by Alexa Land
“Of course. We’ll take care of it,” Dare said, and Skye sniffed and nodded his head.
I stayed a few more minutes and answered their questions. There would be a million questions later, once the initial shock wore off. But for now, they really just needed time to process it.
When Chance and I stepped onto the sidewalk, he turned to me and said softly, “I think I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” I nodded and hugged him, then kissed the side of his head before I let go of him. He looked so vulnerable as he walked away from me, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
I went back to my apartment, which was way too still without Shea in it. He was working a split shift today. To try to cheer myself up, I plugged in the little tangerine tree and the strands of lights Skye had left behind on Christmas Eve. That felt like a long time ago.
Aside from the holiday decor, the apartment was blank and cheerless. I’d moved in shortly after my diagnosis and had always treated this place as nothing more than a temporary living arrangement, even though I’d been here three years. I sat on a chair at my dining table and looked at the drawings spread out before me.
Before New Year’s I’d begun sketching some ideas for a mural to paint on the future art center. It was pretty daunting trying to come up with a concept for an entire building. I’d gone to see the place a couple days after Christmas and ended up just standing on the sidewalk staring at it for about half an hour before finally turning and heading home.
My sketches were a bit rough, since my drawing skills had already declined just like my handwriting by that point, but I’d still been able to get ideas down on paper. I was afraid to find out where they were now. I needed to know, though.
It felt awkward when I picked up a pencil and even worse when I tried to draw. No matter how hard I concentrated, I just couldn’t get my hand to do what I wanted it to. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes and I cleared the tabletop with a sweep of my arm, sending paper and pencils and sketchbooks cascading onto the floor.
I launched myself from my chair and strode to the kitchen, then stopped and rested my forehead against the refrigerator. The headache that used to remain just below my pain threshold was now right above it, all the time, a constant thrum thrum thrum, refusing to be ignored. I yanked open a door and rummaged among my prescription bottles until I found my strongest pain pills. At least I could still remove the big, white lid, although I knew it was just a matter of time before I wouldn’t even be able to do that. I dumped a few pills into my palm and tossed them in my mouth, then made a cup with my hand and caught some water from the tap to wash them down.
Again I rested my forehead on the refrigerator, the metal slightly cool and therefore a bit soothing. Not enough, though. My head went right on throbbing to the beat of my heart. I was acutely aware of it right now. I needed the pain pills to hurry up and work, but I knew it would take at least half an hour.
I couldn’t wait that long though, not today. Not when my emotions were so raw, not when it felt like everything was unraveling around me. I opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle closest to the front. I didn’t even look to see what it was. I didn’t care. I pulled off the lid and tossed it aside, then drank right from the bottle, several deep, burning gulps. I knew it was wrong to mix booze and pills, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t taken enough painkiller to OD. Hopefully I’d taken enough to stop fucking feeling though.
It was just too much. Too much pain, too much emotion. I kept seeing Shea’s eyes on Christmas and a hundred times since then, Skye’s and Chance’s and even Dare’s today, so much sadness. Exactly what I’d never wanted was happening. Everyone who cared about me was hurting. It was my fault. I’d let them all get close to me, selfishly. Each of those relationships had been formed after my diagnosis, even though I’d predicted exactly this outcome.
I took another long drink from the bottle, then slid down until I was laying on the kitchen floor. What the hell was I going to do? I thought I had more time. Time with Shea, with my dad, with my friends. I had to find someone to take over for me with Zan, even if my dad was in total denial. I had planned to finish school, but that seemed irrelevant right now. I’d wanted to paint more. A lot more. I wondered if my motor skills had already deteriorated to the point where I couldn’t direct a spray can. I wanted to set up the art center and create something lasting, both inside and on the outside of that building.
I wanted more time with Shea most of all. I wanted years. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anything in all my life. Sweet, beautiful Shea. He loved me. That gorgeous, amazing, kind man loved me. But all that meant for him was so much heartache. It had already started for him and it was only going to get worse.
I curled up in a little ball, hugging my knees to my chest. I was so scared. How fast would my body fail? How much time did I have before I couldn’t even pick up a fork or work a doorknob or tie my shoes? I feared that more than I feared death, the utter helplessness that was so totally inevitable. I’d planned to check myself in to that assisted living facility as soon as things started to turn, but this was too soon. I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. I couldn’t leave Shea yet. I just couldn’t.
*****
I awoke in darkness, my body stiff on the cold, hard kitchen floor. Something had awakened me, but I wasn’t sure what it had been. I sat up, pushing my hair back from my face. A moment later, someone knocked on the door, loudly.
Shea looked distraught when I opened the door. “Are you alright?” he asked, stepping into the apartment and taking hold of my shoulders as he looked me over. He was still in his uniform, this time with an SFPD windbreaker over it.
“Yeah. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Ten p.m., maybe. I was out there knocking for a while.”
“I fell asleep,” I mumbled. The booze and pills were making everything fuzzy.
Shea noticed the fuzziness, of course. “Are you drunk?”
