Chapter 15 - "Happy belated birthday, Charles."

"They said that in a week, they'll reassess you and then if you've done progress, they'll let you come home."

Charles sighed, seated at the desk in his patient room with his arms folded and his head lying on his arms. He could barely remember what happened, but he knew that he couldn't breathe and could move his legs. Apparently he had started pulling chunks of his hair out, gripping his scalp so much that there were wounds from his nails on his head.

"They're just a bit worried with the self-harm," Dante explained, seated on an unbreakable plastic chair with all its corners rounded.

"I don't fucking self-harm." Charles was not happy about needing to stay in there for a week. He felt as though everyone thought he was crazy, and it was humiliating. "I've had panic attacks before, it was just another panic attack. Why did you have to bring me to the hospital?"

"Maybe I was wrong to do that and I apologize, but prove to me that I was wrong and behave the way they want you to so you can come home, alright?" Dante reached for his son, grabbing his hands and leaning closer to him. "You might not believe it but you and your father complete me, and I can't lose either of you, not like this..."

Charles head shot upwards.

Dante never cried, at least not in front of him.

But to witness his father's lips begin to quiver as he turned away, made his heart clench terribly tight that he felt guilty for having a mental breakdown. Without hesitating, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dante, holding him tightly.

He hadn't been doing good this past week since Natalia's passing, but he had to get better. If not for himself, but to not worry his dad so much.

When the door opened, Charles slowly pulled apart from Dante, but his entire body stiffened when he realized who had showed up.

He felt it happen again.

The angst started to roam through his bloodstream, the guilt biting at his flesh, his throat starting to clench on itself and he couldn't inhale as much. He closed his eyes, trying to control it but it was so hard since the words Nate had said started playing in his mind again and he couldn't stop it.

His fingers instinctively reached for his hair, and Dante grabbed onto them, stopping him from closing down on his own hair and potentially pulling on his strands. "It's alright, maybe you're just not ready to see him yet, and that's okay."

"No, no, it-it's f-f-fi-fi-fine...I j-j-ju-just...ne-e-ed a...s-s-se-c-con-cond-cond."

His breath was terribly shaky that it was making him stutter, and he tried to take a deep inhale but it felt as though his lungs weren't expanding at all. He couldn't even bring himself to look over, and he wanted to grab onto his head but Dante was preventing him from doing so.

Dante turned to Nate, sending him a sad smile as he asked, "Can you wait for me outside?"

Nate, who had been standing by the doorway, thought he would faint from his heart shattering in pieces. He turned around and closed the door behind him, leaning his back against it and trying his hardest not to burst into sobs in the middle of the hallway with numerous patient rooms.

The moment Nate left, Charles felt as though he could breathe again, the lump in his throat suddenly vanishing and he could rest his hands on the desk in front of him. Even his heart rate started to slow down, and he closed his eyes for a second, taking deep inhales and long exhales.

"You know he didn't mean these things though, right Char?" Dante assured, tilting his head to the side to meet Charles' gaze.

Charles slowly nodded his head; he wasn't sure why he reacted this way when Nate entered the room, but he hadn't meant to. He was glad his father had showed up since it meant he cared, but the stress that overwhelmed his body made his feel as though his body was panicking without the input of his mind.

He didn't even realize he had tried to grip his own hair again.

"You didn't have to make him leave," Charles mumbled, biting his bottom lip hesitantly. "He should be able to see me."

"And he will get to see you, but you need to take care of you." Dante placed a finger against Charles' chest, directly above his heart. "I know you love him and he loves you too, so how about you get better for the both of us, so that he can come see you at the end of the week, okay?"

The hope from Dante's eyes was enough to make Charles nod his head. "Okay."

***

The only thing about the psych ward that he thought was a bonus was that they prescribed him sleeping pills and for the first time in a long time, he had a very goodnight sleep.

He felt refreshed again, able to stand from the bed and actually feel motivated to leave the room. He met a couple people at breakfast, many of them with much more severe diagnosis than he did, but people mostly around his age or a bit older. Even though they weren't his crowd, he still felt as though he could fit in if he tried.

After breakfast, they all had group therapy, where they spoke in a circle about past experiences. Charles never really had any significant traumas in his life, and he wasn't ready to explain in details what happened with his best friend, hence he kept his lips sealed.

Then came lunch, and next was creative therapy, where they each could pick which type of therapy they'd prefer. Charles picked musical therapy, and he was glad they at least had an acoustic guitar, where he could toy around with chords and present a few songs he composed and learned. Afterwards, he was free to roam the facility until dinner, but all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

However, before he could, a nurse approached him and stated, "You have a visitor in your bedroom."

Charles furrowed his brows; visitors weren't allowed to be in their bedrooms unless it was their first night, only to make them comfortable. After that, unless he had read the rules incorrectly, all visitations had to be in the daylight room or in the conference room designated for them. Plus, the nurse seemed a bit shaken up, as though there was something frightening her.

And Charles' was almost certain he had never seen her before.

Charles noticed how she kept fidgeting with her fingers, glancing backwards towards the bedroom corridors as though there was going to be a monster leaping in her direction. There was also a droplet of sweat that crawled along her sideburn, and she seemed to be in a hurry, waving Charles towards the corridor before he could even respond.

What could possibly be in his room though?

The only person that could invoke such fear was Lucius, and that instantly caused Charles to stop breathing for a second. What if Lucius had threatened the people that worked here to let them have a moment with Charles all alone?

"Who's the visitor?" Charles asked the nurse who guided him back towards his bedroom.

Her movements were stiff, but she turned around and smiled. "One of your family members, that's what they said."

It was definitely Lucius.

Charles didn't want to head to his bedroom anymore, swallowing hard as he walked closer to his bedroom door. Their footsteps started echoing louder and louder the closer he approached, his heart pounding unbelievably hard in his chest to the point that he could hear it as if it was drums beside his ears.

Part of him wanted to escape, rush towards the doors and try to barge out—which he knew wouldn't be the case since they had security measures emplaced for that. Another part of him was telling himself to man up and raise his fists and try to fight him back, which he shouted words of encouragement in his mind to prepare for that option.

Finally, they reached his bedroom door, and as soon as he walked inside, the nurse closed the door behind him.

The person in there was even worse than Lucius.

The feelings restarted again; the guilt crawling up his legs, causing his heart rate to raise right away, his head feeling as though it would explode any second, the angst rushing through his body that he couldn't even scream; he felt paralyzed.

When Charles' hands instinctively reached for his own hair, the man chuckled and walked forward, grabbing his hands and stopping him.

"I read your entire patient chart, so don't do that, you'll hurt yourself."

He was so close to the point that Charles could smell his cologne. The feeling of his rough hands, the same ones that had picked him up to his feet after he had watched Natalia get shot. Those same hands that didn't even hesitation to use that gun and take the life of his best friend. Charles' gaze met the light chocolate eyes that had caused his entire life to collapse into shambles, ruined his mental sanity, and had turned his entire family against him.

"I had to pull a few strings to come see you," Kane Keen beamed with a long stretched out smile, leaning towards Charles. "It broke my heart to hear that you were admitted in here."

Kane did something that Charles never expected; he reached around his shoulders and pulled him in for an embrace.

"Happy belated birthday, Charles."