CHAPTER 16

Over the course of the next two weeks, Miguel made absolutely 0 progress in the facility. It had been three whole weeks and things were seeming pretty bleak for his chances at recovery. Days all bled into one for him as he felt all hope of ever walking again slip away.

He was, without a shadow of a doubt, at the lowest point he had ever been at in his entire life. Every day was an immense physical and emotional struggle just to get out of bed, and it was only getting worse. He was starting to have some extremely dark thoughts: if every day caused him this much pain, why bother getting up at all? Why put yourself through another day, week, month, year of this misery when you can just relieve yourself of it all now? Miguel had never had these kinds of thoughts before - he used to love life too much for that - so all of this was uncharted territory for him. That was the worst part about all of this: the uncertainty, the unknowing. He didn't know if he would ever walk again and that small off chance was the only thing stopping him from ending everything. But as the days went by and that chance slimmed, the thoughts consumed more and more of his mind.

But that all changed one day…

Miguel rolled into his room one afternoon, grumbling and muttering under his breath. It was another excruciatingly long day of both classes and physical therapy, with little to no progress in either. The whole point of classes were so that he wasn't too far ahead when he got home but at this rate, with every day making him feel less and less likely that he wanted to even go home and face his old life, there wasn't much of a point to classes at all.

It was almost 3 weeks into his indefinite stay at the hospital (Kreese was supposedly willing to pay for him to be at the hospital for as long as it took him to recover) and Miguel was exhausted. He was feeling tired extremely often nowadays. It was like all of the pain he was constantly feeling had drained him of all his energy, leaving him unmotivated and uninterested in doing anything in the evening. He had severely distanced himself from all of the other patients - not joining in during group activities, not hanging out with them after class and therapy, always sitting alone at the corner of the dining hall - so he felt more alone now than ever.

Miguel rolled over to his desk and picked up a cup of water he had resting on the desk, however to his frustration, the solo cup slipped out of his hands and splattered all over his chest and shirt.

"Fuck." Miguel swore loudly as his shirt got soaked by the small amount of water in the cup. He grabbed the cup and threw it in the bin, before wheeling himself over to his drawer and taking out a new shirt. As he took it out and was about to change into it, his eyes flicked towards the doorway. He was about to go into the bathroom to change. Now that he was self-harming himself and cutting his upper arms and legs almost every day, he needed to be careful to always wear long sleeves, and only change when he knew he was alone. Normally that meant going to the bathroom but now, he shrugged. The rest of the house were probably in the common room right now so he wasn't about to be walked in on. Quickly whisking off his sopping shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket, he was about to put on replacement shirt when suddenly, to Miguel's horror, the door swung open and none other than George walked inside. Miguel immediately scrambled to put on the new tee, but not before George's eyes widened as they grazed his upper arms and saw the zebra-like angry-red scars on Miguel's body. Miguel's heart stopped as George's jaw dropped.

"Hey, George, listen…"

"What. The. Fuck."

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"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. OH MY GOD!" George cried, rolling into the room in his wheelchair, his head in his hands. Surprisingly, like Miguel, George hadn't made any progress towards recovery. Despite working extremely hard and participating in everything, George still hadn't healed - another reason why Miguel was holding back from participating in the full Lionsgate Hospital experience.

"Dude, calm down. It's not that big a deal." Miguel murmured.

"NOT THAT BIG A DEAL?! YOU CUTTING YOURSELF IS NOT A BIG DEAL?!" George yelled. Miguel winced and his head spun around to face the door, staring at it for several moments apprehensively, half awaiting Clive or Cynthia to lividly burst into the room. But when they thankfully didn't, he turned back to George and glared at him.

"Keep your voice down man. PLEASE don't tell Clive and Cynthia!" Miguel begged.

"Miguel, I… um… I kinda have to." George stammered. "I can't just stay quiet about this."

"Please, man." Miguel pleaded with the terrified brunette, his eyes filled with desperation. If George snitched and told someone, Miguel would either be placed under prison-level security, or would likely be either dragged home from the hospital by his mom and forced to go back home (which given he wasn't healed, would be even worse). "You have no clue what I'm going through."

"You're right, I don't, but I still can't keep this secret." George mumbled, his face deathly pale now.

"Why not? Just turn around, walk out and forget you ever saw any of this." Miguel stated. George shook his head furiously.

"It's not that easy, dumbass! I can't just do that!" George snapped.

"Why not?!" Miguel cried.

"Because… because if I come into my room one day and see you lying on the bed having slit your wrists, I'm going to feel to blame."

"WHY?! It's not your fucking problem!" Miguel spat, getting really frustrated now.

"Because I care about you, okay! Even though you've been nothing but a dick to me ever since you arrived, I don't want you fucking dead!"

