Alta

Our every move affects our surrounding environment in ripples. When the morning sun gleamed through the bedroom window, I shifted in bed to guard my eyes, bumping shoulders with Frank. It was enough to awaken him, and he groggily scooted aside. A small nudge had affected him. The realization made it difficult to fall back asleep.

Even now, I found the realization crippling my concentration and I felt paper crinkling between my palms. I froze as I noticed my mistake, and my coworker sitting beside me gazed onwards.

"Do you want me to handle that, Al?"

I shrugged, reddening in embarrassment, tossing the paper into the trash can below the desk. "Sure, that'd be helpful, if you had the time."

"Miss Alta."

A voice sounded in front of our workstation, and we noticed an older patient looming well above the desk's height. The sleeves of his multicolored hospital gown were rolled up to reveal his tan arms crossed firmly at his chest.

"Yes, Roy?" I replied.

"Miss Alta," Roy repeated my name, scratching his scalp through his wiry, uncombed hair. "May I have an orange juice?"

"We're working on it, Roy." My co-worker, Linda, frowned. "I already told you we called another drink down."

His eyes widened and he fumbled with the end of a sleeve, flabbergasted. Linda and I both knew how shaky his memory was, and we could tell he had forgotten Linda’s reminder.

"Derek threw my orange juice," Roy tried again. "I need a new one.”

I frowned, wording a response in my mind. An older nurse approached, stepping beside Roy.

"Roy, we're getting more juices,” The older nurse insisted. “Have a seat and we'll bring one to you, okay?"

Roy stepped aside, edging toward the bench closest to the nurses station.

The older nurse nodded at me. "Care to chat with Derek before you leave, Alta? I already gave it a go."

"What did he say?"

"He said he didn't care if he went into solitary confinement."

I set down my pen, trudging out from behind the desk. The older nurse told me his room number, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets for warmth, striding down the hall. I reached the door, pausing to straighten my name tag. I knocked twice and entered.

The room was dark, and I could only make out Derek's silhouette. I left the door cracked open, allowing light to loom across his bed. He flipped around to face me, and his face crumpled when he applied weight to his injury. When he saw me, the misery in his expression vanished.

"Hey, Miss Al." Derek grinned as if I was an old friend, and his teeth were visible in the dim shade. "I thought you left already?"

"I'm leaving in a bit. Why aren't you listening to the other nurses?"

"I am."

"Why did you throw your drink at one of the nurses?"

Derek glanced over to his snoring roommate, choosing not to respond. Exhausted by his attitude, I glanced at my wristwatch.

"Stay out of trouble tonight, Derek. I'll see you in the morning."

He spoke as the door nearly shut behind me, catching me off guard. "Are you mad at me?"

I stared. "Why would I be?"

"Because of what I said last time I was here." his voice cracked, strained. “I mean, I promised not to.”

The first time Derek had been here was months ago, and he had sworn to his wife he would not hurt himself again. He had a history of self-injuring, and I had seen the scars from burns on his skin before. He had always denied suicidal ideations, but he admitted to feeling deep bouts of sorrow. His newest injury were deep cuts that came across as a suicide attempt, but he would not admit it as being such to the doctors.

Blank-faced, I said "Do you care if your family will miss you?"

It did not come out quite right, but it seemed he understood. "Well...I worry about what my daughter will do without me. She's young, so we don’t mention my mental health to her. She thinks I’m at a regular hospital." He paused. "Can I ask you something?"

He took my stern expression as an answer and went on. "What if you only had one way out and it was permanent?"

The phrase stuck out in my mind. Permanent. Death was the only thing to strike me as permanent, for even mental stability cannot last us long. Derek's ward records detailed his condition and he was stable upon discharge. When he arrived to the ward for the second time he had detailed his steady decline back into depression leading up to readmission.

His suffering had become permanent in his mind, and the solution equally so. Yes, end it. Yes—

"There's still a chance for your health, I think.” I said. “We're going to work through it."

Derek leaned forward to better hear my voice. The shadows across his face danced when he frowned.

"This is the best option I have.” he said. “I can't function. I'm already half alive."

He reminded me of myself in that moment. I couldn't say I'd ever felt alive, though. In some moments, maybe. I didn't know what to say to Derek. What I did have to say wouldn't help his condition.

"You'll be okay, Derek. Let's see how you feel in the morning, alright?"

He didn't look convinced. He flopped onto his side so that his back faced the door.

