CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Because It Helps
SERENITY
Brooks: I can’t do this today.
Me: What?
Brooks leaves me on read for thirty seconds, then sixty. By the time a minute and thirty seconds pass, I’m scampering from the nurse’s station and racing off to the elevator.
About two hours ago, Brooks stopped by the ER to say hi before going upstairs to visit Lake. He came back fifteen minutes later to tell me Lake was having a rough day. I didn’t have time to ask why, because the ER has been full all night. I couldn’t even take a break to pop by Lake’s room to calm him how I usually do. Or at least, how I think I do.
Still, I kept on with my shift. Despite Brooks getting snippy every now and again, and hurling a comment at Lake he doesn’t mean to make—he can still handle Lake. Lake is used to the reactions Brooks has. I expected a typical night of arguing until Lake dozed off.
But here I am, pacing in the elevator as the doors close in front of me, abandoning my patients because Brooks can’t do something anymore. The elevator chimes, and the doors drag apart. I’m squeezing my body between the two hunks of metal before they fully separate.
I see Brooks walking straight down the hallway. His eyebrows knit together, his shoulders raise right to his ears and his fists clench into tight spheres. He’s not heading for me, he’s darting to the elevator beside me.
”Brooks?”
He stops a few steps ahead of me. After a couple of blinks, he looks down. He just noticed me standing right next to his escape. “I’m not—” He looks up to the ceiling, clenching his jaw. “Not today. I’m not doing this today.”
My shoulders slouch. “Not doing what, Brooks?”
He moves his body sideways and shoots his arm outward, stabbing it towards Lake’s room. “He’s having a breakdown and I can’t do it.” Brooks turns back to me, and I catch the tears swarming his eyes. He keeps his neck tilted back. He’s trying not to cry.
“Brooks I can’t,” I say. “I’m working. He needs you.” I go quiet as Brooks snaps his curved neck towards me. The glare hits me like a bus, and I feel like I said the most obscure and offensive thing known to man.
“I have been doing this for years, Serenity.” The clenching of his jaw looks painful. His entire body seems like it aches with how tightly he’s holding his muscles. His voice breaks. “I am so tired.”
The tears he tried to trap are now falling down his cheeks.
“Brooks.” That’s all I can muster out of my throat. I know that exhaustion. The constant struggle of finding a fresh path, only to turn the corner and approach another dead end. Like when I dug deep into my chest to create a funnel from my heart. I poured my whole being into my sister, hoping it would feed her soul, and she stomped all over it. All over me, not even using those bruised parts of me for herself. She just left me alone.
I never had the chance to discover myself because I was too busy saving her. Instead of appreciating the girl in the mirror, I focused on loving my sister. I spent my nights crying over her life while trying to study for tests. Being split in half like that is debilitating. Especially for years on end. I knew that exhaustion. I know it.
“He’s in there freaking out over our sister. I can’t take it.” He shakes his head, his twists flowing with each shake. “I can’t fucking take it.”
“River, right?” Brooks told me a little about her the other day when I asked. From what I gather, she was important to both of them.
He slumps against the wall, shoves his face into his hands, and cries out a painful ache.
“Oh, Brooks.” I step closer and place my hand on his shoulder.
“She died in an accident,” he croaks. “God. Lake meant everything to her. She wanted the best for him, but he broke her heart.”
My heart feels weak. His poor sister.
“Does he not think it hurts me too?” His voice is barely discernible. He is talking to himself. I don’t think he’s fully aware I’m here in front of him. His face is still in his hands. The entirety of his body is tense enough to mistake for a rock.
“You grew up together. You must’ve been close.” I rub my hand up and down his upper-arm. Brooks raises his head. The tip of his nose is pink, his eyes are red and the exhaustion filling his features is undeniable.
“I miss her as much as he does, Serenity.”
Goosebumps pop onto my skin. I lower my hand from his shoulder and wrap my arms around myself. I stay that way for a minute, because what else can I do? Losing anyone is a struggle, but losing someone that close—Brooks never witnessed her flourish in life.
“I think about the three of us sitting at a patio table during the summer. Lake being sober. He can wear t-shirts without getting weird stares because the crap on his arms is faded.” He nods, staring into nothingness. “River tells us about a crazy adventure where she went zip lining or swam with sharks, and it’s warm outside. The three of us are okay on our own. Having lunch together at a restaurant.”
