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Camille knew he was on drugs; the psychologist had come back an hour or so ago to inform him of the diagnosis and give him the single green pill to take. He had swallowed it without a second thought. If it could make his insane life more liveable, he would take anything. And if he got better, then Noah would not worry so much. Camille noticed the worry in Noah's dark eyes even when Noah was doing his best to hide his feelings, and it made him feel the way he had felt at home all his life: he was a burden to people, whether physically or emotionally or psychologically. The best thing he could do for someone he cared about was leave them alone to be happy in a life where he appeared as little as possible.
There was a tap on the door, and Noah came in. "Hey," he said, just like every time he had come into Camille's room before. "Dr. Evans said you're trying out some medication. How're you feeling?"
Camille shook his head, but the motion felt heavy. "I'm tired."
Noah blinked a few times before coming a little closer. "Did you not sleep well last night?"
"It's the medicine," Camille replied irritably. "I just woke up like two hours ago, and I slept fine. Why would I be tired?"
Noah smiled a little. It was just with his lips. No brilliant white teeth flashed this time. "You don't need to get super worked up about it. I was just clarifying. This medication is known for making you very relaxed, so your brain might interpret that as tiredness, since that feeling usually only comes right before sleep." Noah was good at explaining things.
Camille wanted Noah to explain things to him forever. He blinked, surprised at the thought. Where had that come from? He blamed it on the drugs messing with his mind. "Okay. So I'm not tired. It's just that my own body has joined the list of people who lie to me."
Noah's face contracted for a brief moment. It hurt him to hear that people lied to Camille. That was strange, but he was a strange doctor. He had been since the afternoon they had met each other in the hallway of this hospital's ICU. "You just started taking it today. It will take a while for your body to get used to it, so don't immediately brand your brain a traitor."
That comment made Camille smile. It was funny. In a dark sort of way. "Do you say stuff like that a lot?"
Noah smiled, this time showing his perfect teeth. "I've started to do it a lot more since I got a new friend with a very sharp tongue. I'm trying to be able to match wits with him, I guess."
"Do you like him?" The question had left Camille's lips before he could censor it. What kind of person asked that? Now he would look jealous or something!
Noah paused, clearly taken aback by the sudden question. Then he laughed a little. "No," he replied. "And I don't think anyone will ever try to like him. He's a bit prickly."
"Like a cactus?"
Noah grinned. "Exactly like a cactus. He's always looking for opportunities to needle other people. I think he might like it when he can get people to explode."
Camille wanted to smile back, but those words had started him thinking about another person who had found every opportunity to needle him in a way that hurt and left scars across both his mind and body. He had been stupid enough to fall victim to each and every ploy, so it was more his fault than Blaise's.
Noah waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Camille blinked, wondering why his eyes stung with the motion. "Nothing's wrong."
"Then why are you crying?" Noah sounded scared, like he wanted to fix Camille but he could not find the problem.
Camille realized belatedly that tears had escaped his eyes and were tracking down his face. He swiped them away with the back of his hand, which he was able to do since the restraints had been removed from his wrists this morning. "I was thinking bad thoughts." It was what he had always said when a visiting relative had asked why he looked sad or was crying. Any other answer would mean the third floor would become his home for the next week afterward. And he had learned quickly that he did not ever want to go back up to the third floor if he could help it.
Noah's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Bad thoughts? Like what kind of bad thoughts?"
He had an answer for this one too. "I was thinking about the bad things I've done."
The wrinkles deepened. "What do you mean, bad things?" Noah appeared so worried. It was almost sweet.
"You know I've done a lot of bad things. I told you."
Noah closed his eyes for a moment. "Camille, you weren't mentally stable when those things happened. You can't blame yourself for them. Those bad things that happened, they aren't your fault."
"But I caused them," Camille protested, confused by Noah's reasoning. "How can they not be my fault if I'm the one who made them happen?"
"You didn't mean to make them happen. It wasn't what you actually wanted. I know it must be hard for you to accept, but your brain has likely been a traitor to you since day one. We're fixing it now that we know how, but it still might take some time for it to settle into normalcy. And that might feel very weird for you."
Camille saw only deep care in Noah's eyes and could not stand it. He looked down at the tears streaking the back of his right hand, the tears he had wiped off his face.
Mercifully, Noah changed topics. "We want to keep you here for a little while longer, so we can get you on all the medications Dr. Evans is recommending and make sure your body accepts them. But you'll need to come in every week so Dr. Evans can check up on you. Unfortunately, a common problem with people diagnosed with bipolar disorder is that they won't take their medicine or think they need any sort of medical help once they start to feel normal. So it would be best if there's someone you know who you can trust with this information and who'd be willing to give you daily reminders."
Camille did not lift his eyes back to Noah's face. He did not want to see Noah's expression when he replied, "There's no one. My family wants to murder me and I don't have friends."
Noah seemed to choke at the words. "What do you mean, your family wants to murder you?"
"I've been thinking about it," Camille said quietly, picking at the sheet with his fingernail, "and the only logical reason someone would try to kill me is if someone in my family ordered it. I don't make enemies. The only people who want me dead are the people who think I burned their house down for fun and killed their son because I could."
Noah's fingers softly curled around Camille's hand, his rich brown skin contrasting sharply with Camille's fragile paleness. "You're their son too."
"They've never thought of me that way. Not since they found out what I am."
Noah squeezed gently. "That shouldn't stop a parent from loving their child. It might be difficult, but it's no reason to treat their child as less than."
"It's not just my mind turning me into a monster," Camille said, still refusing to lift his eyes to Noah's face. He could not handle the compassion he knew he would find there. "They're both alphas. My brother was an alpha. I was supposed to be one too. I'm…I'm an embarrassment to the family."
Noah's fingers contracted in a way that bordered on painful. "You're not either of those things. You're not a monster and you're not an embarrassment to anyone. It's not like it was your choice to be an omega or to be bipolar. Neither of those things is your fault. So stop internalizing other people's insecurities."
Camille had nothing to say to that.
Noah took a deep breath like he was recalibrating himself. "So…" He exhaled heavily. "No contacting your family."
"Please don't." Camille hated how small his voice was, but he never wanted to see those people ever again if he could help it.
Noah nodded immediately. "I'm not going to turn you over to people who want to hurt you. That's against medical ethics, not to mention my own." An idea seemed to come to him, and he quickly straightened. "I'm going to go talk with Dr. Evans. I'll be right back." He let go of Camille's hand and left the room in a hurry, but he still turned around to make sure the door shut quietly. Even with something on his mind, Noah was still considerate.
Camille watched his heartbeat on the monitor until the door opened again. When he saw Noah's smile, he wondered what the young doctor was so happy about.
Noah came and sat on the edge of the bed. "Dr. Evans agrees with me that we can't really determine how well the medication works unless you're living as normally as possible. And since you can't go back to your family, I've arranged for you to stay with someone who's very knowledgeable about everything that's going on with you."
Fear climbed up the inside of Camille's ribs. "Who did you tell?"
Noah shook his head, still smiling. "I didn't tell anyone. How do you feel about staying with me once you're released?"