Getting Better

"... cool guy? I'm hardly a cool guy," he denied with reddened cheeks before setting the empty cup down. With his fingers rubbing the bumpy arms of the chair, he eventually smiled over at the man with a snort in disbelief.

"I won't have many friends either," he admitted. "Most of them were Chris'. Plenty of people showed up for his funeral but no one really called me afterwards. It was a bummer, but I've got you now. We'll be good for one another," he reassured.
 
"Good for each other, yeah? Nah, you're right. I need some clean-cut friends and you need someone like me-- not that I really know what that means, but I'm at least fun. I think I have that going for me. I like to think I'm pretty fun," the older man boasted, completely genuine with his assessment of himself. He could pick out several flaws if he so wished, but he didn't want to dwell on that too much. There was only so much misery he could handle in one day, and he'd already grown tired of bearing his soul and dwelling on the negative parts of his life. Sometimes, he just wanted to point out what good he had in him, rather than pick apart every mistake he'd made.

"But hey, we'll be fine. You'll get out of here with me and we can totally hang out and do normal shit together. It's something to look forward to, at least."
 
"You're right," he admitted with a smile before carefully pushing out of his chair, groaning. "Hey, I'm going to go inside. I don't want to bug you too much so you can stay out here if you'd like. I should probably meet my therapist, huh? I mean, that's why I'm here, right?" He teased with a nudge before walking back inside, letting his frown show.

He wanted to seem cheerful for Colby but it was... hard. Sure, the man had gotten some laughs out of him and smiles, and he was already incredibly fond of him, but the waves of sadness were stronger than he expected. He wanted to get better, to stop the urges, but they were still too strong.
 
"Hey, I'll come with you to see your therapist-- I'm pretty sure you'll have Sally. She often takes on the newbies-- which is really good. She's pretty gentle and comforting. Just the sort of person you need when you've been shoved in here for your first ever time," the other man smiled, hurrying after him and offering a playful nudge once catching up with his strides. He could have left the other to his own devices, but a part of him felt genuinely protective of Jake. He was evidently vulnerable and obviously not over his husband's suicide, which was very understandable. Naturally, Colby did have a nurturing personality, and he couldn't help himself but to take particular attention to people like Jake. Leaving him on his own, in the new environment, hardly sat well for him.

"I don't mind being around you 24/7, kid. You're the only friend I have in this joint, really. Everyone's nice and all, and the nurses are awesome to me, but we click, right?"
 
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Patiently waiting for the other once realizing he was following, he offered an awkward smile in response while rubbing his arm. He grew tired from a lot of interactions over time and, if anything, he was exhausted. Despite that, it wasn't in the school boy's nature to just turn around and say no - in fact, he was often tainted for his lack of dominance. In the few fights he had with Chris, he would often just be left to cry and give up on the arguement to let the other win.

"We do, don't we? Two completely different people yet we've already been pretty close," he agreed quietly. ""Ah... 'newbie'. It's a weird term. Hopefully I won't ever have to be anything but a newbie. To be honest, I don't think I would ever want to be here again."
 
"Oh come on, it ain't even that bad, kid. I mean, for me, at least, this place is... it's pretty neat. Sure, I'd love some video games and the ability to head on out whenever I wanted, but the food's great, the people are nice and I get help to get off drugs. Admittedly, the help hasn't... worked so far, but I think it'll be good this time. I haven't overdosed before so that's a big wake-up call," the other continued, nodding firmly to himself as though he had decided suddenly that, this time, he was going to stick to his recovery. Despite the insistence, it was for show. He knew, deep down, that he was very likely to end up back on drugs the very moment he left the hospital-- assuming he ever got out again, anyway.

Knocking his knuckles against one of the bright white doors lining the corridor, he offered his new friend a supportive smile. Visiting the therapist for the first time was undoubtedly a nervous experience. Even someone like Colby, who was over-brimming with confidence, had found it nerve-wracking.

"It'll be alright," he promised once hearing movements inside the office, and the eventual customary 'come in' from within. "Just come and find me when you're done bearing your soul to Sally-- or whoever you have. She might pass you on to one of the others, I dunno."
 
Staring back at Colby cautiously, he knew that it was a lie. The place wasn't some glorious sanctuary away from all heartache and pain and whatnot. He was stripped away of all his possessions and forced in the hospital without his consent and now he was just expected to grin and bear it? Now talking to a complete stranger about his problems was supposed to magically help him to get over the death of his husband? It was all far too good to be true.

Which ended up being the case. After about a half hour of talking, Jake emerged and sought out Colby with a deeper frown than before. He gave his basic information and was essentially just fed the reality of the situation. He already knew he made a mistake, that he didn't do it correctly. He knew he was a failure and that he didn't have the one stable person in his life anymore. The doctor seemed far too casual and the whole situation made him uncomfortable, and it was pretty obvious when he returned to his room rubbing his shoulder nervously.
 