His lip trembles. “I still think about that all the time. It was my daydream that never happened, and it never will happen.”
A daydream that never happened. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Brooks.”
He pushes up from the wall, causing my arm to return to my side. I turn my body as he steps around me. “Brooks.”
He whispers, “I can’t do this anymore.”
Then he hits the small silver button to call back the elevator.
“That’s okay. I get it.” My mind splits as I question what to do. “Do you have a safe way to go home?”
He just nods. He’s gone quiet, like Lake.
“You’ll come back tomorrow, yeah?”
He steps into the elevator. “He needs you, Serenity. I can’t help.” He curves his lips upwards ever-so-slightly, tears still streaming out of his eyes. I stand frozen. My throat has gone dry. It’s like I’m on the opposite side of the world with Lake’s brother, when in reality, there’s nothing separating us but a sliver of metal.
The elevator doors shut, sealing away his broken energy.
I roll on my heels, still trying to figure out what to do. I’m working. The ER’s pace has slowed in the last hour, but I’m still on the clock. Lake, though. Lake needs me.
I fire off a quick text to Jimena so she can check on my patients for me while I’m gone. I haven’t taken my lunch break yet because of the constant crowds. So I have time. I can do this.
Soon enough Brooks will return for Lake, just like I always came back for Delilah. I knew Brooks and I would be good friends when it clicked how similarly we feel. We have too much sympathy to give, but it would kill us not to give it.
I reach Lake’s door and raise my hand to knock, but his cries hit my ears. I push open the door and rush inside. The lights aren’t on, but the blinds are drawn apart, and the dim streetlights create Lake’s silhouette. He’s on the floor curled up in a ball. His IV has fallen next to him.
“Lake,” I call out.
When he hears me, his sobs break apart. “No, no, no, Angel.”
“Lake, it’s okay.”
He digs his feet into the tiles to slide away from me, but he has limited space to move. I drop onto the ground and crawl after him while he tries to veer away. He pulls his IV along. He lays his back on the wall, and he coughs out heavy, sorrowful breaths. “Go, Angel,” he begs. “Go. Please.”
I ignore him. Instead, I wrap my fingers around his IV stand and pull it closer to his body. I don’t want the tiny needle to end up ripping from his skin.
“Serenity.”
I slide up right beside him and stay on my knees. He can tell me to go all he wants, but I’m not leaving. I am all he has right now. I cup my hands onto his face and turn his head towards me. He doesn’t fight it. His head limply follows. His entire body is shaking, but he’s sweating. This breakdown might be related to his body’s last plea for drugs.
“It’s okay, Lake. I’m right here.”
His dark eyes close and he shakes his head once again.
“What’s going on?” I keep one hand on his cheek, and I raise the other to run it across his scalp. His hair is drenched from how sweaty he is. Somehow, he doesn’t smell sweaty. He smells of musky teakwood, and a fragment of musky Lake.
“Tomorrow is my sister’s birthday,” he confesses.
Of course, Brooks can’t handle this. Brooks deserves to grieve as much as Lake does. Regardless of how different their coping habits are. Everyone is only human. Nothing more.
“Give me something, Serenity, please.” He scratches at his arm. “Fletcher cut back my dosage. I can practically smell colors.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. As much as hearing Lake want to relapse hurts me, I need to remember this isn’t about my feelings. He’s saying what’s on his mind, but he’s not trying to upset me.
I lean closer to him. “No, honey, listen to me.”
His head sinks into my palm, and his tired hand braces my thigh with the tiniest squeeze. A billion little shocks hit my skin from the faint touch.
“You have come such a long way.” I run my free hand through his hair. There is a perfect thing to say, but I need to dig through my thoughts to find it. If this was Delilah, nothing would be perfect enough. She’d be swatting at me over one wrong word.
But Lake isn’t Delilah. Somehow, through his journey, he has kept himself. He hasn’t lost his morals or dropped any of his love. Maybe he’ll get frustrated and raise his voice. He might spit out a threat, or beg for Brooks and I to leave, but he has never called me names. He has never hit me. Lake has never once made me feel scared. Even when the withdrawal does the talking for him, in the past when drugs have, Lake finds the power to stay in control.
He might hate me for this, but I take the risk. “I know it being her birthday is gut-wrenching, but what better birthday present than letting her see you nearing sobriety?”
