Chapter 45
chapter
forty-five
“There are words I never said that echo louder than the ones I did.” - Cyrus
CYRUS
“Let go of me,” I rage against the arms and the system, but most of all my mother. “You won’t get away with this,” I yell at her as the officers and medical staff drag me down the hall.
I fight them every step, but every inch lost feels like a failure. I’m trapped.
“You need help, son. I’m just trying to do what you won’t,” she says before the double doors to this hellscape close on her smug fucking face.
Twisting and pulling, I try to escape, but it’s like trying to fight an octopus made up of human arms. Anger overwhelms everything until I’m pulled into the plain white room, then terror takes over. This can’t be happening.
Why won’t anyone listen?
With a roar, I yank an arm free and lunge for the door, but they just haul me back.
“No, you can’t lock me in here.”
“Relax, or we’ll be forced to sedate you,” a male nurse says.
The thought of being sedated and left in this room as a drooling mess for the rest of my life is unbearable. I fight my instincts and relax.
“Put these on,” the nurse says, handing me a set of scrubs.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to give me some privacy?”
“No. Get changed now.”
“What is this prison?”
The nurse doesn’t respond. He just stares at me while the officers stand near the door. I look down at the light-blue pile in my hand and really want to snark that it’s not my color.
“Put them on,” he orders again, and it takes all my effort not to freak the fuck out.
I slowly strip one article of clothing at a time. I’m still dressed as Bob, complete with mustache and wig.
The orderly holds open a clear plastic bag for me to put everything in, then seals it. He steps back, and I manage to keep my shit together just long enough for them to leave.
As soon as the door locks, I lose it. My fist bruises as I bang on it with all my strength over and over.
“I don’t belong in here. Let me out. Why are you doing this to me?”
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
My heart races out of control, and I feel like I’m being choked. I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I spin around, looking for a way out, and end up staring at the small vent in the top corner. There is a tiny ribbon tied to it, blowing steadily in the breeze.
No. This is not happening. It’s not real.
Pushing myself along the wall, my fingers touch the cold, hard surface, and yet I still don’t believe I’m locked up. This is all in my imagination. It has to be. Lapping the room and not finding an escape, my legs give out, and I sink to the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees and drop my head.
“Dude, why the hell are you freaking out?”
I jump and look over to see Patrick lying on my mattress.
“What? What is happening?”
My eyes dart around the room. What are they pumping in here?
“You got yourself in a pickle, that’s what is happening,” he says, casually as he throws a baseball into the air and catches it.
Where did he get a baseball?
Closing my eyes, I shake my head, but when I open them, he is still there.
What the fuck is happening to me?
“Am I dead?”
Patrick turns his head and looks at me.
“No, of course not, fool. You’re in…” He looks around. “Some hospital room.”
Pushing with my legs, I back myself into the furthest corner.
“Then how are you here?”
“I’m here because you need me.” He swings his legs over the side of the mattress as he sits up. “Why do you look so scared?”
“You’re dead, man. And if I’m not, then I’m fucking losing my mind for real this time.”
He laughs, and it sounds so real. It’s warm and echoes off the walls, it’s…Patrick. I swallow hard, glancing around and trying to remember if they stabbed me with something. Am I really dreaming? As stupid as it is, I look around for my body.
“Stop that. You look like an idiot. You’re not dead, and you’re not losing it.”
I glare at my best friend.
“I beg to differ. I don’t normally have ‘I see dead people’ moments. So excuse me if I’m not handling it the way you think I should.”
“Ah ha. There is the sarcastic asshole we all know and love.”
He slowly stands from the mattress, rolls his shoulders, and steps closer.
I slowly stand but hold perfectly still.
“Okay. If I’m neither of those things, what is happening to me?”
He shrugs.
“Beats me, but you obviously needed me here. So here I am.”
I look him over, but I can’t see through him.
“I fucking miss you, man. You always kept me from being the worst version of myself,” I say, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer. “I was such a fucking prick, but I could’ve been so much worse. Fuck, you should be here, not me.”
He screws up his face.
“Yeah, cause the band would’ve done real well with me fronting it.”
I laugh, and a tiny bit of the tension I am clutching releases.
“You sounded like a cat being murdered.”
“Shut up. I wasn’t that bad. Such an asshole. Good to see some things never change.”
The smile slowly falls from my face.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? I’m the one who got behind the wheel of the car.”
Tears sting my eyes, and each one feels like a razor cutting as it slips free.
“But you never would’ve been in that car if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault. You’re dead because of me. I killed my best friend.”
Patrick is standing right in front of me. Goofy smile on his face, eyes understanding, exactly how I remember them. He grabs my shoulders, and I look at his hands. Suddenly, I don’t care how this is possible.
