POV: Alex's Dad

"Please!" I begged the panda at the front desk. "I just want to see my son!"

She fiddled around some papers and filed through folders. "I'm sorry, but only family is allowed to see him right now."

"Damnit!" I said, slamming my fists across the counter. "Don't you understand?! That grey wolf is my son!"

"I'm sorry sir, but unfortunately, you're not a grey wolf, there's no way we could-"

"I'm sorry to bother you," Someone said. I looked to my right to see a snow leopard with a tear stained face, her fur perfectly white, but also perfectly drained. Hey eyes were an ocean, almost crystal blue, and her whiskers poked out at the sides. Her fluffy long tail flicked in the air as she took a deep breath. "But this red deer right here, is Alex's father! Please you have to let him through!" She sounded desperate, each word and each breath she said and took were raspy and unclear, almost like she was talking with her lungs filled with sand.

A red deer doctor came up behind the panda. "Mr. Kingston? Follow me." I looked towards the snow leopard and mouthed a thank you as I reached for Amy's hand. I didn't want to have to face my son after everything that had happened. I knew all of this was my fault from the moment I read that damn letter in that fucking hoodie of his.

I couldn't hate him anymore, I had driven him to suicide. I had gone too far, I had ruined everything. Even if he were to survive, he never would have forgiven me for everything I did and said. None of it was right, I was the worst dad in existence.

I just wanted to hold him again like I did when he was a baby. I just wanted him to grow up strong and without any fears in the world. But I threw that all away when I started treating him differently. When I started fearing for our family's safety.

What you need to understand is, he grew up so fast. He hit 6th grade and shot up like a balloon, quick passing his mother's height, and then, eventually, mine. I know nothing I say will ever change the fact that I was shit to him, that I made him feel so horrible about himself, so broken inside, that he felt the need to bring himself to the brink of death. I had broken our son, I had destroyed my son. My one and only son, the wolf that I raised, the wolf that I brought to baseball practice, tennis practice, karate. The wolf that I hoped would grow up to be an outstanding citizen, my son.

Why didn't he speak up? Why didn't he at least tell his friends?

I kept rereading the letter in my head, constantly thinking about what he said about me. He never said he hated me, he never said he wished I was dead instead.

God, what have I done?

The doctor led us through pristine white hallways and past nurses stations. I stared at each door handle, each room number. They never told me which one was his until we reached the psych ward of the hospital. Amy squeezed my hand tighter, I could tell she was trying to hold it to the best of her ability, but eventually she was going to break.

We reached the door. Room 501, I could feel death's looming presence when I turned the metal knob to enter.

There he was, lying in white hospital sheets, bandages over his arms, a respirator specially made for canines over his mouth. His breathing was heavy, his chest rose and fell slowly, each breath seeming to be his last. His grey fur was mixed with red, but the white on his face was perfectly snow white and they had him in a blue hospital gown. He looked so peaceful, laying there with his eyes closed, the pain finally gone.

The doctor left the room and Amy broke down next to Alex, holding his hand and crying onto his chest. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I knew I should've been crying, I should've felt anything. But I couldn't. I could only stare and watch as his mother poured her heart and soul onto him.

I walked over to him, looking at his face, at the wolf who I called my son. I brushed my fingers over the fur on his face. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

The doctor came back and sat down to talk with us about Alex. He was going to live, but he would be in a medically induced coma for the next couple of weeks. They told us he had lost a tremendous amount of blood and it was a miracle he was even breathing.

I excused myself to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and covered my mouth. Tears splashed into the sink and pain ripped through my body, a delayed reaction. I wanted to keel over on the floor and die, the pain wouldn't stop. It felt like someone kept putting rubber bands over my heart, squeezing it to the point of bursting. I wanted to yell from the pain, to scream, but I had to keep it in, I had to stay calm. I knew pushing the feeling down wouldn't help, so I let the emotions flow through my body, tearing everything apart.

I stood up from being sprawled across the floor, and exited the bathroom, the doctor and Amy staring at my puffy eyes. The doctor continued with how we were going to press forward. Alex would be woken up once his body was fully healed from the injuries, but his mental health wasn't going to be any different. He suggested one of the therapists on the psych ward which would do routine check ups on him to see if he was stable enough to be released. He told us that he took suicide cases very seriously, and that Alex would never be checked off for release if they couldn't find the root of the problem.

"It's me," I said, wiping my nose. I looked towards Amy and sighed, then back to the doctor. "The problem, the root, it's me."

The doctor took my statement into account and left us alone with Alex.

I thought back to the snow leopard who tried to convince the nurse that we were Alex's parents. I never knew he told anyone we were red deer, I honestly didn't care anymore. I just wanted him to open his eyes, I just wanted to say I was sorry for everything. To pour out everything. He probably wouldn't have been able to handle it. But I had to do it. I couldn't keep on living knowing my son hated me for the rest of his life.