To my surprise, Lake doesn’t turn his head away and tell me to leave. Instead, he cries harder, weeping out into the empty space around us, and I couldn’t be more thankful. I am thankful because that reached him. Somewhere within him, that resonated. River might have passed on, but she’s still saving his life.
“River is proud of you, Lake.” My lips tremble. “She is so proud.”
Right before my eyes, I watch him crumble apart. He lifts his back from the wall and crashes into me. My arms wrap around him and I pull him closer. My entire body shudders when he slides a hand up my back. Then, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.
“You think so?” His voice muffles on my skin.
I nod my head. “Yes. I know she is.”
He holds me tighter. I stroke his back as he sobs for so many things I couldn’t possibly begin to understand.
“It’s okay. We’re gonna get through this together.”
The sound he makes rearranges the valves in my heart. It’s agonizing to hear. I’ve seen Lake give up pieces of his built up emotions, but nothing like this. It’s like he lost whatever hold he had on himself and everything is being released.
He pulls me closer. “Please, Serenity.”
My cheek brushes against his, but neither of us pulls back. We stay on the freezing tiled floor, practically intertwined. “What is it, Lake?”
His hand rests on the small of my back. “Please don’t listen to me. Don’t go anywhere. Stay here.”
Lake knows me well enough. He knows I’m not going anywhere. That he’d need to drag me out of this room kicking and screaming. So I know what he’s saying has more than one layer.
“It helps,” he adds.
He’s asking me to come back tomorrow and to continue sitting by his bed while he rests. He’s asking me to force him to watch rom-coms with me, to keep distracting, to continue making him struggle not to smile. He’s asking to keep making me smile.
This vulnerability in him. I’ve never seen it before. Usually, he masks his need for help. The only sign is a twinkle in his eyes, laced with the hope of a drug fix. It’s the stubbornness of the drugs flushing through his blood that stops him from being whole.
But this.
This is the sun glistening down on a hot summer day, reflecting off of clear blue water. There is nothing holding him back from showing me the inky pages that make him who he is. The water is clean, like his blood.
This is Lake. Just Lake.
I smile against his skin and squeeze him a little tighter in the dark, chilly hospital room. His arms are stopping the cold from hitting me. So I stay stuck within them, where I feel most secure. If this situation happens another thousand times, I’ll be right here. I’ll do it all again, because it helps.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. “I’m right here.”
He digs his nose into me, nuzzling closer like he can’t get close enough. He takes a deep inhale and shakily releases the breath.
“Shit,” he sighs. “Sorry I’m sweaty.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell him. “Take more deep breaths and I’ll call a nurse to help you wash up.”
He pulls back and looks me in my face. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows are raised, like that idea terrifies him. “No. Fletcher will cuff me.”
“You have done nothing wrong?” I say it like a question. I’d trust him to clean himself up, but he looks so frail I’m worried he’ll faint.
“Serenity, he called me a junkie to my face,” he tells me, and my heartbeat pauses. “Said I was lying about being confused. So he could cuff me and inject me.”
I can believe Caleb would do such a thing, but it’s still disappointing.
“Fletcher’s on this floor tonight. He’ll know I’m freaking out, Angel.” He looks at himself and sighs. “Guess he’s not wrong. Feel closer to an animal than I do a human.”
I don’t think I’ve ever understood the phrase my blood is boiling until now, because the anger bubbling inside me is almost painful to not release. How can you look at someone tired and in need of love, and kick them down into a deeper hole?
“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Lake.” I reach out and grab his hand. “I’ll help you clean up.”
He doesn’t move as I stand, but his hand stays latched to mine. “You’re working, Angel,” he reminds me. “Just leave me here. I’ll be fine.”
I check my phone to make sure Jimena’s handling everything, and she does. Great, because there’s no way I’m leaving Lake here to sit in his own sweat.
“You’re a human being, Lake. I’ll help you. If I’m needed downstairs, they’ll page me.”
He fixes his gaze on me. His lips apart. To me, he looks like the strongest man on earth. The resilience he has. How could I not support him?
Another beat passes, but eventually, he gives me a single nod.
***
I slide open the bathroom door and guide Lake to the toilet. I stay behind him, holding half of his body steady. He manages the other half by gripping his IV for stability. He reaches forward and shuts the toilet lid before sitting on top of it.
