Be My Saving Grace

By Rachel O'Rourke

This is a 2nd edition print of Be My Saving Grace, featuring a new chapter from Finn's POV.

'I'm not perfect, Finn. Far from it,' whispers Nickolas. 'Neither am I,' Finn admits. 'But I think that's what makes us perfect for each other.'

Nickolas never saw himself working as an orderly in a psychiatric treatment centr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel O
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9780975669419

Rachel O'Rourke

Rachel is a MM Romance author. She likes to write stories where her characters will have a few bumps in the road, the angst metre changing with each new book. Perhaps obstacles are preventing her characters from being together, or it could be that her characters are madly in love, but the world around them gets tipped upside down. This won't be the case for every book, but life isn't always a fairytale, as much as we wish it were, so why always write like it is? For as long as Rachel can remember, her dream was to one day walk into a bookstore and see her name printed on a book, sitting on a shelf, and to this day, she still can't believe that she has made that dream her reality.

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Be My Saving Grace

Be My Saving Grace

Copyright © 2024 by Rachel O'Rourke

Be My Saving Grace published by Rachel O'Rourke

Text and illustration copyright, Rachel O'Rourke, 2024.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or By any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage, in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by @WhatsaMattavich on Instagram

Images in this book are copyright-approved.

Illustrations within this book are copyright-approved

First Printing, 2023

Paperback ISBN: 9780975669402

eBook ISBN: 9780975669419

More great titles by Rachel O'Rourke can be found at

www.rachelorourke.com.au

Content Warning

By reading further, you, as the reader, are continuing with the understanding that not all possible triggers may have been

mentioned. The author and any who contributed to this work

cannot and will not be held accountable for a reader's actions, reactions, or state of mind after reading this book.

For further information, please scan the QR code for a list of possible content triggers.

Be My Saving Grace

Rachel O'Rourke

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This book is dedicated to anyone who is struggling with a mental illness and/or past trauma. I wrote this story in the hopes that it could help others see that there is always a light within the darkness, sometimes we just haven't found it yet.

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my wonderful husband who believed in my writing. Thank you to my small group of trusted friends who gave me honest feedback and support throughout the writing process, and most of all to a dear friend who shared her story about being hospitalised with Bipolar.

1. Tuesday

The screeching of his alarm assaults his eardrums, jolting his body awake and bringing him back to reality. He reaches out for his phone to shut the damn thing off, and fights the urge to throw it against the wall. That’s the old him. The adolescent who would use fists and rage to solve problems. These days, his body doesn’t have much room for anger. It’s filled with this numbness that gets him through his day-to-day routine. He wakes, goes to work, helps those that he can, and then comes home to his one-bedroom apartment, with his frozen meals, his bed that only needs to be made on the right-hand side every morning because the left side is as empty as he is, and of course his cat, Socks.

Nickolas lies on his back, looking at the cracks in his ceiling with the water damage from when the apartment above him flooded. He takes three deep breaths. In. Out. Closing his eyes, he wills – no – begs his body to take him back to his dream, where he was happy, laughing, and feeling like himself again. To take him back to the one person he ever loved, when things were good. The soft jingle of Sock’s bell distracts him from his thoughts and the tears lining his eyes. Gracefully, the cat jumps onto the bed, crawls alongside his body up to his neck, and nuzzles against his collarbone, purring good morning into his ear.

‘Hey, gorgeous,’ Nickolas mumbles. He scratches behind the cat’s ear, kissing the orange fur on her head, and smiles softly. ‘How’d you know I needed cuddles, hmm?’

Once again, ringing disturbs the silence of his lonely bedroom. Nickolas sits up and retrieves his phone. He rolls his eyes as he sees ‘work’ calling. He answers, using that polite tone of voice he uses only when he talks to anyone from work.

‘Hello?’

‘Nickolas, sorry, I know today is your day off, but, well, Jasmine came in this morning and hasn’t been able to stop throwing up, so we’re down a person. Do you think you can come in?’

Nickolas runs a hand down his face, his thumb and index finger pulling at his eyelids in the hopes that the pressure will wake him up enough to take on the day ahead, which looks nothing like the one he was originally planning. He coughs, clearing his voice, so he sounds sure of himself before he answers.

‘Sure, no problem. I’ll be there within the hour.’

‘You’re an angel, Nickolas.’

Nickolas scoffs. He thinks to himself how God must have a twisted sense of humour if angels can be put through hell.

‘Now, Dot, no use telling lies when there’s no one around to hear them.’

