Been There Before

by Cecilia Fyre

  Hopefully, it'd work out for the two of them, better than it had for him and Lea. Even though it ripped his heart to shreds to think of her with someone else. No, correction. Precisely because it did.

  He didn’t deserve to be happy. He kept hurting people, and every time he did his soul got a little bit blacker, his life a little more devoid of color.

  But despite everything he couldn’t help wishing he could get her back. There were all the things he wanted to say, the different ways he wanted to beg for her forgiveness. And late at night, they came out. He vomited them up, spewed them out in endless pages of scribbled, garbled words. They were on Post-it notes all over the house. On napkins, the backs of cereal boxes, in notebooks, on the back – and front – of checks and bills. Sometimes there were hundreds, thousands of words, in his smallest, cramped writing when he was sober, large, and uncoordinated when he was not.

  Ciaran tried to tidy up the flood of verbiage, put it in a box, and closed the lid. Ricco had never been that close to hitting his son.

  Mostly, on the notes even now littered around him, there were just three words, over and over: Please forgive me. And when he couldn’t write them any longer because he was disgusted to the point of throwing up – again – it was the other three.

  The Big Three.

  I love you.

  Which was nothing but the truth.

  Almost the moment she stormed off he had started calling the iPhone’s number, leaving voicemail after voicemail, apologies, self-flagellations, until the beep would cut him off. And, yes, he knew all along she couldn’t pick them up. He’d collected the remains of the pink phone, and scattered them around the house. In the kitchen, the bathroom. In his coat pocket. By the bed.

  More and more often as the days went by he called the number to hear her voice. He’d pestered her into recording that answer message, just a few days before the awful night. That was the last time they’d laughed together. He’d memorized the message and could still hear it if he closed his eyes and focused.

  “All right, stop nagging, you pest! Ricco, nobody ever calls me on this number except you… oh all right, here goes: You told me, just now, to tell your future self to leave me a message. So go ahead, do it. Happy now?”

  When she got to his name, that soft British lilt to the r, so similar to Daniel’s, his eyes filled with tears, every time. He could no longer hear the message because the voicemail was full. All he got when he called that number now was an automated error message.

  And yet, he still called at least once a day. It was more than a ritual, it had become a compulsion. And he deserved the jolt to his heart every time that computer voice cut him off.

  His harshest punishment would have been to go the full mile and finish what he’d started. Date Anna, take her from her husband and make it official. It would’ve been hell, being with her, and that would have served him right. But he chickened out of that, too.

  Loser.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the soft opening of the bedroom door. He lay still and kept his eyes closed. Maybe Nick would think he was asleep and leave him be. The light creeping through the crack of the door hurt his head even through closed eyelids. He groaned inwardly. What was the fucking point of these fucking useless meds when they couldn’t even keep that fucking headache at bay?

  But it's not the pills, is it? It's the booze and your own stupidity.

  Don’t blame her. You did this.

  You fucking dick.

  Soft footsteps approached. Something scraped along the floor by the bed, then the footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

  The water sputtered on in the bath. Ricco hated himself. He was such a burden, a liability that needed looking after twenty-four seven. No wonder everyone was so sick of him. At least she got away.

  A minute later the room was briefly bathed in light, then it clicked off. The soft sound of naked feet on wood again, then the scraping on the floor and Ricco’s mattress descended an inch as Nick sat down.

  “Hey, man.” A gentle hand on his bare back and Ricco tensed, then shuddered. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and that wasn’t just fever. The hand disappeared. “I put the bucket back, it’s right where it was.” Ricco didn’t respond, and Nick sighed. “Look at me, won’t you?”

  Ricco still hoped Nick would just leave him alone if he played chicken. But he’d been a dick long enough. His friend was still here, helping him, and he deserved better.

  So he turned over with a low groan and the room started spinning again. Ricco kept his eyes closed tight, and it took another minute before his messed-up brain got the message that he was in fact lying totally still.

