I look around the room I feel captivated in. It'd been (or felt like it'd been) early in the morning. However, I am both unwilling and too tired to ask. It has been three days since my suicide attempt. My parents found me when I stabbed myself, and I've been hospitalized since then. My dad didn't care; I believe he thought I was faking. I don't blame him. If my dad (whom I hate) tried to kill himself and it was unsuccessful, I, too, would believe he was faking.
I take one good look around. There was a plain white wall with washed-off doodles. It had pictures of flowers on it. They reminded me of the flowers my cousin, Red, had at her quinceañera. There were monitors, a… LVAD pumps intravenous fluids and blood into me. I quickly looked away from that mess. It reminds me of my failed attempt.
I hear a knock on the door, followed by a nurse. She smiled at me as she spoke, "Stan, someone is here to see you," I didn't respond. I must've looked at her like she had given me rotten food, mostly because I did not want to see anyone. But, then, she gestured to the hidden person. Once he came into sight, I saw that it was Kyle. My eyes lit up, and I smiled widely. By now, the door was shut, and the nurse had left.
"Hey Stan," Kyle said, walking towards me and sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed. "How are you?"
"Other than having to see this 'therapist' guy…and that I tried to kill myself, so now I'm in a hospital, I've been good," I responded with a raspy voice. I coughed as I continued. "How have you been?"
"I've been…missing you,"
"Me too,"
"School is--everything is lame without you,"
"That's a bummer," I started to sit up shakily, coughing. Kyle helped me up, his worry only growing.
"You look…"
"Dead?"
"Something like that…."
"I wish I was,"
"Stanley…"
"Womp, womp, I'm alive now," I smiled. He smiled back, and there were tears behind it. "Come on, I want a hug from my boyfriend," I stretched my arms out slowly.
"Are you sure you're in the right shape to do so?"
"Kyle, I assure you I am,"
"Okay then," he came closer and hugged me softly and lovingly. I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes. We basked in silence until I broke it.
"You look so sad," I commented. He chuckled.
"I mean…how else am I supposed to react to my boyfriend in a hospital because he tried to kill himself?"
"Hm, that's a good point," he doesn't respond. "Kyle, if you need to cry, let it out,"
"But I really shouldn't--,"
"Everyone needs to cry; it's the only way we know we're human,"
"You know, never in my life I thought I'd get advice from--" he started to cry
"From a suicidal maniac?"
"... you're not a maniac," he kissed me on the head, still sobbing. He caressed my head as he continued to speak. "I love you. I love you so fucking much,"
"I love you too…." there was another knock on the door. We both pulled away from each other. Kyle rubbed his eyes. I started to tear up because I made the most perfect, most handsome person ever cry.
The door opened. It was my 'therapist.' So naturally, I was royally pissed off. I barely spent ten minutes alone with Kyle, and now I have to deal with him.
"Hello, kiddo!" He said.
"Hi…" I responded, annoyed.
"I see you have a visitor,"
"Mhm,"
"Well, I'm sorry, but he's going to have to leave,"
"No, I want him to stay,"
"...okay, is that okay with him?"
"Yeah… that's fine," Kyle spoke up.
"Alrighty," he sat on the chair at the foot of the hospital bed. "How are you feeling today?"
"...like total shit now that you're here," my brain feels fried. Conversations with him feel so scattered. I've drawn two conclusions; One, I can't comprehend therapy (or how he
'Does' therapy), or two, he jumps around subjects. He glanced at my shirt.
"I'll take a gander and say you like The Smiths,"
"Yeah,"
"Did your dad get you into them? They're quite an old band,"
"No, my dad didn't get me into anything," I hate my dad, and I hate when people assume my dad paved my happiness.
"Do you want to talk about what happened leading up to your suicide attempt?"
"Sure," I don't know why I agreed. I think a part of me knows if I said 'no,' he'd ask the next day, and tomorrow is my surgery. If I saw him the same day of my surgery asking me about my attempt, I think I'd kill myself again. He smiles at me. I squint my eyes in anger back.
"Do you remember what you felt?"
"I felt…" As I tried to remember, I felt Kyle's hand hold mine. "I felt like I wanted to kill myself," I laughed, which hurt a lot.
"This is serious, Stan," he huffed. I looked over to Kyle, who also wasn't entirely amused.
"Sorry…" I apologized half-sincerely. I spoke in a melting pot of words, most of which I kept reusing. I hate expressing my feelings. I'm not good at that. I stopped trying.
"Do you have a hard time articulating your feelings?" He asked. Like yeah, no shit Sherlock.
"I guess so…."
"Is there something that helps you with that?"
"Writing it down, I suppose,"
"Alrighty, I'll be right back," he stood up and left. Taking a guess, he's going to fetch the paper. I turn to Kyle.