‘One day I’ll help you see your true value, Nykolai. One day you’ll understand that you do good – and that says a lot about the person you are.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He plays off her compliment. ‘I’ll see you shortly.’

He hangs up. Although he doesn’t believe a word Dot said, the tips of his ears feel hot. The red tinge that’s taken over his body from hearing words of praise compared to the words of disgust and hate he is so used to hearing is still an adjustment for him. Nickolas clears the three missed calls; he was so deeply lost in the nightmare that it took more than one phone call to wake him. Socks is curled up on his pillow, taking advantage of the warmth it radiates, which has settled the cat back to sleep.

‘What a life.’ Nickolas shakes his head and gets up.

Luckily, he showered before going to bed last night, saving him time so he can get to work within the hour he promised. He turns the coffee machine on while he makes toast. Since his dream has left him unsettled, Nickolas doesn’t want to risk eating a big meal with the queasiness in his stomach. He grabs a few muesli bars from the cupboard and chucks them in his backpack along with a yoghurt from the fridge, a frozen spaghetti and meatball meal, and a bottle of water. He figures if he gets hungry, he’s sure Dot will have a plate of homemade cookies sitting in the break room that he can pick from throughout his shift. He fills up his travel mug with fresh coffee and sets it on the island with his keys and backpack. Grabbing a fresh uniform from his wardrobe, thankful that he did the laundry yesterday and didn’t leave it for today, he dresses in black, knee-ripped jeans, a blue fitted t-shirt, and his Timberlands. Nickolas throws his uniform in his backpack and makes his way toward the door.

‘Shit, almost forgot.’

He rushes back to the kitchen, grabs the cat treats and fills Socks’s bowl, knowing that his cat will go to it after she’s taken full advantage of the late morning sun.

Nickolas heads out, making sure his door is locked behind him, and takes the two flights of stairs down to the lobby. The building’s rickety old elevator has trapped more people in it than it has delivered them to their floors.

He walks around the back of his apartment, where his Buick is parked. It’s not much; it’s barely worth anything if someone were to steal it to sell or strip it for parts, but it’s enough to get him from A to B. In the South Side, that’s all he needs. Nickolas jumps in and is surprised that the engine starts on the first try. He navigates his way through traffic as if he owns the road. He’s made this journey hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. He knows every route available that will get him to the psychiatric treatment centre where he works.

The car may run, but the heating shoots out more cold air than warm. The two back windows won’t roll down, and the radio hasn’t worked in over a year. But he loves it. It’s his, bought with his own money that he worked for, that he earned.

The time on the dashboard clock says he’s arrived within the hour, as he promised Dot. Nickolas scans his ID at the boom gate, so it lifts, allowing him to park around back. He takes his backpack and coffee, glad to see it’s still hot, and walks towards the entrance.

The sun is shining down on Nickolas, trying to warm him from the outside in and fill that cold void that lives inside of him. Squinting, he walks towards the automatic doors that separate him from the world where the wind blows through his hair and onto his face, a world where the sky is blue, the leaves on the trees are green and the sounds of people talking, cars honking and children laughing can fill his ears. He leaves that world and steps into a different one, one designed to be monitored, controlled, and assessed. This world consists of bars on the windows, reducing the sunlight to a mere shadow on the wall. The air smells of disinfectant, and the only breeze is the recycled air coming through the ceiling ducts. In this world, the floors are blue, the walls are a light grey, and the ceiling is white. Nickolas has come to learn that two things can happen in this world: either the sick come to heal or they come to die. The decision is always up to them. It’s the only power they are left with when they are admitted, and for most, it’s a power their minds are too weak to handle.

Nickolas’s eyes adjust from the golden sun to the fluorescent lights. Both are just as bright as each other, but his eyes are more comfortable with the one that’s man-made. Nickolas heads to the front desk, ignoring the anxious family members sitting in the dark blue plastic chairs, picking away at their cuticles, or pacing the four-by-four room. He turns to look through the mesh gate that blocks off a corridor that separates the patients from the world. It’s currently empty. He casts his eyes away from the hauntingly quiet corridor and looks at the reception desk in front of him. He taps on the glass, grabbing the attention of Darren behind the desk.

‘Hey, Nickolas. I thought you had today off?’ Darren’s chipper voice comes through the glass.

So did I. But I hate letting Dot down, and she knows it. ‘Well, since you’re sitting at reception, you’d know that Jasmine went home sick.’

‘I wonder why they call it morning sickness when it’s more like a constant sickness.’

‘Wouldn’t know, man. Not my level of expertise.’

