Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1)

by Christina Lee

  Leaning forward, I kiss his temple. Taste the salt in his tears. “You do. You’re so fucking strong… Lean on me. I’ll help you carry the weight.”

  The room is silent. Gabe doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and I’m afraid of losing him again. But then it happens, I feel the movement as he slowly nods his head. “Okay.”

  “We got this,” I tell him. “We’ll figure it out.”

  31

  Gabriel

  I barely remember my ride to the emergency room through the dense fog in my brain. It feels like I’m wading through a dust storm. The waiting area is packed as we walk to the help window and the triage nurse asks me to step behind the glass wall to his office.

  I give him my name and insurance card, which Lucas helps me pull from my wallet.

  “The reason for your visit?” the nurse asks as he plunks the keys on his computer, searching my name in the system.

  I cringe inwardly that I have to say the words aloud in front of Lucas. “I’m bipolar and I’ve been off of my meds since I moved to West Hollywood because I didn’t have insurance to help pay for them.”

  “But now you do,” he says absently as he reads something on the screen. Probably the solo record of my costly urgent care visit from last year when I got strep.

  “Yeah,” I say and feel the shame heat my cheeks. Why the fuck had I let it come to this? “And I’m currently having a depressive episode.”

  “What are your symptoms?” he asks, and I feel Lucas’s hand land on my lower back in a show of comfort or support.

  “I’ve been sleeping a ton,” I mumble. “Can’t seem to function in my everyday life.”

  I push the truthful words out, marveling at how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen this time. I mentally curse this disorder and how it’s wrecking my life.

  “So…low energy and sleeping most hours of the day?” the nurse asks as if going down a checklist. “Suicidal thoughts?”

  I feel Lucas’s hand stiffen against my skin and suddenly I wish he wasn’t here for this portion of the questioning. “Not…um…not today.”

  I explain what meds I used to take as Lucas shifts uncomfortably in his seat beside me. I consider standing up and running the fuck out of this place, but I just don’t have the energy or wherewithal to accomplish that task. I also don’t want to disappoint Lucas. He already put forth so much effort to get me here.

  “And who is with you today?” The nurse types more information into the computer screen, not even realizing what a loaded question he’s just asked.

  “He’s my…” I glance at Lucas in my side view and wonder what he’d want me to say at this point. Does he wish he had never reconnected with me? That he could walk the hell away now? Does he feel obligated to be here with me?

  “I’m his boyfriend,” Lucas suddenly says, and I squeeze my eyes shut in relief. “He doesn’t have any family in town, so I hope I can wait with him when you take him back.”

  “Of course,” the nurse says and after printing off a few forms, he begins taking my vital signs.

  Once he removes the blood pressure cuff and records the information in the file he created, he stands up. “Please have a seat in the waiting room, we’ll call you back shortly.”

  We slide side by side into two plastic orange chairs. I zip up my hoodie and try to burrow inside its warmth, thankful that Lucas grabbed it earlier from the floor as I slipped into my jeans. As if he knew I needed some normalcy, security, comfort. Everything he’s already become to me. Everything I’m terrified of losing.

  Ezra shows up with my empty pill bottles from home, figuring it might help to have the exact dosage and doctor’s name. After he takes a seat, all I can think to do is apologize profusely to him. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “We were just worried. It’s all going to work out.”

  After the one-hour mark, I’m already second-guessing my decision to sit in this crowded and suffocating place where people are coughing, grumbling, and moaning, each hoping they’re next on the list to be seen.

  I lean over and mutter to Lucas, “Maybe we should just go home. I can wait it out. My appointment is in a few weeks.”

  Lucas and Ezra share a nervous glance like I’m going to off myself or something as soon as I leave this place. It pisses me off and makes me feel guilty all over again that they’re wasting their time in a goddamn emergency room with me.

  Why the fuck can’t I just pull it together? Why does my brain have to be like this?

  What if I’m so messed up that they decide I need to be locked away again?

  My heart lodges painfully in my throat. “Maybe I can call the doctor’s office and ask for an emergency appointment instead.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You’re not an established patient,” Ezra says. “My sister said they’d only tell you to go to the ER.”

  Fuck. I slump down in my chair and draw my knees up to my chin, feeling trapped and miserable. Lucas reaches for the back of my neck and runs his fingers through my hair. It feels so warm and comforting that I almost moan out loud.

  An hour later, a nurse with a clipboard steps into the room and finally calls my name.

  “I’ve got this,” Lucas says to Ezra as we all stand up. “I’ll text you as soon as we know something.”

  “You sure?” he asks Lucas, tension lining his face. “If you need me for anything…”

  “Yeah, man,” Lucas says, clapping him on the back. “It’ll be fine.”

  As I turn to Ezra the moment feels awkward before he pulls me into a quick hug.

  “Thank you for being a good friend,” I say into his shoulder. He needs better words than that, but I can’t assemble them in that moment.

  The nurse leads us through the set of double doors and motions for Lucas to sit in a separate waiting area.

  “We’ll need to examine Gabriel by himself,” she says to Lucas, and I bite back a protest. “We’ll call you back after the psych social worker is finished.”