At this latest outburst, Miguel took a deep, shaky breath and looked down. He ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had whenever he was under a lot of stress. How had things gotten this fucked up this quickly? He had unwillingly gotten another innocent person involved in his shit.

"Dude, please, I beg you, don't tell Cynthia and Clive. You know as well as I do how strict they are. If they find out, I doubt I'll ever have a private moment alone until I leave here!"

"You ever think that maybe that's the problem? That what you actually need is caring people around you, the same people you've been pushing away for the past 3 weeks? Look, dude, I'm sorry but I have to tell someone."

"No, no, please. Okay, um… how about this?" Miguel murmured, taking a deep breath. This was his hail mary. His last chance to try and convince George to keep his secret. "I'll become part of this community. I'll do everything you told me to do that first night. Join in games. Join in dinners. Join in house activities. I'll do it all. And I'll never cut again. You have my word on that. Just please, please, please don't tell anyone."

George glanced at him, still extremely unsure. On one hand, he knew the right thing to do would be telling an adult. But on the other, he knew that Miguel wasn't a baby that would be 100% safe with adult supervision. All telling on him would do was make Miguel lose any trust he had in him, and possibly make him even more emotionally unstable.

"Okay, fine…"

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A bit later, it was time for the nightly game of Hearts and the whole house bar Miguel were sitting in the common room. It was 8:02 and normally they would start at 8 on the dot but this time, George stopped them.

"Let's just start already. He's not coming." Darla murmured, downheartedly. She was still holding out faith that Miguel would join their little family. However, things right now didn't seem that way at all. No one but George had even properly spoken to Miguel in ages.

"Maybe Darla's right." Clive admitted.

"No, guys. He'll show." George replied, confidently. He knew from Miguel's tone earlier that the boy was telling the truth when he promised to start joining in on house activities.

The group sat and waited for several more minutes, watching as the clock's second arm slowly dragged itself around and around the circular face several times, before George finally sighed in defeat.

"Okay fine. Maybe you're right. Let's just start." George murmured. Just then, a voice erupted from the corner of the room.

"HOLY SHIT!" Eugene suddenly shouted, leaping up from his chair, his laptop almost flying off his lap if he hadn't caught it.

"Eugene! Language!" Cynthia exclaimed.

"What's going on, son?" Clive asked, as Eugene clutched his laptop and stared at it with wide, alarmed eyes.

"It's… It's Miguel!" He managed to stammer as he struggled to put words together. He had been rendered speechless, but that didn't matter as his outburst and his pointed finger was enough to turn everyone's attention to the computer screen. On screen was a youtube video entitled L.A HIGH SCHOOL BRAWL UNEDITED FOOTAGE

The group all watched in shocked silence as they immediately spotted Miguel in the frame, and after watching him fiercely battle Robby for several minutes, they all gasped as they saw Miguel get kicked over the balcony and crash against the staircase. They were all speechless for several moments after, their jaws all practically trailing on the ground. They couldn't believe what they had just watched. Everything had clicked into place like a jigsaw puzzle. The enigma that was Miguel Diaz had been cracked. He lied: he hadn't been in a car accident; he had been in this fight. His anti-socialness and clear mental health issues had been a result of PTSD, and his lack of trusting in his housemates had also probably been an aftermath of the fight.

A deafening silence had befallen over the group, their astonishment palpable in the air, so thick that it could practically be cut with a knife. All of them were so deep in their own thoughts that they didn't notice Miguel quietly enter the room. Noticing the group all huddled over the computer, Miguel rolled over to them and as he looked at the computer, his blood ran cold.

He immediately turned around and sped for the exit of the common room but in his haste and due to his lack of control in a wheelchair, he ended up clattering into the door, causing everyone to turn around and face him. It took them several moments for all of them to get up to speed, but they blanched as their faces filled with realisation as they noticed Miguel there. But before anyone could say anything, Miguel had sped out of the room and down the hall, out of sight…

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Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! How could they have found that video? None of them lived in L.A! Miguel had finally been ready to begin to slowly, really slowly, begin the LONG journey to recovery both mentally and physically, but that had all been blown to pieces now. The new group of people he was around finally saw him as the monster he truly was, and probably wouldn't come anywhere near him now.

Miguel had managed to swiftly wheel himself out of the house building and into the vast outdoor grounds of the school. He got to the top of a hill and just stared out at the sunset, and down at the field, where a bunch of people closer to finishing rehab were playing soccer. They all looked so happy, so carefree. He knew he would never have that again. There would always be this massive chip on his shoulder for the rest of his days. That incessant pain in his chest that he would never be able to stop.