‘Right, of course. Women, gross.’

Nickolas scratches his eyebrow. The brass knuckle tattooed on his left index finger reflects in the glass. He can’t blame the guy for trying to strike up a conversation with him, but Nickolas believes there are two types of gays in this world. There are those like Darren, whose voice is a little too high, who acts like he’s everybody’s best friend, especially if they are women, and who looks as though he’d break if he did anything more than ‘make love’. Then there are people like himself, a guy whose voice is rough enough to make everything sound like a threat, who hates socialising and doesn’t even want to know the name of the guy whose hard dick is in his ass, fucking him rough without having to check-in mid-fuck to see if it’s ‘too much’. It’s been so long since Nickolas has had a good pounding, or even given one, that he considers taking Darren up on that drink he’s always trying to buy him. If he gets drunk enough, he could easily bend Darren over and be done with it. Suddenly the fog clears as he looks down at his colleague, and Nickolas realises he’d rather stick to his hand and anal beads than go down that path.

‘Darren.’

‘Yes, Nickolas?’

‘Open the door.’

‘Oh, right, duh.’ Darren rolls his eyes and points at his head as he tilts it from side to side. ‘Oops. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I should be in here with the patients.’ Darren smiles at him.

Nickolas doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t even smile. This job and their patients aren’t a laughing matter.

The buzzer goes off, indicating that the lock is disabled on the door that leads to the employee area. In his peripheral vision, Darren gives him a wave, but Nickolas pretends like he didn’t see him. These patients are people. They have lives that need to be lived with family and friends who love them. Instead, they are being locked up, medicated, tested, and assessed like lab rats. Nickolas hates it here, but for some, it helps. For some, they are lucky enough to leave and live out the rest of their lives. Those patients are the success stories that get him through, knowing he has helped make a difference. He walks around the corner and makes his way towards the lockers to drop off his bag and change into his uniform. They used to be able to wear their own clothes from home, but the patients couldn’t handle the constant change and had trouble differentiating between those visiting and those working, so in the end, uniforms were put in place. It’s not so much the uniform itself that Nickolas hates; it’s more the fact that it’s purple. He feels like a giant eggplant, and the last thing he wants is to be sending those vibes to people, especially Darren, who isn’t getting anywhere near his eggplant. Thankfully, he can still wear his Timberlands. The rules state that as long as there are no open toes or heels, any shoe is permitted.

He pulls his t-shirt off and throws the purple top over his head.

‘I didn’t know you had more tattoos.’

Nickolas pulls his top down.

‘That’s because you’re not meant to know. In case you haven’t noticed, Darren, this is a change room. My tattoos are on a part of my body no one sees unless I want them to.’ He replies gruffly, already losing patience with this conversation.

‘Alright, calm down. Don’t have to bite my head off.’ Darren holds his hands up in surrender.

‘At least your knuckle ones make you look like a badass. I’m sure it comes in handy with some patients.’

Nickolas slams his locker door shut, hoping the loud bang is enough of a warning for Darren. He has considered getting his knuckle tattoos covered up. They’re from his old life, one of hatred and violence. He doesn’t want that seeping through while he works towards helping people heal. But they are also a reminder of the world he walked out on. A world that made him feel trapped and lost. He fought to survive. Not just physically, but mentally too. These tattoos are his form of battle scars, and he wears them with pride as he watches those around him fight battles tougher than any he has ever been dealt.

‘Did you want something?’ Nickolas sighs.

‘Oh, right. Dorothy is looking for you. She’s in room six.’

Nickolas nods and walks out, making sure to slip past Darren without any form of body contact. He walks down the corridor, stopping in the break room where he takes one last sip of his coffee before he leaves it on the table. He scans his key card at the end of the corridor. A door opens up to the fifteen patient rooms. At the next checkpoint, he scans his key card again and steps into the common room. His eyes roam the room quickly, making sure everything is running smoothly. A few patients are sitting in the room, while others are standing near the door to the dining area, anxiously waiting to be let in. A lot of these patients benefit from routine. For some, that can be as simple as eating, sleeping and socialising at set times during the day. This routine also includes scheduled appointments with their doctors and therapists. For others, it means sitting at the same seat at the same table for every meal. It means watching the same show on TV each day, never once missing an episode. Pleased with what he sees, Nickolas exits and makes his way toward room six, knocking before he lets himself in. It’s a courtesy, but not one they always implement. These rooms are nothing but a place for each patient to sleep; Nickolas and all the other staff have the power to enter whenever they like. It keeps the patients on their toes, reminding them that there are always people around watching them, monitoring them.