"Whatever you say."

Walking back to the front desk, I felt a crushing sense of guilt. I had been far less helpful than usual. I mustered a smile when Linda told me to have a good evening on my way out, but I was too dazed to reply. I met the cold night air, and approached the parking lot, passing by a bench where a man was seated. There was enough light that I could catch his familiar stance over his notebook and his fluffy green coat. He was leaning over the notebook in his lap, and his breath left hazy trails in front of him.

I trudged through several inches of snow to reach his bench. He gazed up mid-thought and grinned. His molars were bit in to the eraser of his number two pencil, and the metal was since crushed from his previous literary sessions.

He shoved his bag aside, allowing me a seat. He tucked the pencil behind his ear, tilting his notebook. Excited by my presence, he was oblivious to the bits of used eraser that fell from the page and onto his lap.

"Hi, Al!" He said.

"Good evening, Frank." I slipped a tattered paperback novel from my back pocket before sitting down, and he took note of it.

"Is that from the used bookstore?"

I nodded. I hadn't read it yet and it had been in my pocket all day. Unable to add to the subject, I changed it. "Why are you here?"

"I finished early at the store, so I thought I'd wait for you."

Up close, his face was clear now. His round face and dark hair perfectly fit his flushed cheeks, and his coat barely concealed his fat belly. There wasn't much eraser left on his number two pencil. I reached into my bag and pulled out a fresh pencil; it immediately caught Frank's attention.

"For me?" Frank said as I handed him the pencil.

"I picked it up this morning."

"You're the greatest, did you know?" he gleamed at the pencil’s sharpened edge, tucking the old one behind his ear. He flipped his new eraser around and went back to erasing a line on his script. "This one's going to be great, I can tell."

"You always say that. Did you hear anything back about your other script?"

He grew pale, gracing his fresh eraser with the space between his molars. "No word yet."

No word, yet again. I shifted in my seat, unable to confess I was happy to hear he hadn't sold his work. Any spare penny we had went into affording a real home and a family to go with it. I had been hopeful after our marriage that things would look up, but my depression returned as strong as ever. Frank didn't know, and I was determined to keep it that way.

There was a lull in the crowd after we got our subway tickets. Inside the station was warm enough that Frank’s cheeks became deeply pink and he had to remove his coat. He held his notebook to his chest, half concealing his red manager’s name tag which he always took pride in wearing, even if the chain of grocery stores he worked for had been losing business. He watched a homeless man play on tin drums before we boarded, then he leaned next to me in our seats, squishing me against the window.

"Take a look, Al. This page I just wrote, it's brilliant."

He held the notebook out so I could read it. I hadn't seen a page for some time, so I didn't quite grasp the plot, but the dialogue flowed smoothly and drew me in regardless. Occasionally Frank would share pages with me, while a script was still incomplete. I nodded to indicate I had read it, and he lowered the notebook.

"How was it?" he asked, pulling out his new pencil which was already nearly indistinguishable from his old pencil.

"It was an amusing scene."

"It's great. I think this is my best piece yet."

His eyes sparkled as he stared at his new page, and I got lost in the aura he emitted. He did that, sometimes–he momentarily whisked me away from my sorrows. I linked my arm around his, but he didn't return it. He looked to me.

"Did something happen at work? You seem more quiet than usual."

My heart jumped and my skin chilled. My mind jumped to one of the answers I had prepared ahead of time. I unlinked from him, holding my purse closer to me.

"I'm just tired. It was really busy today."

Frank had already relaxed, positioning his pencil over his notebook to add another line. "Is that all?"

I said nothing. As he finished his line, the tip of his pencil led snapped away. He dug through his pockets, then swore in frustration. "Great. I left my sharpener at home."

"That's right," I perked up, anxious to change the topic. "I have another pencil in my bag. I sharpened two for you."

I handed him the purse, my mind tangled, fearful he would question my mood again. I turned to gaze out the window, distraught.

"What's this?"

The tone of Frank's voice was one I rarely heard from him, and as I heard it, I realized the mistake I made. When my eyes met his, it confirmed my fear. He held a package of cigarettes out in front of him, and the lid was cracked open by his index finger. I tried to swipe the pack away from him, but he pulled back, having already counted.

"Seven cigarettes, huh?" his voice was low. "You had seven out of this pack. How long have you had these?"

"Christ, Frank.” I groaned, “Don't do this to me today."

