“Thanks… I appreciate you thinking of me, but I don’t think now’s the best time for something like that. Not really sure it’s my thing either.”
Conner frowns and I know he doesn’t believe me. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and wait for them to tell me Gabe is awake.
Conner doesn’t leave my side the whole time.
33
Gabriel
My eyes feel like sandpaper and when I carefully blink them open, I’m lying on my side in a hospital bed with itchy sheets and one of those gowns that ties in the back. My muscles are sore from crashing for days on end, and I try to shift but there’s an IV attached to my wrist, limiting my range of motion. As I stare out the window into the cloudless blue sky, it all rushes back to me.
How two days ago, Lucas stayed with me for hours in the emergency room. Ezra was there for a while too, and the pair of them wasting all that time and energy made me feel like shit. But it also helped me realize how much they care, even though I’m having trouble feeling anything good about myself lately.
Ezra looked relieved that I was finally getting help, as did Lucas, if not pretty damn worried, and I know how much hell I put them through. Damn, this brain of mine. Shutting down on me like that. But I was also at fault for letting my symptoms go on for this long. I knew I needed these meds but too many convoluted thoughts were holding me at arm’s length from getting healthy again.
I shift to my back, tugging on the IV that they stuck in my hand after figuring out I was mostly dehydrated. My gaze snags onto Lucas, who’s slumped over in one of the chairs by the foot of the bed, sleeping. My heart launches to my throat, as I look him over. He’s wearing his beanie and my hoodie is draped across his shoulders and over his lap. I hold back a strangled sob because he’s still here and he means everything to me.
He stirs and shifts in the chair, his eyelashes fluttering open. We stare at each other across the room for a long intense moment. His eyes are glassy, like he’s holding back a floodgate of emotions behind his tired green irises.
The air is thick, every molecule occupying the space between us buzzing and pulsing with unspoken words.
I clear my throat. “Did you really draw an airplane in every sketch?”
He nods, his eyes growing even softer recalling our conversation from before he finally convinced me to get help. It seems so long ago now.
“Are you still afraid?” My heart is battering against my ribcage, because I want to pull him toward me, ask him to lie down and hold me again.
“Yeah.” He straightens himself in the chair. “How about you?”
I bob my head up and down. “But I feel better. Thank you for helping me.”
“Always,” he says, the emotions so raw on his face, and I wonder if this is hitting too close to home for him after losing his mother the way he did.
Oh hell, I don’t want to let go of this man. This beautiful, fragile soul who represents my past, my present, and my future. Except I need to fix the present so we can have a decent shot at a future. If that’s even an option. I don’t want him to resent me or feel like he’s always walking on eggshells.
“Have you talked to Conner again? About that job?” I ask, hoping he’s been doing more than worrying and watching me sleep. Lucas explained that Conner had come to the hospital and hung out with him when I was in transition from the ER to a regular room so they could stabilize me.
“Nah,” he replies, not meeting my eyes. “Not sure if it’s the best idea for me right now.”
“What do you mean? Of course it is,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s an opportunity to at least explore. A job you might actually enjoy.”
I still hope I’ll have a job after all of this. Instead of an inpatient facility, I agreed to attend day treatment for a couple of weeks to be sure I’m on the right track. It’s mostly covered by my insurance but I’ll have to figure out the rest, including what to do about work and making rent. Fuck, the idea of dealing with all of that makes me break out in a cold sweat.
But the social worker also told me that I could apply for some additional government assistance to help cover the cost of care. I wish I had known about that option sooner.
“I’ll talk to Conner about it again,” Lucas says as he stares down at his hands. “But for the next couple of weeks, I might be too busy. We need to get you on your feet.”
And just as I’m about to dispute his plan, the door thrusts open and a nurse I recognize from the day before sweeps inside the room. She pats Lucas’s shoulder as if she’s well acquainted with him.
“I’m here to take your vitals,” she says, pulling the mobile cart beside the bed. “You look well rested. Got some color back in your cheeks. Do you need some water?”
I realize how scratchy my throat feels, so I nod and she reaches for the cup and pitcher on a side table. As I sip the cool liquid, Lucas stands up and stretches and I watch him as he travels sluggishly around the room, almost as if he’s adrift. He stares absently out the large picture window before he flips on the light to use the bathroom.
“Everything looks good,” the nurse says as she places the thermometer beneath my tongue and then holds my wrist to take my pulse. “Your next dosage is in a couple hours.”
It will take days for the meds to form a baseline in my system again, but for now I’m on the mend. My brain feels less cluttered and even some hope has begun to seep back in.
“Be right back, vending machine,” Lucas mumbles as he emerges from the restroom. My gaze drinks in the sight of him until the door clicks shut and my stomach convulses agonizingly tight.
“The social worker will be in this afternoon to see you,” the nurse says as she unravels the blood pressure cuff. “You’ll discuss your treatment plan, and then we can begin discharge paperwork.”