  “How’re you feeling?” Nick asked gently.

  “Dunno.” Ricco peeked from under his lids.

  “Here, I got you this.” Nick placed a washcloth gently on Ricco’s forehead. Ricco sighed. The coolness was heaven against his burning skin. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His oldest friend and he was still here, still helping Ricco’s stupid ass. Ricco didn’t deserve this. He could hardly meet the other’s gaze.

  “You should go home, man. Traci’s waiting.”

  Nick shrugged. “Traci’s a big girl, she can look after herself for one night.” He stroked Ricco’s face tenderly. “You need me more at the moment.”

  Ricco didn’t want to cry. He didn’t deserve the love, the attention. This gentleness. He wanted to pull away from the caress, but then he stopped himself. He was done with hurting his friends. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Nick brushed Ricco’s bare chest, then got to his feet. A sudden urge to reach for him overcame Ricco. He wanted Nick to stay, take him into his arms and hold him until Ricco fell asleep. But instead, he rolled over onto his side, pulled his legs up, and closed his eyes.

  Nick said softly, “Go to sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  The door closed noiselessly, and the darkness was once again complete a blessing.

  But with the darkness came memories. And the room wouldn’t stop spinning. Ricco pressed one hand to his temple with a sob.

  Why did it have to be Anna? After filming wrapped in Hawaii he’d barely ever thought of her. She’d made no particular impression on him, and he’d not realized she’d had the hots for him the entire time. He’d paid no attention to what some people said about her. She was high maintenance, so what? She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. She’d always been nice to him.

  Now he knew why, of course. Now, when it was too late. She’d wanted to get in his pants the entire time, that’s why she’d turned on the charm. The thought made him even more nauseated. He balled his hand into a fist.

  Ricco had to fight the urge to hit himself in the head. He’d fucked up a lot in his time, but this one just took the cake. He dug his nails into the palm of his hand until sticky warm blood seeped through his fingers.

  It didn’t hurt much, but the smell made him feel sicker than before. Good.

  Siobhan had told him that Anna had been there when Lea fell and lost the baby. According to Siobhan, the fall had been an accident. But that seemed only half the story, and it made Ricco furious. Anna left his girl lying on the stairs, injured. Lea had nearly bled to death, right here in his bathroom. Anna could have helped. But instead, she’d left.

  The memory of Anna’s laugh, ice-cold and sharp like glass, rose in him, together with real hatred. Good riddance.

  That was what Anna had said after Lea smashed her phone and stormed off. He had stood frozen in horror, but the words had made it through the fog around his brain. Good riddance. Who would say such a thing? Had she really thought he’d turn to her for consolation after that? He’d told her to fuck off, and it had felt good, slamming the door in her face.

  He’d collapsed in the hall and sat with his back against the wall until Ciaran found him hours later. The boy had called on Nick for help, and Nick had been with them most of the time since.

  The shame of it all, the misery of
the memory, engulfed him again. Ricco could taste copper at the back of his throat as his stomach gave an angry gurgle. He rolled over and only just managed to get his head over the bucket.

  The retching burned his throat, but it was also kind of cathartic. This was what he deserves. Nothing less.

  7

  It took a week before Lea could go a shift without crying. It would overcome her when her mind relaxed for a moment, in the staff room, or working on her notes, or on a break. If she was in the middle of the ER he'd sprint into the nearest bathroom, or outside, to hide away until the tears were spent.

  She believed she was crying for what she’d lost. About the betrayal and his cruelty. But after a few days, she realized that what would set her off was the memory of Ricco looking ill and sad, wringing his hands and unable to speak. She was angry with herself that even after everything he’d done, it was him she thought about. He’d broken her heart, and he deserved to suffer. But as time went by she believed this less and less.