He frowned, flipping the carton’s lid open and shut. I could tell he had much more to say about the matter, but he possibly didn't know how to approach it. Silence lingered for several minutes.

"I thought you were quitting?" Frank said at last, and the question made my blood boil. He had caught me smoking before, and he always said the same thing.

"You need to quit, Al." he went on. "You—"

"I get it."

"When did you get these?"

"This afternoon."

Saying it aloud made me realize what I had been feeling. Derek's sudden admission into the hospital robbed me of any hope I had remaining. I would always be a shell of a human that Frank would have to put up with. I thought he would save me, but he hadn't. Derek's words echoed through my brain. I was afraid.

"Why did you get them?" Frank said.

"Um..." I picked my words with caution. "I was stressed. An old patient was readmitted today."

"For what?"

"Depression. He hurt himself, but we think he may have had suicidal intentions."

"That's pretty scary." Frank sunk downward in his chair. "Is it normal to relapse with depression?"

"I suppose backtracking in progress is common among all our patients."

Frank grew quiet for some moments. "Are you afraid of backtracking in progress, too?"

My blood turned to ice. "No, no. He just caused a lot of trouble today–it was stressful, you know? He even threw his drink at a nurse."

I couldn't look him in the eyes, and I only gazed down at my fiddling hands. He hadn't brought up my depression in some time. I had insisted I was better since our marriage, and it became a topic swept under the rug and forgotten. It couldn't be that he suspected something? Surely not!

I glanced over. His pencil tapping seemed unsuspecting. He said little more on the way home, and he threw my package of cigarettes away in the dumpster by our apartments. I felt like a fool. Of course Frank knew! But what could I say? The idea made me crave a cigarette.

Frank took his dinner at the desk by the window; it was his favorite spot to write. I often caught him gazing out the window more than I caught him writing, and tonight was no different. He would stop between mouthfuls to gaze at the sky, desensitized to the crumbs of food scattered on his chin.

It started to snow, and I knew there was nothing Frank liked more than when it snowed. I became distracted by the novel I had picked up that day, and didn’t notice Frank had left the room until he returned with two cups of hot chocolate. He offered me marshmallows, and put my serving’s worth in his drink when I declined. I took a small sip, eying the mist rising up from around the heavy layer of marshmallows in Frank’s drink. I tried talking to him several times, but he was short on words. I could tell he was upset and unwilling to show it. As I left for the bedroom alone, he asked me something on my way out.

"Do you trust me?"

I didn't know where the question had come from–I was baffled. "Of course. What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been smoking more lately, and I haven't sold anything in over a year." he twirled his pencil in his hand. “Do you think we'll be stuck in this city forever?"

I shook my head. "No. I understand it'll take time."

"You must be worried about something, right?"

"It’s just work, we’ve been busy this month." I lied. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

I woke up early in the morning, only to notice Frank still hadn't come to bed. I found him asleep at his desk, his pencil in hand and led against the paper. I was beginning to think it would be horrible to kill myself when I had someone in my life who cared so much for me. I stole a kiss from his lips, and it did nothing to wake him. A happiness I would never know lingered against my lips. I left a blanket draped over his shoulders, and he made his way to bed before dawn.

The alarm clock on my nightstand sounded suddenly as always, and I groped through the darkness to shut it off. In the process, Frank awakened and pulled me back in bed. He shut his eyes, intending to fall back asleep with me there.

I frowned. "I have to go to work, Frank. I can't sleep in."

"I know." he didn't bother opening his eyes. "Just stay here until I leave for work, okay? It's freezing."

"I can't stay here another hour. I have to check up on the patient from yesterday."

Frank opened an eye. "Huh? Can't the other nurses do it?"

"Well, I never reported what he said to me."

"What did he say?"

"He seemed like he was suicidal."

This awakened Frank fully. He propped his head up with his hand. "You didn't report it? Are you serious, Al?"

"It'll be fine. I told him I'd talk with him today."

He shrugged and sunk back into bed. I got dressed in my heaviest coat. The scarf didn't match, but Frank smiled fondly onto it.

"I like the scarf."

"Thanks."

"Are you working late today?"

"No. Why?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

I grabbed my purse and fumbled with the end of my scarf on the way out of the room. "That's fine, I'll be sure to be here."

