I woke up the next morning ready for the day ahead of me. I was surprisingly fine with what I had gotten myself into with therapist last night. Nothing seemed to bother me. More so, I told my mother that I'd be taking a few more therapy sessions with my doctor and I was not at all nervous. Of course, being the caring mom she was, she didn't question, only encouraged.

"Oh baby that's wonderful. I'm sure she can help you more than anyone."

"Thanks, mom. Is dad here?"

"No honey, he's kind of busy this week. You know, end of the year means he's got a lot of numbers to crunch."

Good, I thought. I won't have to come up with reasons not to be around him while I'm gone this week.

"Okay. Well I might also help out at the hospital too. You know, make some use of my vacation," I mentioned before leaving.

For some reason, my words resonated in her head long enough for my mother stopped drying the dishes and turned to me. She had a look in her eyes. You know that look when a parent is proud of something their kid did. Something I don't think I've ever gotten before. And what I said just now didn't seem so gold star worthy either. Nevertheless, she placed the washcloth on the counter and pulled me in for a hug.

"Sweetheart, whatever it is that you're doing, I'm not going to question. Just know that I love you and I'm proud of you."

I guess there was one person I wouldn't want to leave. My mom. But I don't know. To be honest, that's still not enough to shake these suicidal thoughts.

After breakfast I headed over to the hospital. It was in Westwood Health Center, MidCity was on my way. Driving over, I replayed the events that happened last night. Seeing the sidewalk where I was biking past. And a couple miles past the hospital would be the pier. God what was I thinking? Then again, I'm still so confused why I didn't jump. I just want to get help already.

I pulled into a visitor spot with the parking permit my doctor gave me last night and got out of my car. I took a look at the grey building in front of me and thought this is where I'll be for a while. I just know it. I zipped up my jacket and made my way inside. The receptionist told me the psychiatric ward was on the third floor and that my doctor was expecting me. She looked at me funny. I just didn't know if she was profiling me as a patient, or that she was expecting me this entire morning. Weird.

When I made it to the lobby of the third floor I finally met with my doctor.

"Dr. Vega. Hi."

"Good morning, Robbie," she greeted me with a smile." She got the people at the desks' attention.

"Guys, this is one of my therapy patients, Robbie Shapiro. He'll be helping us out this week. So whatever you need he'll be glad to help. And, with my permission, Robbie can help out and participate with the other patients and volunteers too."

They all greeted me and in an instant went straight to work. Wow, for a facility that's supposed to help people, they sure aren't friendly. Then again, I'm not a patient… Yet.

"Okay Robbie, you can walk around and meet some patients today or just help out here at the desk, maybe pass out some medication? Do whatever you feel. Lunch is at noon."

"Got it, Doc."

"Paging Doctor Trina Vega. You're needed in the west wing," a voice from the P.A. system announced.

"That's my cue," she smiled. But before she dashed off, someone came from the bathroom and walked towards us.

"Oh perfect. Beck, come here," she told the guy. Once he was spotted, he started walking slowly toward us.

"Robbie, this is Beck. Mr. Oliver can you show our new volunteer around a bit?"

I gave Doctor Vega a look that said 'are you seriously leaving me in the hands of a suicidal patient?!'

Apparently she read my gesture right and chuckled.

"Don't worry, Robbie. You're in good hands. Beck's a good guy."

"Yeah, I won't bite… much," he smirked.

"Beck, be nice," she said and darted off to where she was needed.

There was just something about him that made me curious but at the same time a little scared to talk to him. But I didn't want to leave him, so I followed him.

"So, Robbie, right?" he asked. By this point we had been walking in silence for about 10 seconds. Me being the observant type just tried to study him. That's why it startled me a bit when he suddenly talked to me.

"Y-yeah?"

"Don't worry, man. I'm not going to hurt you," he chuckled. "Lighten up."

He nudged my shoulder and I tried loosening up.

"Sorry. First day here, you know?" I nervously chuckled.

"Relax dude, we're all human here," Beck explained. "Just… humans with issues," he chuckled.

There was something about him that said he was harmless, but at the same time I couldn't tell if he meant well or not.

