16.

“We found traces of prescription sedatives in your blood samples Michael, sedatives that you were prescribed with for anxiety attacks in December of 2006, is that not true?”

You nod your head.

“We also found traces of painkillers. Painkillers which you were prescribed with in June this year. Can you remember when you took these Michael?”

“No,” You whisper, “I didn’t take anything.”

“Michael we’ve been here all day, I’m sure you’re getting tired as well. If you just cooperate we can perhaps find a solution to your troubles. Now, you took these sedatives because you were feeling anxious or because you wanted to numb your feelings, is that not true?”

“I didn’t take the fucking things,” You hiss.

“Mike, calm down,” Brad whispers from where he sits beside you, “She’s just trying to help you piece things together.”

“Chester Bennington says you became aggressive during the night of June twenty eighth, your first night in his care - he says he came downstairs to find you in his kitchen taking a handful of these pills.”

“That’s bullshit,” You whisper, “I didn’t take anything.”

“Then why are there traces showing up in your blood Michael?”

You shrug.

“Look this could all be made a lot simpler if you just told the truth. What’s happened has happened and…”

“I don’t know what happened,” You hiss, “I don’t know what he did to me.”

“You don’t know? A few moments ago you claimed Chester had, at some point during your stay with him, drugged you and repeatedly raped you. Though Michael, a full rape kit was used to examine you and we found no trace of Mr. Bennington’s bodily fluids inside you and no full proof that there was any sort of force made…”

“He fucking raped me, okay?” You choke out.

The officer sitting opposite you rakes a hand through her long, brown hair. She glances at the uniformed policeman beside her and then takes a sip of her Styrofoam cup of coffee. She clicks her pen on and off a few times before shuffling the stack of paper in front of her.

“Mr Shinoda,” She begins, “Would it be correct to say that you had some sort of infatuation with Chester Bennington?”

“Until I broke things off with him, yes?”

“But according to Chester there was no ‘you and him.’ And no one, including your best friends who spend practically every day with you, were aware of anything more than mutual friendship between the pair of you.”

“I already told you, it was a secret.”

“A secret? Or a lie?”

“I’m not lying! Why the fuck won’t anyone believe me?” You shout, slamming your bandaged fist against the table.

“Michael it’s hard to believe you when all the evidence is stacking up against you. Let’s go back to the first night you stayed at Chester Bennington’s? He claims you took an unknown amount of sedatives and from then on began to behave,” She pauses, glances down at a sheet of paper, “Even more erratically. You threatened him and forced yourself upon him.”

“I didn’t touch him.”

“A thorough examination by our Police Doctor shows otherwise. There was multiple bruising and wounds on the inside of Chester Bennington’s thighs; there was a large laceration on the inside of his right arm and several fingertip sized bruises around his neck that suggests signs of attempted strangulation. Michael I really don’t think you need me to spell it out - you were there after all.”

“He did that to himself,” You glare back, “He wanted me back so he…”

“So he hurt himself?” She laughs, “Michael this is really quite prosperous. You were attracted to him, pissed off because he wouldn’t return your feelings. This drove you to severely harm him and the realisation of your actions led to an attempt in suicide.”

A knock at the door leaves her words hanging in the air. You’re boiling hot, cheeks flushed and hands clammy. You’re shaking and losing your breath when she gets up and walks over to the officer who’s lingering in the doorway. Words are exchanged and she comes back around the table, whispers something to the other officer and then turns to stare at you.

“It would appear we’ve been wasting our day. Chester Bennington has dropped all charges,” She glares at you for a moment before turning back to the officer, “Get him back to the hospital, they’re adamant he sees the shrink.”

You turn to look at Brad, eyes watering as they plead with him but you’re met with nothing; nothing more than a cold, callous stare. He gets to his feet and is out of the room before you can even call out his name.

“Welcome to the worst day of your life.”

You shiver when Chester’s voice whispers these words into your ear.

+

You were arrested this morning. Only ten hours after you’d woken up, a police officer had cuffed you, placed you in a wheelchair and driven you to the station. You didn’t quite get it. Something about Chester accusing you of rape and assault. Brad was there when you arrived and you spluttered everything out in a haze of tears. He didn’t console you, merely sat stiffened and detached. They just wanted you to help you with their inquiries. Spanish inquisition more like.