The commute to work was grim; the sun made the snow sparkle, reminding me of powdered sugar. I had a feeling Frank would suggest I go on pills, just as he had before. The countless brand names I tried never seemed to work. There had been a few medications that caused me adverse side effects, and my depression worsened as a result. I didn't want to repeat that.

My mind fogged, I pulled out my keycard, sliding it into the keycard slot by the hospital entrance. Warmth greeted me, as did the smell of gravy bubbling. I passed by the cafeteria and down a long corridor to another locked door.

As I walked inside, I noticed Linda with a patient near the door. She saw me and signaled me to her side.

"Hey, Al. Mindy is looking for you."

As if signaled, Mindy stepped out of a nearby room behind Linda and peeked out. She bound over as soon as she saw me, long strides carrying her.

"Why aren't you in uniform, Al?" Mindy questioned as she reached my side.

"I just got here." I said.

"Can we talk for a minute? Take off the coat."

I followed her into her office, removing my coat and placing it on the coat rack that hadn't moved since I started working there. Most of Mindy's office decorations remained untouched, as if trapped in time. She leaned back in her chair behind her desk and I slowly sat in front of her, eyeing the calendar on the wall that was of the right year, but displayed the month prior.

"Are you having trouble, Al?" Mindy asked as she centered the papers on her desk.

"No, Mindy. I'm fine."

Mindy nodded. "Derek's roommate said you were talking to Derek yesterday?"

It took me a moment, but it dawned on me that Derek's roommate had been present when we talked that night. I remembered his snoring when I walked in, but his presence slipped my mind.

"We did talk. Derek was depressed."

"We didn't know that. He told the other nurses he was feeling fine." Mindy said, picking at a strand of her dark, frizzy hair. "Why didn't you mention it?"

I knew an apology wouldn't cut it. Although I had removed my coat, the room felt warm. I felt I had been caught red-handed in my depression, but Mindy's response made it clear I hadn't been caught yet.

"We had a lot of discharges yesterday, and I know it was busy, but we need to be on top of these things. Derek tried to hurt himself last night, and if we'd known how he felt we could have had a nurse watching him through the night."

"Derek did–?” I uttered. “How did he do it?"

Mindy looked away, a tinge of frustration finally crossing her face. I tried again.

"May I talk to him?"

"No, Al." Mindy shook her head. "Listen, though. Why don't you take some time off?"

"Time off–? But why?"

"I'll see you back tomorrow morning, and we can discuss it then. How about that?"

Oh, no. She'd caught me. How much had Derek’s roommate overheard? How much did Mindy know? Maybe she even saw me as an accomplice Derek’s suicide attempt. As if I could deny I supported him, though! Let the man die if that's what he wants–his life isn't yours to claim. His life is his own, therefore….

"Sure." I mumbled. "Tomorrow morning–yeah."

I want to die!

I picked up my bag and snagged my coat so fast that I barely heard Mindy's last words.

"Stay safe, Al."

I let the door shut behind me without meeting Mindy's eyes again. I decided I would leave the apartment before Frank returned home, as I had become even more fearful of what he had to discuss. Was he tired of me? Maybe we ought to divorce, after all. I can't give him anything he wants, and he's bound to find someone better.

The apartment was dimly lit and matched its cloudy exterior. I trudged inside, tossing my coat to the ground in defeat. When I glanced up, I saw Frank sitting on the couch. It dawned on me that if he was there, he had skipped work, and he never skipped work, even if he was sick. I flipped on the lights and Frank's complexion was pale.

I approached him, digging through my purse. He moved the papers on the table back into their folders. He saw me tinkering with the thermometer container and shook his head.

"I'm not sick." he said. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

I stopped. The laptop beside him was open, but the screen was black; it was hibernating. Frank had gone back to sorting the papers beside it, and I noticed the writing utensil he held was one of mine–a mechanical pencil. I was surprised to see it instead of a number two pencil.

"Did something happen?" I felt my voice crack.

He met eyes with me. There was something there I hadn't seen before. What was it?

"Do you remember that script I wrote about you?" Frank said.

Curiously, I settled next to him. "I remember. The setting was really cool. It was one of your best."

"Well, it might sell–I'm thinking on it now."

I grasped the thermometer tightly between my palms. I felt stuck on a fence. I wanted to be happy for him, and I wanted to be happy to be closer to having a real home out of the city, but I wasn’t happy. I was stricken by fear, but I feigned happiness regardless.

"Wow, that's great news, Frank. That was your favorite script. What's it going for?"

