#...or I have to go to the hospital when monday comes and get my meds for free.

[sovamurka]

suddenly realised that i don't have any of my epilepsy medication left, fuck

[lesservillain]

—ii. gotta promise not to stop when i say "when"

cw: more grumpy eddie, a lot of piss talk (sorry)

an: credit for the edited picture of eddie goes to itsscarrlett and the picture of jason patric is implied to be sam.

Tears sit on your lash line as you pull up to the Munson house today. Parking on the side, just out of sight to “keep your car safe in case unwanted visitors show up,” you lift your head, willing the tears not to fall before going inside. It’s already been a tough week for them, the last thing you need is to bring your own dramatics into their lives. Normally you could let things slide off your back, but the customer’s that had come into CoffeeHouse today were demanding at best, cruel and abusive at worst all week.

“Damnit, Ed!” You hear Wayne yelling from down the hall as you open the front door with your key, given to you on your first day earlier this week. 

“Hi,” you squeak out as the older man storms past you and into the kitchen. He does a double take, a wild look in his eye at someone else being in his home, calming down once he realizes it’s you.

“Hey there, darlin’. Didn’t think you’d be here so early today.” He has an almost clean plate in his hand, save for some untouched veggies that look like they taste like cardboard.

“I’m sorry, I can come back later if—”

“No, no, you’re fine. Did ya get outta class early or…?”

“No, Friday is my short day,” you say, swinging your bag over the back of the couch and letting it land on the seat cushion. “I came from work. It was…rough, so I left a little early. Sorry I should have called first.”

“It’s alright,” he assures, turning to walk into the kitchen where you follow him. “I just gave Eddie his dinner so he’s still awake. Gonna need to give him his pain meds before I go. He’s been in a sour mood all day, complaining about…uh,” Wayne ducks his head bashfully, not wanting to look you in the eyes. 

“Well I guess it wouldn’t be weird for you to hear it given your profession and all, but he’s, uh, been complaining about it hurtin’ when he pisses.” His voice trails off, barely audible over the sink being turned on as he cleans Eddie’s plate. 

“Well, that’s not good,” you say with concern. “Has he been drinking a lot of water? Staying hydrated?”

“Yeah, yeah—well, as much as he’s willing to drink. Been trying to keep him from sippin’ on sodas all day, but the ice maker in this fancy fridge hasn’t been working for some reason lately and he wont drink the water if it’s not cold.” Wayne lightly bangs his fist on the side of the fridge.

“What about his urine? Does it seem like it’s darker than normal lately? Or cloudier than normal?”

“Uh…maybe? I’ll be honest, I’m not really lookin’ at his piss when I’m dumping the urinal for ‘em.”

You give an understanding hum, sympathizing with him. It has to be awkward, everything he’s had to do for his nephew since he came home from the hospital. There’s nothing that you want to do more than help them out. But, there is one big problem that’s been keeping you from doing so: Eddie.

Eddie will not let you come in his room, let alone take care of him. He makes Wayne get him set up for the night before he leaves, and then stays in his room with the door shut for the rest of the night. You still haven’t even seen him since you first came on Monday. Any time you’ve tried to come in, even just to check on him, he’s pulled his covers over himself to hide away from your view. The most you’ve seen is a few tendrils of curly hair illuminated by the light of his tv when you peaked in before going to sleep.

It felt like housesitting more than taking care of anyone. You almost forget you’re not there by yourself, the sounds of Eddie’s bed creaking when he adjusts it or the light sound of his TV playing being the only reminder that you’re not alone. 

“Do you think he may let me go in there and…check?” You tilt with a shrug of your shoulders. “Like instead of you dumping it, maybe I could do it? Just to see if I notice anything abnormal. If he has a UTI and it’s bad enough that it’s bothering him, he may need an antibiotic.”

“He needs a swift kick in the ass if you ask me.” Wayne sighs, pushing off from the counter. He opens a cabinet and grabs Eddie’s medications for the night. “But, I’ll see what I can do. He’s not in the best mood for negotiatin’ right now, but I’ll see if I can get him to give. Gotta let you help him out sooner or later.”

You nod, waiting at the end of the hall as he talks it out with Eddie. There’s a bit of a back and forth between them, muffled by the living room TV playing behind you. 

You wondered if Eddie would even let Wayne take him to the doctor if he needed to go. He’s clearly very stubborn, but you’re sure a lot of his anger must come from being in pain from what happened to him. It's hard to blame him for not trusting people after how this town treated him, but you wish he would at least give you the chance to prove yourself. 

After a few moments, Wayne walks back out with a not so promising look on his face. 

“No dice,” he sighs, hands slapping against his sides before sliding into his jeans pockets. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you shrug, “maybe he’ll warm up to me someday.”

“He better. He can only keep up this ornery attitude for so long.” Wayne eyes the clock on the wall behind you, taking a half step back into the hall. “D’ya mind if I take a shower right quick? I did a little yard work outside and I don’t want to feel all sweaty at the machine tonight.”

“Of course! I’ll keep an ear out for him if he rings.”

“Thanks,” he takes the few strides toward the bathroom, calling out before he goes inside, “The food on the oven should still be warm if ya wanna help yourself!”

The mention of food has your stomach growling. It had been such a busy day you struggle to remember if you even ate anything at all, and chicken parmesan that sat in the glass container looked mouth watering. The smell of the savory dish had you making a plate so quick you almost dropped the new glassware on the floor. 

You were just about to take a bite when the tingle of a bell rang from his room. Your head perks up, eyes widening in disbelief. 

Just as quickly as you made your plate you abandoned it, moving hastily until you reached the slightly cracked door. Muffled groans could be heard from inside of the room, your hand flexes over the door handle. 

“Um, Eddie?” The groans stop. It's silent besides the sound of his TV. You grab the handle, pushing the door open slightly. 

“Eddie, it’s—“

“Go away.” His strained voice is stern, stopping you in your tracks. 

“I-I’m sorry, I heard your bell—“

“I said go away.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You back away from the door, pulling it until it's cracked once again. 

But you don’t move from the door. Rather, you do what you normally do in these situations. You think. Think about how you should have stuck up to him. You should have told him that Wayne is busy, that he either gets your help or no help at all. 

You also think of a kinder scenario, where you’re able to walk in, peel his covers back and tell him it’s okay, that he can trust you, if he would just give you a chance. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening startles you, making you take a step back from the door in front of you. Wayne walks out with a puff of steam, looking down the hall towards the living room, then down to you. He gets spooked seeing you there, shaking his head and his hand flying to his chest. 

“Everything okay?” He asks with a worried tone. 

“Um, Eddie’s bell, he rang it. But he didn’t want me so—“

“Jesus,” Wayne exhales, “Okay, thank you for trying.” He walks past you and opens Eddie’s bedroom door. “Boy!” You hear him say just as the door closes. The rest of the words are muffled as they go back and forth, and you take that as your cue to go and finish your dinner. 

The night was going just the same as it had been the last few nights this week.

“…I have a date to play this morning,” Dorothy declares as she enters the kitchen. Blanch yells out “With a man?!” in shock.

“No, with a Venus Flytrap.” Dorothy retorts with a roll of her eyes.

You laugh at Dorothy’s quip, the late night replays of the Golden Girls keeps you distracted as you half study for an anatomy test. It’s been your favorite subject so far, but it’s still proving to be difficult even this far into your schooling. Your book sits open in your lap, sitting on top of your blanket that you’ve brought from home while you sit cozied up on the Munson’s couch.