"...I take it it didn't go so good, huh? Shame. I like the therapy sessions. It's pretty nice to talk aloud to someone dedicated to listening, but... hey, it's not for everyone. It's something we kinda have to do though, so you'll need to at least... get used to it," he pointed out once setting his eyes on the other and realising just from his body language that it hadn't gone swimmingly. He imagined that there would be some hesitation involved, but he had hoped that Jake would ease into it. Talking and getting things off his chest would help his journey to recovery, and starting it early was best. That said, Colby was hardly one to preach, given how little he usually said in his own meetings.

"Come sit, yeah? It's fine. You can talk to me about shit if you want. I'll listen to you. I ain't... educated in psychology and all that, but I think I'm a good listener," he boasted as he flopped back onto his bed, having been aimlessly reading some book one of the nurses fetched for him.
 
"There's nothing to really say," he replied quietly before taking a seat across from the other. Glancing out the window, his frown only grew as he took in the outside more. Adjusting his jaw slowly, he decided to at least force a smile.

"Yeah. It was really awkward, actually. Just - I don't like feeling like an idiot and I feel like a major moron now. Like, I know that I fucked up and tried to kill myself. I don't need to be reminded all the time, that isn't helping. In fact, I just feel worse. I know I'm going to have to get used to it, I just... I don't know. I don't trust her."
 
"...I've been institutionalised more times than I remember. I'm constantly reminded how much of a fuck up I am, and I'm still here, trying to be positive. It's a process, y'know? Right now, it's all pretty raw and new for you so... hey, take as much time as you need. Who am I to force you to think a certain way? All I will say is that Sally's a total babe and I like her a lot, and I'm not... trusting of many people," he admitted after a moment, holding his hands behind his head. Paranoia was obviously a repercussion of his raging drug addiction, so trusting people, genuinely trusting them, was rare. The fact he trusted the therapist should have been a testament to her character.

"Nah, don't worry about it, it's over now. Relax, chill out and... I dunno... take a nap?" He suggested casually while closing his own eyes, despite having no intention to follow his own advice. "I'm just waiting for Foster to call back-- he will, you know. I fucking overdosed. He's got to be... worried about me."
 
"... look, I know this is pretty awful for me to say this but you don't need him, Colby. Chris... that ended differently," he explained slowly as his fingers fiddled with one another. He knew he would just sound like some hypocrite but he was willing to be seen as such to at least get Colby to think realistically.

"You shouldn't keep obsessing over him. You can do so much better, I know that for sure. If... if he wasn't going to call to make sure you were okay before, he won't now. You can go and, like, find someone far cuter and probably more talented, too."
 
"I appreciate that and sure, you're probably right. I could get someone who wouldn't fucking abandon me-- but I don't think I'd ever get cuter than Foster. The guy's... he's fucking perfect, you know? You'd know if you saw him," he snorted to himself, trying to downplay the advice he was given. Deep down, he was aware that every word of it was true. Foster hadn't cared enough to even call him back after the countless calls and texts he had sent over the years, so the possibility of him caring now was ridiculously slim. That said, he couldn't help but cling to the hope of seeing him, if only to put a line under what they had. If he met him again and Foster told him it was over completely, he could move on. Until then, he lived with hope.
"...Besides, he's not the bad guy. I am. It's not healthy for my... progress to blame him. He didn't help me, but I... don't expect him to. I'm the one who, like, fucking injected myself and shoved god knows what into my body. He didn't do that, so he's... not the villain. All he did was abandon me which, let's be fair, is understandable. I was an asshole."
 
"Well, I feel like a major part of a successful relationship is communication and discussing issues you both have. I'm sure that if you just sat down with him at the time - or now, if he ever contacts you again - then things would be better," he insisted as he watched the other speak. Granted, saying such simple words for something far more complicated only made himself frown.

"Yeah, if... I was upset, Chris would insist that I talk to him and vice versa. In fact, the only time he ever was really mad at me was when I was upset but I was embarrassed to talk to him about it. I wish the therapist understood, you know? Like, it took me years to really talk about my feelings with my husband. I just... always felt needy when I did, you know? I don't know what it is about you but I feel like you're an exception. Maybe because you're going through this whole thing too, sort of."
 
"...Come on, our situations aren't... similar. I'm a whiny little bitch whose issues aren't at all comparable to the hell you've been through, Jake. I'm an asshole who abuses drugs and doesn't deserve sympathy for it. You've actually... gone through horrible stuff and... hey, maybe I've just got one of those faces, you know? That makes people open up to me," he suggested instead, inwardly cringing at his moans and constant whines about Foster. He had every right to open up to Jacob, as he encouraged the other to do with him, but he did feel terrible that his problems (in his head) seemed inconsequential in comparison to Jacob's. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as moaning about issues that weren't issues at all.