By habit, he twirled the pencil between his fingers. It twirled clumsily, as if the structure of the mechanical pencil differed vastly from his beloved number two.

He leaned in and whispered into my ear so fast that his lips briefly tickled it. I gazed at him intently as he pulled away.

He had returned to twirling his pencil, only now he wouldn't meet my face. I recognized what I had seen in Frank's eyes moments before. It hit me out of the blue. His face was pale and his eyelids were reddened–he had been crying. It was something rare for me to witness, as Frank had never been one to let sadness overcome him.

The puzzle pieces fit together in my mind—if he had been crying, then it must have been because of me. My back sunk into the couch. Of course, he knew. I glanced to him, and he remained silent. Then finally, with a clearing of his throat, he spoke.

"What do you think? Are you ready to move?"

We had almost reached our goal as it was, and now we had enough money to buy ten new homes if we pleased. We could live almost anywhere we wanted, yet in my condition, I knew we wouldn't last.

Frank took note of my silence and read my mind. "Honestly, I'm surprised you came home at all. When I told you I wanted to talk to you this morning, I had a feeling you wouldn't come home."

I cursed under my breathe. "I'm not going back on medicine."

His pencil flipping slowed down. "You probably shouldn't be, anyway. I found some therapists in the area that could possibly help without any medicine."

"You don't understand, Frank."

"What?"

"I don't want any help."

A look of frustration crossed his face; he grabbed my hands. I tried to pull away but he wouldn't release me. Soon I was flustered and enraged.

"Let go of me!" I shouted.

"I thought you loved me, Al?"

Argh! Did I? Some days, lost in myself, it was impossible to tell. But I did, undoubtedly love him. I wanted him to be happy, and recognized far too late that I couldn't provide him anything he wanted.

"I do," I admitted, barely above a whisper. He squeezed my hands tighter in desperation before I could explain myself.

"I love you, too." he said. "And when two people are in love, it's like they're the same person. Right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think you're a part of me. I think if you died, I'd die too."

"Frank, don't say that. There are better people out there for you."

He became equally angry, releasing my hands. "Better people? You're going to decide for me who can make me happy?"

He didn't understand and I hadn't expected that. Derek's condition flashed through my mind. We would end up in the same rut, with no ways to escape. I explained Derek's initial admission to Frank, but he seemed to remember it clearly.

"I know we discussed it a few times, it wasn't that long ago. Was he the one you mentioned that got readmitted?"

I nodded.

He watched the pencil fumble between his fingers once more. He was not angry anymore, but rather, unnerved.

"I got in trouble for not reporting what he told me yesterday." I said. "That's why I'm home."

He glanced up. "My sister sent you home?"

"Yes, it was Mindy. She said I was the only one Derek had been truthful to. I wasn't any help to him–I wrote him off."

"Why?"

"I can't tell him everything will be fine. I was doing better for a bit, but now I'm back to how I was before. It's the same for him."

He must have finally understood my position, because he had nothing more to say. Maybe he wanted to drop the subject altogether. He set down the mechanical pencil and seated himself closer to me. Worn bags hung under his eyes. He nabbed my hands again and gazed into my eyes.

"We can handle this. How long did Mindy tell you to stay home?"

"I don't know, she told me we'd discuss it in the morning."

"I'll go with you and we can talk to her together. Let's go now, though–I need to see Mindy."

Frank was quiet during our commute. Reality didn’t feel real, as if I was dreaming. Although I was next to Frank, he felt far away. When we saw Mindy in the halls, I was barely aware we had arrived. She was beside coworkers, her dark eyebrows traced downward in anger. When she caught eye of Frank, she excused herself from the group to join his side.

"Frank," Mindy glanced to me with a nod. "Al. I take it you're here to convince me to reconsider? It isn't my decision alone."

"Actually, I wanted to discuss something. Can we go somewhere private?"

Mindy was wary for a moment, but led us to her office regardless. We sat down and Mindy said "I don't have a lot of time to spare."

"That's fine," Frank said. "I just wanted to know if you were worried about how Al's been doing?"

"Yes. I think she's been off like this for almost a year."

Frank fell silent in his younger sister's honesty, and it stung me equally. I spoke, pained from the blow.

"Mindy, I'm not depressed because of our marriage."

She didn’t look convinced. “It seemed to start after your marriage.”

