~VERY STRONG TRIGGER WARNINGS FROM THE VERY START~
Seriously, I'm not messing with this one. I'm posting it because I worked really hard on it and I want to reach out to anyone who's been in the same situation, but there is some extremely heavy stuff in this fic, like on-screen suicide attempts and stuff. So please read with caution, because I'd hate to trigger someone with something that they weren't expecting.
This was a request fic from the literally adorable radcoolbro7, who wanted to see some Bubbline set in a mental health facility for teens with suicide and self harm problems. It's the darkest thing I've written in this ship, possibly in years, and it's pretty obviously written from a perspective of personal experience. So please be kind and from a personal perspective look after yourselves and each other. I love you guys, I don't tell you enough. Knowing stuff I write connects with people is wonderful, I genuinely hope this can help someone who maybe is dealing with the same issues. Guys seriously? If you are ever in a situation where you don't want to be here anymore please please drop me a line, if you want to talk. I've always got time for a talk with a friend.
Content Warning: Suicide from the very start. Self harm, eating disorders, delusions, off-screen character death, medical language, mental health.
Dear Simon,
I want to take this opportunity to tell you that I love you more than anyone else still in the world. I'm sorry things had to end this way, please don't blame yourself for this. I know you tried as hard as you could to help me and I hate that I have to leave you behind now. But this world is too painful, I can't go on like this. I shouldn't be here, I wasn't supposed to survive. I need to do something to make all the hurting stop. Just existing hurts too bad, it's more than I can take. So I need to stop existing and I'm really sorry that it'll hurt you, I wish there was a way to do this without causing you pain. I hope you can forgive me for it one day and remember the good times we had together, maybe light a candle for me on my birthday next year. I'd like that. Please don't cry for me though, don't look at me when they find me. Just call the police when you get this note and tell them I'm in my bedroom and I'm finally at peace. I don't deserve your grief, or even having someone as wonderful as you looking after me. I hope your next foster kid turns out better. Hope you understand why I had to go.
See you on the other side one day, I'll be waiting.
Love you.
Marcy xxx
"Ambulance service, what's your emergency?"
"My foster daughter's left a suicide note and barricaded her bedroom door, I can't get in! She might already be dead!"
"Ok, stay calm. I'll organise an emergency ambulance straight away, can you give me the address?"
They said suicide was painless. They lied. But the terrible burn of bile and half-digested medication forcing its way back up her throat was beginning to grow distant, starting to get unreal. She was finally slipping away and that was the first time in so long that she'd felt peaceful. It was wonderful, blissful. The pain of existence had almost gone. She closed her eyes and waited to see her mother again, certain that this time it was going to happen.
The sound of the door bursting open under the force of a hydraulic battering ram jerked her back from the edge of unconsciousness.
"Marceline, can you hear me? Come on sweetheart, open your eyes."
No, she didn't want to, it was too bright and everything hurt in a more physical way that usual. No. She should be dead, why wasn't she dead?
"I'm a paramedic, I'm here to help you. Can you tell me what medication you've taken?"
"No. Go 'way."
"Come on sweetheart, I want to help. Was it your antidepressants?"
She didn't reply, turned her head a little to the side to try to avoid what was probably a pen light they were trying to shine in her eyes. Dammit, this time she'd been so close. She could feel her serenity slipping away, feel the connection to her mother dimming and fading. She wanted to die so badly.
"She's tried this before with her medication. My heart tablets are missing out of the bathroom, I think she's probably taken them too."
That was Simon's voice, edged in panic and tears, he shouldn't be home yet. Oh. He must have found the suicide note before she was dead. That was just bad luck; next time she'd go somewhere he couldn't find her straight away. Next time she'd do it right and she'd see her Mum again.
"Marcy, hold on darling. You're gonna be ok. I promise. Just hold on, please, don't you die on me. Please."
That was the last thing she remembered before she woke up in the intensive care ward a week later with her yellowing skin peeling off like bad sunburn and covered in the same gross golf ball sized lumps and darkening speckled bruising as last time. Acute liver failure again, then. She must have been really close to dying this time. She wasn't conscious for so long but the nurses noticed her eyes were open and called the consultant and child psychiatrist anyway and for a while there was a confusing mash of voices around her all trying to get her to look at them, talk to them, tell them why a young lady with her whole life ahead of her would want to kill herself. She closed her eyes until they went away, sliding back into a medicated sleep.
