Author's Notes: This story comes some months (maybe even up to a year) after Secret Shame: Hidden Actions. In this story, both Kristin and Nathan are aware of Lucas's battle with self-injury. Perhaps someday I'll tell you about how that turn of events came about. Please read the additional notes at the end of part two.
Warnings: Like the previous story, this fic deals with some very heavy issues. Some of the events or descriptions may be triggering so I urge you to use caution while reading this story. Please do not read this if you are not safe.
Secret Shame: Public Humiliation
Lucas stared at the wall trying not to cry. The doctor had refused to numb his arm before stitching the wound so Lucas winced at the less than gentle ministrations. 'I will not cry. I will not cry,' he repeated silently as he struggled futilely to ignore the doctor.
"I work long hours trying to help people and I get called away from my break to stitch up some kid that cut himself! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for wasting our time like this. What if someone else doesn't get treatment because of your selfish behavior? Did you think about that? I don't have time to be babying a head case."
The last words were the final straw and tears began to pour down Lucas's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he mumbled through a hiccup. "I didn't mean to cut so deep. I didn't mean to be a bother. I'm sorry."
The doctor merely looked disgusted and finished up the stitching without a word. "There it is done. Don't go anywhere. Psych's on the way down," said the doctor with a cruel smile. Even if Lucas had not been a genius, he would have had no trouble figuring out that the doctor thought he deserved to be committed.
Not for the first time, Lucas wished he had been on SeaQuest when this had happened. Dr. Westphalen would have shaken her head in disappointment and kept him in medbay overnight but she would not have treated him with disgust and he would not have run the risk of being committed. Lucas's thoughts immediately went to his friend, Amy. She had gone to the hospital for pneumonia but had wound up in the psych ward instead when they saw her scars. Why did the doctors do this? He wished every doctor visit wasn't a dangerous gamble with his freedom on the line.
"Lucas Wolenczak?"
"Yes?" Lucas looked up to see a small, brown-headed woman walk into the room. She smiled a fake sympathetic smile and sat down in front of him. 'Why are all shrinks the same?' he thought tiredly.
"Lucas, you don't mind if I call you Lucas do you? Lucas, my name is Dr. Molly Grey. I'm a psychologist here at the hospital." She smiled again and patted him on the knee. "Do you know why I'm here?"
"Because I cut myself," he answered quietly. He sat stiffly controlling his revulsion at her touch. He only welcomed contact from certain people and tolerated it from a few others and she fell under neither category.
"Uh-huh, and why did you cut yourself?"
"Because it helps. It makes me feel better." He read the expression on her face and added, "You can't understand unless you've been there."
"Does your father know?"
"Yes and my mother too."
"And what is their response?"
"They don't like to talk about it."
"Are you suicidal?"
"This was not a suicide attempt!" She scribbled something down on the pad she carried.
"Was this a plea for help?"
"No!" Abruptly he lost his temper and got up to pace around the room. "Look, lady, I don't know what you're deal is. I find it very hard to believe that a woman in your area of work has never come across a cutter before so maybe you're just bored and want to turn this into more than it is."
"Lucas, please sit back down. We need to go over these questions."
"I don't want to answer your stupid questions! I'm tired, I'm in pain and I want to go home!"
"You can't just go home. You were brought in with a self-inflicted three-inch cut to your forearm. You need help."
"Where's Captain Bridger? The Captain should be here." Lucas trembled as he fought for control of himself. He felt like everything was spiraling away from him and he could do nothing to stop it.
"I know you're upset. You can see your father as soon as we've answered these questions. Think you can stay calm now?" Lucas nodded feeling embarrassed for his outburst.
"Good now let's start over. I understand that you were not trying to kill yourself but that does not mean you are not suicidal. Are you suicidal, Lucas?"
"No," he started but was unable to meet her eyes. He glanced down at the floor and whispered, "yes. But I'm not going to kill myself."
"Why did you cut yourself?"
"Because it was the safest thing I could do at the time. I didn't mean to go so deep." He focused his eyes on the floor again. "I'm a little out of practice. I didn't want to cut in the first place. But it's better than the alternatives." He shuddered lightly.
"So in the same situation you'd do it again?" He nodded.
"So if we let you go home, you're just going to continue to hurt yourself?"
"Don't keep me here!" he pleaded. "I didn't mean to do it. I'm OK, really! I don't need to stay. Please don't make me stay."
"Lucas," she started, reaching out to brush away his tears.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled shoving her away violently. He wrapped his arms around himself rocking back and forth. Sadly, she stepped back and quietly filled out the remaining portion of her evaluation and recommendation. Completed, she stepped out of the room calling a nurse to sit with the patient.
"How is he?" asked an older gentleman from where he was pacing in the hall.
"Are you Lucas's father?" A sad expression flitted across his face before he answered.
"No, I'm his guardian."
"I'm afraid we have more paperwork we're going to need you to fill out so that we can get him moved upstairs."
"Why? The wound wasn't serious." She paused for a moment to gather her composure.
"His injury is fine. Lucas is not. He needs treatment."
"Well, having him committed isn't going to help him!"
