Chapter 4 — Therapy
When awake, we're in control. Decisions are ours to make, leading us to their natural consequences. When asleep, there exists no such control. We have no control over our surroundings, thoughts, and actions. Only when dreams turn into nightmares, this lack of control becomes genuinely terrifying.
That night, Andrew's dreams took him to the day after he had lost his family. He was back in Steven and Marge's guest room, walls closing in around him. The silence was suffocating, the air thick with grief.
That damn fire.
Andrew couldn't get it out of his head. He had seen the pictures of his house, where he had grown up, in flames. His dad. His mom. Matthew. They had been trapped inside. They had burned alive.
Andrew imagined what their last moments must have been like. The screams of his family. He imagined Matthew's charred corpse in the rubble of his home. Tears streamed down his face.
Andrew ran to the bathroom to find something that could calm his nerves. He slammed the door behind him and stumbled inside, gripping the sink to steady himself. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Staring himself hard in the eyes, a thought crossed his mind.
Why is the world like this?
How could his whole family die in such a cruel way? It wasn't fair. A world that allowed this wasn't fair.
I don't want to live in this world anymore.
Andrew stared at his reflection, tears rolling down his face. His hands trembled against the cold porcelain. He wished it would all stop. He wished he could die. To maybe join his family, wherever they were. But he didn't know if he dared to do it.
Andrew jolted awake, heart pounding in his chest. The remnants of the nightmare clung to him like a heavy fog.
He stared at the ceiling for a while. Thirteen months had passed, yet the shame lingered. He could have just grieved like a normal person, but instead, he had caused a whole new torrent of drama.
Those days were still painful to think back to. Andrew was filled with regrets about it. And when Andrew tried to catch some much needed sleep, his mind played back every detail, as if to taunt him about his failures.
In the weeks after Andrew had lost his family, his mind spiraled increasingly out of control. As much as he willed himself not to, he kept imagining ways to end his life. One day, he'd stare out the window, eyes fixed on the pavement far below, contemplating the drop. Another day, he'd catch himself tracing the edge of a kitchen knife, the cold metal pressing into his skin.
Then one day, about two weeks after he lost his family, Andrew couldn't take it anymore. Sitting in Steven and Marge's guest bedroom, it felt like the walls were closing in on him. He needed air. Not even bothering to put on his shoes, Andrew ran out of the bedroom. He slammed the apartment door behind him and sprinted down the stairs. He had to get out of there. Away from the cramped place that was starting to feel like a prison. Away from... everything.
He needed space.
He dashed down the stairs and burst out of the front door. He didn't have a destination in mind. He felt the wind whip his hair, the sun warm his skin, the adrenaline pump his veins.
But he still felt hollow, all the same.
He ran as fast as he could through the familiar streets of Adelaide. They were haunted by memories. Andrew couldn't face them. He was running out of energy but still pushed his legs to keep moving. He just needed to escape as far as possible.
Andrew's legs were on fire. He was gasping for breath and his lungs were burning. He slowed down to a jog, then a walk.
Catching his breath, the world zoomed back into focus. Andrew was walking by a busy street. His mind was fixated on the cars that were zooming by. It had something... alluring.
All those days that Andrew had been thinking about suicide seemed to have rewired his brain. It was like a sixth sense. A sense that constantly scans the environment for opportunities. Suicide became a toy that Andrew's mind played with when bored. A toy with razor‑sharp edges.
Andrew swayed in his step, momentarily edging closer to the cars in the street. It created a rush of adrenaline. Amidst everything that felt numb, suddenly, something felt real.
Anxiety built up in Andrew's stomach. Thoughts flashed in his mind. Am I too weak to do it? Do I really want to? A million voices started screaming. And amidst those voices, the loudest voice just wanted it to be over.
Andrew's mind raced as he walked there. He focused intently on an oncoming car and... watched it flash by. Then another. And then, when he nearly gave up, he shut down all rational thought and threw himself onto the street.
After that, he remembered no more.
Beep... beep...
Beep... beep...
Andrew felt a sharp pain in his head as he opened his eyes. A bright light above him blinded him. He squinted and looked around.
Andrew tried to move his arms to shield his eyes, but he felt a jolt of pain in his limbs. He gasped and dropped his arms. Where was he? Why did he hurt so much?
His vision gradually adjusted. He saw a white ceiling with a fluorescent lamp. A machine next to him beeped. He smelled antiseptic and bleach. He was in a hospital. Something bad must have happened. But what?
