Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

84 - Embrace

Gary
***

Chris was allowed to go home after spending four days in the hospital. I was only allowed to see him on the third day after his multiple psychiatric evaluations and physical exams. I was nervous to see him, fearing that I'd find him in a terrible state. My suspicions were confirmed when I finally went to his hospital room. He was barely awake, the drugs they had given him for the pain making him drowsy. He looked sickly thin from not eating properly for a whole week, and the IV sticking into his hand along side with the thick bandages around his wounded knees didn't paint a pretty picture.

The first words we exchanged were awkward. Neither of us knew what to say yet there was so much we needed to talk about. For starters, I wanted to know how he was feeling, if he felt stronger, if he was in pain. He said he felt alright apart from not being able to keep food down and having a massive headache.

This part of the conversation was easy. What I really wanted to know was what happened. Since he didn't offer that information right away, I didn't push him. He seemed so sad, the last thing I wanted was to make him relive his pain.

I was also terrified of telling him I called Alison. After all, he had no idea the doctor had told me about him calling for her. I didn't know how that conversation would go, but I had to tell him sooner or later.

When I picked him up from the hospital on Sunday, I knew I couldn't postpone the inevitable. The hospital was just twenty minutes away from his apartment, but I knew I'd have to drive for much longer if we were to have a serious conversation.

"Where are we going?" Chris asked when he noticed I was heading for the highway. I bit my lip, my anxiety growing.

"We need to talk," I replied. "I need to know what happened. I've been driving myself mad over the past few days trying to understand why you did it Chris."

Chris was quiet as he stared out the window. He was so closed off, barely uttering a word since he woke up from his overdose. This was normal, the doctors said, to be mute after a traumatic experience.

"I'm getting worse again Kent," he said at last. "Dr Foreman said I didn't need to see him as often, that my mental health was improving. Clearly not."

I stared at the road, not looking at him. "The doctor said you were prescribed to see him every two days for two weeks, like an out-patient program. Is that true?"

"Hm hm."

Silence again. He clearly didn't want to initiate the conversation.

"I know this is painful to talk about, but I really want to understand. What triggered you to take so many pills Chris?"

"The nightmares got worse," he simply reply.

"Why did they get worse?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do," I replied, gripping the steering wheel. Did he really think I believed him? "Are you seriously not going to tell me what's been going on after I found you collapsed on the floor barely breathing?"

He turned his legs away from me. He must have felt so ashamed.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," was his reply. I welcomed his words, although it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted the truth.