After the nurse leaves the room, I gaze out the window, gearing myself up for the painful conversation I need to have with Lucas. My chest feels so heavy, so tight. I consider crawling back into the cocoon of my covers but I force myself to find courage through the cluttered thoughts in my brain.
Lucas enters the room carrying a large cup of coffee. Dark smudges are visible beneath his eyes, no doubt from rearranging his life to help me these past couple of days. “You going to eat something more than broth and Jell-O today?”
“The orange Jell-O isn’t so bad,” I say with a tentative smile.
“I know,” he smirks. “I ate the rest of it when you fell asleep last night. Didn’t touch the bread though, that roll looked hard as a rock.”
My brain tries to muster a crack about his strange bread aversion, as I feel the blood drain from my face. Because damn, he’s gone out of his way for me, even going so far as subsisting on leftover hospital food.
“Luke.” Adjusting myself to a sitting position on the bed, I feel my hands quivering. But I need to say the words already, even if they’re eating me alive. “Listen, I’ve been thinking, and I…I’m going to need to do this on my own.”
His complexion pales as naked fear and a spark of anger flits through his eyes. As if I’d delivered a cold punch to his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I have to figure out the hard stuff on my own,” I say as panic crowds the back of my throat. “You can’t be my savior. I won’t let you be. I need to be able to stand strong alone. Both of us do.”
“I can still help,” he sputters, his hand motioning out the window. “I could drive you to the—”
“No,” I say in an assertive voice, even though I’m collapsing inside. “I want that, believe me. I desperately want you in my life. But not like this.”
His clenched fists along with the gut-wrenching emotions lining his face are completely unnerving, but I soldier forward. Everything needs to be said. Even if I risk losing him. I bite my lip as my heart sinks like a stone in my chest.
“You’ve done so much for me already,” I say, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes. “You have your own shit to figure o
ut. I have to let you go and do this by myself.” A loud whimper rises in my throat as my restraint splinters. “I…love you enough to do that.”
Something shutters in Lucas’s expression as his fingers clench the bedrail. “You…what did you say?” he whispers.
I swipe at my eyes and steady my watery voice. “I said I love you, Luke. I think I always have.”
Tears cascade down his cheeks in fat drops as he gapes at me, seemingly overwhelmed by my declaration. His breaths release from his lips in hard pants and he appears on the verge of crumbling.
I want to help wipe his heartache away, but I can only do that if I’m healthy too.
Instead I reach for his hand and stretch open his fist. I kiss every one of his fingers and then the very center of his palm. When I look up at him, his eyes are shut and his lips are trembling.
“That’s my heart right there,” I say, closing each of his fingers into a fist. His eyes snap open and he looks down at his hand. “I give it to you freely. You’re the only one who’s ever had it anyway. If you still want to be in my life, then I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Please want me. Please still want me.
Lucas’s head drops and he nods once, his gaze fixed on the floor. His fist remains tightly sealed at his side. As if he’s keeping my heart tucked in the safe pocket of his hand. It’s nearly my undoing.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself and then he walks to the door. As he twists open the knob, his back is still turned. “In case you didn’t already know, I love you too.”
And then he’s gone, taking all the goddamn air in the room with him.
34
Lucas
I’m fucking pissed.
Or hurt. Or both. I can’t see past the fact that Gabe sent me away to understand exactly what I’m feeling. All I know is I tried to give him everything, but he told me to walk away. I can’t stop asking myself what I did wrong. How I let him down.
But the truth is, maybe he was right. Maybe I don’t have what it takes in me to help him, anyway. What the hell can I do for Gabe?
I can’t even do anything for myself.
The next couple of days I do nothing except work or draw. I’ve filled up three books with sketches of buildings with planes flying over them, even though I know I won’t do anything with them.
I’ve been a dick to everyone I work with, even Conner. Especially Conner. I only talk to him when I have to. The truth is, I’m angry at him too. I’m jealous.
He gave his two-week notice. Soon he’ll be out of the bar, something I don’t have the balls to do. I think part of me feels like that’s all I deserve.
It’s around eight PM, and I’m lying on my bed with my sketchbook in front of me, when I hear a knock at the door.
There’s a slight lurch in my chest, wondering who it might be. Loud yells vibrate through the floor from the apartment upstairs as I push to my feet and take the short walk to the door before opening it.
Conner stands on the other side. “You’re being a dickhead. What the fuck is your problem?” He pushes past me and into the apartment.
“Come in, I guess.” I didn’t tell him what happened with Gabe.
Slamming the door, I turn and head for the couch before plopping down on it.
“Did something happen with Gabriel? He’s okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “He’s doing some day therapy thing.”
Conner sighs. “Then what the fuck is up with you? I thought we were making headway the other day.”
He’s right. We were…and I want that. I lean against the back of the couch, and cover my face with my hands. I owe him some kind of explanation…because he’s my friend. Because I haven’t been a very good friend to him. Because he was there for me…because I’m so fucking tired of cutting myself off from everyone. “Sit down,” I tell him.