  But another hour later, I still haven’t been seen by anybody and I’m beginning to crack as I lay freezing on flimsy sheets in a makeshift room with the curtain drawn.

  What the fuck am I doing here? What if they lock me up before I get to see Lucas again? Can they force me against my will? I’m not a minor anymore.

  My thoughts are all over the place as I lift my knees to my chest and begin rocking in place. Before I can rein it in, I’m sniveling and sobbing uncontrollably, and now that the floodgates have opened, I can’t hold it back. All I feel is a black hole of despair as I mash my head into the feeble pillow.

  A nurse throws back the curtain and rushes to my bedside. She rubs my back and speaks softly to me.

  “The psych social worker is on her way right now,” she says. “I’m going to speak to the psych resident on call so I can bring you a sedative to help calm you down.”

  Two minutes later, the social worker enters the room and it makes me wish I’d had my outburst sooner. I dab at my eyes and straighten myself on the gurney so I can talk to her as she looks over my chart.

  When the original nurse returns with some water and a little blue pill, I realize how parched I am and down the entire glass.

  “When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” the social worker asks.

  “I don’t remember,” I mumble as I lay my head back down, my limbs feeling weak.

  After she clarifies the same questions I already told the triage nurse, throwing in a few of her own, she asks, “Do you currently have any suicidal thoughts?”

  “No,” I say. “Earlier in the week, I…I imagined what it would be like with me being gone.”

  She brings her gaze down to eye level like I’m two years old or something. But I know she’s only doing her job. “Did you have a plan for how that would happen?”

  “A plan?” I slur, already feeling the effects of the sedative.

  “For how to kill yourself.” She wants to know whe
ther I’d counted out pills for an overdose or decided exactly which knife to slash my throat with.

  “No way,” I say, shaking my head. Even though I considered what it would feel like to be free from all the buzzing in my brain, I never actually followed through with any course of action.

  From previous therapy sessions, I logically knew that the depressive episode would pass. Plus, I’m too much of a chickenshit to take my own life, plain and simple.

  Also, the very idea of causing Lucas any more heartache is so staggeringly painful that I feel warm bile crawling up the back of my throat.

  “I can’t be locked up again,” I garble, the fear slicing through me again. “Please don’t lock me up.”

  “Calm down, sweetie,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I’m not sure you’re a good candidate for inpatient care since you’re not currently a risk to yourself or others. But you’re off your meds and you might be dehydrated. Let’s take care of your immediate needs first and then we can talk about other options like intensive outpatient therapy. We have some slots available in our day treatment program.”

  “I went to day treatment after inpatient last time,” I mumble, my eyes already shutting. So tired. So goddamn tired. “I liked making art…”

  And then the room fades to black.

  32

  Lucas

  I jump to my feet when the nurse comes toward me. My heart jams into my throat, making it hard for me to get my words out. “Can I see him yet?” My voice sounds funny, off, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “He’s sleeping right now. He was getting slightly agitated so the resident on call approved a sedative for him. You look exhausted. It’s late. He’ll be out for at least a few hours. Maybe you should take advantage and head home. Get some rest, and then come back.”

  Fear climbs up my esophagus, lodging itself in my throat along with my heart. “No.” I shake my head. They’re going to have a major fucking problem if they think I’m leaving. “I’m not going anywhere. I told him I wouldn’t leave him and I’m not. No…no matter what.” I won’t leave Gabe behind the way I left Mom. I won’t let him down.

  The nurse pushes a lock of black hair behind her ear and gives me a sad smile. “You won’t be any help to him if you’re dead on your feet yourself. How about—”

  “I’m fine.” I cut her off and I can see the acceptance in her eyes. She knows I’m not going anywhere.

  “Fair enough. There’s a coffee machine down the hallway. The cafeteria is closed. Maybe get a drink, walk around a bit.” I open my mouth to argue with her, but she holds up a hand to stop me. “I’ll let you back in. I promise, and if he happens to wake up, I’ll come and find you myself.”

  Still, my feet don’t move. I shove my hands deep into my pockets. This is so fucked up. I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to let him down.

  “He’s knows you’re here for him. Take care of yourself while you can.”

  And she’s right. I know she is. This waiting room feels like it’s getting smaller and smaller. The walls closing in on me. My skin is getting tighter, like I want to burst out of it. “You’re sure he’s asleep?” I ask her.

  She nods.

  “And you’ll get me if he wakes up? I can come back in?”

  Her eyes look sad, but nothing can compare to the pain in my chest right now. “Yeah. I won’t let anyone tell you that you can’t be in there with him. There might be a moment or two when you have to step out, but if Gabriel wants you there, you’ll be there.”

  Just as I’m about to walk away, another thought infiltrates my brain. “They aren’t going to lock him up, are they? He can’t handle that. He’ll go crazy if they lock him up. I can take care of him. If you guys get him better, I can take care of him after that, I swear. I’ll make sure he takes his meds every day, even if I have to give them to him myself.” Jesus, I have to be able to take care of him. There’s a searing pain in my chest. It spiders out, fear and hurt injected into my veins, running through every inch of my body.

