Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Derek
It’s official. I’m a fucking asshole. The best thing for me to do is go set up a tent on Manny’s property and fuck the hell off out of Seattle. Quit my job, quit volunteering, just remove myself completely from Xander’s life.
I know it’s the right thing to do.
Then I remember the look on his face, how helpless he’d seemed, and I want to take it all back. I could easily find his address in our system and head over there. Apologize. Give him the hard truth that I’m a worthless fucking man who’s growing feelings for him that I really fucking shouldn’t be. That I’m not worth whatever it is he sees in me.
And then where would we end up?
Nowhere fucking good is the only answer I have for that.
My frustration is brimming over, making me desperate to lose myself in the wrong end of a bottle, staring down at my hands in my steadily darkening living room. Xander deserves the goddamn world, and after how easily I blurred my professional boundaries, I’m not the guy to give it to him. He won’t let me talk to him about therapy. His roommates won’t push him toward it.
It … it feels like we’re giving up on him. But how the hell else are we supposed to react when he gave up on himself a long time ago?
Even after the hardest moment of my life, he still owns me. Otherwise, I’d be pass-out-drunk by now.
Dancing with him, seeing hope in his eyes for the first time ever, it scared the hell out of me. I can’t be Xander’s hope. It’s way too much pressure to put on one person. Then, add in that I’m the one he turns to during his panic attacks, and it’s a relationship made in toxic heaven.
As much as I’m feeling for him, it’s not something I’d ever want for myself.
It wouldn’t take much to tip me over that point though.
The blast of my ringtone fills the small, dark room. I don’t need to look to know who it is. I’ve been waiting for this call, trying to convince myself that I won’t take it.
With a sigh, I reach over and answer it anyway.
“Yeah?”
“Xander’s on his way,” Susan snaps with clear disgust in her voice.
“Thank you.” I hang up because I don’t have the energy for any of her shit tonight. Then I get up, get changed, and start a slow walk to work. I easily beat him there, and for the first time ever, I’m dreading each step. This used to be my one time to see him. My favorite and most hated part of the week.
Now that I’ve had that glimpse of the real Xander, the thought of seeing him so broken down is nauseating. He deserves so much better than this.
So I slip on my professional mask, unlock the treatment room, and wait .
It doesn’t take long.
“Can’t … can’t … breathe …” he gasps out as Seven helps him into the room and closes the door behind them. “Lungs … won’t work …”
Xander’s clammy, eyes unfocused and body trembling. I try to lock down the protective feelings that threaten to take over, but it’s harder today.
“On the bed.”
He’s trembling as he climbs up, close to tears and unsteady on his feet.
“The first thing I need,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even, “is for you to focus on breathing. Can you do that for me? Can you breathe along with me, Xander?”
He shakes his head. “C-can’t … Gonna … p-pass … out.”
“All I need is for you to try. One in. Let’s go.” I count him through it. Normally, it’s easier than this. Normally, being in the building is enough for him to let go of whatever panic has kicked in, but this time, it’s clinging to him. This time, the more I try to have him breathe, the more he panics.
“I know your lungs hurt,” I confirm. Whether they do or they don’t, in his mind, it’s real. I have to make sure he knows that I’m listening and not brushing him off, but while I hate that doubtful little voice telling me it’s always a possibility, I also know he does not have lung cancer. Or pneumonia. Or whatever issue his brain is projecting on him. I listen to his breathing every other week, and there’s nothing irregular there.
“I need to listen to your lungs,” I explain as calmly as I can through my growing frustration. “You need to take a deep breath for me, Xander.”
It’s like he can’t hear me.
“Hey!” I move so I’m right in his line of sight, and slowly, gradually, his eyes focus. “That’s it,” I reassure him. “I’m here. You’re okay. ”
He sways a little.
“Deep breath. To three. Go.”
Finally, he makes an effort, and as his breathing steadies and his heart rate calms, I’m able to check his vitals. Lungs are clear, oxygen saturation is good, blood pressure within his normal range after an episode. No temperature. No irregularities. No other symptoms.
I repeat the information to him until it sinks in, and the tension leaves him. He slumps back onto the bed.
Somehow, my hand finds his, and I give it a squeeze. “There you are.”
Instead of the exhausted or sullen look I’m expecting, Xander sits up and turns an angry glare on me.