“It’s not Frank’s fault. Honestly, I hate living here. I want to move somewhere less loud and crowded. Frank and I want a spacious home rather than that crowded apartment. But if I’m always going to be depressed, it won’t make a difference."

"Why not?"

"There's too much of a risk given my condition." I said carefully. "I don't want to leave Frank behind. I don't want our children to deal with the consequences of my condition worsening."

"Then," Mindy said as she stood. "Wait here, I want to show you something that might help."

Mindy left her office door cracked open, and the noises from the hall broke the silence in the room. Frank had turned to watch Mindy leave, and as soon as she did, he spun around to face me.

"What was all that about? You never told me anything like that before."

"I know; I'm sorry."

"God, it was this bad?"

"I guess it was."

"I think she's going to have you admitted, Al..."

"I never said I was suicidal."

"I think you did."

The noise from the halls became prominent again. I gazed at him; he had been looking at me as he spoke, but I hadn't dared return it. Only now was I glued into his eyes. He sat upright, and his strong posture reminded me of his father, who I had always seen in Frank's family photos.

"Maybe a hospital will help, though." he suggested.

"What if I don't get better?"

He said nothing, but his powerful gaze did not cease. My heart dropped, and again, my fears leapt out and fogged my mind. He wouldn't want to waste his time with someone as sick as me!

"It's not your fault that you're depressed." Frank said. "As long as you're alive, I want to be with you."

My next breath inward was smoother, and my heartache subdued. I felt lighter.

"You want to sell your script, right?" I said.

His jaw motioned as if to respond but he didn't for several moments. "Yes."

"I think you should. I know it's important to you."

"It is, but with the way things have been, I—"

Frank cut himself short when he saw the door swing open. Mindy balanced a stack of papers in her arms, agitation crossing her face.

"Sorry about the wait, something came up." she edged towards her desk. "I printed a list of nearby hospitals that took your insurance, Frank. You're still saving for a house, right?"

"Yeah." Frank said. "Actually, could you show us some private hospitals?"

"The ones around here are pretty pricey. You sure?"

"It's okay." I said. "He's selling a script."

"Al–!" Frank groaned as Mindy's eyes lit up.

"Really?" Mindy grinned. "Which one was it?"

"I haven't sold it yet." Frank grumbled.

"Which was it?"

"The longer one I finished earlier last year."

"What were you offered?"

"Um...a lot."

"Holy shit, Frank." she covered her mouth as it fell agape. "Holy shit. That's incredible. Who sent you the offer?"

"Excuse me," I interrupted Frank's long winded explanation. "Is it alright if I use the bathroom?"

"Oh," Mindy glanced over, having forgotten my presence in her excitement. "Go ahead. Come right back when you're done."

I slipped out of the room, agitated by Mindy's reaction to Frank’s script selling. I hadn't been as happy for Frank as she was, and it made me feel faulted as a wife.

I passed the bathrooms and peaked into the tv room, where all the patients gathered at tables to eat lunch. I scanned the room for Derek, and I found him in the corner of the room. Instead of a hospital gown, his body was draped in sheets. I checked the nurses present in the room and of the two there, I saw Linda leaned down to speak with an older man.

Linda raised an eyebrow when I joined her side. "Al? Are you supposed to be in today?"

"Sorta." I shrugged. "What happened to Derek?"

"Mindy didn't tell you? He tried to strangle himself."

"He used his clothes to do it?"

"Yes." Linda nodded. "We took his clothes away."

I frowned, thanking Linda before heading towards Derek. Some of the patients were already calling for my assistance and it took me a few minutes to explain I wasn't on the clock. Derek noticed me when I settled in the empty chair next him. He stopped chewing his mouthful of lunch to gaze into my eyes.

"Miss Al–they said you weren't gonna be here the rest of the week."

"I'm only staying a few minutes."

"Oh..." Derek mumbled in disappointment. He swallowed his food and wiped his lips clean with the top of his hand.

"I want to apologize for yesterday,” I said. “I wasn't any help."

"Actually," Derek looked onto the mashed potatoes he stirred with his spoon. "I thought it was kinda cool that you didn't tell the other nurses what I said."

He laughed, but when he saw me frowning, his laughter died down. "Um, sorry."

"They took your clothes away?"

"Yeah." he held his arms up to display the bed sheets he wore. "I tied my clothes together, so now they can't trust me. I feel like I could hurt myself easier with these sheets, don't you?"

