen? How did you know?" I snap.

"My mama told me when it happened, last year. Your mama told her. He was hospitalised for weeks after he had a breakdown. Where did you think he was?" Tony frowns. He seems almost as confused as I am.

I worked with the man, surely I'd notice if he was gone. The only time I remember him being gone last year is when he went on his vacation.

I feel betrayed. He lied to me.

"He told me he was going on vacation." I mumble staring out the window as the suburban houses pass by.

I love this neighbourhood. I really do. It's safe and homely. And without Carter, Kellin and I would never have been able to afford to live here. At least something good came out of meeting him.

But as I examine the pretty streets, the kids playing in their yards, the greener grass, the white picket fences, I can't help but to feel like I don't belong here. I feel like a weed in a beautiful kept garden, like a fleshy scar on glowing skin. I feel so out of place, not just in this neighbourhood, but on this earth. And I feel responsible for the ugliness I trail behind me with every step, every breath I take.

Tony pulls up across the road from my house and I stare at it, dreading what may wait behind those doors. I don't know if I can take the consequences of my own actions. I don't know if I can bear the weight of the heartbreak I keep causing my husband.

"You know my cousin Danny?" Tony says after a moment of silence, pulling me from my worries.

"Loco Danny?" I ask to clarify.

"Yeah that one. He has schizoaffective disorder. Officially diagnosed a few months ago."

I nod, pretending I know exactly what that means. Doesn't sound good. "And?"

"And he has had it for basically the last ten years and only just got a diagnosis. You know why?"

I can tell Tony's not asking me to guess.

"Humor me." I mumble, unsure if I like where this conversation is going.

"Because his family was ashamed. My family was ashamed. Our community was ashamed." Tony explains. "It was easier to label him 'loco' than to get him the help he needed."

He pauses, collecting his thoughts.

"As men, as latino men, we're not supposed show weakness, we're not supposed to cry, we're supposed to be strong and provide for our families. That's what we're taught. And that makes us feel ashamed when we experience human emotions, when we feel sadness, when we get sick. That's why your tio didn't tell you about his mental health. That's why his death was treated more as a scandal than a tragedy."

A lump builds in my throat as I imagine my tio silently battling with shame that was forced upon him.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whisper.

"I'm telling you so you don't end up like him. You can live a fulfilling life, Vic. You just need some help, and there's nothing wrong with that. You don't have to deal with this alone." Tony urges.

I don't respond to that. I don't know how to. We sit in the car, silent, until it's uncomfortable. Eventually Tony speaks.

"Make sure you call that number, Vic. You really need to see somebody. And call me if you need anything, okay? Don't wait until it's an emergency again." Tony says with a gentle tone.

I hum, barely hearing him, barely caring.

I stare down at the hospital bracelet around my wrist. My name doesn't look like mine anymore, and I don't know why. I tear it from my wrist. The snap of the band makes my arm jerk and a pain shoots through me. I want to cry, and right now I feel like I just might. I stuff the white band in my pocket then pull down my sleeve, concealing all evidence.

"Are you going to be okay?" Tony asks me softly.

I feel the tears welling in my eyes and I look back at him, forcing a smile.

"There's no place like home, right?"

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