Andrew tried to remember. There was a fire in his house. His mom, his dad, Matthew. All gone. A wave of grief and despair washed over him. The beeping machine sped up.
Andrew heard footsteps at the door. The door opened and a nurse in a white uniform walked in. She had short blond hair and a friendly face. Her name tag said ‘Chloe’.
“Good morning, Andrew,” Chloe said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
Andrew tried to answer, but his throat was sore and dry. Chloe took a water bottle from the bedside table and gave him a sip through a straw. Andrew tried to speak again. His voice sounded raspy.
“I've... been better,” he said. “Everything hurts when I move, and I feel dizzy. What happened?”
The machine beeped faster, mirroring Andrew's anxiety.
“Please, calm down,” Chloe said softly. “We can discuss what happened later. For now, it's most important that you rest.”
“The street,” Andrew suddenly remembered. “I remember running away from home. What happened there?”
Chloe nodded and said yes. “There was an accident, and you were hit by a car. You have a tear in your pelvic area. You need to stay with us for a while to recover.”
“How long have I been out?” Andrew asked.
“You blacked out after you were hit,” Chloe responded. “We took you to the hospital where we kept you in an artificial sleep for the night so you wouldn't hurt yourself if you woke up. So it has only been a single night.”
Andrew was confused. There was something odd about the words ‘so you wouldn't hurt yourself’ that the nurse had used. Getting hit by a car. Had he tried to... commit suicide? Chloe's face transitioned from a soft smile to a look of worry as Andrew's heart rate increased again.
“I'm going to leave you to recover now. You really need to rest. Try not to stress out, everything is okay.”
Chloe turned to leave. Andrew wanted to ask one more question before she left.
“Are Steven and Marge here?”
Chloe stopped at the door and looked back at him.
“Yes, they are,” Chloe said softly. “I think it's better if you rest before they come in. Try to calm down a bit. They will visit you in about half an hour.”
She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Andrew woke from a light sleep when Steven and Marge came in. Steven wore a forced smile, while Marge, on the other hand, didn't seem to be handling it very well.
“Hey, Andrew,” Steven said. “How are you feeling?”
Andrew was still trying to figure out what had happened. He had to ask some questions.
“I'm okay,” Andrew lied. “I just... don't understand what happened. Did anyone else get hurt in the accident?”
“The driver is fine,” said Steven. “Otherwise, it was just an accident. But now is probably not the time to discuss this.”
“I'm fine, really,” Andrew insisted. It wasn't true, but he needed to know more, or his mind would explode. “What do people think happened?”
“Oh, Andrew...” Marge interrupted before Steven could answer. “This is not the time to talk about this.”
Andrew didn't get an answer, but the message was clear.
“Don't worry,” Steven said. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Andrew nodded weakly as his head still ached. He knew it was a meaningless reassurance. Nothing would ever be okay again. Andrew had hit rock bottom. His family was gone. Everyone would now see him as someone fragile.
He had no future.
It had been a year ago. Since then, therapy sessions blurred together, medications dulled the edges, but the emptiness remained. Life moved on around him, but he was stuck in the moment his world shattered. He'd been alive, but there wasn't much to live for.
The Ordeals could be his way out. Somehow, he just couldn't get it off his mind.
As his thoughts drifted to The Ordeals, Andrew found himself standing in front of a crowd once again. He looked down at his waist, feeling with his hands for the gun that had been there before. Now, there was nothing. Across from him stood again the girl. He'd shot her. But now, it was her wielding the gun. She raised it and Andrew stared down the barrel. He closed his eyes and smiled. It was finally over.
With the sound of a gunshot filling his mind, Andrew shot awake. He checked the clock. 5:04AM. It seemed like a whole night of sleep wasn't happening again. Andrew got out of bed and sat down at his desk. Today, he'd have his session with Elene. Andrew had promised to write a page about something on his mind. Elene thought it would help with processing everything that had happened to him.
He started his computer. When the monitor lit up, it showed the familiar image of a blank page with a blinking black cursor. He had written precisely zero words. By afternoon, the page had to be filled. Andrew sighed. He probably couldn't get back to sleep anymore, so he'd better use the early morning to get some work done. He started thinking about what to write.
Suddenly, he got an idea that might provoke a response from Elene. Andrew felt inspiration trickle up inside him. While most of the city was still asleep, Andrew wrote.
As dawn broke, words filled the page. He saved the document, a mix of apprehension and resignation settling in.
Therapy was going to be interesting today.