A/N: Hello everyone! Chara here, alive and well. I'm so sorry for not posting sooner. After talking through everything with my mom, I kind of lost my inspiration to write. It was hard, not having the kind of outlet I was needing. Still, I managed to persevere for you guys. All of you are my inspiration. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thank you.

Please enjoy this chapter (even though I hate it).


Chapter 11: The Hospital Part 3: The Decision

"Were you trying to commit suicide?"

Jack swallowed shakily. He wasn't sure what he had been trying to accomplish earlier that night, but he knew his answer had to be immediate to avoid suspicion. "No."

The psychologists jotted his response down on their matching black clipboards. It had taken them forever to even get to Jack's hospital room, since they had been busy questioning other patients all night. There were two of them, a man and woman respectively, sitting side by side with dark bags under their eyes from exhaustion. Still, they kept a professional front. They were situated in such a way as though cornering Jack in the room. Mark sat still as a statue to his left, and had, for the most part, stayed quiet through the questioning.

The woman lifted her hazel eyes from the clipboard and focused them on Jack. "Have you ever tried to commit suicide before?"

"No," Jack said, a lot more confident in his reply this time.

And so the questioning continued in a similar fashion, the psychologists trying to determine whether or not Jack needed to be admitted to the hospital or if he could be released and go home. Jack knew that every answer of his was crucial, and would be under the scrutiny under not just one, but two licensed professionals. He needed to be extremely careful with what he said to them. Any wrong wording or response they don't like could land him in an inpatient facility. That was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Jack kept his answers brief and to a minimum, and more importantly, untruthful.

It wasn't as though Jack liked to lie to people, or was even a good liar for that matter, but he absolutely could not afford to stay at the hospital. Mark was right. This would ruin him if he let it. He needed to be strong at the moment and get the fuck out of this sterile dungeon.

"Do you have an alcohol addiction?"

Jack felt Mark's eyes burning into him. "No."

"How about drugs?"

"No." He wasn't sure if he was setting up a convincing facade, but they didn't press him for any hidden answers, so he carried on, trying to make them believe that he wasn't suicidal so he could just go home already.

After what seemed like an eternity of questioning, the male doctor sat back with a sigh. "Alright, that about wraps up our interview. Do you have any input, uh, Mark?"

Mark blinked a couple times, seeming surprised that they would bother asking him for anything. "Uh, well…" he replied nervously, unsure where to start or what to say.

Jack sent him a pleading look. He bit his cheek anxiously, not even stopping when the coppery taste of blood hit his tongue, willing Mark to keep quiet and not say anything against him that could land him in the facility.

"I'm just worried for him," Mark finally voiced quietly, meeting Jack's begging blue eyes. "I don't want him to hurt himself anymore."

"Of course," the man replied. "That's what we want to prevent here. Anything you could tell us about him can help."

"Well," Mark began. "He's been more distant recently."

Jack gulped, swallowing all the tangy blood in his mouth. What the fuck was Mark doing?

The two psychologists scribbled down the new info as though it were the most important thing they had heard all night. More important than Jack's answers, at least.

"Distant how?" the woman asked for further clarification.

"Um, barely answering my Skype calls or texts for one."

Jack seriously wanted to scream. Mark just needed to shut the ever-loving fuck up so Jack could get the heck out of dodge and go back to his apartment and his normal life of making YouTube videos. Mark was the one telling Jack in the first place that he needed to get out of here or else it would ruin him! And now he was just going to throw Jack under the bus in front of a couple of psychologists? Jack's nostrils flared in anger. How could Mark do this to him?

Mark continued talking, describing Jack's antisocial behaviour as of late, his unusual forgetfulness, and even fucking hinting at his drug problem.

"These are serious red flags you're telling us here," the man announced, and Jack felt his heartbeat pick up again.

"Yes," the woman agreed, pushing up her glasses. "Is there anything else you would care to tell us, Mark?"

Jack really wished his eyes could shoot daggers so Mark could keep his goddamned mouth shut for once. Mark brought his hand up to his chin, thoughtfully humming. "No, I think that's about it."

