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A startled laugh escapes me, and his lips curve in a small smile. I gently tug on my legs, and he releases me easily, turning his head and finally opening his eyes to study me. "Wouldn't want to ruin the carpet," I say, sitting up and hugging my legs to my chest. "I appreciate you helping me out. You didn't have to."
One brow lowers. "I'm the one that freaked you the fuck out. It would be pretty shitty of me to walk away."
"Maybe. But thanks all the same. I'm sorry I freaked out. It wasn't you."
"I know," he says simply. "I've seen a lot of people react the same way."
"You have?"
"Yeah. Where I came from, bad shit happens all the time. Riots, sirens, fights. It's easy for your body to go haywire. Happens to lots of guys."
"But not you?"
He slowly shakes his head. "Not for a long time."
"How did you get over it?"
"Confidence."
"Well that's vague. What do you mean, confidence? How does that help?"
He stretches his legs out in front of him. Admittedly, this is a weird place to have a conversation, the floor in the foyer at midnight. But John doesn't seem bothered. I'm all kinds of bothered, so sitting here peacefully, talking trauma response seems like as good an idea as any.
"When I realized I could handle my shit, I stopped panicking."
"Must be nice to be a giant," I mutter, eyeing the acres of muscles on his body.
He snorts and shakes his head. "I wasn't the biggest guy in there. Or the toughest. I'm not talking about beating people up. It's not that. It's about knowing that whatever happens, I can handle it. I can't be broken. It doesn't matter if I get stomped, or shanked, or stuck in the hole. I can survive." He scowls. "And maybe there's a bit of not giving a fuck in there. When you don't have much, it's not that scary if it gets taken away."
"But what if you died?" That idea, that Tyler might have killed me, won't leave my mind. I could have died.
I could have died.
"Then I'd be dead."
I just stare at him. He says it so casually. "And you're okay with that?"
"Yeah. Everyone has to go. Yeah, in the joint there's less to miss out on than out here. But it's just on to the next thing, anyway."
"You mean heaven?"
He sighs, staring blankly at the wall. "Not the way the Bible puts it, no. I read it in the joint. And a few other books." Something about the way he says a 'few' makes me think it's a hell of a lot more. "I think there's more out there. More everything. So if I die? If I get sent off to some other place, I'm okay with it." The man's a philosopher.
"What about all the things left to do here? What about all the people you'll leave behind."
"They'll be okay."
He says that so casually. And maybe he's right, maybe they wouldn't miss me. But I'm not like John. That thought isn't comforting. I want to be connected to people. I want to live and wring out every second of joy from the time I have left here. I always have. But that night six months ago took that away from me, and I want it back. I need it back.
I let out a shuddering breath, the realization sinking in. "I want to get better. I want to feel strong again."
One eyebrow lifts. "You didn't before?"
"I did, I guess. It was in a vague sort of way. I thought if I could get back to the old me, everything would be better. But it's not about going back, is it?"
John shakes his head. "Nah. The past is the past. The future is something way the fuck out there. I've always found it best to focus on right now? Doesn't matter what the situation is. I always ask myself, what can I do right now?"
"What can I do right now?" I repeat, mulling over the words. "Like, get up off the floor?"