You glance up at the clock on the wall that reads just a little past 11pm. You groan, closing your book and sliding off the couch to the floor. You grab your bag and open it, pulling out your clean uniform and laying it out on the back of the couch for your opening shift. You go through your night routine and check the front door locks before getting yourself settled on the couch for bed.

Just as you get settled under the covers, you hear the soft tingle of a bell from down the hall. You jolt upright, looking down the hall where Eddie’s TV illuminated the small crack in his door. Did you actually hear his bell? Surely he knows Wayne went to work tonight, right?

The bell rings again, more aggressively this time and you respond by practically sprinting down the hall, almost tripping on your blanket as you go. You’re about to burst through the door, but stop yourself in time to remember to knock, hand on the knob to keep the door from opening. 

“E-Eddie?” You call into the slight opening. 

“...yeah,” you hear, less muffled than what you normally hear from him.

“Can I come in?”

It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

“Yes, please.”

Carefully, you push the bedroom door open. It’s dark, barely visible thanks only to the TV in the corner. As you step in your eyes adjust, landing on the form in the bed that is Eddie. He’s still mostly covered by his piles of blankets, but you can see a pair of eyes with the glare of the light hitting them looking straight at you, the rest of his face covered with his comforter. 

“Hi,” you say with a little wave, immediately cringing at your actions. “Um, how can I help you?”

Eddie blinks at you, unmoving. The covers over him suddenly rise, pulled down just enough for his arm to snake out, his whole body shifting to reach for something on the floor. Quickly, you move forward and to the side of his bed, not wanting him to over extend himself. 

As you get closer, you see him lifting up a plastic bottle — a hospital urinal, off of the floor slowly. For a split second you remember the easy grip silverware that you’ve been washing for him, and you instinctively reach out for the urinal before he can lift it much further off the ground.

“Let me get it for you, Mr.Munson,” you say, taking the very full container in your hands. When you look over to him, you’re able to see more of his face from his covers shifting. Or, at least what wasn’t covered by long curly hair, his pinched brow and frown lines highlighted by the TV light. He lets go of the urinal, grabbing his covers and pulling them up and over to hide himself once more. 

With a sigh, you make your way into his bathroom, flipping on the lights so you can better see where you’re dumping the urinal. When you get a proper look at the container in your hands, you have to suppress a gasp when you notice the almost brown color of the urinals contents. 

“Fuck,” you whisper quietly to yourself. This is not good. Eddie definitely needs an antibiotic, like, 3 days ago. Especially if he’s complaining of back pain, he could be getting a kidney infection, and he’s in no state to be dealing with that—

“What’s taking so long?”

Eddie’s strained voice snaps you back into reality. You quickly dump his urinal, running a little water into it and dumping that as well before running it back out to him. 

“Sorry, here you go,” you place the container back on the ground, before rushing back into the bathroom to wash your hands.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask as you turn off his bathroom light. 

“No,” he says from under his covers.

You breathe in, “Okay, um, well I’m going to go lay down. So, just, ring the bell extra loud if you need me again. Okay?”

A grunt is all you get as confirmation from him. A hand pops out from under the covers with a remote in grasp, pushing the power button and leaving you in the dark.

A loud crash wakes you from your sleep. Practically flying down the hall, you push in Eddie’s bedroom door and flip on the light. 

“Oh my god!” You shriek out at the display before you. Eddie’s face down on the floor, halfway between his bed and his bathroom. You rush to his side and give him a quick look over, the first thing you notice being the cord from his lamp tucked around his ankle…his only ankle.

Looking over him more you realize that the plaid pajama pants he’s wearing are tied at the halfway point, emphasizing the missing lower half of his right leg. Now, you knew Eddie had difficulty with mobility. You’d seen the wheelchair in his room before, and the easy access details that were built in the house didn’t escape you either. But, you were not made aware that he was an amputee.

“Eddie, are you okay?”

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally takes a deep breath in, letting it out with audible annoyance. He turns his head hair covering his face the same as before, blowing it away with a puff of air in a comical way that makes you snort when it falls even more into his eyes. You take it upon yourself to move his hair out of the way for him, revealing a very disgruntled and very…handsome face.

“Hi,” he says, shortly, looking up at you with one big, chocolate button eye.

“Hi,” you respond, unable to suppress your smile at his attitude. “Need some help?”

“Guess you could say that,” he huffs, positioning his arms to push himself up.

“What would you like me to do?”

He says nothing, only lifting his hand up in a way that silently asks for yours in return. You take it, bracing yourself as you help him sit up. He grunts as he gets up onto his ass, face scrunching up in pain from all the movement.

“Are you hurt somewhere?” You ask, landing on your knees next to him ready to assess any injuries. 

“Not anymore than I already was,” he says with a sarcastic groan, leaning back on both hands as he breathes through the pain.

“Well, I guess that’s good,” you say, the tension leaving your shoulders as you come out of panic mode. 

As you give him a moment to collect himself, you take the opportunity to really look at Eddie for the first time. His hair is dark, wild curls sticking out every which way from being hidden under the covers. Now that it’s mostly out of his face, say for some overgrown bangs that are currently half covering his forehead, half sticking up, you can see his face pretty clearly. He really does have handsome features, his plump lips sticking out to you the most. 

A scar covers a large part of his right cheek traveling down his neck and almost to his shoulder. Similar scars of various sizes go down his arms and are littered across his torso, all of them looking very new for being a few months old already.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie says with a tight smile and a sarcastic tone. 

“I’m sorry,” you say solemnly.

“S’alright. Can’t blame you for looking. I’m kinda like a car accident when you can’t look away.”

“No, no,” you shake your head, raising to your feet. “I’m sorry that this happened to you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, his head dropping down where his hair could cover his face. He’s truly a pitiful sight, a broken man on the ground with all of his scars on display. You notice his hair is matted in the back where small rat’s nests have formed and you think about how clean the bathroom looked earlier. How long has it been since he’s left his bed?

“Do you want to take a shower?” 

Brown curls fly as Eddie’s head snaps up to look at you, an offended look on his face. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything, I’m asking you if you want to take a shower. Also, follow up question, why were you trying to get to the bathroom the begin with? Wait,” you stand up straight, a wave of hot nerves washing over you, “did you ring your bell and I didn’t hear it?”

A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. “No,” he says, his vision casting down to his lap, “I, um… I had to piss. But my piss can’s full, and I—” He huffs, hand running through his tangled hair. His voice picks up an octave, “I didn’t want to wake you up. I don’t want your help.”

“I understand,” you say, “I don’t think I would want a stranger's help trying to take a piss either.” As you talk, you cross the room to where his wheelchair is parked, pulling it over to him and kicking the locks in place. “But — and I’m sure this wont help when I say this — I am in nursing school. I’ve seen some things in the last year. Things that are, unfortunately, permanently etched into my corneas for the rest of my life.” 

He watches you with wide, curious eyes as you stand in front of him, placing yourself with your legs on either side of his. Crouching down in front of him, you reach your hands out to help him up, waiting for him to take your hands in return.

“What I’m saying is that there isn’t anything to be embarrassed about with me. You don’t have to hide from me.” 

He looks at your hands, then up to you. You give him a smile, gesturing at him to take your hands, which he finally accepts after a moment of silence. 

There’s a slight buzz that radiates in your shared touch, his rough, calloused hands grip tightly in yours. You ignore the head that creeps to your ear and count to three, bracing yourself as he uses all of his strength to pull himself up. With a quick pivot he plops down in his wheelchair, his breathing heavy after using so much energy.