"...Anyway, it'll get easier talking to people, I guarantee it," he smiled, beginning to scratch at his arms. It was a terrible coping mechanism, giving it both marked his skin and rubbed it red raw and also exposed the various track marks from his drug use. That said, he was proud of himself for having a coping mechanism. It was either this, or lose his mind. "I like talking to people, but it ain't easy, I get that. It'll be alright, though."
 
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"I'm not going to lie, you don't have a conventionally friendly face," he teased quietly as he awkwardly fiddled with his blanket. "Our situations are similar. Sure, the thing that led us here is... different, but we're both here over guys that we loved, right? I mean - technically you didn't try to kill yourself but the whole addiction was sort of motivated by him, right?"

As he spoke, maybe through his tendency to socially adapt other's mannerisms, the man nervously scratched at his arm as well as he avoided the other's gaze. "Yeah, I just - this isn't the place for me. I'd rather just go home, you know? Go home, just... get back to work? I don't know. God, this will be so embarrassing to explain."
 
"I don't have a friendly face? Really? I thought I was decent looking. God, I know I'm not handsome or anything, but I always thought I was at least approachable? Apparently not, huh?" He smiled, shrugging it off as though it hardly mattered to him. In reality, of course the comment hurt. He didn't suddenly hate the other, far from it. After all, he assumed that the remark was made in jest, rather than with malice, but that didn't mean he couldn't be hurt by it.

"...You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Mental health shouldn't be embarrassing, it's... serious and if your co-workers don't get that, they're fucking idiots," he eventually remarked, after a few seconds of silence on his part. Eventually deciding to just let the comment go and forget about it, he slumped back on his bed with his hands behind his head. "You worry too much. Stop fretting. There are people out there who aren't getting any help for their issues, so sure, this place sucks, but you have a chance to... y'know, get better. I mess up my chances and I don't think they'll let me back in if I fuck up again, so don't be like me."
 
"It's goong to be so awkward! Like, 'hey, sorry I was gone, I was just busy trying to kill myself'. I wouldn't blame them if they were uncomfortable. They tried to act normal around me when Chris died but it was hard. It's going to be just as awkward now if not worse. Everyone is going to look at me like I'm weird, you know? That I'm... I'm fragile. They did this before and it's only going to be worse," he insisted with a groan before moving to flop back on his bed.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. You did nothing to deserve my ramblings. I promise I'll stop. I... I don't mean to take up the conversation so much anyway," he awkwardly murmured as he covered his face with his pillow.
 
"Then why don't you move somewhere new and start over? That's what I would do if I didn't want people acting like that around me. I'd go somewhere new, start over and build a life up for myself. You could totally do that," he suggested as he peered across at his roommate. Advice wasn't something he liked to dish out when there were therapists and doctors to do that sort of thing, but clearly, Timmy wasn't connecting with them as much. It was either leave him alone without anyone offering help, or try and give some advice. Desperate to actually be friends with him, he leaned towards the latter.

"Or you could stay in London and we could just hang out when we get out of here? I'm not gonna treat you like some fragile thing, alright? You're my pal now and I'd like to have fun with you, hang out, do normal shit. You're a good influence for me, really-- and maybe I can be good for you? I don't think I'm that terrible, so... hey, that's another option for 'ya. It ain't all bad."
 
"I can't just up and leave, I don't have the funds," he admitted. "I mean, I had a pretty luxurious childhood and all but the funds I took from my family were just enough for a few months rent until I found my job. I don't have enough to just up and leave everything behind, you know? Trust me, I... I would love to go to France, just travel for a bit and try and forget everything but it isn't that simple."

Hesitating for a moment, he eventually rolled to take in the other, his eyes scanning the man quickly. He already knew he was acting pathetic - at least that's what his father would have told him if he saw his current state.

"Where are you living now? I... won't be able to afford my apartment if I live alone, you're invited to live with me if you'd like," He offered with a small smile.
 
"I live with my mother, which isn't the easiest. I love her and she does a lot for me, but... I want to at least show her I can live away from her and not end up, like, injecting myself. To be honest, I don't think I could inject myself even if I wanted to," he snorted, absently examining his arms, half-amused by the situation and also pretty disgusted with himself at his predicament. Refusing to get all down about it, though, he quickly grinned across at his roommate in agreement.

"I'd totally like to live with you. I'd get a job and... it's just what I need. I've crashed on couches but... that's not easy when all my friends are drug-users. Living with you would be the fresh state I need," he confirmed, his excitement growing. This was the first time that he had ever been positive about his future. He had a new friend who didn't touch drugs, a potential place to stay that was a healthy environment for him, and he was pretty confident he could ditch drugs and form a new lifestyle for himself. "...I won't let you down by doing anything stupid, promise. I'm not going near drugs again-- I kinda mean it this time."
 
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