Mike was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital, tapping his foot nervously. He kept glancing at his watch every fifteen seconds, agitated by how slow it was moving. They wouldn't let him see Jeremy yet, and he started to wonder if he would even get to see Jeremy at all. The doctors assured him that the kid would probably be fine… probably…
His head was in his hands now. He was trying to sooth the dull throbbing in his head, but the harder he tried, the worse it got. Just when the dull throbbing became sharp pounding, he heard a voice call his name.
"Mike Schmitz?"
He winced before looking up in that direction. The tall nurse behind the counter had been the one to say it.
"Mike Schmitz?" She repeated, scanning the room, looking for someone to respond.
He got up from his chair, and walked toward the counter. "That would be me."
The woman examined him for a moment as if taking something in, and then said, "The doctor said you can see," she looked down at her paper. "Jeremy Fitzgerald. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"Right this way."
She led him through a set of doors, and a mostly plain, white hallway, with the exception of some equipment and a couple of employees. Hospitals had always creeped him out, but he didn't really have too much focus to think about it with. She stopped and pointed to a door. Room fifteen.
"That would be the one." She said.
Mike mumbled a quick thanks, and went in. The room was small, white, and mostly empty. It felt just as eerie, and uncomfortable as the rest of the building, but he ignored it. There was an IV, heart monitor, a chair, and beside that, a bed. And on the bed, there was Jeremy. Laying there. Awake. There were other things in the room, too, but Mike hadn't really had the time to look at them yet. All that he could see was that Jeremy was awake, and My God, the weight of thousands of pounds of thick, heavy atmosphere just vanished.
He was awake. He was actually alive.
Mike continued to walk in, and seated himself in the seat next to the hospital bed. Jeremy looked at him, and sat up. He didn't say anything. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then again, what exactly could he say?
"Jeremy, you scared the shit out of me."
Jeremy looked down at the thin, cotton sheets laying over his lap. He looked guilty, and he looked like he was ready to break. The air became just as fragile as the sight. Jeremy's eyebrows were somewhat knitted together, and his breathing was off. Mike hesitated, wondering if it would be a good idea, before reaching out and grabbing his hand.
"I thought you said things have been better since you've been seeing your physiatrist."
Tears started running down Jeremy's face, and Mike's heart throbbed. It was like watching a car accident as a powerless bystander. He didn't know what he should do. He didn't know what he should say.
"She told me to do it." Said Jeremy. The sentence was dejected and strained.
"What!?"
" Sh-she told me to do it- she said I was hopeless-" Jeremy's tears came down harder, and he pulled his hand away from Mike's to wipe his face. "Sh-she told me 'maybe some people just were not meant for living.' and that I would 'just be better off' if I 'gave up.'"
Mike was shocked. He couldn't react. Nothing in his body would even allow him to think about reacting. Something inside of him had broken; something had stopped working. His mind had, to some extent, shut down. He felt numb, and his throat was raw.
"Shit-" The breathless word hadn't come from Mike, or Jeremy.
Mike looked up at the entrance of the room to see a tall, lean male with short, dark hair, dark eyes, and impossibly pale skin; out of breath, and clenching his side.
"Jeremy, holy fucking shit- I got here as fast as I could!" The stranger spat.
Jeremy, looking up at the man, looked like he couldn't believe, or didn't want to believe that he was there. "... Zack…?"
The name rung familiar to Mike's ears. He remembered Jeremy mentioning it a couple of times. Zack was a close friend of his.