Footsteps alert you to the nurses presence. They sent you back here because apparently you’re unstable. Is it any wonder?

“Mike we just need to run some more tests.”

“But I can discharge myself?”

“You can but,” The nurse sighs, she’s been doing that a lot since you were driven back here in some reinforced van. Really went to town with the whole lunatic thing, didn’t they?

“But?” You sigh.

“Michael,” She sits down, patting the manila envelope in her right hand, “Records,” She starts, “Your records Mike, which make for some pretty heavy reading. Interesting, from a psyche nurse’s point of view,” She adds, “Mike your friends have shown a great deal of concern…”

“Oh that’s funny,” You laugh, “Because I don’t see any of them here right when I need them.”

“… They have every right to show this concern,” She continues, ignoring your words, “In August 1991 you attempted suicide twice. In January 1995 you attempted suicide yet again. In…”

“March 1998 and May 1999 I tried again and in June of this year I also attempted and failed but I did not try to kill myself last week.”

The nurse smiles softly, “Can you see why your friends may be a little concerned? Can you see why it doesn’t quite wash that you didn’t try to kill yourself last week?”

You don’t answer. She’s fucking right, the bitch, but you’re not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing. You look away from her, gaze around her office full of framed awards and shelves of useless books. It’s almost midnight. Doesn’t the poor cow have a home to go to?

“Mike,” She sighs, “I just want to help.”

“Send me to some private clinic that takes all my money, more like,” You mutter.

“I think it’s getting late. I want to assess you first thing tomorrow morning,” She sighs, reaching into a desk drawer and scribbling something down on the note paper she pulls out, “Nine am in this office. In the mean time I’m going to ask you to sign this slip of paper here, to stay in this hospital over night…”

“I just want to go home.”

“I know,” She nods, “But I don’t have any faith in you returning tomorrow if you do.”

“Can I call Brad?”

“Certainly,” She smiles, “This isn’t prison for Christ’s sake. Mike there’s a bed for you on psyche ward, a warm bed, some place safe. I think it’d be in your best interests if you took it,” She slides the paper across the table, places the pen in your hand.

“And if I don’t?”

“Believe it or not I want to see you alive in the morning.”

“And what if I want to die?”

She smiles sadly, “That’s kind of why I’m asking you to do this Michael. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Press nine to get an outside line,” She nods toward the phone.

The room falls silent when she leaves, all that’s left are her footsteps fading down the corridor. You roll the pen between your hands, take a deep breath then pick up the phone, dialling Brad’s number as fast as your shaking fingers will allow you.

“Brad Delson speaking?”

“Brad…”

“…”

“Brad it’s me, Mike.”

The line goes cold for a few seconds.

“Yeah I know.”

“Brad please, I need you so badly,” You blurt out, tears suddenly meandering down your face, “Can you come to the hospital? I need to tell you a few things but I can’t…”

“Mike it’s late. I’m kind of tired after today, actually, after the past week.”

“Can’t you just come over for a while?” You ask, your voice cracking.

“Have they asked you to stay?”

“Y… Yes.”

“And you’re going to oblige?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good man, look I’ll try and come tomorrow. I’m not making any promises. You need to get some help man.”

“But I need to talk to someone badly.”

“I know Mike, that’s why you’re being asked to stay. They’ll be able to help you figure a few things out.”

“Please Brad, I need to explain…”

“Mike don’t,” Brad’s voice shakes for a moment, “Look Mike I, I feel like I don’t know you anymore and you’ve got to understand it’s, it’s hard man. Chester’s in absolute fucking pieces, he’s blaming himself for everything and we’re all rallying around trying to do what’s best for him. Mike you’re my friend, I can’t stop caring about you but I, I feel like you’re not the person I thought you were. It’s going to take a while for me to get my head around what you did and I really think the space will do us all good - you need to get better, realise the things you did were wrong and I’ll be happy to see you on the other side of it all but for now, I just… I just think it’s best if you focus on getting better.”

Words fail you. You can’t see for the veil of tears that has suddenly lowered itself in front of your eyes. You try to form the words; open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a choked sob.

“I’ll see you soon Mike.”

And the phone clicks; line goes dead.

