Chapter Twenty
PRESENT
Once we get downtown and everyone gets off of the bus, I pull Darcy aside and explain my plan. In the real world, I really do need to get this cleared by her.
“And so I’m going to try and make this the best week. I want to try and prove to him that life is worth living,” I finish. I know I’ve bombarded her. Emma is standing close by and listening, tapping her foot on the sidewalk. I can tell they’re both skeptical.
“Wait, did he actually come out and say he intended to attempt suicide again?” Emma asks, her voice hushed. The patients are all lined up in front of the movie theatre, and Sebastian is having an animated conversation with Lily from his wheelchair. I try to suppress the jealousy blooming in my stomach.
“Well, no, I believe the word he used was disappear,” I explain. “But he’s just so melancholy. I… I want him to be happy.”
“You’re a good person. I’m happy to let that asswipe wallow in his own misery,” Emma whispers, and Darcy swats Emma’s shoulder with her hand.
“Marlin, we don’t normally do this kind of thing for inpatients. They pay us for a very structured life—twenty-eight days of the best care possible. We’ve never done anything like this before. Field trips are for special occasions. Contracts have been signed, and we have to do our jobs.”
I look down and nod. Of course that makes sense.
“That being said,” she adds, giving me a small smile, “we make exceptions for patients all the time. Knowing Sebastian, and knowing it’s his last week, I think this might actually be good for him.”
My head perks up, and I grin. Emma groans.
“Good fucking luck,” she says, laughing.
“Thank you,” I say to Darcy. “I really do think this will help.”
“Just make sure to clear everything by me. Daytrips only. He has to be here in the morning and evening for his medication.”
“Got it! First thing—instead of seeing a movie, is it okay if I took him to the tattoo parlor down the street? He has expressed interest in getting a tattoo,” I add, hopeful.
Darcy sighs. “If anyone asks, I wasn’t aware that you weren’t with our group the whole time.” She puts her hands on her hips and scowls. “Be back here in two hours, please.”
“Text me if he gets to be too much,” Emma whispers in my ear.
Now that I have permission, I walk over to Sebastian and motion for him to come with me.
“Where are we going?” he asks, confused.
“You, sir, are about to get your first tattoo.”
He hesitates and looks around, his knuckles white as he grips the armrest on his wheelchair.
“Marlin, that list was kind of a joke,” he starts. I quash the disappointment I start to feel and raise my chin up.
“Was it, though? It seemed like a pretty serious list to me. And I got everything cleared by Darcy. So we can either go to Faithful Few Tattoo and Body Piercing or we can go watch a cheesy Rom Com with everyone else and pretend nothing’s wrong. Face the music, Sebastian.”
From where I’m standing, I can’t tell if he’s smiling or scowling—the sun is bright behind him—but I start walking in the direction of the tattoo shop. I hide my smile as he sighs exasperatedly and begins to follow me in his wheelchair.
*
A few minutes later, we’re scanning the rows and rows of posters they have set up with examples of tattoos. Sebastian doesn’t strike me as someone who would get a tattoo he can pick from a book, so we veto the pre-drawn tattoos, and he goes into one of the back rooms with Derrik, the guy who did my tattoo. I hear them discussing ideas—typing, a computer, a printer. After a few minutes, Sebastian peeks his head around the corner.
“Are you getting one too?”
I shuffle my feet. I’m kind of a scaredy-cat, and the tattoo I got on my wrist a few weeks back was well thought out. I shrug.
“I’ve always wanted to pierce my nose,” I add.
A few minutes later, I’m seated next to Sebastian as Derrik inks him and Rob, the owner, squats in front of me. Sebastian won’t tell me what he’s getting. My heart starts to race as Rob swipes my nose with some antiseptic.
“Your eyes might water,” he adds, fingering a long needle. I gulp.
“Oh, come on. You’ll be fine,” Sebastian interjects. He doesn’t have to say it. I know what he means. I’m willing to slit my wrists, but a small nose piercing is scary?
Without saying anything, Rob pokes the needle through one nostril, and I cry out. I guess I’m a wimp when I’m not the one inflicting pain on myself.
“All done,” Rob says, his gruff voice light. “Just be sure to clean the area around the stud twice a day.” He hands me a mirror. It looks red and irritated right now, but I kind of like it.
“It looks good,” Sebastian adds. I see Derrik hovering over his right bicep.
“Thanks.”
For the next two hours, Derrik works on Sebastian’s arm. I decide to go to the front room of the shop to wait for Sebastian to finish. When he emerges, he has a triumphant smile on his face. The sleeve on his right arm is pushed up, and his upper bicep is bandaged.
“So? How’d it go?” I look at Derrik expectantly, and he just smiles and walks away. My eyes travel down to Sebastian, who pulls a wad of cash out of his wallet.
“And I thought I wouldn’t need money in rehab,” he says, his voice light and joking. “Let me get your piercing,” he adds. I hesitate, but he sets the cash down before I can do anything.
“Thank you.”
Once he gets all settled, Derrik hands him a care package full of cleanser and mild lotion.