  After their night together, Jerome had left Lea his number. "Call me if you need a friend." But Lea knew that she would never call him. She felt bad for using him as she had. He'd insisted that she'd not used him and that he'd gone to bed with her willingly, with no strings attached. But one night in the arms of a different man had made it clear to Lea that she wasn't over Ricco at all. As much as she liked Jerome, and as much as they seemed more compatible, she’d been unable to forget Ricco even while making love to another man.

  And anyway, one confusing mess was enough.

  Halfway through a shift ten days after the run-in at the restaurant, Lea’s phone rang. After smashing the iPhone she’d found that she’d gotten too used to carrying her phone at work, and never left her Samsung in the locker now.

  The screen read, Number withheld. Lea hesitated. She got few calls, and usually, an anonymous one was invariably a salesperson. But she was about to go on a break, and who knew? Maybe putting the phone down on some poor bugger who wanted to talk her into car insurance would make her feel better.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Lea?” The voice was vaguely familiar but Lea couldn’t place it. Still, her heartrate picked up. How did the caller know her name?

  “Who’s asking?”

  “It’s Nick Sullivan. Ricco’s friend? I got your number out of his phone.”

  Lea’s curiosity turned to anger in a heartbeat. Was this his latest trick, getting his friends to harass her?

  “Lea?”

  “What do you want?” Her voice was laced with fury as she pressed the words past clenched teeth. “Is he trying to torment me by sending his friends after me now?”

  “What?” He sounded genuinely confused. “No, no… I swear! Listen, I… Ricco, he needs your help.”

  “What for?” Maybe it was Nick playing a trick on her without Ricco’s knowledge. She’d not exactly been impressed with him that night in Harlem.

  “He’s really sick.” His voice broke and he seemed to be fighting with the emotions welling up.

  Lea’s irritation vanished. She clamped the phone to her ear while she headed in the direction of the staff lockers.

  “Details, Nick!”

  “I think he OD-ed on those migraine pills.”

  There were muffled noises at the other end, sounding like slurred words. Lea thought she could hear someone mumble.

  “Nick, you there?”

  “Ricco, no, stay here… Yeah, yeah I am.”

  “So he’s conscious?”

  “Just about…he keeps trying to get up, but he’s gonna fall down in a second. It’s like he’s totally wasted, but different. Can you come and help me with him?”

  “No!” Her voice was sharp. “He needs to go to the hospital. Call an ambulance, now!"

  “He won’t want that.” There was still belligerence in Nick’s tone. Lea cursed under her breath. Those actor types took themselves much too seriously.

  “I don’t care what he wants,” she snapped. “If he’s overdosed on Elavil, he could die.” When there came no answer, she added, “I’m not joking, Nick. Call an ambulance, now!”

  “All right, all right.” He sounded scared now; all the cockiness was gone.

  "Tell them how much he took if you can." Lea pulled her coat and bag from her locker. “Tell them to go to Presbyterian Hospital, it’s closest. Don’t even think about coming here!”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Text me an update and your number. It’s not showing on my phone. And now, call 911!” She hung up without waiting for a response.

  She speed dialed Chris, the doctor on call. He was in the building, and he owed her a favor. She’d taken some of his shifts recently to keep herself busy. He’d cover the rest of her shift. It was ironic that she was using her brownie points to rush to Ricco's side when he was the reason she had done all this overtime in the first place.

  Sometimes, living without feelings would be a whole lot easier.

  As she didn’t feel up to driving, she hurried to the subway. The ride seemed to take forever, and she bounced one leg nervously as station after station crept by. A cab might’ve been faster, but she’d not been a New Yorker long enough for that to have occurred to her sooner. And now it was too late.

  In any case, it didn’t matter. Even if she got there ten, twenty, or even thirty minutes later, she couldn’t do much. That wasn’t her ER, she had no privileges. She’d just be another nervous visitor, like the dozens she encountered every day.

  Why, then, was she going at all? She had no intention to let him know she was there. Still, something compelled her.