"I can tell you love therapy," Kyle jokes.
"I just hate him," I responded blatantly. "I'd rather not have someone spew bullshit at me while I feel like I'm dying," He looks at me, full of pity. I give him a weak smile. "I was told after surgery I only have to be here for another day. Then I get to go home, that's if…."
"If it performs well,"
"Yeah…" I sighed, using my free hand to tap the mattress.
"I feel weird just sitting there,"
"Don't be. I'm glad you're near me. It makes me feel better,"
"Really?"
"Yes, really," I smiled, then changed the subject. "You remember the end of Fight Club?"
"I don't follow,"
"The main character shoots himself but still survives, and he and the love interest watch as the buildings around them explode while Where Is My Mind plays," Kyle looks at me confused. "That's how it felt to have stabbed myself,"
"…that sounds horrible,"
"Oh well, now I know I'm never going to do that again,"
"That's good," he gives me a quick kiss. I smiled and hummed.
"You'll be here after my surgery, right?"
"Yes, if they let me in,"
"If they don't, I'll shoot myself,"
"Suicide jokes are not perfect right now,"
"Hm, good point," my 'therapist' was now back. Yup! Rather stab myself again than talk to that lardass.
After we finished and he left (thank god), Kyle and I finally got to be alone. Kyle was sitting beside me in my hospital bed. I laugh weakly. "You know what's funny?" I ask.
"What?" He asked in response.
"My surgery is on the same day as my birthday," I smile. "I don't know who could get me a better birthday present,"
"Oh, I could never up that,"
"You could by… binge-watching Kurtis Conner videos with me,"
He laughed. "Of course, dude,"
"Wow, people call their lovers honey, and you call me dude,"
"Oh, shut up! What do you expect me to call you?"
"I don't know! Like…”
"Like?"
"Search it up,"
"Goddamnit," he laughed, taking his phone out. He shows me the first few things that show up.
I read them out loud. “Babe…honey…darling…pookie?!”
"Nope, not pookie,"
"Definitely agree. I could shorten Kyle to Ky,"
"Can't really shorten Stan, though,"
"Yeah, unless you go S,"
"Hang on. I'm sure there's a list for it on Google,"
"Yeah, probably," as Kyle searched up nicknames for me, he asked me. "How did we start talking about nicknames?"
"No fucking clue. It's better than thinking about if I'll come back alive from my surgery,"
"Stanley, you will come back alive,"
"What happens if I don't?"
"I'll cremate you and make Cartman turn you into chocolate milk mix,"
"Oh god…okay, I'll tell them not to kill me," we laugh. I remind him about the search, and he goes to look. He read the names out loud.
"Strawberry, Tiny—" he bursts into laughter. "I mean, you are short,"
"Hey! I'm just an average height for a Mexican,"
"5 '2 is average?"
"Shut up. You're almost 6'0. You shouldn't be talking," he brushed me off and continued to read off the list.
"Silly, Stannie, Saturn, Sweeney Todd—"
"Sweeney Todd! Like the musical?! Oh my god!"
"That's the musical about—"
"If you call me that, I'll marry you,"
"As much as I love that, no,"
"Awww,"
"I'll think of something later,"
"I guess so," I yawn.
"Are you tired? You should get some rest,"
"Hm, I guess so," I lean closer to him as I lay down slowly. I close my eyes, still conscious. "Hey Kyle,"
"Yes?" He asks, caressing the top of my head.
"I love you a lot. You're the best. Like seriously, I don't know how I'm actually dating you… you're perfect,"
"I love you more than anything. You're an amazing, beautiful person. I wouldn't trade you for anyone else,"
"I would agree, but if Taylor Swift asks any one of us to date her,"
"Oh yeah, we're breaking up,"
"Definitely!" We both laugh. I again return to humming—I love Kyle. He makes me forget that I tried to kill myself, that I'm in a hospital being connected to a machine that pumps blood into me, and every shitty little thing. That's what's so unique about him. He's a beautiful ray of sunshine, and I'm just a speck of dust.
"What are you humming?" His voice lowers to a whisper.
"Something," I reply. "Thank you…for being here,"
"Of course, Stan," he gives me a peck on the forehead. I smile and slowly drift to sleep. As I do, Kyle stays; still, I don't hear him move an inch. I'm so glad to love him.
*
I was back in my hospital bed. My surgery was finally done, and thankfully I am still alive. I have an oxygen mask on (specifically a nasal cannula) and still have an LVAD attached to me, just like before, perfect. I feel overheated and ill. I've been awaiting Kyle for a little over an hour. I'm not angry he wasn't here the second I was back in the room. I just miss him, I guess. Then, on cue, there's a knock on the door. The same nurse from the day before smiles and says, "You have a lot of visitors today," she gestures toward people(?). I only see one person come into view; Kyle. Before he could speak, I croaked. "Could you open a window?"
