They made us-no-they made me wait so long in there. In that same room. With the stupid all too familiar bed, and the same stupid sheets, and the beeping machines and Charlie occasionally crying at the bedside. He told me, when they finally let me go, that it hadn't been that long. A couple of days. I know that you're supposed to trust your best friend, but I couldn't believe that, it felt like he was telling me a pathetic lie. Maybe I resented it so much because of the way it felt matched so perfectly with my life. I was living a pathetic lie.

'I'm okay'.

'No, you don't have to stay, I want to be alone'.

'I'm just tired'.

The worst part of it was that he believed me. At least, I think he did. He did as I asked and never questioned what I said. I honestly thought he was scared of me, or what I was capable of doing to myself. To him. But he still looked out for me. In fact, that's all he did. He never left my side, and if he had to, he'd be as close by as possible. He waited outside the bathroom door. He made sure I got to bed alright, if I'd asked him if I could be alone that night, and even then he took the spare room next to mines. He watched me eat, and what I ate, suspicious of the damage the cutlery in my hands could do. He always offered to make my food and drinks. I knew that he was scared of me trying to burn myself with the kettle or the oven, or use another knife like before. It was ridiculous.

We'd gone through about a week of trying to stay sane in each other's company. We ignored phone calls and knocks on the front door and he looked after me, if I let him. Towards the end of it, we were running low on food, (Not that I wanted to eat anyway, I'd forget if Charlie didn't place it directly in front of me and encourage me to clear the plate), and he decided that he couldn't leave me to my own devices.

He lent me his hoodie, to cover up my arms. My old one had gotten too blood stained to be worn again, and it was too painful a memory to wear even if it looked brand new. It was soft, and it smelled like him. I wrapped my stupid arms around myself when he was putting on his shoes, a rare opportunity when he wasn't worrying too much about me, and it felt like one of his hugs.

I smiled weakly at him and leaned against him for support as we walked to the nearest shop. I'd forgotten just how terrifying the real world was, huddling closer into his side as I took cautious steps towards our destination. This time neither of us were scared about what could happen when he took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

His little smile was the most reassuring thing I'd seen in months.

"You'll be okay."

I believed him.

Until I got bad again.