“I need to talk to you so badly Brad,” You choke out, cradling the phone in your hands, “So fucking badly.”

+

Tests.

Blood tests. Psyche tests. Head-fuck tests.

Questions.

Are you happy Mike? Did you love him Mike? How often do you think of suicide Mike?

Answers.

No. Yes. Never. Yes, that’s a lie.

You stare at the ceiling. Polystyrene tiles, stained at the edges, cobwebs hanging in the corners, spiders scuttling into crevices. And you pay medical insurance for this?

A door slams and someone cries out. You roll onto your stomach and close your eyes. Your head is spinning from the entire days events. It started with the Psyche nurse around nine am and ended with the Doctor about half an hour ago. Now it’s just you, alone in your room with the cold draft from the open window and empty footsteps pacing up and down the corridor.

You need Brad. You need to explain everything, let him listen to the whole truth not scattered parts of it like he’s heard from you over the past few days. You need to tell him everything. But calls that are never answered when you ring from the payphone in the corridor are all you’ve been met with.

And so you wait. Wait for them to tell you if you’re sane enough to leave the building. Well, what do they fucking know? Jack shit; that’s what. You grab your pillow with angry fists and send it flying across the room just as the door opens and the nurse has to duck and you can’t think but how ironic that she chose that moment to walk in.

“Well Mike,” She clears her throat, picking up the pillow as she walks inside the room, “I’ve spent the past hour talking to Doctor Andrews, you remember him?”

Of course you remember him. He asked you the endless questions and made you draw a picture of the first thing that came into your mind on scratchy recycled paper with a blunt pencil. He made you feel five years old again and told you he was extremely concerned when his eyes scanned over the drawing you’d made of five stickmen burning in angry, charcoal coloured flames.

“We’ve concluded that you fall into our type A category Mike,” She pauses and gets out a fucking flow chart, finger pointing to a red A at the top of the sheet, “We want to refer you to the Midland Hall Institute, it’s a…”

“Loony bin,” You whisper, “And no, I’m not fucking going there.”

She sighs, places the sheet of paper onto the nightstand, “Michael your condition is serious. Doctor Andrews wants to carry out further tests for acute schizophrenia.”

“The only schizophrenic around here is Chester,” You seethe.

She simply raises her eyebrows, smoothes a manicured hand down the front of her scrubs, “If you don’t agree to sign yourself over to Midland Hall then we’ll have to find someone who will.”

“What?” You frown, “You can’t make me go there.”

“Under the circumstances…”

“No,” You shake your head, getting up and sitting with your back against the wall, “No.”

“We need to get in touch with your parents.”

“They’re dead.”

“Michael that’s not true.”

“It might as well be. My Father’s in Greece and I haven’t seen my Mom in years. Last thing I knew she was in rehab in London.”

“Then I’ll have to call your Step Mother.”

“She’s a fucking witch, she never talks to me. She won’t care. The only time she talks to me is when I take Bertie… Oh fuck, I left him with her!”

“Who’s Bert…”

“My fucking cat. And he’s probably fucking dead by now, she never feeds him properly. He won’t eat tinned food, I keep telling her but she’s too fucking tight to buy him fish. Which is a fucking riot really considering she lives off my Father’s estate. He’s fucking loaded and a tight fisted bastard at that…Anyway, you can’t fucking lock me up on her say so…”

“We have your friends as well. They’re keen to do whatever’s best for you.”

“What?” You narrow your eyes, “No, they wouldn’t do that to me! They won’t fucking listen to me! I’ve not done anything wrong and I’m not fucking giving IN!”

“Michael calm down.”

“I AM calm,” You shout, “I’m so fucking calm,” You slam your head against the wall, “I’m just not going to some fucking nuthouse when there’s nothing fucking wrong with me.”

“I’m afraid I beg to differ,” The nurse sighs, “Do you have anyone who can bring you some belongings? Clean clothes and such?”

“What do you think?”

“Very well. I’ll be back in a bit. You should try and rest.”

“I’m not sick for Christ’s sake,” You spit.

“You are Michael, you’re very sick.”

She walks out at that point and suddenly you’re gasping for breath. Did she just say those words or was it Chester and fuck, why is your head throbbing so badly?

+

TBC…