"Sending him home for you to ignore what's happened isn't going to help him either. I can't believe you people would actually encourage them to do something like this."
"Lady," began Bridger barely controlling his temper. "You don't know me and you don't know Lucas. You have no idea what's best for him. He's not staying here."
"It is my professional opinion that Lucas is a danger to himself. You can challenge me in court tomorrow but for now he's staying here." Bridger sputtered for a moment unable to think of a response. She held up a hand to stall him then continued on coldly, "Against my better judgment, I'm going to allow you time to say goodbye to Lucas. You have five minutes."
The minute Bridger stepped into the treatment room Lucas threw his arms around him and began to sob. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated. "Please don't leave me here."
"I don't have a choice," replied Bridger his voice breaking with pain. "There's nothing I can do to stop them."
"Take me home!" pleaded Lucas. "I won't do it again! I'll be good!"
"Shh, I know you didn't mean to do this. I know you're doing the best that you can. But the doctors, they think you need to stay here for a little while."
"But you told them they were wrong, right?" asked Lucas looking up at Bridger. He could see the trust that Lucas had in him, the belief that he could make everything all better. It broke his heart to have to break that trust.
"I tried, Lucas. They didn't listen. There's nothing I can do right now."
"So you're just going to leave me," mumbled Lucas numbly. His world was crashing down around him. He was going to be locked up here forever and the one person who should have protected him was abandoning him.
"Lucas, listen to me," said Bridger tilting Lucas's chin until they were looking each other in the eye. "I am not just leaving you. We're going to fight this. I just can't do anything about it tonight. You'll be fine here for one night and tomorrow we can start working on getting you out of here. I'm not going to abandon you. I promise." Lucas let himself remain where he was leaning up against the Captain. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes but he made no move to wipe them away just as he made no effort to respond to Bridger's declaration. He was so tired. This was all too much. He couldn't deal with this right now. He thought longingly of the razor blade that was still lying on the stained tile of the hotel bathroom. He shuddered in revulsion horrified at his thoughts. How could he want that now? It was the reason he was in this mess to begin with. He should have known better. He should have tried harder to resist. He shouldn't want to cut himself again. The thoughts were almost enough to make him cry harder but the door opening distracted him.
"Sir, you're going to have to leave now," stated the orderly.
"Already?" asked Bridger with surprise. It seemed as though he had just walked into the room. His five minutes couldn't have passed already.
"It's time for the patient to be escorted upstairs."
"No!" shouted Lucas, the meaning penetrated the haze. "Don't go!" He clung to Bridger, panicked. His worst nightmare was coming true. "Don't go. Don'tgodon'tgodon'tgodon'tgodon'tgo." The orderly stepped out of the room reappearing immediately with a nurse. She took one glance at the hysterical boy and pulled out a syringe. Skillfully, she injected the sedative and waited while it slowly took affect.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," whispered Bridger brushing Lucas's bangs out of his face. "I've got to go now." Lucas did not resist as Bridger slowly slid out from under Lucas. He merely whimpered at the loss of contact. With no emotions in his glazed eyes, he watched as his protector walked out of the door. He was numb and empty, drained beyond his ability to cope. When the orderly helped him off of the bed, he followed him unresistingly. What was the point? Bridger was gone. Why should he fight it? Why should he care? He was so tired. He gave into the drug-induced fog and simply let himself drift.
"This is Nurse White. She's going to show you to you're room," said the orderly once he signed off on the transfer.
"Hello…Lucas," smiled the nurse, pausing to check his chart for his name. His dead eyes tracked her movements but he did not show any sign as to having heard her. 'Suicide attempt,' she thought seeing him rub his bandaged arm as he shuffled after her. Those were always the worst. Some of the nurses called them the zombies. They were more dead than alive. Of course, part of that was the heavy drug regiment.
"Don't look at me," Lucas attempted to say. He hated it when people looked at him like that. He hated the revulsion. He hated the pity. He wanted to tell her to mind her own business. He wanted to tell her not to look at him. But he could not convince his mouth to move so he just followed along behind her silently. For a second, his anger gave him energy and he was able to glance around his surroundings. It looked much like he expected. The décor made the ward look more like a children's floor but the drooping figures scattered through the hall did not seem to be affected by the synthetic cheer. The fires of his anger abruptly died as they stopped outside a closed door.
"This is going to be your room," said the nurse pushing the door open. A cold tendril of fear crept up Lucas's spine and he wished the Captain were here. The room felt like a coffin. The air was thick and heavy with his doom. His breaths came in quick short gasps as his feet moved of their own volition carrying him into the room.
"Hi," said a boy about his age staring curiously at him from the other side of the room. Lucas stared at the boy. His tongue was frozen solid in his mouth. Nothing seemed to be working the way it was supposed to work. Numb fingers clutched convulsively at the hem of his shirt. For a second, Lucas watched the hand. Was it his? The fingers clinched into a fist causing a sharp stab of pain where the muscles pulled at the stitches. His gaze drifted up to the bandage. Yeah, it was his fingers. Lucas snapped his gaze back up to the nurse as she cleared her throat.