Time passed. The next thing she was aware of was the noise of someone trying to hide their grunt of pain as they sat down next to her bed. The arthritis in Simon's knees must be bothering him again. That was bad; he should go to the doctor. She thought about telling him so but that would mean opening her eyes. She lay still and tried to breathe slow and steady, tried not to move at all.
"Marcy?"
She didn't want to wake up and face that voice. But deep down she knew she owed him an explanation.
"Marcy come on, I know you're awake now. Your heart monitor sped up when I spoke."
Stupid heart monitor. She opened her eyes reluctantly, squinting past the unwelcome brightness to his lined face.
"Simon. M'sorry." she mumbled.
"I know you are, darling. But we talked about this, you promised you'd come tell me if you felt like this again. You promised."
It was the raw heartbreak in his voice that did it; she'd promised herself she wouldn't cry too but it looked like keeping promises wasn't something she was very good at either.
"It just hurts so much, all the time." she whispered around her tears. "It's like I've got this heavy weight dragging down on me, like there's a big stone around my neck and I'm trying to swim but it's pulling me under the waves. I just want to feel normal again. It's crushing me, I can't breathe for it sometimes. I feel like I'm drowning in my head all the time."
"Darling, this has gone on too long. You're not coping and your medication isn't helping anymore. I spoke to your doctors while you slept and we think you might benefit from a stay in St Luke's-"
"No! Please, Simon! Don't send me to the crazy hospital! I'll be good, I'll take my meds!"
"Marceline, please. You've already proven to me that you're not coping at home. I just want you to be safe. What else am I supposed to do for you?" he asked. She wasn't sure if they were tears of frustration, anger or concern shining in his eyes. Anger, she hoped. It'd be so much easier if he hated her, he wouldn't mourn her once she was gone then.
"Then just let me die. I don't want to be here anyway." she murmured, turning her face away.
"You know I won't let that happen. You're going to St Luke's and we're going to fix this. You'll be there as long as it takes, darling."
"It takes about twenty minutes if I manage to completely sever both of the main arteries in the wrist. Quicker if I get both wrists. Give me a blade and I can show you." she muttered, avoiding his disapproving eyes.
"I know what you're trying to do and it isn't gonna work."
"I'm trying to kill myself, Simon. I thought that was kinda obvious."
"You're pushing me away. And I'm sorry but no matter how hard you push I'm not budging one inch, darling. I love you too much, I'm gonna be here until the bitter end. Whatever happens. You're never gonna be alone again, I promise."
"Please just stop loving me, Simon. I don't deserve it. People who love me get hurt and I don't want you to hurt anymore because of me. So just, stop."
"Sorry, I can't. Love isn't like a light, I can't just switch it off. You're my little girl and I'm always gonna love you, no matter how ill you get. This is an illness, Marcy. You're ill. And you can get better, I'll help you get better. You don't have to die and you don't have to live in constant pain either. You can be happy and healthy again. Don't you wanna be healthy?" he asked her quietly. She looked around, meeting his eyes again for a brief second before turning her head again.
"But it's so difficult." she whispered, ashamed of herself. "I'm crazy, I don't know how to be healthy anymore."
"Then go to the hospital and they can show you. You're gonna get better, darling." he told her, sitting forward and taking her smaller hand in his own, rubbing the skin comfortingly.
"Promise you'll still love me even if I fuck up again?" It was barely more than a whisper, but he heard her. He always heard her.
"Promise. You still love me, right? And I fuck up all the time. Remember when I burned your oatmeal that time?"
She let out a tiny reluctant giggle. He'd tried to tell her it was 'caramelised', that top supermodels ate it that way. Even at the tender age twelve she hadn't really believed him.
"Yeah. It tasted gross but I still ate it. I do love you, Simon. I'm sorry. I want to get well again. Just, I'm scared."
"But you'll go to the hospital for a while?" he asked hopefully.
