vagueangel
in
__vam
Just Another Kid
Summary- Bam's known for a while that Ville has a little.. problem. But what happens when it starts getting out of control?
Rating- Mostly PG-13, but since it's me, there are NC-17 bits thrown in.
Caution- This is a bloody long story.
Right then... onward.
Chapter Forty-Four
Four days after Bam had left him in hospital, Ville was still struggling to get used to the daily routine. Other patients teased him, their taunts ranging from gentle jibes to downright cruel words. His roommate had told him he would keep the nastiest of the others away, but Ville found that Erik was sometimes the worst, calling him retard and taking parts of his meals or stealing his change for phone calls.
He never spoke during meetings and group sessions, unless he was asked a direct question. Then Ville usually kept his answers short, one or two words. He sat alone when he could, rocking himself slowly or flicking his fingers. He had discovered holding them just to the side of his eyes, flicking them against the light, made pretty patterns and shadows, and he could sit for an hour or more doing nothing else.
Ville adamantly refused to participate in any sort of trust exercise, instead sitting off to the side, obsessively tracing the lines and swirls of his sleeve tattoo. He would start at this shoulder and slowly work his way down to his wrist, following one line at a time. When the line he was following ended early or joined another line, he often became agitated, scratching himself or jerking his head back to hit the wall, earning himself ten minutes in the Isolation Room.
The Isolation Room was a small room, barely larger than a closet. Its walls were heavily padded, and there were no windows. Even the door was padded, save for a tiny window that the doctors could look through. Ville didn’t mind being sent to the room; in fact, he almost enjoyed it. The padded walls provided excellent acoustics, and he would curl up in a corner and sing softly to himself until someone let him out.
The day staff seemed frustrated with his lack of participation, yet they turned a blind eye to the taunting and abuse he had to put up with. The doctor assigned to him chastised him for his unwillingness to recover, and treated him like an obstinate adult, rather than the child he was mentally.
There was no physical contact allowed on the floor, to discourage the more violently inclined patients, and Ville spent most of the day with his arms around himself. It was the closest he could get to the comfort of simple human contact. After the first day, he didn’t participate in the patient card games, having been cheated out of a few days’ worth of phone change.
The only people to treat him kindly, treat him as a scared child, was the night staff. They let him spend his evening free hour sitting at the front desk drawing, or playing a game of cards. They taught him several kinds of Solitaire, and if it wasn’t busy, they would let him try to teach them Finnish card games.
Tina continued to watch out for him as best she could, checking into his room often to make sure Erik wasn’t bullying him. She asked him about the day, keeping track of which patients were giving him a hard time and leaving note after note in his file and in the doctors’ mailboxes. Quickly discovering his talent for music, she brought an old acoustic guitar in for him to play during music therapy or his free hours. She brought him art books borrowed from her roommate, watching him carefully pore over them.
On the fifth day Ville was in hospital, the doctor took him off Depakote and started him on Lithium, a powerful antidepressant that was often used to treat bi-polar disorder. Ville reacted to it in the way many people did, vomiting or feeling nauseous when he wasn’t sleeping. Tina stood nearby as he tried to stay awake and keep his stomach in order long enough to make his evening phone call.
Ville had eaten nothing but thin, nearly clear soup for dinner; the nurses hadn’t trusted him to keep anything else down. He leaned against the wall, sweating lightly as his stomach churned. As the phone rang, he fought a yawn. “Bammie?”
“Hey, babydoll.” Bam leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes a bit. Each time Ville called him, he felt the wound in his heart open and bleed fresh. “How are you doin?”
“Don’t feel good,” Ville mumbled, slumping down the wall to sit on the floor. “I sleep a lot. Or get sick. The others are mean to me.”
Frowning, Bam ran a hand through his hair. “How are they mean to you, honey?”
“They take my dessert, and cheat me in cards. I don’t play anymore.” Ville yawned again, swallowing hard against the sick feeling in his gut. “They call me a retard and say nasty things.”
“Did you tell someone?”
“Tina looks after me. When are you coming to see me, Bammie? I miss you.”
“Tomorrow. I’m gonna come see you tomorrow.” Bam rested his head in one hand. “I miss you, too, Ville.” He took a deep breath. “Tina’s the night nurse, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about during the day?”
Wiping his forehead with one sleeve, Ville reached down to pull his pajama pants over his bare toes. “They’re mean during the day. The doctors, as well.” He heard Bam start to talk, but his head was swimming. He stumbled to his feet and ran into the bathroom, leaving the phone swinging on the end of the cord.
Sighing softly, Tina moved forward to pick it up. She heard a worried voice. “Ville? Baby, are you there?” Hesitating only for a second, she spoke. “Ville’s having a bit of a rough time adjusting to his new medication. I’m Tina, and you must be Bam.”
“Yeah… Where is he?”
“Throwing up again. I’m going to look in on him in a minute.” Tina paused, hearing the pained sigh. “Listen, if you’re going to be here tomorrow, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Bam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I think that would be good. He likes you; he said you’ve been looking out for him. Thanks for that. Listen… Tell him- tell him I love him, please? Tell him Bammie loves him.” He colored just slightly.
