31
The hotel we're in is nice. We had to stop. King told me he couldn't do it anymore. He was done sitting in the car feeling uncomfortable, and honestly, so was I. The hotel room has a really big bed, an Alaskan king.
King walks around in just a pair of light gray sweatpants I got for him and a black long-sleeve shirt that looks very comfortable, made of the softest cotton.
His hair is still long. I've made sure to brush and wash it in the hospital, but it remains shaggy. His eyes don't look bloodshot anymore, except for a slight tinge of red from tiredness. He's still on the sedation medication because he has to be titrated off of it. Seroquel, I think it's called.
He looks at the bed and then looks at me. His right arm hangs down at his side while his left hand idly scratches the crook of his elbow on his right arm. It's a soothing motion I've noticed he does.
"Are you okay? Are you hungry?" I ask him.
He just looks at me, almost like he hates me or something.
"No," he says. He walks to the bed, slips off his socks, eases forward as if in pain, and falls asleep on top of the covers.
Moving toward him, I start to try to pull the covers out from under him, but he flinches away from me as if he doesn't want me to touch him.
"King, I just want to put the covers over you—"
"Don't touch me," he says.
As I walk away, I hear him mumble, "You take everything away from me. You won't leave me alone. You're always fucking with my happiness."
"I'm so sorry, King. I'm trying to make amends for that," I tell him.
"Then give it back," he says. He stays lying down on his stomach, not even looking at me.
"Get back what?"
"My happiness. Can you give that back?" he asks quietly.
"I'm gonna try."
He scoffs very quietly through his nose. "Right," he says dismissively, as if he doesn't believe me. He adjusts himself so he can sleep.
I think he probably means the drugs, or maybe he needs his religion.
I'm not sure which. It's like he traded one drug for another type for his spirit.
But at the very least, the religious thing seems to have been keeping him sane.
Or was it just a way to cope until he would have eventually snapped at some point?
After my shower, I leap out, paranoid that King was going to escape and leave. But he's still lying on the bed, sleeping.
Turning off the light, I go under the covers. He’s lying on his back now, taking a deep breath with his eyes still closed.
Gingerly lying on my left side, I raise my hand to touch his stomach. A hand flies out toward my face instinctively, catching me on the mouth. It was almost like a reflex from his right arm, but it hurt. Covering my face, I look at him.
His eyes are still closed. Then he opens them, looking at the ceiling.
"If you try to touch me again, I'm going to kill you." He then looks at me. "That's the last fucking time," he says.
He slowly turns around onto his left side.
Oh my god.
I turn my back to him as well, trying to hide my sobs. I think this is too much for me to handle, even though I feel responsible.
What if that dark part of him is still there?
What if he resents me, which he clearly does, and blames me for everything, and then he kills me in my sleep?
But what if I leave him?
Drop him off in Brackenridge and leave the town, or just leave him alone.
There's a big part of me that's scared of him, honestly. But I love him too, and I don't want to give up on him because he wouldn't have given up on me.
Even though he kind of did… but only after he realized I slept with Xander.
Is he mad at me because I took away his paradise… or is he mad at me because I took away his happiness?
And was that happiness… him falling in love with me?
I wish I could tell him I was falling in love with him too.
But he would have denied me. So many times he made it very clear that he couldn't.
It doesn't matter. The only person who seems to have his heart anyway is some woman named Gia.
I'll do what I can for him until I can't anymore.