"So here we have the game room," he pointed at an open hall with a few tables, couches, bookshelves, and board games against an old television at the corner of the room. For a psychiatric ward, they really didn't make this place seem a bit more… comforting to say the least. We went further down the hall and stopped by a fairly large office. There was a couch and a table, also a TV at the top of a bookshelf. IT was somewhat more modern, but the vibe still seemed outdated. "This here is the visitation room. When you want people to visit, they usually are only allowed in here. You know, for safety. But they let it slide sometimes if you have kids or friends and you want them to play in the game room, or they can go to the cafeteria to eat with you," Beck explained.

"How long can they stay?" I wondered.

"Never really asked that. Usually visitors don't stay any longer than an hour. And that's partly because they eat at the cafeteria. Besides, who would want to go here for fun?" Beck pointed out.

I guess Dr. Vega never told people I volunteered myself here. Good thing, Beck would've thought I was the weird one.

We walked further down the hallway and stopped by Beck's room.

"Robbie Shapiro, this is Sinjin Van Cleef. He's the lucky guy that gets to room with me," Beck said cheerfully.

"How long has he been here?"

"A year and a half, I think? Maybe two?" Beck guessed.

"And how long have you been here?" I asked.

"This time around? I'm going on three weeks now."

This time around? How many times has this man been admitted here?

"Sinj, want to say hi to my new friend, Robbie?" Beck offered.

The thing about Sinjin was that he didn't seem to bother to interact with anyone. He was introverted I guess. The type of introverted who really didn't talk to anyone else, or bothered to try. After we'd leave the room, Beck would tell me that Sinjin was like that. He never left his room. He never spoke to anyone, and didn't show any emotion. He was their quietest resident, yet a part of me sensed that he had a lot to say.

"So he never leaves? He just lays in bed all day?" I asked after we visited a few more patients.

"Yep," Beck nodded. "Word on the street is that he survived a car accident, but unfortunately his brother died."

"Survivor's guilt," I whispered.

"I guess so," Beck heard. "He was so traumatized that after he was released from the hospital, he fled from his home and somehow ended up here in California."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not from here. He never went to his brother's funeral, and his family doesn't even know where he is. He's ashamed to go home, kid."

"Well do they even worry if he's alive?" I asked.

"If they did, wouldn't they have come looking for him by now?" Beck retorted. "What if he wants to be alone?"

"No one wants to be alone," I disagreed.

"You'd be surprised," Beck commented.

Later that day, I had a brief session with Dr. Vega. Beck had an art class so I wasn't missing out on anything. I'd only spent a few hours with him, but I was so interested to know more about the people here, including Beck. I just didn't know how to ask him.

"Say, Doc?"

"Yes, Robbie?" Dr. Vega looked up from her notepad.

"What do you know about Beck?"

"Robbie," Dr. Vega chuckled. "You really think I'd tell you about other patients here?"

"Why not? Beck does."

"Beck's a patient. He tells you what people know. The public gossip. If you know someone's story, then you're entitled to talk about it amongst yourselves. I'll let him tell you himself."

"Why, is it bad?"

"Robbie, just ask him if you're so curious," Dr. Vega said.

"Can I ask you one more question?" I begged.

"It depends if I'm able to disclose the answer should it be personal to Mr. Oliver's life."

"No it's not. Well, sort of…"

"Okay, go ahead. Ask away."

"Beck's… a good guy, right? I mean he seems like a good guy. I just want to know if he really is and not just being nice to me to mess with my head."

"The only thing I can tell you is this," Dr. Vega began, "the residents here like Beck. They respect him. He's nice to the kids, funny, and quite a character. But, like all patients here, he has a story. Just not a story he likes to share with just anyone. But, like you, no one bothers to ask."

"He does seem cool," I said.

"You really have taken a liking to Mr. Oliver haven't you?" she asked.

"It's just. I feel like I can relate. Whatever his story is, not understanding makes me understand just a little bit, you know?"

After my session, I met up with Beck in the game room. Dr. Vega was nice, don't get me wrong. I love my sessions with her. She's the only one that listens to me, and she knows more than anyone about me. But I was determined to ask Beck why he was here. I had a gut feeling I was privileged enough to tell me. I hope.

