Suicide Note Chapter 3 Chapter 3 I ceased to acknowledge his invite and continued working. "In a few minutes, you will move onto stations that calm you. There is an art station, gym games, swimming, or chatting with a neighbor," Phil said. 'How old do you think we are? Stations? Really?' "Which station will you go to?" Wesley asked me. "Art." "Same here!" I was beginning to feel like he was just following me. I nodded in approval. Minutes later, we entered the art room of the clinic. Canvas upon canvas were set up with brushes galore. A smile spread upon my face. I walked over and picked up a soft-bristled brush, and before I knew it, I was in a trance. Strokes of blue, purple, white, and black swirled around all corners of the page. That's the thing I liked about art; everything else seemed to morph perfectly together. "Yeah, that's really cool," Wesley said, breaking my concentration. I felt annoyed at first, but I let it pass. "Thanks. What did you make?" "Umm, well..." I peered over his shoulder and saw a bad imitation of a sunset. It pained me to look, but I laughed anyways. "Hey! I'll have you know I worked very hard on that!" We were sadly forced to set the easels aside and join the cafeteria line for lunch. I saw Amanda with a counselor, who was trying to coax food into her mouth. I received a bland turkey sandwich and sat down. Wesley scooted right over to me. His tray contained an identical sandwich, with two white pills next to it. "What are those?" "Pain pills," he said cooly. "I destroyed my shoulder playing lacrosse this spring." Although I doubted a muscular guy like him could destroy his shoulder, I didn't say anything. I quietly picked apart my sandwich. "For free time, wanna hang? There's something I can show you!" He said. "Umm sure." After Phil made a brief announcement, we were free for an hour. "Come here!" Wesley said, sounding over-joyed. I slowly followed him, trying not to laugh at his crazed expression. Whatever he is about to show me must be great! We climbed two flights of stairs and landed at his door. Room 301. He unlocked the door and let me in. Inside was his wooden twin bed with a navy blue comforter, and a single picture of some football player. David Ortiz, yup it was definitely him...or is he baseball? He opened up his closet and opened a mini compartment that is nearly invisible to the average eye. The opening was about one square foot. Inside was a black bag. I took a step back. "What's your DOC?" He asked. "DOC?" "Drug of choice." I have him a nasty look. The point of you being here is to try to get better. "I don't...do that." "Oh." "Yeah." My mind flashed back to his pain pills at lunch. "Pain pills" I now thought of them. He popped a pill out of the bag. "I didn't lie to you out there, they are pain pills. I just...need them. Like always." Well, his mysterious diagnosis was now found. I actually was surprised he was an addict of sort. His glowing skin and vibrant eyes told he was nothing more than an addict of air and water! "Parents got a divorce. Brother died. Killed my knee in football. Got prescribed pain pills and realized they helped me both mentally and physically. That was three years ago." He looked ashamed. "These places...they think if you just quit cold turkey, everything will be glorious. Hell no. I've had like, two migraines today alone." He looked up at me and motioned me to sit down. "So, tell me your story." Comment and like please!