Dorothy looks up as Nickolas enters the room. The bed has been stripped, and all remnants of the previous patient are now gone.

‘Where’s Sarah?’ He questions.

‘Her parents picked her up this morning.’ Dorothy explains.

‘Early release?’

‘They saw the progress she was making and knew being away from family was hard on her, so they signed her out.’

Nickolas liked Sarah. Unfortunately, this patient was in a constant battle between the body and the mind. Sarah had been in and out of hospitals while suffering from an eating disorder, spent two years having her weight monitored, attended group therapy, and, at one stage, needed to be tube fed. It can be sad at times to see a patient he has bonded with leave, but not seeing them every day at work means they survived. They fought their demons and made it out.

‘I’m proud of her. Hopefully, we don’t see her back here.’

‘She left you this.’ He takes the cup of pudding from Dot’s hand and smiles.

Over time, through the many conversations they shared, Nickolas learned that chocolate pudding was Sarah’s favourite food; however, the fear of gaining weight steered her away from it. So, on nights while he was making the rounds, noticing that Sarah couldn’t sleep, he’d knock at her door with a pudding cup for them both, not making a fuss when she refused to eat, though happy to have someone to talk to as Nickolas ate his own.

‘Her favourite.’ Nickolas smiles at the token Sarah left behind.

When patients couldn’t sleep, protocol stated that they were to be sedated, a thrill that Brett, one of the other orderlies, enjoyed all too well. Nickolas, however, preferred to offer an ear rather than an injection. Eventually, over time, as Nickolas listened to Sarah’s thoughts and fears, she began to push her limits by accepting the second pudding cup he would bring just for her, trying not to draw attention to her progress as she went from only tasting the dipped end of her spoon to eventually eating the entire cup.

‘You got through to her like no other doctor or orderly ever could.’

Nickolas throws the pudding cup in the air and catches it. ‘Just doing my job, Dot.’

‘If I recall, your job doesn’t stipulate sharing pudding during lights out.’

Nickolas thumbs his bottom lip, unaware she knew.

‘Please. If I thought what you were doing was wrong, I would have put a stop to it long ago. Sure, it’s not protocol, but sometimes we need to blur the lines to suit the needs of each individual. We follow a book of rules that don’t always get through to some of these patients. You saw that. Not some doctor or a therapist, you.’ Dot gives him a warm, motherly smile.

Nickolas coughs, pushing back any memories or emotions threatening to come to the surface.

‘You probably saw a family waiting when you arrived – this room will be for their daughter, who they’re admitting today.’

Nickolas nods, remembering the anxious parents pacing the waiting room.

‘Anyway, as you know, Jasmine won’t be in for the rest of the day, and Eric has called in sick, so I’m going to need you to work the night shift tonight also.’

‘You’re aware I’m scheduled to work the day shift tomorrow, right?’

‘If all is quiet, take a nap in the break room. Sam will be working, as always, and Lydia can do most of the work. We just need the extra staff member on hand.’

‘You know, if anyone else had asked, I would have told them to fu—’ He stops himself from swearing. He can’t, not in front of Dot. It just doesn’t seem right.

‘I know, honey. That’s why I made sure to ask you and not have the others do it.’

Nickolas shakes his head as he leaves. In the common room, a couple of patients are painting near the window, some are playing ping pong while a few others are enjoying reruns of the Looney Tunes on the TV. He knows Brett must have chosen the channel since he recalls overhearing his colleague make a comment in the break room about Looney Tunes being a show fit for a bunch of looney patients. As if Nickolas has summoned the devil with his thoughts, Brett walks in from the dining room and makes his way over to the patients painting trees that they can see outside. Brett gives Nickolas a nod of recognition rather than an actual hello.

‘Wow.’ Brett’s tone sounds more shocked than amazed. ‘No wonder you’re in here. If that’s what you think a tree looks like, you must be crazy.’

Nickolas clenches his fists, pushing the anger down. Words are more powerful; that’s what she had always told him. He walks up to Brett and decides to give this using your words thing a go, even if his fists are itching for blood.

‘Brett. You think that’s appropriate to say to our patients?’

Brett crosses his arms and looks towards Nickolas, standing tall to try and use it to intimidate him.

‘You got a problem with how I do things around here, Nickolas?’

‘These people, kids, they came here for help.’

‘Some of them are long past help. Isn’t that right, Hyde, or is it Jekyll?’