  When the subway finally got to the right station, she hurried up the stairs, wondering all the while what exactly had happened. Had Ricco OD-ed on purpose? Tricyclics were notoriously tricky to get right consistently, and the dose he’d been on when they broke up was quite high. Had it been a simple case of taking a couple of accidental double doses? Whatever the reason for the overdose, Lea’s heart beat faster with fear. Even a small overdose could have serious consequences.

  Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake. Had he done it to punish her? Had he wanted to force her into making contact again?

  Whatever you do, don't give in to the temptation of actually talking to him.

  But then, what if he did die, and their last meeting had ended in a huge row?

  That thought propelled Lea into a near-run. Her phone bleeped. It was a message from Nick. The timestamp was twenty minutes old. Her phone must've been out of reach on the subway.

  At Presbt now. They took him away, won’t let me stay w/ him. I’m in the waiting area, find me. N

  Lea finally rushed through the double doors into an alien yet disconcertingly familiar ER environment. She was breathing hard and clutching a stitch in her side.

  “Lea!” Nick had been on the lookout, waving to her from the far end of the waiting area. Lea hurried over, and he drew her into a secluded corner. His gaze darted around nervously, and Lea remembered Ricco’s reservations about hospitals. She also glanced around. Several people hurriedly looked away. They had recognized Nick.

  Nick wore a black baseball cap, which Lea recognized as one of Ricco’s. His face was pale, and he looked scared.

  “How is he?”

  “The doctor says he’ll be fine. He shouldn’t have told me anything but I was getting obnoxious, I guess. Ricco’s asleep now. But…” Nick gripped her arm. “They want to send him to the Psych ward for observation. If they do that, it’ll never stay out of the press.”

  Lea felt sorry for him. She took his hand because his grip was painful on her wrist. “Nick, he needs help!”

  “This wasn’t a—” Nick caught himself and continued in a whisper. “It was not a suicide attempt.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Nick shrugged, helpless. “I’ve been with him for days. He was the same today as he’s been since… you know. Real quiet, but that’s just what he’s like now. An
d then suddenly he started getting confused, and all shaky and pale.” Nick’s voice broke. There were tears in his eyes. It angered Lea to think that Ricco had scared his friend so much.

  Something suddenly occurred to her. “How did you figure it was his meds? If he’s been taking them a while, he shouldn’t be having side effects.”

  Nick rubbed his face. “The pills have been fucking with his head. Whatever the leaflet says, his side effects never went away. He’s been a total mess. But he was even weirder than normal today, and an overdose was the first thing that popped into my head. He probably just took his mid-day dose twice by accident or something.” He was pleading, with her, with the universe. “He can’t go to Psych, Lea.”

  Lea shook her head. “It’s not my decision to make. This isn’t my ER.”

  “But you can talk to them?” His expression was pleading, his voice tense. “Doctor to doctor, y’know?” Lea’s determination faltered.

  “Nick—”

  “Let’s… let’s go see him first.” He tugged on her sleeve, but Lea didn’t budge. She didn’t want to see Ricco. No, that wasn’t true. What she didn’t want was for him to know she was here. She did want to see him. See with her own eyes that he was okay. Nick had said he was asleep, so a quick peek couldn’t hurt.

  With a sigh, she gave in and let Nick guide her down a long hallway. As they approached one of the doors, Nick frowned. “There should be a security guard here. I told them they needed someone here.”

  After the looks they’d gotten in the waiting room Lea agreed with him. She hung back when he pushed open the door.

  Ricco lay on a narrow bed, asleep. He was propped up with pillows and the metal bars had been raised on both sides. His wrists were shackled to the bed with soft restraints.

  Lea turned to Nick in horror. “Why did they restrain him?”

  “He got really agitated. Wanted to leave and kept pulling on the IV. I know he was just confused, but they weren’t happy with his behavior.” Nick glanced at Ricco, distressed.