“You okay?” You ask, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” breath in. “I’m fine,” breath out.

“Maybe we should skip the shower tonight?” You question with a raised brow.

“I never agreed to a shower in the first place,” he retorts.

You nod your head in acceptance. “Well, what if I at least brush your hair while you’re up—”

“No. Nope. No thanks.” His resistance was punctuated with exaggerated hand movements.

“Alright, alright,” you ceded, not wanting to push your luck. “Do you still need to pee or am I helping you back in bed?”

“I can do it myself,” he says, sloppily maneuvering his wheelchair towards the bathroom, facing away from you. Without another word, Eddie pushes the bathroom door closed and leaves you standing in the middle of his bedroom. You blink a few times, until you remember him mentioning that his urinal is full. Grabbing it from the other side of his bed, you take it to the hall bathroom to dump out, keeping a tentative ear in case Eddie calls out for you.

At the same time that you walk back into the bedroom, Eddie opens the bathroom door and wheels himself out. The look on his face is pained, brows furrowed together with a wince.

“Are you okay?” You ask, setting his urinal back where he could reach it.

“I’m fine,” he says shortly, making an attempt to straighten his face.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

He gives you a sharp glare. “I said I’m fine.”

You were about to throw your hands up in defense, not wanting to poke the bear. But, something inside you told you to keep pushing.

“Eddie, can I be honest with you?”

He stares at you from the other side of the bed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say sarcastically. “I’m pretty sure you have a UTI. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” he states with a huff.

“Okay…so can I ask why you’re not going to a doctor for it?”

His eyes clamp shut, and he breathes in sharply with a bit of a shake.

“Listen, I get you’re like a student nurse or something. But, to me, you’re just a glorified babysitter, alright? You don’t know a damn thing about me, so just…” Eddie looks up at you, waving his hand dismissively. “Answer the bell when it rings.”

Do his words sting a little? Maybe a tad. But really you feel bad for him more than anything. Wayne’s told you that Eddie was a troublemaker at times before what happened, but he has a heart of gold and has always meant well. The sadness in the old man’s eyes looks a lot like the pain in the eyes of the younger man before you. And you know pain makes people behave in strange ways.

“Hey, little lady. I think it’s time for you to get up and goin’.” Wayne’s soft, gruff voice stirs you from your slumber, pulling you from the light sleep you had fallen into after making sure Eddie got back into bed okay. Rubbing your eyes, the light from the kitchen illuminates the wall clock reading 4:30 in the morning. You let out a low, petulant groan as you rise from the couch, sliding down to the ground below to grab your things and get ready for the day. 

The smell of coffee penetrates your nostrils as you wash your face, followed by a scent of eggs and bacon that makes your stomach cry out. You were definitely going to have to stop somewhere and grab something to eat on the way to work.

Just as you step out of the bathroom, Eddie’s bell rings from his room. Not wanting Wayne to leave his food to get cold, you cross the hall and knock on Eddie’s door. When he gives you the go head, you push the door open and are once again greeted by only a lump under a mattress. 

“What can I help you with?” You ask as you enter the room.

“Are you making food?”

“Oh, I’m not. Wayne is though. Do you want me to have him make you a plate?”

“Wayne’s home?”

“Yeah, he just got—”

“Then why are you still here?”

Your mouth snaps shut. If you weren’t so tired, you’d probably just brush it off as him being grumpy. But your lack of restful sleep had you pivoting on your heel and closing the door behind you. You didn’t have the energy to deal with his attitude this early in the morning, so he could wait.

“Smells good in here,” you say cheerfully, pushing Eddie’s comment to the back of your mind.

“Glad you think so. Yours is sitting right there for ya.” Wayne nods his head towards the bar seat where a plate of eggs, bacon and toast sits waiting.

“Oh, Mr.Munson, you didn’t have to—”

“Now, now, can’t send ya into work on an empty stomach now can I?”

You pull out the seat and sit in it slowly. You feel guilty for eating their food, but you would also feel terrible to turn down a meal made for you.

As you start to eat, you watch as Wayne makes another plate. He takes the time to break up the pieces of bacon into small parts and cuts the scrambled eggs up to make them more loose. He grabs the plate and a bowl full of what looks like oatmeal and excuses himself from the kitchen. 

It only takes a moment of him being gone for you to notice that he forgot the silverware sitting on the counter. You thought about just leaving it, not really wanting to deal with Eddie any more at this point, but Wayne did make you food after a long shift at work so you might as well do it for him.

You bump the door open softly with your hip, utensils in one hand and some napkins in the other. The bickering between the two men ceases as they hear you come in with a sweet smile on your face.

“Might be hard to eat without these,” you say sweetly, placing the items on Eddie’s tray. Wayne’s eyes dart back and forth between you and where Eddie is sitting up, uncovered. Eddie glares at you, not acknowledging his uncle’s reaction to what he thinks is the first time you’re seeing his nephew.

Wayne’s hand taps against Eddie’s arm subtly. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says with raised brows, looking at Eddie expectantly.

“What?” he says, playing dumb.

“Ed, seriously.”

“Ugh, fine. Thanks.”

“You are so welcome. I hope you have a good weekend, Eddie,” you say as you turn to leave the room. “See you on Monday!”

Water splashes under your tires as you drive up the muddy driveway to the hidden Munson home. It’s been a dreary day, overcast and a consistent downpour setting the mood from the moment you woke up. All the studying you did in the Munson’s living room last week paid off when you passed your test this morning, and the rest of the day consisted of lab work, which was the only reason you managed to keep your eyes open until the end of class.

As you park your car, pulling your hood over your head to protect yourself from the rain, you rush to your back seat to grab your bags and the two pizza boxes you stopped to get on the way over. A comfort food for you, and you doubted that the two men inside would turn down a slice. Hopefully Wayne would take some with him to work so he wouldn’t have to worry about his lunch.

With full hands you opted to knock on the door instead of trying to fumble your keys out and juggle two large, hot boxes of pizza. It took a moment but the door eventually swung open with an overjoyed Wayne on the other side.

“What’s all this now?” He says with a chuckle, stepping aside for you to come in.

“It’s my favorite rainy day food,” you say as you kick your muddy shoes off, leaving them on the porch and stepping inside. “And I figured I’d get enough to share. Payback for breakfast on Friday.”

As you entered the home, you were pleasantly surprised to find that there had been some decorating done over the weekend. Some shelves line the walls in various spots, mostly empty except for a mug and a couple hats, but it made a world of difference to the space by comparison.

“Ya don’t have’ta pay me back for anything like that,” Wayne says as he takes the boxes from you and takes them into the living room. “It’s the least I can do. I wish I could pay ya something for being here.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better I wouldn’t take your money anyway,” you say taking in the made kitchen table, no longer covered in boxes. “I like what you’ve done with the place, by the way.” You look at Wayne directly and really notice the dark circles under his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept all weekend.

“Thanks…it’s nothing compared to the old place, but over time…” A distant sadness lives in his stare as he scans the room, looking past you before finally focusing once again on the food in front of him. “Well, I’m hoping that we can make it feel like a home, eventually.”

A loud groan from down the hall startles you and Wayne’s head drops with exasperation. “I better go check on him,” Wayne sighs, pushing off from the counter and taking off towards Eddie’s room. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask, following behind him.

“Not really,” Wayne says, “Whatever he has, it’s gotten worse since you left. He’s got a fever that we’ve trying to fight—”

“A fever?!” You stop at the mouth of the hall, “And he still hasn’t seen a doctor?”

