He laid beside Kiba, in his too small bed, trying to not touch the other male. As it was actually him, and not one of the others. Kiba was still blissfully asleep. Truth be told, Gaara hated any kind of physical contact. Obviously there were very few exceptions, but generally speaking if he had to touch someone, say for a handshake, he preferred to be wearing his gloves or to simply not have to. Often times he would flinch from the touch of others, habitually expecting something not that nice. He knew it was illogical, but it happened anyway.
He preferred being alone at least eighty percent of the time, if not ninety. Other people were messy and annoying. If he was alone, anything that went awry, was his fault and his alone.
He hated depending on people as well. He wanted to stand on his own feet, as unsteady as they were. If he had to be, then he would do so on his own.
He went to therapy that week, and his therapist learned he had a plan to kill himself, but hadn't set a date, yet. As he had added the "yet", she deemed he needed to go to a mental hospital for a few days. She hoped it would help.
With what was reluctant annoyance, he went by ambulance to be admitted. It was an excruciatingly boring time of waiting. He had to change into very uncomfortable green clothes as well, surrendering his personal items.
To his further annoyance, his old guardian showed up. Gaara used his phone though, messaging Kiba.
He told the other male, he was fine, it was just a precaution. And upon asking Kiba how he was, Gaara was rewarded with unsettling news. Kiba had cut himself twice, in one day. Something Kiba had promised not to do. But..., he had. Gaara didn't fault him, he just worried for his safety and felt tremendous guilt because he wasn't there to talk to him, perhaps he could have prevented it.
For now, he needed out of this infernal place, so he could see Kiba.
Eventually, he was fully checked in and was given his own room in the psychiatric ward. He laid down and took a nap, napping until dinner, which was only a couple of hours away.
He was woken by a nurse coming to tell him that dinner had arrived. By then, he had a terrible headache, likely due to lack of caffeine. Nevertheless, he got up and went to the dining area, grabbing his tray of food on the way into the room.
The first day's food wasn't the best, a burger and salad, not food he typically ate, hating the taste of beef. Luckily there was apple juice to drink and a mixed fruit cup. He picked the fruits he liked out, and enjoyed them, eating the bun of the sandwich as well, but leaving the rest of it. He wrinkled his nose at it in distaste, but he was feeling slightly better. With nothing else to do, he returned to his room and paced some more. He had to figure a way to get out, he needed to see Kiba. To talk to him. Make sure he was okay.
Hours passed slowly, but eventually, he called a nurse in, asking about how he could get out as soon as possible. Bo's anxiety had spiked hard, just being there. He was given meds to ease the anxiety and his headache. Then she allowed him to fill out an intent to leave form.
He wrote as neatly as possible, "I see what I did wrong. I intend to fix it. I will give up my knives and throw away the pills. My anxiety has spiked just being here. I see now it's not just about me. And I will fix my error."
She took the paper back and called the Doctor, who would have ultimate say in his going home. He waited, patiently, watching the movie that was playing in the dining room.
She returned after fifteen minutes or so, and told him the doctor wanted to speak with him first, but what he had written was written well. Gaara bit back a retort and smiled and nodded in understanding, watching the movie until it was lights out time.
Another day passed, breakfast, group, laying down, lunch, group, more laying down, he eventually got a book from the patient library, and alternated between reading that and playing cards in the dining area. After dinner, he had visitors. Thankfully, one was Kiba, he was relieved to see him, though they didn't really have time to discuss anything of import that day.
He spent two days in the hospital. But he convinced the doctor he was all right to go home. And he was, he meant what he had said and written. He was giving up his means. He had to. For Kiba. It really was that simple. If he was to help Kiba as he wanted to, he had to be alive to do it. While he was in there, he also changed his mind about a tattoo he planned to get. A simple wrist tattoo wouldn't be enough. He would get it on his upper neck, the spot he wanted to commit the deed in. It would be a couple of months until he got the tattoo still, but it was something that was necessary.
His feelings had not changed and likely never would. But he understood necessity. Until he could live for himself, he would live for others. For those that needed him. Like Kiba. Maybe someday, he would be able to live for himself, but not yet. And honestly, he wasn't sure when he would be able to live for himself. He hated himself and his life. Nothing seemed worth it. Nothing held his attention. He was jobless again. His roommate was moving out in a few weeks at most.
Perhaps it was a medication issue, perhaps it was a thought issue. Whatever it was, he would have to find it within himself to make the necessary changes. For Kiba.
For now..., that would have to be good enough, wouldn't it?