“It’s no one’s fault but my own. I knew that I was in no shape to drive, but that didn’t stop me.”
The night of his birthday comes crashing back. I shake my head as the pain claws its way out of my chest one agonizing inch at a time.
“No. I pushed. I did what I always did. I pushed too hard. I couldn’t help myself, and you were right. Every word you said was right. I was acting like a piece of shit asshole, and I was out of line. I went too far, but you paid the price for my actions. I can’t forgive myself for that.”
I’m laughing and chugging a beer with one of the jocks when Patrick storms up and shoves me in the chest.
“What the fuck was that? Haven will barely speak to me, who knows if she will forgive me for this.”
“So, what. Good riddance, it was time that she finally took the hint and fucked off.”
He shoves me again. “No. You’re the one who needs to fuck off.
I’m so tired of this crap. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you that Haven is my friend and to leave her alone, you just keep at her.
I don’t get it. She’s a good person, the kindest fucking person I’ve ever known and you torture the shit out of her. ”
“Oh, come on, man.” I scoff. “She is a fucking loser, a go-nowhere wannabe. Is that who you really want to hang around?”
“Yes,” he bellows in my face. “Haven is my best friend.” It’s a slap to the face as he glares at me.
“I’m the one who has been a terrible fucking friend.
I’ve stood by and let you treat her like crap because it’s nice to have a guy friend who gets me.
Someone who loves writing songs as much as I do.
Someone who can take my words and make them come to life.
I’ve been caught up in the idea of one day being famous at your side, but it’s not worth it.
None of this is worth it. Haven is an incredible person, and I am a bigger piece of shit than you, because I’ve let you do so many horrible things to her. So many that I’ve lost count.”
He takes a step back, and real fear hits me as I see him shutting down and pushing me away.
“Fine, I’ll be nicer to her,” I say, and a big part of me is relieved. Relieved to finally have a reason to let my feelings for Haven breathe.
Patrick shakes his head and takes another step back. “No, man. It’s too late for that. I’m done. I want nothing to do with you and your fucking bullshit.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I fucking do. I’m physically sick to my stomach. I guess I should be thanking you for tonight. You finally did something that I can’t laugh off or make an excuse for. I just can’t. I’m done. No friendship, no amount of fame or money, is worth selling my soul to the devil.”
He turns and marches away, hands clenched into fists.
“I’m not the devil. It was supposed to be funny. I didn’t mean…”
Patrick spins and points at me.
“Shut the fuck up. Don’t say another word. It’s all lies and manipulation. That’s all it’s ever been. You wanted to come between Haven and me, and I fucking let you. Hell, I don’t even know if you like being my friend or love torturing her so much that you tolerate me.”
“That’s not true. You’re my best friend.”
“Yeah, well…find a new one. From now on, if you want to bully Haven, then get prepared to face me every fucking time.”
Patrick stomps away and doesn’t look back.
I hold out my arms, desperate as I grasp at straws as to what to say.
“What about our songs?” I yell after him.
“Fucking keep them. I don’t want them.”
For the first time since that night, I look my best friend in the eyes and let out the sob that has been locked inside my chest for five and a half years. The grief flows out of me, and I all but tackle Patrick, wrapping him in my arms.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” The words tumble free.
“You were right. I loved Haven…and acted like such a fucking waste of space toward her.” The sentences run together as they spill from my mouth.
“All this time I’ve blamed my mother for my father’s death, but I made the same mistake.
I hurt those I love the most for money, power, fame, and popularity.
I’m the pathetic one. You died because of me.
It’s all my fault, because I just had to see how far I could go.
” I gasp and suck in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”
I can apologize a million times, but it won’t ever be enough to fix what I did. It will never bring him back. It won’t fix what I broke inside of Haven or me. The words are worthless, but I say them anyway.
Patrick hugs me back, his arms warm as I fully breakdown and give myself over to the suffocating surge of guilt and anguish that has haunted me for years.
“It’s going to be okay. You two will find your way. Trust her.”
“I will. I promise. Please forgive me. Please, I’m begging you to forgive me.”
He doesn’t respond, and I pull back to beg for his mercy again, but he’s gone.
I blink and stare at the blank space where Patrick stood, and then turn in a circle. No. Not again.
“Patrick? Patrick?”
Nothing but silence.
Shuffling over to the mattress, I drop down and crawl under the weighted blanket, then I curl up in a ball and cry.
The quiet presses in, heavier than anything I’ve ever carried. He’s gone again…and this time I don’t even have the lie that he may come back. I’m left with only the unbearable truth.
I ruin everything I love, and all I have left is me and the wreckage I can’t outrun.