“Trust me, if I could get him to go I would. But he’s convinced it’ll pass on it’s own.”

Shit, this isn’t good, you think. Quietly, you peak in the door behind Wayne and you have to catch yourself before you audibly gasp. Eddie’s laid up in his bed, face flushed and his hair pulled up and out of his face with a washcloth on his forehead. The sheets around him look like they’re drenched from sweat and he’s covered in nothing but a thin sheet, likely burning up from the fever. 

Backing out of the doorway, you pad down the hall as quickly as you can and grab their wall phone, fingers hitting the keys as fast as you can move them. You had thought about doing this all weekend, but you’d just hoped that maybe Eddie would cave and let Wayne take him to a doctor.

“Hello?” The familiar voice of your family doctor, who you called Ms. Gene, on the other line pulls a sigh of relief from you. She had been a friend of your grandmother’s and always told you to call her if you ever needed anything, even after hours, staying true to her word when your grandpa had his heart attack and she walked you through how to perform CPR at 12 years old.

Over the phone you told her the symptoms that Eddie was having, but replacing his name with yours. “Oh, my word,” Ms. Gene says on the other line, “That sounds like a pretty bad infection, dear. Probably going to need an antibiotic and some Pridium to help with the pain. Are you still staying with your friend, Tonya? I can call it in to a pharmacy over there for you.”

“Oh, um, I’m actually doing some volunteer work in Hawkins. If you could call in to me, like, as soon as possible, that would be perfect.”

“Hawkins? Where that Earthquake happened? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised you’d go somewhere like that to help. Where do you want me to call it in to?”

“Uummmmm,” you stall, running over to the cabinet where Wayne keeps Eddie’s pain medicine, grabbing a bottle and reading the pharmacy’s information to her.

“Alright, I’ll call that over for you,” she says sweetly.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Gene. You are a life saver!”

“Of course, dear. Oh, before you go,” she say, grabbing your attention again. “I noticed here that you haven’t called for your birth control since February. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

“No, ma’am,” you cringe, “I just, um, I’ve been busy with school and I h-haven’t exactly needed it.”

“Ah, I see,” she says with an obvious skepticism. “Well, if you do start needing it again, just give me a call, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Just as you hang up the phone, Wayne walks back into the kitchen with a defeated look. The combination of Eddie’s condition and Wayne’s obvious stress has you feeling the tension in the air, making your words come out your mouth before you think about them.

“Wayne, I, um,” you stutter, “I need to run into town, to-to the pharmacy. I was going to stop on the way in and totally forgot.”

“Oh, okay,” Wayne turns to look at the clock on the stove. You’d gotten there early again, which hopefully would mean that you had enough time to get to the pharmacy and come back before Wayne needed to leave.

“Ya know you can use our stuff here, right? Don’t have to bring all your own things from home.”

“O-oh, thank you. But, um, the stuff I need is…personal.” He looks at you with a quirked brow and a slight tilt of the head. “Girl stuff,” you state, hoping that would be good enough of an excuse. And it was, the tips of his ears going red when he got the idea.

Thanks to Wayne’s very detailed directions you were able to get around the construction and to the Hawkin’s pharmacy and back within an hour. The rain had let up to a sprinkle when you pulled in again, Wayne walking out of the house as you pulled the keys from the ignition. 

“Sorry, I hope I’m not making you late. Did you grab some pizza?”

Wayne lifts a plastic bag with the food and a couple soda cans, “Got some right here. And it’s alright, I’ll be just fine. Did you, um, get what you needed?” You mimic his move, lifting your plastic bag as well, which elicited a hardy chuckle from the older man. “Good, good,” he says with a nod, “In the hall bathroom, I went ahead and cleared you a shelf in the closet in there. So, feel free to keep your stuff there. You don’t have to,” he says assuredly, “but I figured I’d give ya the option, ya’know?”

Your cheeks squish your eyes with how hard you smile, overwhelmed with the consideration of your needs. Something you’re not used to.

“Thank you very much, Wayne. That was very sweet of you to do.”

His ears turn red again, but he smiles back. “I’m — we’re not really used to having women around, but I want you to be comfortable here. You bein’ here has been more helpful than you think.”

The praise goes right to your heart, and you beam so hard you’re surprised the clouds didn’t part and let in a ray of sunshine over you. Instead, the rain starts to pick up again and the two of you part ways quickly to escape the downpour. 

As soon as you get settled inside, you bust out the prescription bags and look over the medication directions. The antibiotic that Ms.Gene prescribed is for 10 days, and you realize that you didn’t even think about what you would do when you weren’t there. You don’t think Wayne would be mad about getting Eddie an antibiotic since he’s still being so stubborn, but you also don’t want to assume. Maybe you’ll wait to tell him on Friday when Eddie starts to feel better.

You prep the medicine and head down the hall where you can hear Eddie moaning lowly from his room. Knocking first, you push the door open and find Eddie to be in the same condition as he was when you saw him earlier. You felt awful for him, almost missing the bad attitude compared to the pained sounds he’s giving you now.

“Eddie,” you coo softly, grabbing his water jug from his bedside table. His eyes flutter open, half lidded and following your movements as you stand next to him. “Eddie, I’m going to sit you up a bit, okay?”

“Why?” He huffs out, wincing as the head of his bed raises him up to an almost sitting position.

“I have some medicine for you,” you say, showing him the pills in the little plastic cup. 

He shakes his head, “No, no, Wayne already gave me my night meds.”

“These are different from those,” you offer the small cup to him to look at. “I just went and picked them up for you. The yellow and black one is an antibiotic and the little brown one will help with urinary pain.” He keeps shaking his head, refusing the medication. You look up at the ceiling, breathing in and out to calm yourself before you get frustrated. “Eddie, why don’t you want to take them? You have to feel terrible. Do you not want to get better?”

His eyes stay trained on his lap, the gears in his brain turning. His mouth opens to speak, but quickly snaps shut as he shakes his head more. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says, his voice going up an octave as his eyes go glossy.

“No, you’re right. You don’t,” you say softly. “But, I do want to help you, despite what you want to think. If there’s something I can do to help you believe that, I would love to hear it.”

His head luls to the side, eyes moving back and forth before rolling to look at you. “Let me see the bottles,” he says.

“The bottles?”

“Yes, the pill bottles.”

“Oh, okay!” You set the cup on the bedside table and run into the kitchen. Grabbing the pill bottles you all but sprint back to his room, presenting the two orange bottles to him. He doesn’t take them, rather he leans in and looks over them closely.

“Is that your name?” He nods to where your information is listed on the top of the label. 

“Yeah, it is. I had to do it that way. Can’t request something for you so I figured this was the next best option.”

“And Wayne said it was okay?”

“Well, about that…” You set the bottles down, “I kinda forgot to tell him. But with the grief you’ve been giving him, I’m sure he won’t be too upset.”

“Whatever,” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. “He knows why I don’t want to go…”

You grab the cup of pills and present them to him again. “I’m sure he does. But, you really need to start these before you end up in the hospital. Or worse, the infection spreads and you get blood poisoning and die.” Eddie huffs out a small laugh, but you choose not to ponder on it and instead grab his water jug. “So, are you gonna take them or am I gonna have to call the squad to come get you by the end of the week?”

He sighs and presents a scarred hand to you, the tissue thick and uneven where it looked like some of it may have been graphed. You turn the cup over and let the pills fall into his palm, watching as he brings them to his mouth and takes a sip from the straw of his water. You didn’t ask him to, but he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as if to show you he’s taken them, a reflex you wonder if he got from his long stay at the hospital.