Writing her goodbye letter to him had been hard enough but sitting there listening to him begging her to live was more than she could cope with. She could put up with the pain for a bit longer if it meant he was happy. Simon was the only person in her life she really cared about anymore, definitely the only person who cared about her.
"Yeah. I'll go to the hospital and let them try to fix me. For you."
...
Another week and she was physically recovered enough from her overdose to leave the intensive care ward. They took her straight to another ward, a secure ward in a mental health facility. Marceline hated St Luke's Psychiatric Hospital with a deep, burning fury that she usually reserved just for herself. But for Simon she'd have walked through lava. So she didn't fight when they loaded her into the transport ambulance, she sat quietly the whole way there, staring out of the window at all the normal people walking around outside in the sunshine who weren't crazy and were just going about living their lives happily. She envied them so badly.
The morning passed with her being physically examined and declared fit for admission by one of their nurses and then being shown into a room Simon had already unpacked some things into for her. She almost smiled when she saw that he'd left Hambo on her pillow with her favourite pair of pyjamas folded underneath the old bear. They had cartoon kittens on and said "I'M PURRFECT!" in faded lettering across the chest. Even her boots were there, although they'd taken the laces out in case she tried to hang herself with them. Nothing sharp, nothing poisonous and nothing she could wrap around her throat. She was on a medium alert suicide watch, like every other kid on the ward.
"How are you feeling, darling?"
She whipped around at his voice. Her foster Dad was smiling at her from the doorway with a bittersweet mix of relief and heartbreak on his weathered features.
"Hey, Simon. I'm feeling... I dunno. Empty. Kinda hollow. But not sad. Just, sorta nothing. You know?"
"I know, darling. You're gonna get better though. You're one tough cookie. Now I can't stay very long, but I'll be back to see you as soon as I can. We can only do visiting once a week at the moment but if you improve then I can see you more often." he told her, trying to keep any trace of regret out of his voice. He slid his arms around her shoulders in a hug and she rested her head against him, listening to the comforting thump of his heartbeat.
"I wanna get well again." she muttered against his broad chest. "I'm gonna get well and we can go on holiday together someplace. Ok? If I get well can we go away?"
"Of course, Marcy. You just let me know where you wanna go and I'll make it happen."
Simon's voice sounded croaky and more than anything else that's what brought home to her how badly she'd scared him this time. She hugged him tighter, trying to convey how sorry she was without having to grind out the actual words. Because words were cheap, words could lie. Hugs were much more truthful.
Eventually Simon had to leave. She watched him sign out through the security doors from the nurses' station and felt her first real feeling since before she'd downed the pills. It was regret, loneliness. It wasn't positive but it was a feeling and that was progress. Before long the numbness set back in and she went back to her room, staring up at the ceiling with Hambo cuddled on her chest, trying to remember the words to the lullaby her mother had sung when she'd been small. It was something about gardens, although they hadn't really had a garden. They'd driven around in her truck most of the time, living in the back, always on the road. Her Mum told her they were gypsies and staying in one place too long was bad luck and travelling was in their blood. She'd told little Marcy a lot of stuff. The dried sprig of white heather dangling from the truck's rear view mirror was really lucky, dreams were full of mystic truths, she had power and mysterious skills born into her that others didn't possess. Perhaps it'd all been bullshit, Marceline had no idea.
That afternoon a nurse came and made sure she took her meds, examining the inside of her mouth with a torch to check she hadn't hidden any pills under her tongue. Marceline would have been insulted but she'd tried that before so she supposed they had enough reason to suspect she might do it again. Then she was lead back to the lounge for group therapy with the other kids on the ward.
"We've got a new member of group today, guys. Why don't you introduce yourself?"
She shook her head, she didn't want to talk about herself.
"Come on now, don't be shy. We're like a big happy family here." the smiling therapist told her. She rolled her eyes.
"Hey. My name's Marceline, I turned sixteen, like, three weeks ago and I want to die. Tried to kill myself with an overdose again and now I'm here." she told them loudly. She'd hoped they'd recoil in horror, maybe leave her alone. But the other kids in the group just nodded and muttered "Hi, Marceline."
