“I . . . I’m so sorry . . .” Of course I didn’t see this coming. I’ve been too worried about work. “I’m glad you called someone. If you died, I would . . .” I don’t know what I would do. Maybe I’d die too. “In lak’ech . . .” is all I can manage to say about it.
“Don’t.” His fists clench and his eyes shoot through me. “Drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, just . . . please promise me you won’t hurt yourself?” My voice cracks.
“Yami, fucking stop!” He grasps the sheets tightly in his fists.
When I’m sure I’m about to get kicked out, Mom comes back with the suit guys. She goes right back to Cesar’s side and holds his hand. The intern comes forward.
“Cesar, it was brave of you to ask for help. We’re all glad you did. Luckily, we already have a bed for you at the Horizon Behavioral Health Facility. They specialize in helping kids like you.”
“Mami, is that okay?” His voice is so low I can barely hear it. Mom and I both know what he actually means: Can we afford that?
“I’m sorry, but it’s not exactly a choice, kid. Whether you like it or not, this is the safest option for you.” The mental health worker sounds rushed. It’s not like Cesar needs any more convincing; he just needs a second.
“Mom?” Cesar looks scared for the first time since I got here.
“It’s okay, mijo. I just want you to be safe. That’s all that matters.” She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb, and he squeezes hers.
“But—” Cesar starts to protest, but the mental health worker interrupts.
“Like I said, it’s for your own safety. I’m not a fan of the whole involuntary detainment thing, but that’s really your only other option.” He sighs, as if thinking about what an inconvenience it would be to have to do it that way.
“Give him a minute, okay? Jesus . . . ,” the nurse snaps. I want to hug her. I guess not everyone here is desensitized.
The mental health worker sighs. “Right, sorry. It’s been a long day.”
I want to punch him in his throat. My brother could have died tonight, but he’s had a long day.
“It’s gonna be all right, honey.” The nurse’s voice softens when she turns her attention to Cesar.
Cesar stares at the ceiling and shuts his eyes like he’s having regrets. A couple of tears fall down his cheeks, and Mom wipes them for him.
“It’s only three days of inpatient, as long as everything goes well. Then, if you’re ready, you can go home for outpatient treatment, all right?” the intern says.
Cesar lets out a small whimper and doesn’t answer.
The older guy cuts in again. “Listen, we really are just trying to help you here. And I’m afraid I’ve got a lot of other patients who need help too. So are we going nicely or the other way?”
I hate this guy so much. I hate him. I hate him.
After a long pause, Cesar answers. “I’ll go, sir,” he chokes out. It’s the “sir” that kills me. It’s fucked that he has to show that piece of shit respect to keep from getting threatened with “the other way.” It’s not like Cesar’s being violent right now.
“Atta boy.” He has the nerve to go and ruffle Cesar’s hair.
“Don’t touch him,” I snap, because I know Cesar wants to say it but can’t.
“Yamilet, you can go home now,” Mom says, but I don’t move. They’re all staring at me. I want to help my brother, but I don’t know how.