“Clean it twice a day, lotion afterwards, and don’t pick the scab. Just let it be, bro, and make sure you come back! You’re an awesome dude.” Derrik walks away, and I wheel Sebastian out.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you got?” I ask impatiently.
“I have to leave the bandage on for twelve hours. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
“See? Aren’t you glad you did this?”
“Don’t you mean forced to do this?” He jokes, and I smile as we meet up with the rest of the group.
“You’re sure in a better mood,” I add.
He doesn’t say anything.
Darcy frowns at us as I wheel him up. We made it just in time—it looks as though everyone just got back on to the bus.
“How was everything?” she asks as the driver helps Sebastian into the bus.
“Good. Everything was good. I think this might work.”
Darcy nods, approval ripe on her face. “Wonderful.” Her eyes wander to my nose, and she shakes her head. “You had such a pretty face… Young people these days. Always piercing and tattooing that supple skin.”
I laugh.
Back on the bus, I take Sebastian’s list out of my pocket and cross out number three.
1. Change my name and reconcile with my father.
2. Fly a helicopter.
3. Get a tattoo.
4. Visit the Louvre in Paris.
5. Visit a nudist colony.
6. Paint a live model.
7.
“I’ll have to check into the nudist colony,” I say, slipping the paper back into my purse as I sit down next to him in the back. “I’m sure Vermont has one.”
He chuckles. “It was mostly a joke. I won’t be heartbroken if it doesn’t happen.”
“And Darcy said daytrips only, so Paris is out, at least for now. I’ll think of an alternative.”
“Fine.”
I pick at my nail polish as the bus begins to drive back to the retreat. There are so many things I want to ask him, and I don’t know where to start. I choose the most important one—the one I can’t stop thinking about.
“Are you really going to attempt suicide again? After you get out? Was that the plan all along?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. His face scrunches in thought, and he stares out of the window as the bus winds in the
opposite direction on the main road.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s uncomplicated being here—people are watching you, taking care of you. I suspect that’s why my parents chose this place the first time, a few years ago. This is my third time here.” He sneers and looks away. “This place doesn’t feel like real life sometimes.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say gently. I don’t want to instigate him, but I need to know.
“The answer is I don’t know. Something needs to change. It’s miserable, this being alive thing.”
“But it doesn’t have to be,” I urge, the panic rising in my throat. What if I can’t save him? What if he’s just too fucked up?
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay?” He’s facing me now, but I don’t meet his gaze. I have to bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything stupid.
“Okay,” I whisper a few seconds later.
The rest of the bus ride is uneventful, and once we’re back, I go straight to my car after saying goodbye to Darcy and Emma. Sebastian wheels himself away without saying goodbye, and the sting of that has me wiping away tears on my way to work.
What if this doesn’t work? What if Friday comes, and I’m too late?
Chapter Twenty-One
PRESENT
I walk into Brattleboro Retreat on Tuesday with a renewed sense of worth. I’m saving lives left and right. I have a plan for today, and it involves a very detailed, very expensive helicopter ride (and possibly a date with Dylan, the pilot, as a bribe).
Excitedly, I throw Sebastian’s door open five minutes later and to my surprise, he’s already awake and sitting in his wheelchair.
“Good morning,” I chirp, carrying his hearty breakfast. I freeze when I see him. His eyes are emotionless, and panic begins to fill my throat as I realize something is off. I quickly put the tray down and walk over to him. I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, and my touch seems to startle him into movement. He looks up at me but doesn’t say anything. “Sebastian?”
“Mmm?” he responds a few seconds later.
“Are you okay?” His face goes from stony to slaphappy lazily.
“I’m great,” he says, his voice calm and mellow.
“What did they give you?” I ask, already at the door.
“I had an… incident last night. They gave me the little white ones,” he answers wistfully.
I slam his door shut, and I march off to the employee room. Emma is sitting on the couch doing some paperwork, but Darcy is nowhere to be found.
“What did Darcy give Sebastian?” I ask, my voice unsteady. She cranes her head up at me and shrugs.
“Sometimes he throws these fits, and she has to give him Xanax. It knocks him out for a good day.”
“Fits? What do you mean, fits?”
At this she stands, and she walks over to me with narrowed eyes. I clasp and unclasp my hands, and I have to tell myself to act normal. These people, everyone here including Emma and Darcy, are trained professionals. They know what’s best for him. I fidget with the button of my sleeveless salmon-colored blouse as she studies my face.
“Oh… my… god…” she says quietly. “You have a thing for him, don’t you?” she accuses, and I fold my arms together and cluck my tongue.
“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”
She jabs a slender, pale finger into the flesh of my shoulder. “You do. I’m calling it right now. And I think it’s a terrible idea.”
Her words gut me.
“I don’t. I just… I had plans with him today, and now they’re ruined. He certainly can’t fly a helicopter while he’s high, can he?”
She chuckles. “I don’t understand why you’re helping him, anyways.”
I shrug. “He and I are alike in a lot of ways. I don’t know. I feel bad for the guy—his bucket list was only seven items long.”