"Sure, babe," he replies, going to open the window closest to me. But, of course, I take into account that he picked a name.
"Hang on…sit next to me," I move as slow as a tortoise, giving him enough room to sit in my bed.
Once there's room on the bed, he sits. Wendy and Majroine walk hand in hand.
"Happy Birthday, Stan," they both said in unison. I smile, coughing.
"Thank you," I replied happily. Craig and Tweek walk in as well. I smile widely at the sight of my cousin. He's not one to care for these things…I think. "Hey guys," I try to make my voice sound like I wasn't dying.
"Hey, Stan," Tweek and Craig also said in unison. Is my brain melted, or did all of them…never mind, They stand around me. I laugh painfully, "Look at us, six old friends, six unlikely lovers," everyone catches my reference. Kyle holds my hand.
"How are you feeling?" Majroine asks me.
"Eh, could be better," I replied.
"You look awful," Craig spoke absentmindedly.
"Craig," Tweek said between his teeth. I laugh again. However, it's so painful, but you know what they say 'If you don't laugh, you'll cry.'
"You look wonderful," Kyle complimented me. I turned to him, my face a little red. I didn't speak. I just smiled at him.
"Me and Majroine got you something," Wendy says, looking through her bag.
"Yeah! You're gonna like it a whole bunch," Majroine added. I smiled.
"You guys didn't have to," I spoke in almost a whisper.
"We did. It's your birthday after all," Wendy said, handing me the small wrapped-up gift. I held it, then opened it slowly.
"Oh. My. god. is that…." I blink a couple of times to make sure I'm not dreaming. "Is this a Kurtis Conner, youtooz?!" I would elevate my voice if I could. But instead, I smiled, weakly reaching out for a hug. "Thank you so much, you two," they both gently hugged me for a split second.
"You're welcome," Wendy said.
"Yeah, happy birthday," Majroine congratulated.
Craig proceeds to ask me. "Sorry to ask, but…where did…you stab yourself, so I know where you got surgery and stuff,"
I replied, pointing at my left chest. "Here, on my chest."
"Ah, okay,"
I laid my head on Kyle's shoulder. He takes his hand, caressing my head.
"We got you something, too," Tweek said.
"Oh yeah, hang on," Craig left the room to get the 'something.' I feel so great. I really wouldn't think anyone besides Kyle would show up for my birthday/surgery.
"How did you feel pre-surgery?" Wendy asks me.
"Well, the first and second nights, I felt horrible. Like someone had stabbed me," I chuckle. I'm starting to pick up that no one finds my sarcasm or jokes funny. That hurts a little. "Then yesterday, when Kyle was here, I felt better—right now, I feel bad again but like a good kind of bad," I explain.
"What's a good kind of bad?" Majroine asks.
"Not sure,"
"Well, Kyle told us ack! You'd be back tomorrow," Tweek said.
"Yeah, I'll finally be home, then next week I'll be back at school," I smile. Craig now returned with a party bag.
"Here ya go," Craig gives me the bag. "Happy Birthday,"
"Thanks, dude," I said, taking out the red tissue paper. There was a warped box, I unwrapped it, and it was an Amazon box. "Wow, a box, thanks!" I joked.
"Shit, can you open boxes?" Tweek asked.
"Kyle can," I said, handing the box to Kyle. "Open it for me,"
"Will do," he forcefully opens the box.
"Damn, you're strong,"
"Eh, you're just weak,"
"Wow, such a nice thing to say to your boyfriend on his birthday," he handed the now open box to me, kissing my head.
"There. Is that nice?" He giggles, and I smile at him.
"Look at the present gaywad," Craig jokes. I laugh. I turn my head to the box, looking inside it. I took out the piece of clothing and unfolded it.
"It's a Falsettos shirt?!" Again I try to make my voice higher. "This is amazing! Oh my god, oh my god," This is the happiest I've been inside of a hospital. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," Tweek says.
"It's cooler than what Red and Shelley got you combined," Craig states. I look at him, surprised.
"When does Shelley get me things?" I asked.
"Probably since you've stabbed yourself," Marjorine said.
"Ooo, yeah, that's true," I chuckle—which then turns into a cough. All these presents and happiness really made me forget how much pain I was in.
"Oh, hamburgers. Are you okay?" Majroine asks, worried she caused me to cough.
"Yeah, are you okay?" Kyle asks me. I gave a thumbs up, trying to catch my breath. He raises my head off of his shoulder. At this point, I'm just hurting.