The lights are brighter in here, highlighting the damaged man before me. Lake looks dead. He’s so pale he’s blending in with the white walls. The bags under his eyes are heavy and red from all his aching tears.
“Honey, you’re gonna need a shower." I put my hands on my hips. “You look like you’re close to being embalmed.”
He snickers, and a smile hits my face. “You’re gonna be a great wife, Angel.”
The words you’re, great, wife, and angel make me lose my balance and almost face plant into the porcelain tub. Lake’s shaky hand slinks around my waist to save me.
Did he just say that? He cannot be saying stuff like that to me. Does he mean anything by it? How am I supposed to help him now? I can feel my face burning into two big red apples, and him holding me isn’t helping.
I plant my feet back into the floor, using the shower wall as an aid to help me upright. And I am once again free of Lake’s grip, though the buzzing feeling stays on my flesh.
“Whoops,” I say.
Lake laughs. “I’m used to it, Angel. You trip in my room at least once a day.”
He isn’t wrong. When I’m not responsible to someone else, I lose all sense of depth perception. I must be too tired to keep myself in order. My eyes trail to the shower knob, and with my depth perception in order, I know what needs to be done.
“You’re gonna hate me.” I turn the knob to the coldest setting.
Lake whines. “No.”
I bring my shoulders to my ears. “It’ll help.”
All Lake does is sigh. I’m not sure why he isn’t arguing with me today. Maybe he doesn’t have the energy to fight me, or he doesn’t want to break out into protest over sobriety anymore. I hope it’s the second one. I hope he’s finding hope for himself.
He stares at me with sleepy eyes and sweat dripping down his forehead. I wipe the sweat off him, then I grab onto the bottom of his t-shirt and pull it over his head. I bend to help with his socks, but he holds out a hand. “It’s alright, Angel. I got it.”
He takes off his socks and pulls at the drawstring on his sweatpants, but before I’m caught staring, I turn to my side, puffing out a shaky breath and securing his IV with plastic wrap.
One little glance, and I find Lake leaning back in nothing but black boxers, with his clothes scattered on the floor, and his attention returned to me. The way he’s studying me is so soft and serene. His broad shoulders relax with his exhale. I use each passing second to remind myself I help people shower all the time, and I shouldn’t be so distracted by his curving muscles, but I almost topple over again when I settle on his bare torso.
No. I can do this.
“Alright, come on.” I hold out my two hands.
I paid little attention to his torso when I saw it the first time. I was busy bringing Lake back to life. Even though he looks dead right now, he’s very much alive, and his eight abs are very much existing. Toned and beautiful. I have no idea how he’s maintained such an alluring shape with his habits, but I’m not complaining, and I’m not doing anything more than giving a simple acknowledgement.
Lake holds onto my hands and tries to rush into the frigid water, so I squeeze his fingers. “Phoenix, take your time, please.”
This man is sweaty. He just had a breakdown, but I’m still trying to hide my beet-red face from him by tucking my chin close to my neck. There’s something wrong with me. I should not find men having horrific breakdowns and needing significant help attractive, but I guess biology doesn’t work that way.
Half of Lake braces the freezing water. “Nope.” He tries to step out.
His body shivers, but I don’t let him leave.
“Angel,” he hisses.
I keep a hand on his head so he doesn’t smack it on anything. He’s nearly too tall to fit in the shower. Then I push the rest of him in, and I see him bite the inside of his cheek.
“Sit.” I force him onto the shower stool.
I take the cloth hung on the shower wall and wet it. Lake is shaking by the time I use the cloth to clean his face. I can see him visibly trying not to complain, tense all over, but then his muscles relax wherever I touch. I rinse out the cloth multiple times, ensuring he’s squeaky clean prior to using any body wash.
“Brooks done with me?” he mutters through his chattering teeth.
I spritz his teakwood body wash onto the cloth. “No, he’s just upset.”
I take a mental note of the different products in Lake’s shower. He not only has body wash, but also shampoo and conditioner. All separate. No two or three-in-ones.
Keeping my focus on his shower products doesn’t maintain my attention for long, though. By the time the cloth hits his shoulder—his perfect shoulder—I’m done for. I scrub that firm bone and muscle clean before moving to his other, and I can’t help but touch some scars on him as I travel down his arms. All the little dots where he poked his skin too many times. Most of them are circling his inner-elbows.