"Alright. We'll be back in a few to let you know what's going to happen next." The two straightened out their clipboards, tucked their pens away, and promptly left the cramped room.

Immediately Jack felt some relief from their lack of presence, but it was soon taken over by his anger. "Mark," Jack breathed heavily, seething. "What the fuck was that all about?"

Mark looked hurt by Jack's overly hostile tone. "I know what I said before, but–"

"But nothing!" Jack snapped, earning a disapproving look from the guard-nurse in the doorway. He couldn't fucking believe Mark. That son of a bitch was saying how this would affect and ruin his entire life yet now he wanted to send Jack away? To lock him up? Absolutely not.

"Jack," Mark said, sounding surprisingly desperate. "I'm so scared for you. So fucking scared."

Jack felt his heated fury recede like a popped balloon. "I know. You said that before." His voice was scratchy and dry.

Mark sighed, leaning forward in the chair and folding his hands together. "If you are going to continue to hurt yourself like this, then you need to be in a monitored environment."

"I just said I would stop," Jack pressed, annoyance taking place of his previous anger.

"I can't just take your word for it, Jack," Mark insisted, looking at him seriously with those melted-chocolate eyes. "You have to understand."

Jack thought for a moment, chewing on the sore spot on his cheek, choosing his next words carefully. "Then ya have to understand me, Mark. Ya said it yerself, I can't afford hospital time. My YouTube job will go down the john. I need to stay out here where I can continue to work."

Mark's eyes softened. "I just want you to be safe, Jack."

"I know," Jack replied quietly with a small smile. "Yer a good friend, Mark."

There was silence between the two, as opposed to the earlier yelling. Neither was really quite sure what to say or do next.

With a relieved sigh and a muttered "Thank God", the guard-nurse was dismissed from her position as the two psychologists came back in.

"You're lucky, Sean," the woman announced, using her clipboard to point at the man laying in bed. "You won't have to be admitted today. Though we do suggest getting you a therapist; we even have recommendations if you would like."

"That would be wonderful," Mark breathed out a sigh of relief. Jack tried to push the annoyance of Mark answering for him out of his mind and be thankful that he's able to go home.

"And with that, you're free to be discharged," the other male in the room spoke, a surprising chipper tone to his baritone voice.

"Thank you so much for everything," Mark said, answering for Jack yet again. "Could we get the discharge paperwork?"

Jack sat there, feeling an odd mix of emotions. Of course he was relieved to go home, but on the other hand, was he really okay to be alone again? Mark had to go back to LA sometime, and that would leave Jack up to his own devices once more. Wouldn't he just resort to the same kind of things that brought him in here in the first place? Mind swimming with self-doubt, Jack sat there, quietly biting his cheek again.

Everything was a blur as people moved around him, Mark getting up and grabbing the paperwork, the psychologists leaving the room, and the officer entering and setting Jack's bag of clothes on his bed, giving him a paper to sign.

His hands felt numb as he grabbed the pen and scribbled down his signature. One part of him was aware that the way Jack was feeling and seeing things wasn't normal. Dissociation, it said. He ignored it.

Mark was immediately at his side again, large warm hand being placed on Jack's arm. The heat radiating off of Mark in waves helped to steady and ground Jack, who finally blinked back to awareness.

"What?" he questioned, voice cracking.

"Are you okay?" Mark asked, sounding a little exasperated as though he had already asked this question before and gotten nothing but silence.

"Yeah," Jack croaked out. "I'm just… tired I guess."

Mark smiled a little. "Yeah, me too."

There was a calming silence between the two before Mark patted his arm, signalling the other to get up.

"Come on, let's get you dressed again."

A flood of relief hit Jack as he finally understood the gravity of the situation. He was going home. He wouldn't be admitted into the looney bin today, or anyday hopefully. He would be able to go back home, continue his twice daily video uploads, and everything would be okay again.

At least, he hoped it would.


Told you I hated it. Sorry it was so awful. Getting back into the groove of writing has been really difficult.

Regardless, hope you enjoyed.