“Not entirely. I’m going to work on that.” I leaned in and kissed his lips, then spun and headed to the kitchen.
He trailed after me. “You seem more than drunk. You seem...altered.”
“Altered. Good word. I am indeed altered. With any luck, I’m about to become far more altered.” The headache was still there, but the edge was off of it. Yay to that. I really had no interest in sobering up, though.
I retrieved the bottle from the kitchen floor, the one I’d been drinking from earlier. Turned out it was bourbon. Usually not my first choice, but it had done the trick. I took a long drink, then offered the bottle to Shea. He frowned and took the bottle from me, but instead of taking a drink as I’d intended, he put it on the counter. “Really?” he said. “Is this your plan? Getting drunk instead of dealing with the situation?”
“Better living through alcohol,” I quipped.
“Come on, Christian. You can do better than this.”
“I can, but I don’t want to.”
“Are you mixing bourbon with pills? Is that why you seem so out of it?”
“What if I am?”
Shea’s frown deepened. “Do I have to tell you how incredibly dangerous that is?”
“No, you really don’t. I had a headache. I always have a headache, but this one was worse. It needed to stop, so I took a few pain killers. But I’m not stupid, Shea. I didn’t take enough to overdose.”
His voice rose. “Maybe not intentionally, but accidents can happen! How many pills did you take?”
“I don’t know. A few.”
He stared at me for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and angry. “Where’s the bottle, Christian?”
“Why?”
“I want to see what you took.”
“I don’t need you checking up on me. I’m not a child.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The phrase ‘I’m not a child’ might carry a bit more weight if you hadn’t made the incredibly immature decision to mix drugs and alcohol.”
“I really don’t need this right now, Shea! My day sucked, my head hurts, my whole world is falling apart, and yes. I acted immaturely. So the fuck what? I don’t need you to judge me for it!”
“I’m not judging you, Christian, I’m scared for you. What if you’d accidentally ODed?”
“I didn’t!” I stepped back from him and took a deep breath. Then I said, more calmly, “I’m going to go to bed and put this shitty day out of its misery. I’ll talk to you in a couple days, okay?”
“A couple days?”
“I need to sort this shit out. Don’t worry, I’m not going to mix any more pills and booze. I swear. I just need some time to myself.”
He hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue. But after a while he said, “You sure you’re going to be alright?” When I nodded, he murmured, “Well...okay. I’ll call you in a couple days. Remember, you swore. No more pills and alcohol.”
“I won’t do that again. I promise.” He kissed my forehead and paused for another moment, then stroked my hair before leaving the apartment.
I felt terrible pushing him away like that, but I just couldn’t take any more pain right now, mine or anyone else’s. I picked up the bourbon from the counter, drank the rest of it, and put the empty bottle in the sink before laying back down on the kitchen floor. The cool tile felt good against my cheek.
I knew I was being self-destructive and that ultimately, hiding out at the bottom of a bottle was no solution. But right now, I didn’t care. I needed oblivion. And I loved Shea way too much to let him watch.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh, hell no.”
I pried an eyelid open and looked up to see who’d spoken. Skye and Shea were standing over me. They looked pissed. I was in the bathtub for some reason, fully dressed.
My best friend said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You, of all people! You grew up with an alcoholic and know for a fact how damaging booze can be. Yet this is your solution? Getting drunk off your ass for days?” He bent over and plucked something from my hand. It turned out to be a bottle of scotch. “What the fuck, Tillane?”
I mumbled, “You know my last name.”
“Yeah. Thanks for not telling me who your dad is. What, did you think I was going to blab to the media?”
“No, I didn’t think that.”
“I went to Skye for help when you wouldn’t answer your phone or your door,” Shea explained. “He was with me when I called Zan for advice and your dad asked to speak to him. I wouldn’t have given away your secret under normal circumstances.”
“It’s okay. Skye can know. I love Skye, he’s a good egg. He’s not gonna tell anybody.” Wow, I was still really drunk.
Skye spun the dial on the shower and a jet of cold water jolted me fully awake. I yelped, pushing back to get out of the stream, and said, “Do you really have to be this pissed off?”
“Yes.”
“So I got drunk,” I slurred. “We’ve all gotten drunk at one point or another. Don’t you think I’m entitled to do that once in a while? I kept my promise to Shea, too. I didn’t take any more pain killers. So what’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal? Shea and I have been worried sick about you!”
“Why?”
“Because you went missing!”
“I didn’t go missing,” I said, pushing my wet hair out of my face. “I just spent the night getting drunk. You two are acting like that’s some huge catastrophe.”
Skye stared at me for a long moment, then said, “You’ve been holed up in here for four days, Christian. Do you not know that?”
“No I haven’t. I just saw Shea last night.”
“You saw him on January second. It’s now the sixth,” Skye told me. “At first, he gave you a couple days like you asked. He was worried because he knew you’d been drinking, but stupid me told him that was nothing to worry about because you always drank a lot and you knew your limits. Little did I know you were in here steeping yourself like one of Nana’s fruitcakes.” When I grinned a little he said, “Oh no. Don’t you dare try to laugh this off!”