He snatches his hand away. “Yeah, fine. Good. Seven, let’s go.”
Seven’s mouth tightens, and we exchange a look.
I step between the two of them and drop my voice. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t act like you actually give a shit.”
Act ? The urge to bite back is strong. “I know this is hard for you?—”
“Fuck off. You don’t know anything.”
“I know you need help.” Keeping my voice level is getting harder by the minute. “I know you don’t want to be here multiple times a week?—”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve been treating you for years. I know plenty.”
“Treating.” He crosses his arm. “Just a stupid, sick patient to you.”
“You are my patient. The stupid and sick part comes and goes.” I’d never normally say that, but all week, he’s had my nerves on end, and the usual patience I have for him isn’t there.
Despite saying he was leaving, Xander doesn’t make a move, just redirects his glare to the wall. Then … a tear drops onto his cheek.
Shit .
I move closer. “Xander, it’s okay.”
Wrong thing to say, apparently. “Fuck. You.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stop trying to act like you actually give a fuck about me. Stop trying to act like you care. I’m a job to you, I get it—message received loud and fucking clear. I won’t bother you with my friendship anymore, and in fact, I’ll stop coming here. You’re not the only nurse in the entire goddamn fucking world.”
“Xander,” Seven snaps.
“Oh, fuck you too,” he shouts. “You think it’s some secret that you don’t want to be here? You think I don’t know that everyone in the house thinks I’m a giant fucking inconvenience?”
“That’s enough.” My voice is louder than I expect it to be, but this is it. I’ve hit my fuck it moment. It’s been simmering there for a while now, and even if I wanted to hold it back, I can’t. He thinks I don’t care ? Like I haven’t somehow spent the last few years of my fucking life centered around him and what he needs?
He goes to argue, but I drag a chair over and plonk myself in it, then lean right into his space.
“I don’t fucking care ?” I echo. “Why don’t you pull that pretty head out of your fucking ass for a goddamn minute. Why do you think I’m always here, Xander? I don’t live in this goddamn pharmacy. I saw a lease on a place around the corner shortly after you started coming here, and I decided it made sense. I moved. Into the city. All because of you . Every time you’re in trouble, I show up for you. Your brothers show up for you. So this fucking tantrum is so far out of line, and I’m done. I’m not going to be spoken to like that. I’m not going to be told I don’t care. My whole fucking life is on hold while I wait for you to get better, and you won’t do a single thing to make it happen.”
His glare has deepened. “You don’t get to blame me for your shitty life choices.”
“I do when you’re one of them.”
His jaw drops.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? When people say mean things? Now, I don’t know what the hell you’ve been through, and I’ve reached the point where it doesn’t matter. You need help. And as much as it kills me, this is where I draw the line.” My throat tries to close over, but I’m in it now. I can’t back down. “The next time you call, it won’t be me waiting here. I’ll make sure someone is … but it can’t be me.”
The glare blinks away as tears take over, and that’s enough to make my eyes water too.
“D-Derek.”
I shake my head and stand. Fighting the urge to hug him is easier than I thought it would be. The fact that after years of this, he can still possibly think I don’t care has rubbed me raw. “I care, Xander.” My voice lowers. “Too much.”
I turn on my heel, and his begging fucking wrecks me.
“You can’t. Please. Don’t go. I need you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say any of it. I was mad, please …”
I’m not hearing those words as his nurse though. I’m hearing them through the lens of a relationship and exactly how things will be if I let my feelings lead. I’ve already given them too much leeway.
Seven’s panicked expression makes me pause. “You’re not going to be here anymore?”
“I can’t.”
“But—”
“ No .” I’m fucking pissed with him too. “I warned Madden. I told him what would happen if you continued to enable him, and since none of you will convince Xander to get the help he needs, I have to do this.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Get. Him. In. Therapy.” I’m fucking shaking. I know they think they’re doing their best, but we’re past that. It’s not good enough anymore.
“I can’t.”
“The fucked-up thing, Seven, is that you can. Out of everyone, you can. He’ll do anything you want him to do, and if you need to goddamn exploit that, then do it already.”
“It would kill me.” He looks ready to cry too, which isn’t something I thought I would ever see. “I’m sorry.”
I huff. This is it, then. Holding back my tears is getting too hard, and I need to get the hell out of here. “Then fuck you too.”