Brett uncrosses his arms and gives Ethan a pat on the back while chuckling at his inappropriate joke. The force from the pat pushes Ethan forward in his chair. Ethan is a patient who was diagnosed with DID, otherwise known as dissociative identity disorder or split personality disorder. Ethan is currently medicated to the point where the room would look like a spinning world of butterflies and rainbows. Ethan’s head falls, his chin now resting against his chest.

As Brett takes a step towards Nickolas, his cocky smile drops along with his voice. ‘You know, Nickolas. If you can’t handle the way things are done around here, maybe you aren’t cut out for this job. We’re not here to be their friends and not everyone can be saved. You’d know that better than anyone.’ The taller man pushes past and nudges Nickolas’s shoulder as he walks away.

‘Okay. Who’s ready for lunch?’ Brett calls out as he begins to usher people into the dining area. Nickolas pulls himself together and moves to help patients who need assistance to stand and walk towards a table to eat.

*

After lunch, Nickolas takes the patients who aren’t involved in the group therapy session back to their rooms, while the others take a seat in the common room. The therapists believe the group sessions work better in an environment where the patients are all comfortable sharing with one another, leaving the offices strictly for one-on-one sessions. Besides its location, that’s all Nickolas knows about what goes on in those sessions. His job as an orderly is to assist the patients. That means he delivers the medication that the therapists prescribe and the doctors administer. He watches over them to make sure they are comfortable and not causing harm to themselves or those around them, which also means during their scheduled shower times, and hourly checks during the night. He helps them from one room to another if their medication is making them drowsy or if they are too weak to support themselves, along with chaperoning them to the therapist’s office when they have a one-on-one appointment. In no way does his job impact the treatment these patients are receiving, but to these patients, he is a familiar face – a person who can make it seem not so lonely in a world that has them cut off from everything and sometimes everyone. Some of these patients never have family visit them, only coming to collect them when treatment is complete. Others are lucky to have the regular weekly visit that is scheduled every Sunday afternoon between two and four.

He always works on Sunday. He likes to be there for the patients who aren’t lucky enough to be graced with a visitor. Someone who checks in and reminds them that people care about their progress and treatment, or who asks them questions about their day-to-day lives to show they’re interested. Sundays are when he feels as though he is helping the most. The days he sees some of the patients smile for the first time or talk outside of their therapy sessions. It’s the day that Dot doesn’t ask Nickolas to help with stripping the beds or handling the intake of a new patient because she knows the two hours of interaction Nickolas can share with the patients is helping him just as much as it’s helping them.

The day is easy, calm. But a good day today could mean hell tomorrow. The mind is the most unpredictable part of the human body, and it has control over everything a person does and feels. Nickolas watches Wheel of Fortune with Ryder and Cora, calling out the wrong answers even when he knows the right one. They get more entertainment from his guesses than they do from actually solving the puzzle and for a moment, as he laughs along with them both, he doesn’t feel so numb inside.

He goes to everyone’s room and strips the beds, replacing them with new sheets, and then returns the bin of dirty linen to the laundry room to be dealt with by the cleaning staff. He wheels out a trolley of books for those who wish to grab one to read or swap over the one they have finished.

After the dinner rush, Nickolas watches over the male patients while they have their allocated time in the communal showers. His eyes never wander. He looks past their naked forms and sees the patients for who they are: human beings. People in this world already prey on those most vulnerable. The stories he has heard from patients who have walked through these doors have made him sick to his stomach. This place is meant to be a safe space for them. A place to heal. When time is up, the patients change into fresh sweatpants, slippers, and a green t-shirt, and he escorts them to their rooms to settle in before lights out.

*

Nickolas is at the front desk when Darren walks through the corridor and stands at the threshold behind him.

‘I’m done. I swear the afternoon shift feels like it drags on for-ev-er,’ says Darren.

Nickolas rolls his eyes at the way his colleague drags out the word. He turns around and suddenly wishes he hadn’t. Darren has changed out of his purple uniform and into white skinny-leg jeans and a floral pink-and-blue t-shirt.

The colour of the shirt hurts Nickolas’s eyes, and with jeans that tight, someone needs to tell Darren he doesn’t have any assets worth showing off.

Nickolas doesn’t respond. He continues to check off the names in the binder against the cups of medication on the cart beside him, making sure each patient is accounted for.

‘Jesus, Darren. That a woman’s shirt?’ Brett walks around the corner, looking relieved to be finished with his shift.

‘No, Brett. It’s called fashion. You should try it sometime,’ Darren says, sing-song.

‘No thanks. Don’t need no queer sniffing around my ass.’