As he closed his eyes to try and quench the dull throbbing in his chest, he didn't even notice the sounds of mechanical wheelchairs slowly making their way towards him until they were right there. As he heard the unmistakable dull BUZZ of wheelchairs approaching, his eyes snapped open to see George and Mary sitting opposite him. Miguel inwardly groaned and he started to try and get away but George and Mary had effectively blocked his exit path. He then sighed and sat back in his chair, defeated in knowing that there was no way he'd be able to get out of this exchange.

There was then a long silence as the three of them stared at each other in silence, all of them not really wanting to make the first move.

"So…" George decided to speak first, breaking the deafening silence that had filled the air.

"So… what?" Miguel asked, gruffly. George raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have anything to say?" George asked, shocked. Miguel shrugged.

"Eh." Miguel murmured. George laughed in disbelief.

"Eh? We find out that you lied to us when you said you were in a car accident and instead you were some kind of kung fu warrior…"

"Karate." Miguel interrupted. "It's Karate, not Kung Fu."

George threw his hands up in the air.

"Karate, Kung Fu, Taekwondo. Who cares?!" He exclaimed. "You really are the most frustrating person I've ever met, you know that?"

"What can I say? People love me." Miguel remarked, sarcastically. "Now can I go now?"

"NO! For once in your life, sit down, shut up and listen!" Mary suddenly yelled. George and Miguel's jaws dropped and their eyes widened in surprise.

Mary was the most passive and one of the kindest people in the house. She was a stereotypical nerd, well a hotter looking stereotypical nerd. Not someone who normally confronted people, let alone bellowed at them at the top of her lungs. However, it had undeniably been effective as it had rendered Miguel speechless and immobile.

"Look, you know how when you first arrived everyone said that we're all in the same boat and we know how you feel?" She asked, to which Miguel nodded. "Well, they're wrong. That's absolute bullshit. Everyone's here for a different reason. Everyone has their own shit. I haven't walked in almost a year for God's sake, and at this rate I'm probably not going to again! But you know how I wake up every morning with a smile on my face? I start making the most of every situation. I enjoy the company of the amazing people around me. The amazing place. The amazing food. The amazing life. You almost died, Miguel."

"Yeah… and?" Miguel asked. Mary shook her head.

"No, no. You don't get it. You ALMOST died. Almost being the key word. You were waist deep in your early grave but you still managed to pull yourself out. That's the one thing we all here have in common. We could've easily died but we didn't. God gave us a second chance so isn't it our duty to take advantage of it?"

Miguel sighed. He knew she had a point, but at the same time he wasn't totally convinced.

"Nah, you guys don't really get it. Wait… actually you do. You saw that video. You saw why I'm here. You saw my life. George, you saw my… scars. I don't know if that guy actually deserves a second chance."

"Miguel, I know you think you're some kind of monster." George murmured, usually softly but still firmly keeping eye contact with Miguel. "But you're wrong. You know what I saw when I saw that video? A dude who is willing to fight for his friends. A dude who is willing to put it all on the line to protect the people he cares about. I don't know about you but that guy sounds like he deserves a second chance. That guy sounds like someone I want to be friends with."

"You don't get it, man. That Miguel… he's dead." Miguel grunted. Mary shook her head.

"I don't think so." She said. "I don't know you very well but it kinda sounds like that Miguel's just been locked away deep inside you. All you need is the right push to get him back out."

"That right?" Miguel asked

"Yeah. It's the same for me and George, you know?" She said. "We've both been holding back too for our own reasons. I'll be honest, I'm scared of going home. I'm scared of having to face life again after this, which is why I've been struggling so much to recover. And I know George feels the same way. But you know how it wouldn't be scary? If we all got out of here together, and had each other to lean on as we reintegrate. Which is why this is what I am suggesting. All three of us make a pact right now to help each other and push each other to recover from our stupid injuries. Whether it takes days, weeks, months, we don't ever stop trying. Then when we all leave this place TOGETHER, we don't just forget about each other and move on with our lives. We always remember each other, stay in contact and meet up when we can. Like a family would. What do you say?"

Miguel was absolutely at a loss now. This was not how he expected the conversation to go. Given how coldly he had treated his housemates before, he half-expected them to be wielding pitchforks, screaming BURN THE WITCH at the top of their lungs. He hadn't in a million years expected this exchange.

"Well, I don't know about Miguel but I'm for sure in." George said. Mary smiled at him and nodded, before turning to Miguel and looking at him, apprehensively. The three of them were the three oldest in the house and were around the same age, so it made sense for them to become close at some point

"Miguel?" Mary asked. Miguel took a deep breath and eventually smiled faintly, his first smile in what seemed like an interminably long time.

"You know what? Sure. Let's do it…"