“That’s funny, though. Did you try the fruitcake she gave you? I tried mine. I’m pretty sure Nana poured an entire bottle of rum over it. It was tasty, though. Fruitcake gets a bad rap but this one had some things going for it, as long as you kept it away from open flames.” Skye frowned at me. When I glanced guiltily at Shea, he was staring at me with a stony expression, his arms crossed over his chest. I told them, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it had been four days.”
“I’m going to call his dad and tell him he’s alright,” Shea muttered to Skye, then left the bathroom.
Standing was a lot of effort, so I kept sitting in the tub with the now-warm water hitting my knees and looked up at Skye. “How’d you guys get in? Did Shea have some kind of special cop way of busting into my apartment?”
“What, like a battering ram?”
“Is that what you used? I wish I could have seen that!”
Skye stared at me and said flatly, “A friend of mine lent me a lock pick kit.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my wet jeans. After a moment I said quietly, “I really am sorry about worrying you.”
His expression finally softened and he sat down on the edge of the tub, even though spray from the shower was hitting his arm. “I’m just glad you managed to avoid liver poisoning.”
“How mad is Shea?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea how much that guy loves you? I kept trying to tell him you were probably just sulking, but he was worried sick. I don’t think he’s eaten in days.”
“Will you help him, Skye? When I die, I mean. It’s going to be so hard on him. I know it’ll be hard on you too, so maybe, I don’t know. Maybe you could help each other.”
Skye swore under his breath and looked away.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to just blurt out the ‘d’ word. I’m still not thinking clearly.” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “Do you see now why I didn’t tell you for so long? I never wanted to tell you at all. I was just going to go away and let you think I was some asshole who couldn’t bother to keep in touch. That way you would have been angry, but not hurt. Hurt is worse.”
Skye turned to face me again, his blue eyes bright with tears. “You’re such an idiot,” he said. Then he climbed in the tub with me and pulled me into a hug. “Yeah, it hurts like hell. But you know what’s worse? The thought of you going off and dying alone!”
“You were never supposed to find out about that, though.”
“You’ve always been like this,” he said, holding me tightly. “You keep everything in. Everything! How am I supposed to help you if you never tell me what’s wrong?”
“You don’t have to help me.”
“But I want to! That’s what best friends do! Hell, look at all you’ve done for me in the two years we’ve been friends. You barely knew me when I overdosed, but for those first few months after I got out of the hospital, you were there for me every single day, just like my brother was. You didn’t have to stick around, but you did. You made sure I ate, and brought me groceries, and helped me in a million little ways. You’ve been a true friend to me, Christian. Why on earth wouldn’t you let me return the favor?”
I sat back and looked at him. “But this isn’t the same thing. You were depressed in those early months, but you were still able to care for yourself. I just provided a little assistance. What’s happening to me isn’t going to require an occasional bag of groceries. I’m going to get to the point where I can’t do anything for myself.”
“I know, and I want to help. No, scratch that. I’m going to help.”
“Do you get what I’m saying, though? I won’t be able to get a spoon to my mouth, or comb my hair, or shave, or bathe myself, or do anything. That’s why I’m going to a care facility.”
“That’s a terrible idea. You’d be so unhappy there!”
“That’s where I’ll belong, it’s exactly what
places like that are for.”
“But you have friends and family who can provide the care you’ll need. You have so many people that love you, and we’re going to be there for you.”
“But I don’t want you to be!” I shut off the shower with a hard twist, then climbed out of the tub, forming a puddle on the floor. “Don’t you get it, Skye? I don’t want you or Shea or my dad or anyone I know to see me like that! Do you think I want you to watch me drooling on myself when I’ve lost the ability to control my facial muscles, or changing a fucking diaper for me because I can’t get to the bathroom? The thought of you seeing me reduced to that makes me physically ill! That why I don’t even want anyone to visit me in the nursing home, because it’s too fucking humiliating!”
He stood up too, his blue hair dripping onto his shoulders as he stepped out of the tub. “So that’s it. This all comes down to pride.”
“That’s not the only reason. Caring for me will become a full-time job, and I refuse to become a huge burden to the people I love!”
“Get over it.” That was from Shea, who stood in the doorway. I turned to face him and he said, “Dying alone in some anonymous facility is not an option.”
“Neither is giving up your life to be my nursemaid, Shea.”
“That’s my choice.”
“And moving to a facility is mine,” I told him.
“But it’s not the right call!” he exclaimed. “You’d be so lonely and miserable. You need to be surrounded by the people who love you. And that’s what love is, Christian. It’s holding on tight while the worst storms that life can hit us with try to tear everything apart.” He came up to me and cupped my face between his palms. “There’s a reason the terms ‘for better or for worse’ are included in marriage vows. That’s the essence of true love, not just being there for the good times, but also facing the storms together.”