"Ricky, this is Lucas. Lucas isn't allowed out of this room yet." She turned her gaze back to Lucas. "You hear that? You just stay right here and someone will be bringing you a change of clothes. Lights out is at nine." Lucas did not know how long he stood there staring at the door before his roommate touched his shoulder gently. Lucas jerked away from the contact.
"Whoa, easy there. Sorry," said Ricky holding his hands up and backing away. Ricky was a very tactile person and he had a hard time remembering that a lot of people here didn't want to be touched.
"It's alright," answered Lucas vaguely embarrassed by his response. He rubbed his arm absently.
"Did it hurt?" asked Ricky nodding towards the bandage.
"Not at the time." Not knowing what to do with himself, Lucas finally just sat down on the empty bed.
"Why'd you do it?" Ricky asked curiously, sitting down cross-legged on his bed. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he hurried to add.
"I would have had to talk about it anyway if they'd let me go home." Lucas shrugged. "I was upset and they wouldn't let me talk to the Captain." He looked up at Ricky with pleading eyes suddenly desperate for someone in this place to believe him. "I didn't mean to go so deep. It wasn't supposed to be so bad."
"You thought you'd just do a little bit to hold you off but then the knife kept sliding deeper and deeper and before you knew it there was all this blood and you couldn't make it stop and you were scared," whispered Ricky staring at Lucas's bandage with unfocused eyes.
"How'd you-?" Ricky rolled up his sleeves to reveal a mass of scars running up his arms. Some were thick and white while others had the pink tint of healing flesh. A few still had scabs. Lucas stared at them fascinated. Part of him felt sick at the display. Seeing Ricky's scars brought forth all of the revulsion he felt at his own actions. Part of him felt sad. No one should have to go through something like this. Another part of him felt glad. He wasn't alone. Another terrifying portion of him was almost jealous. His scars were all faded vanishing with time. "Oh," he said after a while. "Is that why they put you here?"
"Nah," replied Ricky letting his sleeve drop. "I checked myself in. I'm not so bad now but I was a real mess a few weeks ago."
"Do you like it here?" Ricky shrugged.
"I'm not likely to kill myself in here but it's not doing much for the self-injury." Lucas caught a glimpse of something silver as Ricky ran a hand lightly under his shirt. He wasn't sure but he thought maybe they had been a row of staples. When he looked up, Ricky was watching him sadly. "They think they've got us protected but they're fighting a lost battle. There are just too many ways for us to hurt ourselves and too many places for us to hide it." Lucas sighed glancing down at the blanket.
"I don't want to be like this," he whispered his voice thick with tears. "I hate it. I hate me. I shouldn't think like this. I shouldn't be like this."
"Have you tried to stop?" Lucas nodded.
"It doesn't work. No matter how long it's been. No matter how long I fight. The urges, the whispers, the wants, they're all going to be right there waiting for me to break down. It always comes back. It never really goes away. And the worst thing is that whenever I feel bad, I know that all I have to do to feel better is to hurt myself. Sometimes I wonder why I ever bother to fight it in the first place. I'm too weak. I'm always going to fail and fuck things up. Why try?" Ricky was silent. For some questions, there were no answers.
Lucas flopped down on the bed rolling so that he could face his roommate. His eyes were drawn to Ricky's midriff. He wished he had the nerve to ask him where the stapler was. Lucas wrapped his arms around himself squeezing tight. He was afraid to open his mouth. He might would be sick or worse. He couldn't believe that he actually wanted to use a stapler on himself. He couldn't believe that he still wanted to do anything to himself. How stupid could he be? How bad was he going to let himself fuck things up? Bridger wouldn't stand by him forever. Hell, if it became a regular thing again, Bridger might be the one to lock him up next time. Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn't he be normal?
He rolled over so that his back was to the room then let the tears fall. He wished he'd never started this disgusting little habit. He wished Bridger and Kristin had never found out. He did so much better when no one knew. Sure, it helped to be able to go to them and talk about things instead of cutting. But when he did cut, he knew that he was just disappointing them. He was hurting them every time he screwed up. He never wanted to hurt anyone. 'It would be better to die,' he thought, " than to hurt them.'
Maybe it would be better to die anyway. A lot of times he wished he could. He didn't want to hurt his friends. He didn't want to let them down. So he waited. Maybe one day God would take pity on him and he just wouldn't wake up. Or maybe there would be some kind of horrible accident and that would be the end of Lucas. Maybe one day he would be alone and could do as he wished. Then he wouldn't hurt so much. He wouldn't have to fight through each day struggling to find the energy to keep placing one foot in front of the other. It would be so easy to give up. It would be so nice to be able to rest. Sometimes he was just so tired. He blinked sleepily. It was taking longer and longer for his eyes to open in between blinks.
'I don't want to do this anymore,' thought Lucas terrified of what tomorrow may bring. 'I don't want to be here anymore.' The last of the sedative combined with the physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion of the day to drag him down into sleep. As he sank into the welcome oblivion, his last thought was part plea and part prayer. 'Please, God, can't you just let me die?'