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It keeps coming back to that. I saw what I wanted to see, and being stoned helps with that. Just because they were kind enough to drop by a few times doesn’t mean…anything.
Right.
But the thing is, knowing I’m not going to kiss this world goodbye just yet has changed the game. Changed how I see life.
Until now I wasn’t living. I realize that. What do I do about it, though? How do I get the two people I need back?
Is there a way?
The doctor comes to tell me I’ll be discharged today, asks if I have someone to drive me home and help me out.
Feed me my Jell-O and change my diapers until I can do it on my own, she means. I smile grimly and tell her I do.
I’ll call a cab. Not a big deal, and she doesn’t need to know, or she’ll tell my father. Last thing I need is my father coming to pick me up and fussing over me, as much as my father would.
He’d probably drop me off at the door and ask if he needs to hire a nurse for me.
No, thanks. I’ll fucking take care of myself. Part of being a grown-up man and all.
So I’m all prepared and shit, mentally, psychologically, my defenses in place, my plan made up about how to get out, call that cab, how to do this on my own.
I’ve got this. Everything’s fine. I don’t need anyone to babysit me, after all. Much better this way.
Like I told Riddick: I don’t need anyone.
Such a fucking lie.
When the nurse comes in with a wheelchair to tell me it’s time, I swing my legs off the bed, manage to swallow a gasp at the pain in my chest, and nod to let her know I’m ready.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
She helps me out of the weird-ass hospital gown, makes a tsk sound at the sight of all the bandages, and gives me a small lecture on all the things I need to do to avoid returning here.
I know. The list is branded in my memory. I’m getting impatient for her to finish tying up my shoelaces so that I can get out of here, even if it means doing so in a fucking wheelchair, my whole body already shaking with exhaustion.
I can do this, though. I can damn well do it.
There is no other way.
Shaking and dizzy with the tiredness, with the mixture of the drugs and pure adrenaline in my blood, I don’t immediately realize who else has just stepped into my room.
And when I do, when I see them…Goddammit, all those carefully reconstructed defenses crumple away like dry leaves.
I stare at them, not finding the words to ask why they’re there.
“He’s coming home with us,” Brylee tells the nurse who hesitates, then nods and bids me goodbye before leaving.
I swallow hard. “Home?” I manage, willing my eyes to stay dry.
“Where else?” Riddick says with a wink. “Unless the declarations of love you made to us while zoned out were all happy drug talk and not what you feel.”
I blame that wink for breaking me. That, and the possibility of them thinking I don’t feel anything for them.
“I love you.” The words are out before I can stop them. “So fucking much. Both of you.”
Yeah, that’s what shatters me. Baring myself completely. Admitting how I feel. Giving in to hope. I just didn’t think there was a chance of it ever happening, and now…
When they come over to me and put their arms around me, I hide my face in their necks, fall into their hold, and stop trying to be strong.
