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Found 3 bottles. They all still have the seal on them. Doesn’t look like they have been opened.
Fucking great.
Just left Isobel’s. He had a night terror. Going to go and see if I can find him. I’ll take him back to hers so not sure what time I’ll be home.
I loaded the map upon my phone. I was still unsure on where everything was in this city. I could live here for a hundred years and I’d still most likely get lost. As I did a quick search on fountains, I planned to hit every one of them until I could find him. There was one a twenty-minute walk from here, so I set off in the direction of Washington Square. I hoped he had just done the easy thing and gone to the closest one. Knowing my luck, it’s likely he’s gone to the one that’s the furthest away.
My phone beeped with another message.
I’m just leaving. I’ll wait with Isobel
I fucking loved my man. No matter what was happening, he always had time for other people.
* * *
Iran the last of the blocks, praying the whole way that he was there. I didn’t want him in pain, struggling and alone. I needed him to talk to me. I was so damn fucking angry that he hadn’t been taking his meds. PTSD was nothing to fuck around with. I’m sure he thought that he was better since seeing Isobel but that was unfair to put so much pressure on her and himself. She couldn’t be his cure and it was unfair of him to think that way.
I entered the area a little out of breath and as I looked around and watched the sprinklers over the very large fountain, I was disappointed when I couldn’t see him. I began to walk around the fountain, going counter-clockwise, hoping in desperation to find him hiding on the other side.
There were lamps lit up, highlighting the fountain in a warm glow. As I walked around the curve of the structure, I stopped when I saw him. He was slumped on the floor with his head hanging down, his long legs were sprawled out in front of him and he was leaning his back against the concrete wall of the fountain. He was so fucking defeated and I hated it.
I started walking again and he must have heard my footsteps. He lifted his head up to mine before he stood up as I approached. I clenched my hands at my side, feeling angry at the situation he had put me in. I wanted to be the supportive friend but right now, all that I felt was unbridled anger that he had taken off without telling anyone. Lauren worried enough about him coming to New York. If she found out that he had been off his meds and that I didn’t know about it, she’d want to fucking castrate me.
I came to a stop in front of him and as he opened his mouth to speak, I reacted without thinking. My fist shot out and punched him in the face. The action surprised him—as well as me—when he went down on the floor.
“What the fuck was that for?” He rubbed his jaw where I had struck him.
“That’s for not taking your fucking meds!” I shouted while pointing a finger at him. His face dropped when I said that. “And for taking off in the middle of the night leaving Isobel a fucking wreck.”
He didn’t bother getting up. He just shuffled to the side and leaned back against the fountain. He bent his knees into the front of him and rested his hands on top of them.
I took a seat next to him on the cold concrete ground and waited for a moment for him to say something. Several moments of silence passed with him just looking out into the distance. He was a million miles away, lost in his memories.
“What happened, man?” I asked.
“I had a nightmare and I—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “What happened with you thinking you could just stop taking your meds?” He clenched his jaw at my question. “Post-traumatic stress disorder is nothing to fuck around with.”
“I know,” he muttered.
“Then why? Why the fuck would you be so stupid to just stop taking—”
“Because I fucking hate it, alright?” he shouted, cutting me off. “I fucking hate that I have to have this thing in my ear. I hate that people tip-toe around me like I’m one fucking minute away from having a meltdown.” He blew out a breath. “And I fucking hate that I need pills to be considered to be okay.” He hung his head at that and I knew that this may have been the first time that he was letting all this out. “I fucking hate that I can’t be normal,” he whispered.
It broke me that only now I was hearing all this. It was clear that I had been a shit fucking friend that I didn’t know he had been struggling as much as this. I thought he was doing okay but in reality, he was just trying his best to appear like he was okay.
“What you saw in the Army, Christopher…” I shook my head. “It’d be enough to fuck anyone up.”
He turned to look at me. “Is she okay?” he whispered.
“She’s okay. Well, she will be when I get you back to her.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going back. I can’t. What I did to her… She was so scared, Luke.”
“She was concerned,” I inserted. “Not scared. She was just frightened. She didn’t know what was going on and then you just immediately took off.” I paused. “Does this happen often?” I asked him.
“No.” He lowered his legs and straightened them out before he slumped further back against the concrete wall. “I was starting to fool myself into thinking that I was better. I was beginning to believe that she was my remedy.” He let out a humorless chuckle and it sounded so pitiful and defeated.