“Huh?”
“Sit.” I drop my hands and nod toward the couch beside me.
Conner walks over and does as I asked. He puts a hand on my knee and squeezes. It feels so fucking good—that contact. It’s not Gabe, but it’s something. Before Gabe I didn’t realize I needed contact, but I do. I so fucking do.
“He broke it off with me.” The words taste wrong on my tongue. Feel wrong.
“What? No way.”
For the second time, I rub my hand over my face. “I think… I don’t know. He said he needs to do it on his own. The only fucking thing I wanted was to be there for him. To help him, but he doesn’t want it.” I shrug. It feels like the first step to ending it all…and maybe he’s right.
“Please tell me you are not this dumb.”
I whip my head around toward Conner. “What?”
“I know you’re not this dumb. Stubborn maybe. A pessimist, maybe, but you have to know that guy is crazy about you. I could see it the one and only time I met him at the bar. You have to know he’s right, Lucas.” Conner squeezes my knee again.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. When you care about someone, you stick by them. You help them through whatever they’re dealing with. You shoulder the pain when they can’t.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s true in a way, but people have to be able to do it for themselves too. You guys are fucking doomed if you can’t. You can’t save him, Lucas. You can love him. You can be there for him, but you can’t fucking save him, because if you do, what happens when you aren’t there?”
His words echo through my brain, a yell through a canyon playing over and over. What happens when you aren’t there…?
When I wasn’t there for Mom… she died.
“No matter how much you love someone, you can’t always be there. It’s impossible.”
His words hammer into me. They’re a truth I knew, but tried to ignore. A truth I kept locked away because I wanted to be able to save Gabe. I wanted to save him the way I couldn’t save Mom… the way I’m not saving myself. It’s so much fucking easier to focus on other people than it is to own up to your own shit. To become your own savior. But the truth is, we all have to be our own heroes. If not, we’re fucked, just waiting for our lives to fall apart.
“Look at that. I see the light bulb click on. You realize I’m right. You should have started asking me for my opinion a year ago. I’m a smart dude.”
“Shut up.” For the first time in days, I smile. “I…I really love him. He was the first person I came out to. Did I tell you that?”
Conner shakes his head. “Nope. You can now, though.”
So we sit here and talk. I tell Conner about my mom and meeting Gabe online. He learns about the trouble I’ve been in and Gabe and I losing contact and me getting locked away. We talk about how I felt when Gabe first came back and it feels so fucking good to let someone in. To let someone else in, because Gabe is already there.
A few hours later when Conner gets up to leave, I ask him, “Do you think that job is still a possibility? And do you think I could work it around school, if I decide to go back?”
Conner claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, bro. You do what you gotta do, but if you want the job, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
I close the door behind him, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a direction. A plan, and I’m not just doing it because it’s a promise I made to my mom years ago, even though I feel good that I’m finally going to work toward accomplishing it. It’s not for Gabe, even though he’s right, and we both have to be strong apart if we’re ever going to be strong together.
It’s for me, and that feels pretty damn good.
35
Gabriel
The art therapy teacher pats me on the shoulder as I help her collect the stray pencils that some of the other residents left on the tables in the workroom. This has become a routine for the past week while I wait for my ride home from either Ezra or Lou.
It’s too far of a walk this time to get back to my apartment. Plus that blistering need to burn off excessive energy is slowly extinguishing inside me like a flickeri
ng candle losing oxygen. Besides, I’m here for six hours a day, Monday through Friday and by the end of various group, art, and individual therapies, I’m beat.
The thing about being stabilized on the right dosage is that my thoughts and emotions feel more balanced, more rational. I felt completely out of it for a couple of days, but that was only the meds establishing a baseline in my system.
Eventually it will become my new normal. A normal I’ll have to live with.
Like Dr. Wolf said in my individual therapy session yesterday, “You need to accept the fact that you’re going to be on medication for many years. Maybe always. And that’s okay. You have the opportunity to make your life what you want it to be.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I will grieve the moments I felt so goddamn free and on top of the world like I could do anything, be anyone. But the doc explained that grandiose thinking is a feature of manic episodes. He says I’ll have to get my highs in smaller doses—from real experiences, true moments of happiness.
Like finding out that I earned an A in my intermediate flight theory class and can move on to register for my flight instrument course.
Certainly I won’t miss the days of being so miserable and despondent that I struggled to see anything good in my life. Except maybe Lucas.
I straighten the pile of rolled up drawings on the back table we had made this afternoon. Today’s theme was body mapping, which meant that we outlined our forms on a large surface area. Then we used words, pictures, and symbols to show what experiences our minds, hearts, and extremities had gone through in life.
Plenty of images and phrases had made it to my head and chest sections, as I labeled my general interests and talents. I even wrote in my parents because I still love them, even if they don’t fulfill me emotionally the way I need them to. Even if my dad’s fists have bruised my skin as well as my heart.
Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) Page 17
