All it took was one question and a painkiller-induced answer for Evan to end up in the position he was in now.
He silently cursed himself for being so careless, especially when his cover-up story was impeccable. He was certain that he'd be able to keep up the "falling out of a tree" facade until this stint had been long forgotten. Of course, the administration of oxycodone combined with an anxiety attack and a skeptical nurse led to Evan being questioned as to whether he'd truly fallen or if he'd simply let go. Through his sobs and hazed mind, he'd managed to recount the entire story of his suicide attempt in graphic detail.
The newly acquired information qualified Evan for a psychiatric consult.
Evan tried desperately to lie through the grit of his teeth but soon realized the difficulty of making it out of the hospital without admittance to its psychiatric wing was only amplified by a quick call to his therapist and the red, pink, and white scars littering his thighs and unbroken arm.
He quickly learned that his attempt at painting himself as mentally stable was futile and that he'd be moved to the psychiatric ward the second his doctor cleared his psychical state as stable.
The last thing he saw was his mother falling to her knees and sobbing whilst a nurse wheeled the young boy away from the orthopedics unit and towards the elevator that would take him down to his new temporary home.
In reality, the elevator ride was almost silent, the only sounds being his labored breathing and quiet sobs. To Evan, it couldn't have been louder.
He was greeted by an overly happy mental health nurse and a sinking feeling of regret settling in his stomach.
This situation was so preventable and yet he was still in it, talk about being a failure. A failed suicide attempt and a failed cover-up story, Evan really couldn't do anything right.
Similar self-deprecating thoughts flooded Evan's anxious mind as he sat on the floor and removed the laces from his shoes, his watch, and handed over all other excess objects with the reassurance that his mother would bring him clothes and necessities that would be checked for anything that posed as potentially harmful and then delivered to him within the next three days.
The same personable nurse from before gave him a hand up off the floor and they embarked on a tour of the ward.
Evan attempted to drown out the sound of his nurse's high pitched voice and the concerning number of crying patients and instead focus on the scraping sound of his laceless shoes on the hard vinyl floors.
He felt the most intense fear that he had felt in his entire life as he unwillingly trudged along before remembering the look on his broken mother's face when she learned what he'd done.
He quickly stiffened. He wanted to be here, he wanted to get better.
The nurse led him down another corridor.
"This is your room, your roommate should be in there." She explained with a smile as she motioned towards an open white door.
Evan walked in and locked eyes with the figure perched on the edge of the bed.
The tall boy was dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans that hung off his loose frame. His long dark hair hung in his pain filled eyes as he drew furiously in a sketchbook. The boy had obviously been through a lot and Evan's heart ached for him.
"Connor." The boy stated with a nod towards Evan, pausing to look up at the boy.
Evan's stomach did flips.
The taller boy gave another nod and proceed to go back to his artwork.
Well, at least there was one outcome of today's events that Evan definitely did not regret.