Lake rests his head on the shower wall and watches me. He doesn’t mind that I’m touching his scars. He even rotates his arm to show me the rest of them.
We exchange a silent glance. I don’t know what it means, but he weakly smiles at me. Most of his scars are a twinge of gray and purple colors. Like a permanent bruise. Some of them bump out of his flesh, and some of them connect into longer lines.
“What’s this one?”
He looks down at where I’m pointing. “Random party. A guy on acid cut me with glass.”
I hum and move the cloth in circles along his back.
Still keeping the soft smile on his lips, Lake shuts his eyes. He stays that way while I massage him clean and lather him in soapy-white bubbles.
I place my hands on his sides and motion him to face me. He does so without lifting his head from the shower wall. I, somewhat eagerly, wash his chest and torso. Sometimes my fingers escape the material of the cloth, and my soapy fingertips touch his bare skin.
Each exhale I take halts in my lungs before wholly expelling in the air. The quiet settles between us, and the running water drowns us into the moment.
“Sorry, I’m too weak to help. Dizzy too.”
I ignore that, because he has no reason to be sorry. “Have you eaten today?”
Lake bites on his cheek and digs his nails into his thighs as I detach the shower head and rinse off the soap. “No.”
I place the shower head back, and the moment the water isn’t piercing his skin, he exhales. “Been sad about my sister. Makes me nauseous.”
I hum, and not a single thought passes through my brain. It’s a strange second nature to me as I lather his shampoo between my fingers, lift his head away from the wall and massage his scalp. I don’t know how long I hold on to that soft peace, but it’s torn from me when Lake’s hand shoots forward and grabs my thigh. The chilly water sinks into my scrubs.
“Serenity.”
I stiffen. Waiting, but he says nothing else. I look down from the top of his head to try to guess what’s happening by his face, but I notice the bulge under the thin black material of his boxers. It’s impossible not to notice.
I dart my eyes to the ceiling and barely muster, “do you want to do this yourself?”
His fingers stay clawing at my thigh, water seeping into the material of my scrubs. “No.”
I blink. Okay. This is fine. “Do you want me to stop?”
He’s silent for a moment. “No.” Then he adds in a low voice, “I have self control.”
My heart dislodges from my lungs and makes its way back to where it belongs. There’s no known reason why, but I feel the safest I ever have in my entire life.
I spread my fingers back into his scalp, mushing the shampoo and clinging onto his head while he sinks his nails into my thigh. All the muscles in his body tense when I move closer to the back of his head. At some point, his breath catches in his throat before lowly exhaling at an octave I’ve never heard, and I couldn’t say why, but the consciousness of his self-control makes a tiny smile fill my lips.
I grab onto the shower head. “Turn this way.” I guide him to the left, trying to somehow maintain any form of friendly professionalism. “It’ll only be colder for a few seconds.”
I lower the water, Lake continues to shake. He tries to stay silent, balling his fists.
“Good. It’s okay.”
I repeat the same weirdly intimate process with his conditioner. Not a single sound passes either of our mouths. Lake stays stiff the entire time, everywhere, and I try to push away the crazy thoughts attempting to stuff into my brain. Lake is my friend. Just my friend.
***
From the moment my shift ended, I went back upstairs to watch over Lake. Now he’s been asleep, and I have every right to go home, especially since I’ve been resting my head on his bed for hours, because I can’t keep holding it up, but I don’t want to go home.
The door opens and I lift myself in its direction. Brooks steps around the corner, and he freezes when he sees me. “Is he okay?” He mouths.
I nod my head, push out my chair, and stumble my tired legs up to Brooks.
“Why are you crying?” he whispers. “What happened?”
I raise my hand to my cheek, feeling the tiny drops of liquid sinking into my fingers. I didn’t know I was crying. I look back at Lake, peacefully asleep and a tad prettier when there’s no sweat running down his face.
“I helped him shower.” I leave out the other details, like Lake holding me as though I was the only tangible thing around, him crying into my skin and asking me to stay, and everything from his shower. All of that stays between me and Lake.
“He’s going to be okay, Brooks.” I smile up at him and wipe my tears. “We have his back. He’s gonna be fine.”
He rests a hand on his head. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, no.” I chuckle under my breath. “We’re only human, Brooks.”
He extends his arms and pulls me into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he says. “Please tell me you tortured him with a cold shower.”
I bring up my arms and hug him back. “Of course I did.”