Chapter 14 Chris
CHRIS
What the fuck do you mean he pushed you?” Jesse said.
I’d just gotten back home and Jesse called to tell me he was picking up Mike.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, changing back into my sweats. “You’ll get him home, then?”
“I mean, yeah. He called me to come get him from a gas station. I was in the middle of sleeping.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m going back to bed.”
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
“Let him tell you.”
I hung up.
I was beyond irritated. Beyond. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
I got in bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. I was never going to sleep now.
As if the nightmares weren’t enough.
I really hoped Larissa didn’t realize what happened. She’d feel bad about the bill being so big and embarrassed about her mom ordering so much. I hoped she just had a nice dinner, had some good food, and was getting into bed with enough leftovers for her lunch tomorrow.
Mike was such an asshole.
I woke up the next morning exhausted. At least I didn’t have to go to work. Mike showed up at noon—in the rideshare he fought me on the night before.
I threw open the door without a word and went to grab his keys.
I tossed them at him and dropped onto the sofa. He stood in the entry like a wounded puppy. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, looking at him.
He just stood there.
“The fucking world doesn’t revolve around you,” I said. “I’ve got my own shit going on. You know that, Mike? Things I don’t even talk to you about—”
“What don’t you talk to me about?”
Anything? Like he cared? Every time I tried to talk to him about me, about the stuff with Mom, he changed the subject, made a joke, gave me some half-assed platitude. He clearly couldn’t handle it for whatever fucking reason, so I’d stopped trying.
“You know what? Just go,” I said.
He stayed in the doorway. “Can I get a lift to my truck?”
I cursed under my breath and got up.
The car ride was silent. When I got to the parking lot, he didn’t get out.
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“You can give me my money back,” I mumbled.
He scoffed.
“You can go and do what I said you need to do. Get back on your meds and get back with a therapist. Work for Tony until you find something else.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
We sat there in silence.
“If it makes you feel better, I ran two miles throwing up.”
I laughed dryly. It actually did make me feel better.
He looked at me. “I love you, man. And you’re right about everything. I’m going to do better, okay?”
I glanced over at him.
He did look sorry. An asshole, but a sorry one.
I blew out a breath. “You fill the prescription at my pharmacy,” I said, a little softer.
“I will fill it at your pharmacy. I promise.”
We sat there, staring out the windshield at the back of Mike’s truck.
“What shit do you have going on that you don’t tell me?” he asked.
I glanced at him. His face was puffy. His eyes were bloodshot with dark bags under them. Had he been crying?
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.”
I wasn’t going to dump my shit on him now that he was finally asking out of guilt. Mike was clearly barely handling his own crap. He couldn’t handle mine.
It was always like this, I realized. Or at least it had been for a while.
I let him get away with constantly relying on me, without it ever going the other direction.
And for the most part that was fine—until Mom died and I needed it to go the other way.
I needed someone to talk to and lean on beyond just dragging me out of the house to go to the gym.
I needed my friend. And every time I reached for that, he moved out of the way.
So I’d stopped reaching. I’d been protecting his peace while sacrificing my own, tiptoeing around him for fear of giving him more than he could deal with.
And what the fuck was he dealing with?
I thought about what Larissa had said about the door you know. Going back the way you came because it was familiar. I think Mike was in that loop. And I didn’t have the patience or the wherewithal to help him anymore. He needed to change his own script.
I was too busy trying to rewrite my own.