He looked pathetic in the sheets, yet somehow, I found he didn't seem nearly as pathetic as yesterday. He carried a different air than before.

"Do you feel any better today?" I questioned.

He shrugged. "They had to put me into solitary confinement after what happened. I had the other end of the noose tied to the door handle, so the more they tried to get to me, the more damage it did."

I hadn't said anything of the painfully obvious marks around his neck, but I felt my eyes drawn to them then. "I bet your wife wasn't too happy to hear about this."

"She wasn't. They let her come by for a bit this morning. It actually felt nice to see her, because I was thinking if I had died, I wouldn't have been able to see her again, so..."

His pause continued for several minutes, and as his face became moist from tears and snot, I set a gentle hand onto his shoulder.

When I was depressed, I wasn't thinking about what I would miss either. Yet I knew when it came down to it, my attachment to Frank and many others were keeping me alive. The idea of never seeing him or anyone else again kept me alive.

"S-sorry," Derek mumbled, wiping snot away with his sheet.

"It's okay."

"You're married, right?" he nodded to my ring finger. "I'd been meaning to ask if you had any children."

I shook my head. "No, but we're trying."

He chuckled. "Even though I see you smoking cigarettes all the time, huh?"

His strike made me feel more guilty than it should have. When he noticed his joke had failed yet again, he became flustered.

"Shit, Miss Al—I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No worries." I noticed my voice break. I cleared my throat and swallowed past the lump present towards the back of it. "Did you get to see your daughter?"

"No, they wouldn't let me see her this morning. They said I could see her at visiting hour later today."

"I take it you're eager to see her again too?"

"I am."

Derek picked up his spoon, eyeing his plate. He prodded his spoon into a green bean, then said "You know, Miss Al—I never realized how much I affected people around me." he sniffled. "I guess I don't notice it when I'm depressed."

Unlike Derek, I found myself noticing who I affected more in my depression. I wanted to be free from those restraints, yet I knew the restraints existed because I was loved.

I gave him one more pat on his shoulder. "You should take notice of it more. A lot of people would miss you."

We both glanced up at the sound of my name. Frank was at the doorway, unnerved by the two patients who had approached him. Linda was already at Frank's side, shooing the patients away from him.

"I've got to go." I stood. "Will you tell Linda how you're feeling this week for me?"

"Sure, but I think I'll be fine this time."

A soft smile crossed his face and it was the happiest I had ever seen him, even during his last hospitalization. I returned the smile without realizing as I stepped away from him. I met his gaze until I ran into Frank, who I hadn’t seen approaching. I covered my nose and my eyes welled from the blow.

“Al.” he blinked. “What are you doing in here?”

“Just checking in on someone.” I said, leading us to the door. “Sorry to spring Mindy on you like that.”

I stopped in the hallway to look into the room from the window; Derek had gone back to eating and had been accompanied by another patient. Frank joined my side as if he had equal interest in the patients.

“Is that him?” Frank nodded towards Derek. “Did you throw that onto Mindy just to talk to him?”

“I’m sorry, Frank.” I uttered. “I had to see him. Mindy wouldn’t tell me what happened, and I wasn’t allowed to speak to him.”

“So that’s what that was about?” he frowned. “Why’s he wearing sheets, though? I don’t get it.”

Frank glanced down when he didn’t receive an answer, and our eyes locked together. I held his hands, and he flashed me a crooked smile. For the first time in years, I was feeling hopeful. I wanted help; if I hadn't said anything to Frank, maybe I would have delayed help forever.

The warmth from our conjoined hands reached across my body. It weakened me more than I expected, and my cheeks dampened with tears. Frank's crooked smile vanished; he began to lead me down the hall, away from the few patients who were ogling us. I gained composure as we sat down, and some minutes passed before I properly examined my surroundings.

Frank had seated us at the same bench we had been at behind the hospital a night before. I saw through blurred vision that he still held my hand. His free hand had flipped open a folder of papers in his lap. Upon closer inspection I saw they were hospital listings. Mindy’s handwriting scribbled across the bottom of the page. Frank caught sight of my gaze soon after, and leaned in to reposition locks of my hair which had been sodden by tears.

“Should we head home?” he said. “You look awfully cold.”

I hadn’t thought about it, but I was; my cheeks burned and my nose dripped. I tightened my grasp around his hand and my heart dropped as he reacted. I felt happy. Was it fleeting? Maybe, but it would make-do.