As you watch him, you can’t help but look him over again. Admiring his profile, the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. You notice that his scars on his chest cover his left pec, his whole left nipple missing in the mess of healed flesh. The bumpy flesh on his sides smooth out in the middle, to his belly button, where a trail of hair disappears into the thin sheet—

“Can you put the bed back down now, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You snap back to the present, heat on your cheeks and shame in your gut when you realize you were gawking at your patient. Your patient who is sick and needs your help to take care of him. Pin needle tingles flush into a layer of sweat over your body from the guilt.

“Is there anything else you need?” You ask as the bed reaches its flattest position. Hurriedly, you grab everything you left on his bedside table and move it back to where it was next to the bed.

“Um, yeah,” Eddie’s voice strains as he stretches his right hand to reach his bedside table, fingers moving slowly in an attempt to pick up the wash rag you saw on his forehead earlier.

“Want me to run it under some cold water?” Walking around the bed, you pick the damp rag up. Your fingers brush against his, making you retract them back to your body which sends the wash rag to the floor. “Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the rag. You make a beeline to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to it’s coldest setting, splashing a little over your cheeks as it runs out.

“I, uh, I don’t need the washcloth anymore,” you hear Eddie’s voice call out, softer than you’ve heard from him so far. It sparks a bit of concern in you, making you lean back to check on him. He’s pulled the blankets back up over him, his whole body turned away from you. When the TV’s volume goes up a few clicks, you just assume that his pain meds are kicking in and making him sleepy.

After turning off the water, you ask Eddie one more time if he needs anything, to which he simply shakes his head, refusing to acknowledge you anymore. You leave his door open a crack as you walk out and rush across the hall into the second bathroom. You let out a quiet shriek, running your hands over your face as you replay the way you looked at him over and over in your mind. What the hell was wrong with you? Are you that touch starved that any bit of skin makes you act like an 1800’s man who’s just seen a woman’s ankle? You need to get it together, sooner rather than later. 

Maybe a shower will clear your head.

“Eddie,” you call out from across the hall. No answer.

“Eddieee,” you call again. Nothing.

You step out of the bathroom and take the few steps to the bedroom door.

“Eddie?” The sound of shuffling and a few curses make you jump back.

“Eddie, is everything okay—”

“Yes, I’m fine, what do you want?” He sounds aggravated, and you think that maybe he had actually fallen asleep and you had just woke him up.

“I’m sorry, I was just going to tell you I’m going to take a shower. I’ll let you go back to sleep.” There’s no response other than a creak from the bed, so you leave it at that.

After two days of rain, Wednesday is much clearer. The early september sun beat down on your face through the window as your teacher goes through the day’s notes. But you’re barely able to focus on the words, your mind elsewhere as you think about the lack of sleep you got the last two nights. 

As if you had manifested it, your period decided to show up yesterday morning when you weren’t expecting it and you became a victim of period insomnia that night. Even worse, you almost bled through your school uniform on the way from leaving the Munson’s. Thankfully you were able to rush to the bathroom just before class started, but you only felt worse the rest of the day. 

You’re not sure if you were wearing your discomfort in your features or if Eddie was just feeling merciful, but he had been fairly pleasant for you when it came to taking care of him. He even promised to let you work on fixing his hair once he was feeling better.

Well, he didn’t say yes, but maybe is good enough for you for now.

With about thirty minutes left in class, your teacher calls your name and snaps you out of your daydream

“You’re needed in the counselor's office,” she says monotonically.

“O-okay,” you stutter, gathering your things quickly and heading to the main offices.

As you walk in, the lady at the desk is on the phone, not paying you any attention and she plays with the gum in her mouth. You stand there for a few minutes waiting for her to get off the phone, but she seems to be having a personal conversation, her beehive hair tilting to the side as she puts the phone between her ear and shoulder. 

You’re about to open your mouth to say something when a door behind her opens. With some papers in his hand, the guy from your volunteer sign ups, Sam walks out. His brows perk up when he notices you, bright smile on display as he makes his way to you.

“Hey, I was just about to come get you,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Thought maybe you got lost on the way here.”

“N-no,” you say, “I was, um…waiting.” You glance over at the receptionist, whose eyes are glued to the man in front of you.

“Ah, I see,” he says with a nod. “Well, if you don’t mind stepping back into my office with me here.” He motions for you to follow him back to the door he came out of. You can feel the eyes of the beehive staring daggers into your back even after he closes the door behind you.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of what you assume is his desk as he sits down behind it. You sit down, straightening your skirt in an attempt to get comfortable as he pulls a folder out from a drawer.

“So,” he starts, “I just wanted to, um, touch base with you on your volunteer work. More specifically, how you’re feeling with your client.”

“You mean Eddie?” You ask.

“Yes, yes, Eddie Munson. I think I told you that day that he wasn’t a very sought after client, and I’m sure by now you’re aware as to why.”

“Because of the accusations.” It’s not a question, rather a statement.

“Yes, exactly.” He leans forward in his seat. “The company that’s running the program was surprised that anyone had agreed to take him. But, I told them that a…” He pauses for a moment, subtly looking you up and down, “...very special person took Mr.Munson in without hesitation. And when I tell you they were relieved — it would be an understatement, truly. But…”

“But?” You ask with a quirked brow.

“But,” he continues, “I’m just…I just want to make sure you’re feeling…safe.”

“Safe? Like when I’m there?”

“Yes. I know he lives with his uncle so you’re not alone, but if you were to be left alone with you, would you feel safe?”

Oh, this guy has no idea.

“Absolutely,” you say without hesitation. “Eddie is wounded at best and grumpy at worst. But I can’t think of a single moment where I’ve ever felt unsafe. I’ve actually felt quite welcome there. They’re very sweet people.”

Sam nods with a satisfied smile as you talk, visibly relaxing in his chair.

“Good, that’s great to hear,” he says, making a note on a paper in the folder in front of him. “I’m glad we were able to find a good fit, for the both of you it seems. Now, on the day you signed up, I did forget to have you fill out this paper here—” He slides a paper in front of you with the VisitingAngels logo on the top. “This is just asking for your basic info; name, address, a good phone number. It’s all for the volunteer company to keep on record. It must have been missing from the folder I had that day.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, pulling the chair up to the desk. Sam slides a pen over to you, and you can feel his eyes on you as you fill out the paper. You spare him a quick glance, and he flashes you a smile. He’s more handsome up close you think.

Once you’ve finished you slide the papers back to him, his finger touching yours as he takes them. 

“Great, thank you,” he says, tucking the paper into the folder and closing it.

“Of course,” you say, straightening up in your chair. “Was there…anything else you needed me for?”

Sam hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Actually, yes. I, um, I think you volunteer later in the day, is that correct?”

“Yes, I’m usually at the Munson’s house by 5. Why?”

“How long would you say you’re usually there for?”

You feel beads of sweat forming in your hairline. Did someone find out you were staying overnight with Eddie? Would he get in trouble if you were? Would you get in trouble? Would they take him away as your client?”

“Um, I would—I think I leave at 7, on-on average. Yeah…I get there, make sure he eats and get him settled for bed. Sometimes we sit and talk. Y-you know, caregiver stuff.”

“I see, I see,” Sam nods. “So that means…This Friday you don’t have any plans after 7 then?”

Your head reels back. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

He laughs nervously, adjusting himself in his chair. “I, um, well, I’m asking if you’re free on Friday night, because I wanted to see if I could maybe take you to dinner?”