She ponders that for a minute, and then she starts to pace the room. “I have to do rounds, but just know that he’ll be fine tomorrow. You’re a good person, Marlin. Too good.”
I blush. “Thanks.”
After she leaves, I realize she never answered my question. What are these fits, and why does he get them? Just then, Darcy walks into the employee room.
“Oh, good, you’re here. We had a long night—I got called in at 4:00 a.m., and we had to subdue Mr. Rivera.”
“What… what happened?”
“He has anxiety… it gets bad sometimes. The Xanax always helps. You won’t be able to do anything today, however.”
“That’s okay. I’m just glad he’s all right.”
She looks at me thoughtfully. Her coarse red hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and her white blouse is wrinkled. She’s beautiful—an aged version of Emma. Damn their ageless Irish genes.
“Marlin, he’s sick. I don’t want you to become too attached. Okay? This is a job; he is your patient. Lines can’t be muddled.”
I couldn’t possibly be any more red than I am at the moment. “I… I know. This is strictly professional. I promise.”
Darcy nods but doesn’t look away. “At this point, we’ve tried everything. Some people get better, and some just… don’t.”
You haven’t tried everything, I think. The fucking helicopter.
“I understand. I just want… I just need to try.”
She nods again and starts to walk out of the room. “Well, in that case, good luck.”
*
A couple of hours later, after I’ve finished for the day, I decide to stop by Sebastian’s room before leaving. I’m technically done for the day, but I want to see how he’s doing. When I open the door, I’m surprised to see him feverishly painting.
He’s hunched over a large workspace, and his brush is aggressively attacking the canvas with paint. His hair is wild, and his shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his chest. He has paint on his face.
And he’s very clearly in the moment, so I slowly close the door again.
Except it creaks, and he spins around.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m going.”
He sighs loudly and throws the paintbrush onto the desk. “I need a break anyways.” Before I can say anything, he takes his shirt off, revealing the tattoo on his right bicep.
“Hey, that’s Starry Night!” I exclaim, moving closer to examine it. “Wow, that’s so cool.” He gives me a tight smile but doesn’t say anything. He still looks out of it. “Is Van Gogh your favorite artist?”
He nods. “We’re similar.”
Right, because Van Gogh shot himself. I don’t acknowledge that fact. Instead, I let my eyes slide over to his painting.
“Similar because you’re both incredibly talented?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows and leaning in to take a closer look at the painting. It’s gorgeous—a forest setting with blooming wildflowers.
All of a sudden, Sebastian slams his hand against the desk, sending the painting toppling over and onto the desk, face first. I cry out, and when I look over, his face is clouded with anger.
“You don’t need to blow air up my ass all the time, Marlin,” he growls. “Stop taking pity on me. Okay? I know what all of this is—it’s you feeling sorry for me. Stop. Just fucking stop,” he yells, gripping the wheels of his wheelchair. He starts to back up.
“You think I pity you?” I hiss, crossing my arms. “I don’t pity you, Sebastian. I know you. I know you’re in pain, because I’ve been there. I—”
“Stop fucking comparing us! Jesus, Marlin. We’re not the same.”
His words really sting, and I fight back tears before continuing. “All I’m saying is, I want to help. Is that so hard to believe?”
He slams his fist against the handles of his wheelchair, and it makes me jump. “Why? Why do you want to help?”
“Why do you care?” I yell back. “If you’re going to off yourself on Friday, at least have a little bit of fucking fun!” I scream. I know I sound insensitive, but at the same time, he can be so maddening. Maybe he needs to hear the truth.<
br />
He clenches his jaw and runs his hands through his shaggy hair. “Leave. Just go.”
“Fine. But I’m coming back tomorrow, and we’re going to check something else off of your list.”
“Fine!” he yells. “Goodbye!”
I take the hint and spin around, slamming the door behind me. When I look up, Emma and Darcy are staring at me in horror from the hallway. Clearly, they overheard everything.
“It’s been a very long day,” I say, my voice terse. “I’d rather not talk about it, but if you must know, I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” I continue down the hall without looking back, and I try and hide the hope that blooms through my entire core when I hear Darcy whisper to Emma.
“I’ve never heard him yell. That has to be a good sign, right?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
PRESENT
My shift at work goes by slowly that day. I can’t stop thinking about Sebastian. On the bright side, Dave, the owner of Mocha Jean’s, is delighted I came into work after all. I’d initially requested today off in hopes that Sebastian and I would be flying around in a helicopter right about now, but since that got squashed, I decided to work in order to make some extra money.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Dylan,” Dave says, referring to his nephew, the helicopter pilot.
“I’m hoping it’s a go for tomorrow,” I reply, sweeping the floor. It’s past closing time, and I’m eager to get home so that I can plan the rest of the week. Since we lost a day, tomorrow and Thursday are going to be busy—that is, if Sebastian is still up for it after our fight today.
“I think he’s pretty fond of you,” Dave adds.
“Hmm?” I ask, confused.
Dave chuckles. “Dylan. I think he likes you.”
I give him a small smile. “He’s really sweet to let us up without paying.” I don’t mention the date I promised him in return.
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 15