Nickolas claps the binder shut. ‘Hey, fuckface. Even if you were begging for it, no guy would go anywhere near your ass or that pin-dick of yours. So why don’t you scurry off home and jerk off while crying because your hand is the only action you’ll be seeing anytime soon.’

Brett pushes past Darren toward Nickolas, both their chests out like two alphas ready to fight for their pack. Nickolas ignores the small laugh that escapes Darren’s lips, assumedly at the way Brett opens his mouth with a comeback but fails to deliver. The automatic doors slide open, and Sam walks through to start his night shift.

‘Everything alright here, boys?’ Sam is like the wise old owl. The man’s been working at the centre as long as Dot and has enough stories to make someone question the practice of medicine. Although the silver fox doesn’t have his youth, he still has enough authority to make Nickolas and Brett step down and slowly walk away.

‘Yeah. Brett here was just leaving.’ Nickolas presses the button to release the lock on the door, allowing Brett to walk out and Sam to walk in.

Darren takes the door so it doesn’t close behind Sam, and turns towards Nickolas. ‘The day you two finally fight it out, I’m going to need a cold shower.’

Nickolas quickly scans the room to make sure no one is around and then gives Darren the finger as the smaller man exits.

Darren laughs.

Nickolas doesn’t watch him leave, even though he knows Darren wants him to.

He waits for Sam to change and come back to the desk before he sets off with the medication. The patients have an hour left to relax in their rooms. As he’s about to leave, the automatic doors open, and he raises his eyebrows as Lydia rushes in, quickly tying her hair up into a bun.

‘I know, I know. I was studying, and then I fell asleep and if it wasn’t for my mum calling me to remind me about our lunch date tomorrow, I would totally have slept through. But I’m here, and—’ The strawberry blonde catches her breath. ‘You’re not Sam.’

‘No shit. Was it the lack of grey hair that set you off, or the knuckle tattoos? I keep telling Sam it’s never too late to get some ink.’ Nickolas buzzes Lydia in. ‘He and Dorothy are out back. If you hurry, I’ll just say you were here and, in the bathroom, or some shit.’

‘Thank you. I owe you.’ Lydia dashes to the bathrooms to change.

‘I saw that, Nykolai. Like I said, angel.’

Nickolas groans as Dot uses his birth name.

‘Isn’t it past your bedtime?’ Nickolas teases.

‘That it is. But I just wanted to make sure you were sorted for the night before I left.’

‘Dot, this isn’t my first night shift or my first triple.’

‘I know. But today was meant to be your day off so—’

‘JESSICA, NO! PLEASE! DON’T MAKE ME STAY HERE, PLEASE!’

Dot and Nickolas turn towards the automatic doors as a woman pushes through. She’s a little older than him, and he can see that she’s holding on tightly to the wrist of a kid who has seen better days. Nickolas takes in the way the kid’s clothes are hanging off his body, which to anyone else may be mistaken for the wrong size, but Nickolas can spot the signs of a malnourished body the way a trained dog can sniff out drugs. The kid’s eyes are dark around the outside, his cheekbones are slightly hollow, his waist narrow, and his pants are barely holding up.

‘Finn. I promise everything will be okay.’ Jessica tries to speak calmly.

‘No. I’ll go back on my meds. I’ll, I’ll— just please don’t leave me here.’

Another guy comes running in with a bag, looking the same age as Nickolas, with slightly wavy brown hair; neither of them matches the deep, fiery red hair Finn has. If it wasn’t for the heated commotion, Nickolas would have smiled at the way this guy’s hair reminded him of Socks’ ginger fur.

‘JAKE! JAKE! You tell her. Tell her I’ll get better. I’ll be better,’ Finn begs the guy standing beside him.

‘Finn. It’s okay. This is for your own good,’ Jake reassures him.

Finn curls into himself. Nickolas can only assume he’s trying to turn his body into dead weight, a tactic he is all too familiar with. Nickolas and Dorothy wait, without judgement, watching as Jake tries to bring Finn closer towards the front desk, while Jessica steps forward, moving away from the two men.

‘Hi. Jessica Cunningham. I called earlier.’

Nickolas has no idea what she is talking about. To his right, Jake is whispering into Finn’s ear. Finn’s body relaxes, nodding along to what is being said to him as tears stream down his face.

‘Jessica, yes. Sorry, we expected you earlier.’ Dot takes some paperwork out and puts it on a clipboard before passing it through the gap at the bottom of the glass divider.

‘I know, sorry. We had some…delays.’

‘I understand. Is this your brother?’