Your eyes dart around the office in disbelief. What is happening right now? You don’t get asked out. Tonya gets asked out by guys at the bar. The girls in your class get asked out by guys in other majors. The girl who bullied you in high school gets asked out by your crush. But not you…

“W-what?”

“Sorry if this seems sudden, but I’ve honestly been thinking about you since that day we met and…I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, closing in on himself a bit. “I just thought I would ask. But I understand if you can’t.”

Damn it.

“Well, I can’t on Friday,” you start, and the strings of your heart pull when the man in front of you deflates. “But…I could do Saturday?”

“Really? Okay, I can make that work.” Sam grabs a post-it note and writes his name and number down before handing it to you. “Here's my number, just in case. I guess I’ll pick you up—” He opens the folder again and points at where you wrote Tonya’s address on the paper, “...at your place around 7?”

You nod. “Sounds like a date.”

thank you for reading.

tagging @boomhauer bc i know you want to share your art lol

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 5]

Batten down the hatches, my friends. This one is a L O N G one but it was so worth it.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Unloveable - The Smiths

“If I seem a little strange / well, that’s because I am /

But I know that you would like me /

If only you could see me / if only you could meet me /

I don’t have much in my life / but take it, it’s yours.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, hospital mention, blood / injury descriptions, AMERICAN HEALTHCARE, more horrors of a nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would have words), extreme weather, angst, hurt / comfort

Word Count: 3.9k (SORRY)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 6] [Part 7 (NSFW)]

Driving on uneven roads is difficult enough on its own, and having only one hand while amped up on adrenaline and preoccupied about potentially having lost Corvus forever makes you downright reckless. A particularly hard thump! has you worried about your car’s alignment but you simply add it to the list of things wrong and continue down the road.

The emergency room sucks. You’re not even fully in reality by the time you finish checking in, clutching your still-bleeding hand in your lap with not more than a couple pads of gauze and a random towel you had laying around in the back of the car. It’s a miracle how a human can bleed for over two hours and still be fully coherent enough to lie to their nurses and doctors about a knife slipping while cutting twine.

They don’t believe you for a second, but they both aren’t paid enough and are over-worked enough not to care. Everyone lies in the ER.

A shot of lidocaine and eighteen stitches later, you’re sent on your way with opioid pain meds you won’t be taking and a deep appreciation that Corvus hadn’t scored your dominant hand. It’s still irritating when you get home and try to undress to shower, unable to flex your injured hand at all. You straight up decide against actually cooking, heating up a frozen meal in the microwave and sitting on the couch to overthink everything once more.

The look of complete dismay on Corvus’s face before he left haunted you. 

You had long accepted that the black betta mer wasn’t the most emotionally expressive individual. His carefully neutral countenance rarely gave way to more than a quirk of a brow or occasional lip-turn, so the twisted look of open terror on his pale face shook you to your core both now and then. Hell, in the moment you had even been able to forget about a two and a half inch long laceration in your palm from sheer worry for him. 

You never would have expected a creature so powerful to run.

Another cold spoonful goes down roughly at the thought, and, dissociated, you decide you’ve had enough sustenance. You crawl into bed, exhausted, and feel your limbs sink heavily into the mattress as a deep sigh leaves your lungs. A hollow feeling permeates your chest.

You can’t help the rush of emotions that suddenly overcomes you, choked sobs racking your body as you curl up into a miserable ball around your pillow. The action brings only scant comfort to the throbbing ache in your chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

The beach is cold, but you don’t care. 

You felt stupid coming back to the shoreline the day after everything, so you waited. Your Monday rolls around and you try to go back to the coast before work, briskly searching high and low for a glimpse of black fins and a glittering night’s-sky of scales. The tides grant you no such favors, and two hours are wasted on nothing when you’re forced to leave. You deflect every question from your coworkers with lies about a kitchen accident.

The next day is scarcely different. You finish your shift in the office like a reanimated corpse, putting in the bare minimum to not have anyone look twice in your direction. You can’t even remember more than the gist of the report you had just read on illegal fishing activity a hour south of you, another damned case of foreign bodies trying to use nonexistent loopholes in the law to talk their way into overfishing protected areas. It was a Coast Guard issue and never should have crossed your desk to begin with, but here you are, tangled in another mess outside of your depth.

You slam the door of your Bronco shut before you stomp onto the dark shore, not bothering to take the cliff down to Corvus’s den this time because you know you don’t have the brain capacity to even think about scaling the rocks. The extra five minute trip down and around the cliffside riddles you with nausea that intensifies when the light of your flashlight finds the entrance to the cavern. 

Of course Corvus isn’t there; you weren’t expecting him to be, yet still it anguishes you. Three days without the merman in your life and you’re already starting to fall apart? It makes you feel pathetic for having grown attached to him so quickly. 

But Corvus had never made you feel that way. Never once had he made you feel like your presence had been a burden to him, eagerly listening to every word you had said to him. He always replied with a caring thoughtfulness to any query you gave him, firm with his boundaries yet forgiving to the innocent faults that had occurred. 

Corvus had a way of making you feel genuinely listened to, even when he didn’t always reply. It was weird to describe someone like him as warm, given his penchant for reserved silence and generally closed-off nature, but the sincere cordiality he had with you had never failed to stir emotions in your chest that you had felt far too anxious to put a label on at the time.

You realize just how taken care of you had always been with the merman. He offered to hunt for you, even if the incident with the ducklings had been an awkward misunderstanding. He made a place for you within his den that could never have any functional use for him as his size. Hell, he would stride along you in the sand instead of asking you to join him in the waves because it was easier for you. You’re wearing a piece of his hoard!

He cared about you.

Your hand gently grasps the raven head pendant, and you sit down in the rickety chair that Corvus has specially gotten for you. The luminescents on the walls seem dimmer than before, and you notice how wilted they’ve become in Corvus’s short absence. Pushing aside the thought that the mer had been putting in actual maintenance to accommodate for you, you brush your hand against the cerulean phosphorescent flora. 

Corvus had taken care of you when you hadn’t asked for it, so you were going to do the same. 

Searching the den for anything vaguely cup-like to transfer water with turns up nothing, so you resort to cupping your healthy hand in that small stream leading into the den. You punctiliously pour the brine over each of the parched plants until they’re saturated. By the time you’ve finished, you notice the vegetation you had started with has already begun to glow brighter. You glow brighter than the cave in that moment.

Wednesday still bears no sign of Corvus, but it does teach an important piece of information: this den had not been abandoned like the others.

You finally gather the courage to check inside of the decorated bed space at the back of the den for the first time since the giant’s disappearance, and you’re flooded with relief when you see the large cache of dazzling objects still lining the walls. Corvus hadn’t left, per se. He just hadn’t returned yet. 

In your jacket pocket is the trusty metal pen Corvus had fixated on so long ago, and in a moment of weakness, you leave it on the stone shelf at the center of the cavern. You had other pens. This one should be his… even if he can’t use it.

You keep coming back to maintain the cavern: wetting the algae and mushrooms, clearing the space of any excess sand the tides brought in, polishing the corroded metals in his collection— nothing escapes your watchful eye. You’ve even accidentally fallen asleep on the bed of furs and grasses, waking up in a flurry to see that you were late for work and needed to leave now, even if you dreaded doing so. 

You always leave a new trinket behind on the round stone ‘table’. Old jewelry, a piece of abalone shell, a tea ball you haven’t used in ages, rose quartz, an entire abalone shell (that you’ve now started to use to hold everything), cool brooches you found at another beach, an enamel pin in the shape of a flying crow, and many other items from around your apartment make their way into Corvus’s den. You rearrange the items into a nice display before you leave.