  The nurse pauses for a second…then reaches out and squeezes my hand. It’s the way a mom would soothe you, and for a second, I pretend she’s my mom. That she’s okay and here to help me take care of Gabe. That I can find a way to make sure they’re both taken care of.

  “I shouldn’t tell you all of this, but the psych social worker isn’t considering inpatient right now. As long as Gabriel isn’t actively having suicidal thoughts and has no intent to harm himself, they can’t admit him to inpatient against his will. But there are other intensive therapy programs, sometimes called partial hospitalization or day treatment.” She squeezes my hand again before letting go. “I have no doubt you’ll do a good job taking care of him. I know how badly you must want to do that…but Gabriel has to want it for himself. You can’t push it on him. It has to come from inside of him, and no matter what happens, it’s not your fault.”

  With those last words, she turns and walks away. My feet won’t move, though. They’re stuck to the floor. My legs are stiff and my head is slamming and my chest aches.

  Suddenly, I know if I don’t make it out of this room, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I want to wreck shit, ruin everything, rip paintings off the wall and topple couches over until everything is as chaotic as the thoughts inside of me.

  Turning, I go for the exit. I can’t catch my breath. My hand stings when I slam it into the door to shove it open.

  I don’t make it far because no matter how strongly I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t get out of here, I won’t leave Gabe either.

  So instead of going outside, I lean against the wall. Slide down, and sit on the floor. My hands are shaking and my thoughts are running. There’s noise in my head—constant static, the way I felt when they told me what happened to Mom.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m fumbling for my phone. It doesn’t matter what time it is and it doesn’t matter that my brain is telling me not to do this. I need something…someone… I can’t do this alone.

  Conner answers on the third ring. “This better be good.”

  “I…” Don’t know what to say. This isn’t me. I don’t ask for help. Don’t let people in.

  “Lucas? What’s wrong?” There’s an urgency to Conner’s voice now, and I know he can tell I need him. Fuck. I need him. I need Gabe and Conner. It’s scary, but almost liberating too.

  “It’s Gabe. He’s…he’s sick. Not contagious sick, but he’s…” Would Gabe care if I told Conner? I don’t think he would. I think he would want someone to be here with me. “He has bipolar disorder. He was locked in his room. I finally got him out and he’s in the hospital right now. I…”

  There’s a rustling on the other end of the line. “I’m getting dressed right now. Where are you?”

  I tell him what hospital we’re at and he replies, “I’ll be right there,” before hanging up.

  I manage to send a quick text to Ezra letting him know what’s going on, and then I drop my phone in my lap. Pull my legs up, bend my knees with my feet flat on the floor. My arms automatically go around my legs, and I bow my head…and cry. For what Gabe’s going though. For myself. For my mom. For everything. I’m tired. So fucking tired. I just want things to be easy. I want something to be okay.

  It feels like five minutes later, though I know it has to have been longer when I see a pair of shoes come into my periphery. Before a body sits beside me. Before an arm wraps around me.

  “It’ll be okay,” Conner says. “We’ll figure it out. Everything will be okay.”

  There have been so many times I thought Gabe was my only friend. He was the only person I let in because of our history, but sitting here with Conner’s arm around me, I know there is at least one more person who would have my back. Who I can count on and who I owe a much better friendship to than the one I’ve given him.

  “My uncle has panic disorder. It’s not the exact same as bipolar, but I’m familiar with mental illness. It was tough on my
mom, but he’s doing better now, it’s not as debilitating anymore. Your boy will be good too.”

  Somehow some of the weight leaves my chest at that. “Thank you.”

  “Wow. You didn’t deny that he’s your boy. You and me? I think we’re getting somewhere, Lucas.”

  Damned if those words don’t make me chuckle.

  Conner pulls his arm back, but doesn’t move. We sit on the floor, in the hospital hallway, our arms touching. We don’t talk for a long time, but it feels good to have him here. I think I just need to know someone is here.

  After a while, he nudges my arm. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m taken,” I tease him, amazed that I’ve found it in me to do that.

  “I know, and I’m a little heartbroken about that,” he winks and I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t want you. You’re too moody for me,” he teases. “A friend of mine hooked me up with a job. It’s temporary for now, but could turn into full time. The money is pretty good. A whole hell of a lot better than the bar.”

  “What is it?” I ask, wondering what this has to do with me.

  “They’re looking for unskilled laborers to build sets for a movie. Could be a cool gig. Even though you try to hide it all the time, I know you’re always drawing buildings and stuff, so I thought you might like working with your hands. You wanna give it a go? They asked if there was anyone else I trusted who might be interested.”

  Excitement explodes in my chest. My pulse beats rapidly, dances almost, because this actually sounds pretty cool. Maybe I could do this, build sets like Conner and then maybe work toward structural engineering the way Gabe said.

  Gabriel.

  My happiness is immediately doused, water to flame. Guilt gnaws on my bones. How can I be excited about something while he’s depressed and sedated in a hospital room right now? Plus, I might have to take care of him when he gets out. The bar isn’t ideal but the hours might be easier to work around. Since I’ve worked there over a year, they might be more willing to give me time off if I have to help with Gabe.