‘Yes.’ Jessica looks over her shoulder. The woman is holding back tears, trying to stay strong while her brother breaks down in the middle of the room. The question is, are those tears for Finn or herself? It’s never easy admitting a loved one, even if it’s for their own safety. He would know.

Finn willingly walks towards the desk, his steps slow and calculated. Nickolas watches as Finn clasps his shaking hands together, and places them in front of him on the desk. Finn stands beside his sister, while Jake puts an arm around Finn’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dot takes the paperwork back from Jessica and glances at it before passing it over to Nickolas.

‘Do you know what medication he was prescribed?’ Dot politely asks.

‘Yes. But he hasn’t been on them for the last six months.’ Jessica retrieves a piece of paper from her handbag and slips it through the gap. Nickolas waits as Dot reads over the list, then passes it to him to attach to Finn’s paperwork.

‘It may all change. Tomorrow during his evaluation, the therapist and doctor will decide how they’d like to proceed.’

Nickolas assesses Finn’s paperwork and reads over the diagnoses. Bipolar disorder. Checking Finn’s date of birth, he confirms the kid is barely eighteen years old. Nickolas’s heart drops at the thought of this poor kid, diagnosed with a mental disorder at seventeen. One that can make a person feel like everything they once knew about themselves is a lie.

‘Finn Cunningham,’ Dot addresses Finn directly.

Nickolas raises his head as Finn lifts his. Although Finn is looking toward Dot, his eyes still don’t meet hers.

‘As you are eighteen years of age, your family cannot admit you against your will.’

Finn’s eyes connect with Dot’s, hope flashing across his face until he sees that Jessica and Jake are still looking at him with sadness in their eyes.

‘However, your sister here has acquired a certificate for an emergency admission, signed by the doctor who diagnosed you with bipolar disorder. This means that you’ll—’

‘Wait! Is that why you took me to the clinic today? Not to get my meds, but to get me analysed so you can lock me up?! Hand me over to someone else so I’m no longer your problem?!’ Finn’s sadness slips away as anger rapidly takes its place. Mood swings: a common trait with BP and one that is more prominent when unmedicated.

‘Finn, listen to me—’ Jessica tries to reason with her brother.

‘All I’ve ever done is listen to you. But when have you ever listened to me? Listened to my needs.’

Nickolas presses the buzzer to open the door, preparing to step in if Finn’s anger turns aggressive. He walks around the front desk as Finn makes a lunge at his sister and pushes Jessica up against the wall. The woman doesn’t look scared, just shocked. Jake tries to talk Finn down, talk some reason into the fiery redhead, but it’s useless. Nickolas gets behind Finn and grabs his arms. The sudden contact has Finn resisting, not wanting to be touched or pulled away from the threat he sees in Jessica. Locking Finn’s arms behind his back,

Nickolas slowly walks Finn away, putting space between the brother and sister.

‘Hey, calm down,’ Nickolas warns him.

‘Get off me. Don’t touch me.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you. It’s okay. I’m here to help.’

Nickolas keeps his voice calm, soft.

‘Fuck off! You’re lying. No one ever wants to help. You just want to get rid of me.’ Finn’s eyes meet Jessica’s with his last statement.

‘Nickolas, take him to room thirteen – it’s ready,’ Dorothy instructs.

‘Wait, but that’s—’

‘I know. It’s all we have available.’

The buzzer goes off, opening the door within the mesh fence. Nickolas takes a deep breath and begins to walk backwards. Nickolas tightens his grip as Finn drags his feet, desperate cries of protest escaping his mouth. It’s a last-ditch effort to prevent the inevitable. As difficult as it is, Nickolas uses his strength to overpower Finn, continuing their path down the corridor towards the patient rooms. He thinks of other patients, having to overhear the struggle outside their doors. Generally, when a patient is this fired up and is resisting, an orderly would inject them with a sedative. Personally, Nickolas likes to keep that option as a last resort. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work that way.

‘Get your fucking hands off me. That’s all you assholes want to do, touch me. Let me go!’

Nickolas reaches the room and is thankful that the door is already open. He takes another deep breath in and presses his chest to Finn’s back, using the grip on Finn’s arms to lift him slightly off the floor and over the threshold. Nickolas makes a note of how easy Finn is to lift and, considering Finn is at least half a foot taller than him, it should not be that simple. The bed is in the middle of the room and Nickolas can see the restraints attached to the small metal frame. Dorothy must have set them up after Jessica had called through, not sure what state Finn would be arriving in.