A week passes. Half of a month. An entire month. The gash on your hand has healed well, the stitches removed with strict instructions to keep the area clean. 

Each day, no matter the weather, you return to Corvus’s beach. The den is monotonous, and recently, you’ve begun to avoid going inside of it lest you have to face the untouched items on the rock shelf more often than necessary. The physical effort to place something in the pile is nothing by now, but mentally, it wears on you.

What if all of this had been for nothing? You had been forcing such doubtful thoughts out of your head for a month faithfully, always trying to look on the bright side. You’ve waited longer for a pay-off before, haven’t you? 

Why was this any different?

…because it hurts. No matter what pep talks you give yourself or happy memories you relive, coming back to the beach hurts.

You’ve been persistent to the point you’re starting to think that you’re nothing more than an annoyance instead of the oh-so-great protector of the coasts you had foolishly thought yourself to be. What a sick fantasy, you think, meddling in the life of something so obviously beyond you. The delusion that you could ever be a part of Corvus’s realm has poisoned you to the point of desperately coming back to the barren sands for even a hope that you’ll see more than the black apparition in the reveries of your mind.

The apartment is a mess. Unfolded laundry piles in the basket, dirty clothes along the floor. You’ve used the same towel to shower for long enough that it’s starting to smell of mildew, but just thinking about the effort of washing a load of towels makes you feel like lead. It took an infestation of ants for you to do the mountain of dishes that piled in your sink. Everyday tasks become chores, and chores feel impossible. 

Still, you drag yourself out to work again today. The weather is awful: torrential downpour with gusts of wind that nearly knock you off of your feet. No one is working in the field today lest OSHA get a taste of blood in the water (literal or metaphorical). You drum your fingertips across the wooden desk as you read a private request for development nearby a protected habitat, opposite hand fiddling with your necklace. You can’t bring yourself to take it off, even if it hurts to see in the mirror each day.

You’re in the middle of a paragraph about intended waste management when a heckling voice jogs you out of it. “I didn’t take you for the goth type,” it jeers, and you look up to see one of the environmental science team leads. A man twice your age. What was his name again?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retort, audibly weary.

 “The necklace,” he gestures at your throat. Your coworker sits against your desk, uninvited, looking down at you with leery eyes. “Haven’t seen you in that number before.”

You simply shake your head and look back down at the paper, uninterested in the conversation. He doesn’t take the hint.

The lead continues, “You haven’t been as chipper recently. Where’s your spunk? Your fire?—” he follows the words with a ridiculous hand gesture— “Those bags under your eyes could be checked in at the airport.”

You’d laugh at his joke if you weren’t already in such a piss-poor mood. “I’m just tired,” you state, not turning your head to look at him, “I’ll be fine.”

A hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt. “Look, kid, we’ve all got our bad days, but I can tell when someone needs a break—”

You throw the offending hand off of you and stand up roughly, throwing your chair back into the wall in the process. You feel heated. “I told you, I’m fine!” Your words are laced with venom, scratchy and raw and bitter. 

The commotion causes the lead to recoil, distaste written on his face. Other people in the office are starting to stare, and you meet each of their gazes individually. Maybe that was a bit too far.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and head falling forward. Everything aches. “You’re right,” you admit, offering an apologetic look to what’s-his-name, “I’m not feeling well.”

It takes no more than a few minutes to submit your request to leave early. As soon as it’s approved, you rush out of the building. The torrent building inside of you has nothing on the rain around, and you high-tail it out of the parking lot. 

Truly, you didn’t mean to end up back here today. The ocean is too rough, the cliff perilous, the beach an utter mess. The thought of just how stupid your actions are does nothing to stop you, though. 

You run down the embankment to the dock, shoes getting soaked from the crashing waves as you search the water. 

Nothing.

You scramble to the den, slipping and falling down the rocky slope and barely catching yourself before you hit your head. 

Nothing. 

You claw your way through the sands— up soggy hills and over rocky ledges, around complex twists and turns in the sandstone, under and over jutting stones, looking anywhere for alabaster white. 

Nothing.

You’re back at the dock, watching the serpent of metal squirm and thrash in the storm. With unstable footing, you sloppily traverse the writhing mass of steel, barely able to hold yourself upright as you reach the end of it. The storm forces you to your knees, and you place your hands on the lip. Despondency grips you, tearing at your throat.

“I’m sorry!” you cry, voice drowned out by the thundering of rain. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!” A black wave pummels into your small body, the force of an ocean threatening to knock you off of the dock. Still, you cling. You duck your head against the chilled metal, letting out a hissed breath before inhaling a mouthful of seawater. Blubbering, coughing, you rise back up and look out over the waves. They are cold and unflinching.

When the fury of the storm lulls, you force yourself to continue, hoarse. “I messed up and I just want to know how, okay? I don’t know what I did, I—” you choke off a sob, shaking your head, “I-I…” Muscles cry at you to stop, body begging you to return to the car for warmth. You persevere. You have for the last month. 

“I miss you, okay!” The wail carries across the ocean, echoing across the tides back at you like a taunt. Even in the calm of the storm, rain batters against you. The dock stops squirming so intensely, and you take the moment to catch your breath.

Even in your honesty, even in your raw vulnerability, screaming to the heavens for an answer, you receive nothing.

You turn away from the ocean and sink down onto yourself, defeated. The sobs you had been holding at bay spill out, and you hug your knees as you bawl into them. Your clothes are soaked, the wind is cold, and your chest feels miserable. 

Even with the storm beginning to pass by, you feel no better. You will away the tears eventually, wiping wet tears with a wet sleeve that feels like sandpaper, and ready yourself to leave.

The utterly shattered face of Corvus Corax looks at you, a few feet from the edge of the dock, just barely above the water. Eyes of onyx lay wide with guilt, grimacing.

You do not hesitate to throw yourself into the choppy water at him.

Corvus has no time to react to your actions before you wrap your arms around his neck clinging onto him as you gasp like a fish, clutching the coal-and-bone giant close to you like a lifeline. Right now, in the swell, he was.

Tentative arms snake around your midsection, slowly but surely pulling you closer to him. You feel the merman press his face into your soaked hair, taking in a deep breath of your scent before a rumble leaves him. “This is no place for you,” he whispers, and you can only feel him fly through the water like a bolt of lightning, unable to look up from his neck with how firmly he holds you. When you can finally move your head, Corvus already has the both of you on land, beelining it for the den with a look of conviction on his face. 

You didn’t even know you were trembling before you got inside, the surprising warmth of the cavern thawing the numbness in your arms and legs. The frantic betta strides right past the chair in the main room with you in his arms, heading straight for the bed space. It’s only when he gets to the ‘bed’ that he abruptly stops, looking down at you.

“You’ve rested here before.” It’s another half-question, half-statement, and once again it’s correct.

“I fell asleep after taking care of the algae, I’m sorry—”

Corvus cuts you off by hastily lying the both of you on the furs and feathers, the action causing you to let out an ‘oof’ as the air is forced from your lungs. The way he curls and desperately clings to you like a lost child has you feeling all sorts of complex emotions, but you do not fight it. When you open your mouth to speak, he gently shushes you with a shake of his head. You rest beneath his chin in silence.

For the first time in over a month, everything feels okay.

“I hurt you,” Corvus’s gentle voice breaks the silence, barely audible. It’s laced with sorrow so deep that it cuts into your heart. With a shaky hand, the giant mer peels you away from him, looking your entire form over. 