At his table, Beck was setting up some Chinese checkers. I sat across from him and set up my side of the board. Well, here goes nothing.

"Say Beck?"

"What's up, kid?"

"Thanks for giving me a tour of the place, and you know, hanging out with me. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not exactly cool."

"What?" Beck didn't believe me. "You're a lot of cool. You dress nice. You smell nice. You're sane. You're cool, Rob. Hey, 'Cool Rob'. That's what I'll call you."

"Cool Rob?"

"Yeah, because you're cool," he laughed. "Didn't I just establish that?"

"Thanks man," I chuckled. "So… why are you here?"

"Same as everyone else, we're kind of jumbled up here," he pointed at his skull.

I laughed a bit, but I knew he was dismissing the question.

"No, really," I chuckled. "What's up?"

"You really want to know, kid?" Beck asked.

"Yeah."

"Reeeeeally want to know?"

"Yes!"

"It's crazy," he smirked.

"I'm sure whatever it is, I won't judge," I assured him.

"Okay," he chuckled.

This was it. He was going to tell me.

"Vacation."

"Vacation?"

"Yeah. Vacation."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm here on vacation," he explained.

"I thought you're a patient here?" I was confused.

"I am," he confirmed.

"Then what do you mean vacation?"

"I mean vacation. You know how people go to Disneyland or Hawaii for a getaway?" he explained.

"Yeah?"

"Well, this is my break. This is my vacation. It's cheaper, less stressful. They feed me, and I get to meet cool people like you, Cool Rob," he smiled.

I left it at that. I knew there was more to his reason, but I let it rest for now. If he was cool enough to tell me that, I had a feeling he'd tell me more. Not that I was itching to know, I just felt that I connected to him in some way. Like I told Dr. Vega, I feel like he'd understand me.

"So how the hell do you play Chinese checkers?" Beck asked.

"I don't know, you're the one who wanted to play," I chuckled.

"I thought it'd be like regular checkers only fancier pieces. You know, like fine china plates compared to IKEA brand," he joked.

"Damn, this is too confusing," I stared blankly at the board. There were marbles instead of checkers, and so many spots on the board than normal checkers. "No wonder the Chinese are so smart. They've gotta place much intricate versions of our dumbed down American games," I laughed.

"What do you say we blow this off and get some ice cream at the cafeteria?" Beck suggested.

"I'm down."

We put the game away and headed towards the cafeteria. Beck decided to be funny and ran ahead of me.

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" and then he darted. I swear the guy was a man-child.

I started to run, but stopped my tracks for a minute when the elevator dinged and some staff personnel was pushing a cart of medicine out of the shaft. While I waited for them to leave the elevator, something caught my attention. Or rather someone. In the room right next to the elevator doors was the reading/quiet area, a place Beck rarely went to because in his opinion, if he were staying at a psych ward, he wouldn't be spending his tax dollars reading there. The room seems to be well kept, though the books themselves looked older than a lot of patients. It really was a matter of interest to utilize the space, and like Beck; many patients didn't want to waste time reading during their stay. Though a few would use it from time to time. Probably to cool off or pass time. Today, there was a girl sitting down at the couch reading a magazine. Beck and I met almost everyone on the floor today, probably missing a few patients because they were busy. How could we have possibly missed one on the north wing? We spent the most time there. I felt compelled to go up to her and introduce myself, wanting everyone to know I'm the newest volunteer there. Though my thoughts were cut short when I heard Beck's voice down the hall.

"Hey Cool Rob, come on before I eat all the food!"

Oh well, I guess I'd have to introduce myself to her tomorrow.

A/N: Hey folks, hope everyone is doing alright. It's been a while and most of us probably saw less and less time for this site, but I'm sure we look back and reminisce those summers when we'd have nothing but time to write, support and update one another about anything and everything.

I have plans for my future with FF, and I'm sure you all probably know what it is. Don't think of this as a continuation or my last hurrah just yet. Just think of it as I'm just visiting... for now. This story is 6 chapters. I wrote it a year ago, and I'm sharing it now. It's dark. I do talk about suicide and depression. But like always, there's a message. Hope you stay tuned until the end.