Smiling a bit, Tina nodded, unseen. “I will. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.” She hung up gently, and went into the bathroom to make sure Ville was alright.
Rating- Mostly PG-13, but since it's me, there are NC-17 bits thrown in.
Caution- This is a bloody long story.
Right then... onward.
Chapter Forty-Four
Four days after Bam had left him in hospital, Ville was still struggling to get used to the daily routine. Other patients teased him, their taunts ranging from gentle jibes to downright cruel words. His roommate had told him he would keep the nastiest of the others away, but Ville found that Erik was sometimes the worst, calling him retard and taking parts of his meals or stealing his change for phone calls.
He never spoke during meetings and group sessions, unless he was asked a direct question. Then Ville usually kept his answers short, one or two words. He sat alone when he could, rocking himself slowly or flicking his fingers. He had discovered holding them just to the side of his eyes, flicking them against the light, made pretty patterns and shadows, and he could sit for an hour or more doing nothing else.
Ville adamantly refused to participate in any sort of trust exercise, instead sitting off to the side, obsessively tracing the lines and swirls of his sleeve tattoo. He would start at this shoulder and slowly work his way down to his wrist, following one line at a time. When the line he was following ended early or joined another line, he often became agitated, scratching himself or jerking his head back to hit the wall, earning himself ten minutes in the Isolation Room.
The Isolation Room was a small room, barely larger than a closet. Its walls were heavily padded, and there were no windows. Even the door was padded, save for a tiny window that the doctors could look through. Ville didn’t mind being sent to the room; in fact, he almost enjoyed it. The padded walls provided excellent acoustics, and he would curl up in a corner and sing softly to himself until someone let him out.
The day staff seemed frustrated with his lack of participation, yet they turned a blind eye to the taunting and abuse he had to put up with. The doctor assigned to him chastised him for his unwillingness to recover, and treated him like an obstinate adult, rather than the child he was mentally.
There was no physical contact allowed on the floor, to discourage the more violently inclined patients, and Ville spent most of the day with his arms around himself. It was the closest he could get to the comfort of simple human contact. After the first day, he didn’t participate in the patient card games, having been cheated out of a few days’ worth of phone change.
The only people to treat him kindly, treat him as a scared child, was the night staff. They let him spend his evening free hour sitting at the front desk drawing, or playing a game of cards. They taught him several kinds of Solitaire, and if it wasn’t busy, they would let him try to teach them Finnish card games.
Tina continued to watch out for him as best she could, checking into his room often to make sure Erik wasn’t bullying him. She asked him about the day, keeping track of which patients were giving him a hard time and leaving note after note in his file and in the doctors’ mailboxes. Quickly discovering his talent for music, she brought an old acoustic guitar in for him to play during music therapy or his free hours. She brought him art books borrowed from her roommate, watching him carefully pore over them.
On the fifth day Ville was in hospital, the doctor took him off Depakote and started him on Lithium, a powerful antidepressant that was often used to treat bi-polar disorder. Ville reacted to it in the way many people did, vomiting or feeling nauseous when he wasn’t sleeping. Tina stood nearby as he tried to stay awake and keep his stomach in order long enough to make his evening phone call.
Ville had eaten nothing but thin, nearly clear soup for dinner; the nurses hadn’t trusted him to keep anything else down. He leaned against the wall, sweating lightly as his stomach churned. As the phone rang, he fought a yawn. “Bammie?”
“Hey, babydoll.” Bam leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes a bit. Each time Ville called him, he felt the wound in his heart open and bleed fresh. “How are you doin?”
“Don’t feel good,” Ville mumbled, slumping down the wall to sit on the floor. “I sleep a lot. Or get sick. The others are mean to me.”
Frowning, Bam ran a hand through his hair. “How are they mean to you, honey?”
“They take my dessert, and cheat me in cards. I don’t play anymore.” Ville yawned again, swallowing hard against the sick feeling in his gut. “They call me a retard and say nasty things.”
“Did you tell someone?”
“Tina looks after me. When are you coming to see me, Bammie? I miss you.”
“Tomorrow. I’m gonna come see you tomorrow.” Bam rested his head in one hand. “I miss you, too, Ville.” He took a deep breath. “Tina’s the night nurse, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about during the day?”
Wiping his forehead with one sleeve, Ville reached down to pull his pajama pants over his bare toes. “They’re mean during the day. The doctors, as well.” He heard Bam start to talk, but his head was swimming. He stumbled to his feet and ran into the bathroom, leaving the phone swinging on the end of the cord.
Sighing softly, Tina moved forward to pick it up. She heard a worried voice. “Ville? Baby, are you there?” Hesitating only for a second, she spoke. “Ville’s having a bit of a rough time adjusting to his new medication. I’m Tina, and you must be Bam.”
“Yeah… Where is he?”
“Throwing up again. I’m going to look in on him in a minute.” Tina paused, hearing the pained sigh. “Listen, if you’re going to be here tomorrow, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Bam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I think that would be good. He likes you; he said you’ve been looking out for him. Thanks for that. Listen… Tell him- tell him I love him, please? Tell him Bammie loves him.” He colored just slightly.
Smiling a bit, Tina nodded, unseen. “I will. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.” She hung up gently, and went into the bathroom to make sure Ville was alright.