The first thing Rimmer noticed was the smell: an over powering stench of bleach, antiseptic and pine fragranced floor polish. He wrinkled his nose up,

'God, I never thought heaven would stink of cleaning products" he paused and mulled the concept over "unless...unless I didn't go to heaven and...and I've gone 'down' instead'

He forced his eyes open and breathed a sigh of immense relief when he realised he wasn't in hell, but in a hospital bed. 'Why am I in hospital?" he pondered, then the memories came flooding back. Rimmer groaned "I even fail at trying to kill myself" he slowly lifted up his arms and turned them over, sure enough his thin, frail wrists were hidden in layers and layers of stark, white bandages, but Rimmer could still feel the cuts beneath them it was a dull, hot grinding pain, like a constant reminder of his wickedness.

He gazed dolefully round the room, it reminded him very much of his re-decorated bedroom back home. It had off- white walls and cheap pine furniture, no pictures, no flowers, no cards, in fact there was nothing in the room that suggested Rimmer had any family. He then saw his parents talking to a pompous looking doctor through the observation window. His mother was smoking a cigarette nervously – his mother never smoked. Rimmer cheered up a little, this is what his parents needed, a short, sharp shock. Maybe once they'd realised how close they came to losing their youngest boy, they'd treat him better.

Rimmer didn't hear what the doctor was saying but he caught the words '

therapy' and 'physiatrist'.

"no" said his father firmly "there's no way I'm sending him to a shrink"

"Mr Rimmer" said the doctor with a sigh "I really think Arnold would benefit from psychiatric help, he'd make a full recovery and would have a decreased chance of him ever attempting to do something like this again- "

"he don't need a smarmy, over paid old git talking to him to stop him from doing it again" growled his father "all he needs is a couple of hard punches, that'd put him back on track"

"yes, but-" attempted the doctor

"but nothing, he's not going to a physiatrist end of story!"

The doctor sighed yet again, it didn't take anyone with a PhD to see that Arnold was unhappy, but a parent's word is law in the medical field, if they say no, it means no. The doctor turned to see Rimmer sat up in bed, his eyes were dark, and he looked frail and tired, but perhaps a visit from his parents might brighten his day.

"well it looks like your little Arnolds awake, you can go in now, try not to got him over excited." His father grunted at the doctor before striding into the room where his youngest and most shame worthy son was lay.

When Rimmer saw his parent's angry faces his hopes of them treating him better were smashed to smithereens, he shrank back with a petrified squeak as his mother sat on the bedside chair, with his father standing behind her with a face like thunder.

"Right, Arnold" his mother snapped nastily "would you like to tell us why you did this?"

"no said Rimmer softly, already his watery eyes filling with tears,

"tell us now, boy before I really give you something to cry about!" bellowed his father.

Rimmer felt a familiar stabbing feeling descend on his body. Rimmer felt that every person in his life was represented by a pin, whenever they hurt him, by calling a name or hitting him, he felt like this pin was thrust into his body. Lately these pins had multiplyed so sometimes it felt like 20 or even 30 pins. Also, they were no longer pins, they'd grown, evolved into long, thin knives, knives that would slice through Rimmer's flimsy body with no remorse or pity. Rimmer had many reasons why he wanted to kill himself:

His parents hated him.

He hated his school.

He was constantly bullied.

His life was hell. He couldn't go on.

He hated himself.

Rimmer could have said any one of these reasons to his parents, but he didn't want to, he wanted to keep it a secret, so he simply shrugged his drooping shoulders and mumbled "dunno"

His father snorted before storming out of the room, his mother watched him go before turning back to her youngest child, disappointment plastered on her face. It was a face Rimmer had witnessed many times before.

"we're so ashamed of you" she got up, and without so much as a good bye, she walked out the door, trying to catch up with her husband.

Rimmer bit his lip to stop himself crying, but it all became too much, he broke down into huge, agonizing sobs. 'they really do hate me' he thought miserably 'they didn't even care!'

A nervous cough from across the room, pulled Rimmer from his emotional low, he squinted through his teary eyes and say a very awkward looking Mr Johnston.

"is this a bad time?" he asked "because I'll leave if you want?"

"no" sniffed Rimmer "I'm okay, sir, just a little upset"

"I think you're more than a little upset if you try to kill yourself" said Mr Johnston sitting down on the bedside chair like his mother had done.

Rimmer paled "you know about that, sir. How?"

"I was the one who found you" replied Mr Johnston, suddenly fascinated by his hands "after you ran from my classroom, I did a bit of interrogating. When it seemed the whole class was being very unwilling, I had to get the cane out. After 3 hits of it, Brian Lawson was close to collapsing, you took 15! You might not look it but, you're a tough nut to crack, Rimmer" he said giving him a playful tap on the shoulder which Rimmer couldn't help but smile at. "so after Lawson tells me everything that happened, I go storming after you, dead set on teaching you not to run away from me. After asking in a couple of classrooms if they'd seen you, I guessed you'd be hiding in the boy's toilets. So I go in, and I see....you...you...were..." He trailed off and hastily wiped his eyes, Rimmer noticed his hands were shaking.

"sir, are you alright?" he asked meekly,

Mr Johnston let out a false chuckle, "it's me who should be asking you that question, Rimmer" he gave a reassuring smile before pausing, he was wondering if it would be a too personal question to ask, "Rimmer, do you mind me asking why you...why you wanted...felt the need to..."

"kill myself?" said Rimmer bluntly,

"yes" said Mr Johnston quite taken aback by Rimmer's ability to talk so openly about it.

"no body likes me" said Rimmer, already he felt his eyes pricking and a strong feeling of shame and embarrassment fill him, he's cried 3 times now in front of the most fiercest maths teacher, if that didn't count as weak, what did?

"that's not true" replied Mr Johnston "I like you"

"oh yeah" replied Rimmer, rubbing his red eyes "why'd you cane me then?"

Mr Johnston's cheery face melted into a look of sheer guilt. "I must apologise about that, I acted irresponsibly and your punishment was far to extreme for what you did, but I had just been teaching 4D and they're a class that would make Jesus spit and fume in anger"

A lengthy, awkward silence took place, neither knew what to say, so they thought it best o say nothing at all. Mr Johnston gazed round the room, in an attempt to life the silence he said "depressing room isn't it?"

"yeah" agreed Rimmer, to tired to branch out his answer

"so when are you getting out a hospital?" asked Mr Johnston,

"next week" replied Rimmer, stifling a yawn "they want to keep me in for a bit, just as a precaution because I lost quite a lot of blood"

"and then will you go home for a while?" Rimmer's head drooped,

Mr Johnston sensed he put his foot in it asked, "have I said something wrong?"

"I can't go home" Rimmer replied sorrowfully,

"why?" asked Mr Johnston,

"I don't want to talk about it, sir" said Rimmer, averting his eyes away from his teacher.

Mr Johnston wanted Rimmer to talk about it, he'd often worried about him, the extreme quietness and the reluctance to join in with the other boys, the unexplained bruises and injuries and the unwillingness to discuss any of it. He looked down at his watch, and let out a gasp,

"oh god, I'm late" he stood up, "I'm sorry I've got to dash off Rimmer, but I've got an important meeting, I'll see you back at school, hope you feel better soon"

"bye, sir" said Rimmer, feeling decidedly better after his visit,

"bye, Arnold" said Mr Johnston, giving him a quick wave before closing the door gently behind him. It took Rimmer a few minutes to realise that his maths teacher, who at one point had been on his number 1 enemy list, he just called him by his first name. Like a friend.