"That was a really brave thing to share with us, it must have been very difficult for you. Well done, that's a great start." the therapist told her, giving her a warm smile. She scowled back at him moodily.
"I'm Finn." one of the boys piped up. "I'm really a super hero. I can't be killed. I got hit by a train but I didn't die. I'm gonna kill the bad guys. My brother is really a dog."
"No he isn't. You're not a super hero, you're crazy. I'm Lydia and I'm not crazy and I don't want to die and I don't know why I have to be here, this is so gay." one of the girls interrupted with an eye roll.
"Lyds," the therapist told her, "we covered this already. We don't call things 'gay' if we don't like them, it's homophobic."
"I don't care, I don't even know any gay people. And they're stupid. And fat." the girl shot back angrily.
"I'm not fat." Marceline said, not stopping to think about whether she should out herself to a whole group of crazy strangers.
"Ew, you're gay?" the girl screeched.
"Yeah. I had a girlfriend for a while but she drank bleach and died. I kinda miss her sometimes." Marcy shrugged.
"That's so gross, you're going to hell!" the girl called Lydia told her.
"Lyds! Apologise right now or you'll go to timeout!" the therapist cut in sharply.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Didn't mean to offend the faggot." the girl drawled.
"Hey, I still get off more than you do, bitch." Marcy snarled back.
"How'd you know, queer? I could be getting it from every angle four times a week! Guys can't get enough of me cause I'm not gross and fat like you lot."
"An ugly, skinny little bitch like you? I don't think even Superman over there is delusional enough to hit that."
"YOU FUCKING FAGGOT-"
"RIGHT! TIMEOUT, BOTH OF YOU!"
"No need to panic, FinnMan's here to save the day!" the blonde boy yelled, jumping up excitedly and beginning to sprint hyperactively around the room.
"Finn, sit back down!" the therapist yelled at him.
"TAKE THAT! AND THAT! FINNMAN IS INVINCIBLE!" he screamed, punching invisible enemies.
"It's fine, Finn. I want to go back to my room anyway." Marceline told him, desperate for him to calm down and stop being so fucking noisy. She felt sorry for the boy; being trapped in close confinement with a piece of shit like Lydia would drive anyone nuts.
She got up and sloped out of the communal lounge, heading back to the cell-like bedroom she'd been assigned that morning. She muttered to herself as she walked, trying to calm herself.
"Gotta try not to fight with anyone, gotta get well again, I promised Simon. Don't wanna let him down. God, this is hard. I wanna go home. These people are all nuts. I wish I- hey! This is my room! Put Hambo down!"
There was a skinny girl with wild red hair sticking up all over her head standing in the middle of Marceline's bedroom examining her teddy bear. She looked back calmly and nodded, placing the bear carefully on the pillow and shuffling off out the door again without uttering a single word.
"Who are you? Why aren't you at group therapy? I got sent to timeout. My name's Marceline. Hey, can you even hear me?"
The girl nodded a little but still didn't say anything. She opened the door of the room next to Marcy's and slipped inside, still completely silent.
"Fucking mental." Marcy muttered to herself. She'd already run out of her admittedly small reserves of caring for the day, though. She closer her door and threw herself onto her bed. With Hambo securely in her arms she curled up against the wall, trying to think about nothing at all because it was almost as good as not existing. She was glad Simon had brought her teddy though. Hambo smelled like her bedroom at home. She missed her foster Dad more than anything.
...
"Let's go in the garden
You'll find something waiting
Right there where you left it
Lying upside down..."
"Mum."
Glass smashed. Metal ground against metal. Blood. Screaming. And then silence. Awful silence. Up on the road vehicles passed. Nobody heard a little girl's cries over the growl of their engines.
Marceline woke all at once, heart hammering with old fear. It was dark, she'd ignored the dinner tray they'd left in her room and refused to talk more to anyone that day. It must be way past midnight already. At first she didn't know what had woken her, everything was as it should be. Hambo was in her arms, there was snoring drifting in from outside her door, must be Simon. She was warm, comfortable, her mother was calmly stroking her hair-
No, her mother was dead. Simon was miles away, she was in the crazy hospital.