‘Finn. You need to calm down. I’d rather do this the easy way than the hard way and the only person that decides which way this goes is you.’ Nickolas stays calm. Although the fight in Finn is frustrating, he knows tone is important, and getting himself worked up just as much as Finn will benefit no one.

‘You’re just like the rest of them. You don’t want to help me.’

Finn throws his head back and knocks Nickolas in the nose. The force throws Nickolas off balance, but thankfully he doesn’t feel any blood dripping down his mouth. All hope of calming Finn down with words is lost; force is now Nickolas’s only option. He pushes forward, connecting Finn’s legs to the side of the bed. With his right leg, he presses against the back of Finn’s knees, causing them to naturally buckle forward. Finn’s chest falls onto the mattress.

He pulls Finn’s left arm above his head and straps his wrist into the leather restraint. Nickolas hates how quickly he can buckle the strap, a sign of how frequently he has had to use them in his time working here. Finn kicks out as Nickolas spins his body around, so he is lying on his back, no doubt hoping that those kicks will make contact. Nickolas quickly makes it around to the other side of the bed and grabs Finn’s right wrist before he can try to unbuckle himself. Finn’s body starts to convulse in the hope that the constant struggle and jolts will loosen his arm from Nickolas’s grip. Nickolas pulls at Finn’s right arm, grabs the restraint, and connects it within ten seconds of getting it around Finn’s wrist.

Nickolas stands back to catch his breath, watching as Finn kicks around on the bed, pulling at the restraints. Nickolas closes his eyes for a moment, the sight of Finn lying on this bed, the same bed that—

No, he can’t go there. Nickolas opens his eyes. He looks down at Finn, the fight slowly fading, tears once again appearing in the redhead’s piercing forest green eyes.

‘Please. Please don’t leave me like this. I promise, I’ll do anything you ask.’

‘Finn, I’m sorry. They’re for your own safety. Just rest and in the morning, things will be better.’

‘Please—’

Nickolas can see Finn’s eyes searching his body for some form of identification.

‘Nickolas. M’ name’s Nickolas.’

‘Nickolas.’ Finn swallows. ‘Please, just, loosen them a little. They’re really tight.’

He has heard it all before. Promising to behave, to not do anything stupid or harmful. Requests to make the straps looser.

‘Finn, it’s only temporary. I’d rather not have to sedate you so please, try and rest.’

‘Fuck you!’

Finn once again begins to pull and thrash around. Nickolas slowly slips out of the room, closing the door behind him, the automatic lock setting in place. He runs his hand down his face and covers his mouth, trying not to let what happened affect him. No matter how hard he tries, Nickolas somehow ends up leaving a small piece of himself with every patient he deals with. He knows he shouldn’t, that connecting with them in any way can be dangerous, but mostly it’s because he knows one day he’ll end up with nothing left of himself to give. That thought scares Nickolas more than anything else. He walks away from the room, blocking out the cries of Finn’s demands and protests, and makes his way back towards Dot.

His boss is still talking with Finn’s family. Jake’s arm is around his sister’s shoulder and Jessica is leaning into the brotherly touch. She turns towards Nickolas as Dot buzzes the door open for him to walk back through. All eyes are on him as he makes his way towards the desk.

‘Is he okay?’ asks Jessica.

He can tell the sister’s concern is sincere. This is a family that genuinely cares about the safety and wellbeing of their loved one.

‘He seemed scared. For his own safety, I had to restrain him to the bed but that will only be for the night.’

Jessica covers her eyes with her trembling hands and tilts her head up to the ceiling.

‘Hey. He’ll understand. Once he is back on his meds, he’ll understand why we had to do this,’ Jake explains as he rubs his hand up and down Jessica’s shoulder.

Jessica wipes her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair. ‘I know.’ She sniffs and wipes at her nose. ‘When can we visit him?’ she asks as she turns back towards Dorothy.

‘Visiting hours are Sunday afternoon between two and four.’

‘That’s five days from now. No. No, he’ll think we’ve

abandoned him.’

‘I’m sorry. Those are the rules.’

‘Can we at least call? Find out how he’s going?’

‘Yes. You can speak to myself or Nickolas here. If we’re available, we can give you a brief update, but anything Finn discusses with the doctor or therapist will of course be

confidential, and up to him to discuss further with you.’

Nickolas doesn’t miss the way Jake’s eyes scan over his body, stopping at his knuckle tattoos and tough-guy exterior. He gets it. With the way he presents himself, he’d be wary of leaving someone he loves in the care of someone who looks like him too. This version of himself, who he is now, lets it slide.