"I'm…okay," I replied, whispering. My voice sounded hoarse. "Just hurt… I'm just gonna give up on talking if that's fine,"
"That's fine, Stan," Wendy said.
"Yeah, don't push yourself," Majroine agreed.
"Yeah, dude," Craig said. Tweek just nodded. I laid my head on Kyle's shoulder again. I listen to the swarm of conversations happening around me. There's something I've noticed. I was already so happy to be near everyone, but now I'm more grateful that these people care about me. It's funny how you don't realize that until you attempt suicide. I felt like everything around me was moving, and I was the only thing staying still for the first time ever. I'm okay with that.
The rest of the day moved on, and I (embarrassingly) took a nap in the middle of it. Kyle reassured me that no one cared and that I needed rest, especially since I looked like I hadn't gotten any. Soon enough, everyone left, and Kyle and I were alone again. We both stay silent. I decided to tell him about what I was thinking about earlier. "Taking my life really made me realize how much people care," I said. He holds my hand.
"I wish it didn't take that for you to realize," he says. I can feel a whirlpool of emotions coming out. "I wish I could've saved you," he tears up. I wonder if he thinks I'm offended by this--if he does, then I am not. I'm glad he can talk to me. "I know it's selfish, but I wish I could've just held you until you felt better again. I wish...you didn't try to kill yourself,"
"Kyle, it is not your fault. It never was. I decided to make the dumb decision, and I chose to try and get away from you," I see him cry, which causes me to cry too. "I had a crazy, crazy dream last night,"
"What was it about?"
"My attempt was successful, and I saw you cry so much. It's horrifying how I just stood and watched you sob. You couldn't hear or see me. Then..." my voice starts to get muffled by my sobs. "Then you just shoot yourself," I look over at him. The funny thing about us both, he cry's silently, and I cry loudly...really loudly. So instead of talking, he just holds my hand tighter. Another funny thing, If laughing wasn't painful enough, crying makes me throb. So fucking much. "This is all so haunting. I'm sorry,"
"For what?" he asks.
"For doing this to you,"
"You didn't do anything," he whips his eyes. "I've just been worried sick. And look, I'm not upset anymore, okay? I'm feeling better because I know you're in a place people can take care of you, and I'm going to see you tomorrow, this time at your house, not a hospital,"
"... you're too nice to me...." I try to stop my sobbing but to no avail. "Look at me. I can't stop crying," he kisses my forehead.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't know. Normally I'd just cry until I can't anymore, but I really need to stop crying cause it just hurts so much,"
"I'm sorry," he starts placing small kisses all over my face. It makes me happy and sad. I really wanted to kill myself and lose him. I feel stupid, and goddamnit, this crying will probably be my death.
"I'm not even sad," I'm half lying. "I just don't know how to stop crying. You're so amazing and beautiful, and I love you so much,"
"I love you more. I have no clue how to help,"
"It's fine! Honestly. Again thank you for being here for me when I'm just a big, big stupid mess,"
"Well, you're my big, big stupid mess," he jokes, holding my head.
"Oh, shut it!"
"Aw, it's true, though!"
"Stop it," my cries slowly turn into laughter (which is painful but better than crying). Soon enough, I stopped crying. "Thank you,"
"Of course, Stan, I love you,"
"I love you too," I start feeling really sick. "Now, please get me a trash can. I think I'm going to throw up,"
"Yup!" He does what I ask, and I heave into the trash can. He just caresses my back gently. "No offense, but it's a little gross," I hurl, then respond.
"None taken,"
"Hang on, I'll get water," he left the room. I love him so much, and I'm happy he loves me--even when I puke in a bucket beside him. He returned with a cup of water, handed it to me, and I slowly drank it. "Do you still need the trash can?"
"Nope, I'll be good," he takes the trash can and sets it back where it was. He then sits next to me again. "Thanks, sorry for throwing up,"
"You're okay, Stan. You're the one who's in pain,"
"I love you,"
"I love you too," he smiles. I clear my throat. He giggles. "What?"
"I thought you'd kiss me?"
"Eh, you're kinda gross right now,"
"Hey!"
"Tomorrow,"
"Okay, again, I really, really love you. But,"
"But?"
"We've been together for nine months,"
"Nope, ten months,"
"Nine months!" I somewhat sing.
"I should've seen the Falsettos reference from a mile away,"
"Ah, but seriously you're amazing,”
“You are, too. Nothing in the world could make me think otherwise,”
“I love you. I know I may be bad at conveying it, but you make me feel so much better, and you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,”
“I love you too. You’ve completely turned my world upside down for the better, and nothing will make me any happier than when I am with you,”
“Thank you,”
“No, thank you,” we giggle a little. I drift to sleep in Kyle’s arms, and I’ve never felt safer. I love him, and he loves me. That’s all I could ask for.