"Shhhh."
She sat bolt upright and hurriedly backed away from the dark shape perched on the end of her bed. That wild mane of hair was unmistakable even in the moonlight and after a second her adrenaline spike began to calm.
"Why do you keep coming into my room? Why won't you talk properly?" Marcy hissed at the girl.
"Scared." she replied in a voice so quiet she might have imagined it. "You're scared too. I heard. Don't be scared. It's ok. Just a bad dream, you're safe here."
"What's your name?" Marcy asked instead, curiosity overcoming fear when the girl made no attempt to touch her again. But the other girl just shook her head. She held something out, something flat and square, wrapped in foil. After a second's indecision Marceline accepted it, staring down at the object in her hands and trying to figure out what it could be.
"It's good. It's my favourite." the girl whispered. Something popped wetly in the darkness and suddenly Marcy knew what she'd been given.
"It's bubblegum. Oh. Thank you, that's really nice. I'll call you Bubblegum. Is that ok? Cause I don't know your real name."
It sounded a bit like a hoarse giggle, like the other girl hadn't laughed in a very long time and wasn't sure how to do it anymore.
"Bubblegum." she repeated, still speaking so quietly it was a strain to hear her even in the silence. "That's nice, I like it. I'm Bubblegum."
"It suits you. Do you ever talk to anyone else?" Marcy whispered into the darkness. It looked like the girl shook her head no. "Why not?"
"Can't. It's too hard."
"Oh. I understand. I don't like talking about what happened to me either, and the kids at group are all buttholes. Especially Lydia. What's her deal? She looks like a skeleton. Anorexia?"
"Yeah. She gets fed through a tube. It's gross." the other girl whispered.
They sat silently together in Marceline's room for a stretch of time, she wasn't sure how long. After a while she was almost asleep again, propped up against the wall with her eyes closed, breathing slow and quiet. She opened her eyes but made no effort to move away when a hand touched her hair again, sliding through the long straight strands almost reverently.
"So soft." Bubblegum sighed quietly. "Soft like velvet."
"I've got my Mum's hair. Hey, Bubblegum? Do you wanna know a secret?"
"Ok."
"I had to come to the hospital because the doctors said I'm crazy. Cause I saw my Mum die. She got in a car accident when I was little, I was strapped in next to her. She died really quick but I was stuck in my seat with her for three days before they found me. It was... I saw her start to rot. Birds came and pecked her and I was too weak to scare them away by the third day. They ate her face. And now everything hurts all the time, like, in my feelings and stuff. I wanna go to Heaven and be with my Mum again. Daddy left when I was really small and then Mum died and now I live with Simon. He's my foster Dad, he's the best. He's the only reason I'm still alive. Don't wanna let Simon down. But I'm scared, cause I don't know how to be normal."
"Normal isn't a real thing anyways. Everyone in the whole world is a bit crazy. Sorry about your Mum."
It was the first time she'd told anyone about her mother since the accident. It felt odd to hear those words come out of her own lips. Something she knew so deeply, so intimately. Something she wasn't accustomed to hearing spoken out loud. She'd remained silent about it through hours and hours of therapy, even Simon couldn't coax those words out of her. But Marcy got the feeling the quiet girl wasn't about to go sharing her secret with anyone. She was trying to heal, she could share her story so long as it was dark and she didn't have to see the sympathy in anyone's eyes.
Bubblegum was like a cat, Marcy decided. Like a cat that was feral, it wasn't used to people but underneath all of its fear and skittishness it was still domesticated, still connected to people whether it wanted to be or not. And if she was still enough and quiet enough Bubblegum-cat would come and investigate her, because cats were curious. A complete nutcase, obviously, but a comforting nutcase. Perhaps she'd detected the wildness inherent in Marceline too and like two feral cats surrounded by new people had sought out her own kind for the comfort of being close to someone who understood even in the most basic terms, even a stranger.
Marceline was alone again by the time the nurse came around with her breakfast and medication the next morning. She hadn't even heard Bubblegum leave; she'd fallen asleep with the quiet girl's hands wrapped in her hair.