You show him your scabbed and scarring palm, the area pink but almost fully healed by now. You jump to reassure him, “The doctor said it was a clean cut. Easy to heal. I’m okay.”

Corvus shakes his head again, gently taking your injured hand in his. He holds it to his chest, over his beating hearts as he looks deep into your eyes. The downpour inside of him has yet to quell. 

“I hurt you, and I could not bear it,” he restarts, twin hearts pounding in his ribcage. A heavy pause follows as Corvus thinks, wanting to explain himself properly yet lacking the experience to do so. His ear fins twitch up and down as he debates how to continue. Eventually, he sighs, looking around the walls of the bed space. "In fleeing like a coward,” he laments, “I have only hurt you more.” 

The sentence causes the tension to snap inside of you like a wire. “I came back here every day looking for you. Every. Single. Day,” you admonish, tears welling in your eyes, “I took care of the plants. I swept out the sand. I even polished everything so I could keep myself busy!” You go on a total tirade about your activities, Corvus’s gaze not once leaving you as he takes the brunt of it all. Falter, your words catch in your throat as tears spill. “...because I was so afraid to lose you that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”

Corvus’s eyes soften with guilt, expression falling. He makes to respond, but you beat him to it.

“But I’m so glad you came back, because I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”

The merman’s mouth shuts, and his gaze returns to you. He does not hesitate to pull you close once more, gorgeous charcoal fins blanketing you. You run a hand over the appendage, unable to stop yourself, and Corvus lets out a blissful sigh. “I was afraid, so I fled without thinking of the consequences,” he explains. You do your best to sit back to watch him talk, but Corvus doesn’t allow you much room to move. He continues, “I am already… an anomaly amongst my kind. I was not created to have these sorts of simple domesticities, and I feared what would occur if I overstepped my bounds.” His words leave you with more questions than answers, but you know better than to prod the mer. Anomaly amongst his kind? He had mentioned brothers before his disappearance. You wonder what the others may be like.

Seeking to comfort the giant as he speaks (and partially out of scientific curiosity), you run a hand over his gill covers again. A soft gasp leaves the merman before he catches your hand in his, withdrawing just enough to look down at you. You give him a shy, cheeky smile.

“...as you are now,” he jests, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you say, not even remotely apologetic.

Corvus lets out a soft huff in response, when his eyes focus on the silver chain around your neck. He uses a talented claw to fish the raven pendant from underneath the neckline of your shirt, gazing upon it with the same fondness you had seen just before he fled. Before you can question the look, you’re shocked by the smile he gives you: a genuine grin, eyes crinkled at the outer corners and sharp teeth visible. For the first time, you see that he has fangs, the tips of canines poking into his lower lip. 

His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile softens. Corvus croons, “I must apologize again for what I have taken from you.”

You’re confused by his statement, tilting your head at him. “What do you mean?”

The merman gently tips up your chin with a knuckle, keeping his claws away from the skin of your delicate neck as he leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s unpracticed and clumsy, Corvus being so much larger than you, but the cold taste of the sea and ocean minerals has you addicted. A delicate hand cradles your face when you lean into him, and the moment ends all too soon.

“I am here, and I will not be pulling such an imprudent stunt ever again,” Corvus promises as he pulls away.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly, before nestling yourself into the crux of his neck and shoulder. 

The tender moment warms you, the shaking in your body finally coming to a stop. Your clothes may be soaked and salty, but the soft bed beneath and gentle embrace of the mer ease you. You let out a soft giggle that catches Corvus’s attention, and when the merman lets out a questioning hum, you remark, “If you ever do that again, I’m getting my boating license and hunting you down myself.”

Corvus hums from above you, knuckles tracing up and down your back. “From what I have learned, I should expect no less.”

-----------------------------------

HI PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THE ENDING OF THE LAST FIC I PROMISED I WOULD FIX THINGS

This took far longer than expected I am so sorry but I hope everyone likes it!!

[Part 6]

[idontlikeem]

guess who's baaaaack to talk at the void about sad stuff againnnnnnn

don't read if grief and death will trigger you

also don't read if you're going to take this back to your little group chat and titter about how overdramatic and pathetic and pseudo-intellectual i'm trying to be. or do. i can't stop you. make your own peace with that i guess

so next saturday is my mom's....i guess memorial is the best thing to describe it as. a bunch of her friends are coming into town, and me and my family obviously, and we're going to a place that was special to her to read some poems and scatter some of her ashes. i'm driving back on monday and spending the week at my dad's. i have a really busy day tomorrow so i was trying to get most of my packing done today.

and like...what do you pack for something like that? it's not a church thing so there isn't your church-standard dress code, i'd know what to do with that. so i kind of just walked into my closet, glanced around, and threw it all into my suitcase without looking too closely at anything i picked.

i'm a notorious overpacker. something mom always used to laugh at me for when i'd come home for holidays, but really it's her fault, she was too, it's one of the many things i got from her. i keep telling myself that this next trip is the one where i'll use my packing cubes and really be thoughtful and judicious about what i pack instead of bringing 20 pairs of underwear for a weekend trip because what if i shit myself six times a day. that sort of thing. buuut.....this trip, i didn't really even try. my suitcase is stuffed and honestly....

i've been fighting off flashbacks for the last two weeks, as this trip got closer and i had to finalize coverage for my time off, let people know i'd be out of town, etc. i keep zoning out in the middle of the day, in the middle of tasks at work even, and suddenly i'm back to the days leading up to when my mom died, the things i said and did, and even the day itself. i was walking today to packet pick-up for my run tomorrow and suddenly it was february and i was walking in a daze to the pens-wild game up here, the night before i drove back to my parents' because i already had my ticket and my dad called me that morning to tell me i needed to come down—frankly, me driving that day wouldn't have been safe anyway. but i walked the same path and it was like i was there again, knowing what was coming the next day and trying to pretend it wasn't happening so i could TRY to enjoy this game.

(i did. a dear friend of mine reached out to the pens and had them bring me a game puck at intermission. it didn't help, like, not really, but the fact that someone was thinking of me enough to do that definitely did. that puck lives at my desk at work now.)

or like, i'm sitting at work in the middle of some boring admin task i have to do, half listening to the finance bros i work with talk about the vikings, and all of a sudden it's this past superbowl, and my mom just got home from the hospital and i had to drive to go get her meds from the pharmacy that were absolutely critical for her to have that night, but they wouldn't give them to me because the pharmacist fucked up the intake of the prescription and my dad had to call the doctor and have it reissued.

or my youngest brother texts me something, and i'm back calling him the morning she died, telling him he needed to leave work and drive down now because there were only a few hours left. he didn't make it in time. i had to wait outside the house when i saw he was getting close on find my friends to tell him. he collapsed into my arms sobbing when he realized why i was crying so hard standing out there waiting for him.

it's scary. it keeps happening. i did not expect that eight months later the memories of that week would still be so immediately present in my head, nor did i think i'd be experiencing this. i don't know what my brain is doing or why, and i don't know what to do to make this stop.

(therapy, yes. medication, possibly. less repression, most definitely. how does one find the time to get that stuff set up when there's still so much else that needs to be done every day to simply survive?)

i have to read a poem next week. my mom picked three, one for each of me and my brothers. we are supposed to decide who does what, and none of us want to be the one to voice an opinion. it's going to have to be me who starts that off, because i'm the oldest.

how am i supposed to do this?

[heysawbones]

The other day, my (former) therapist acted surprised when I told him I had ADHD. It hadn’t ever come up in therapy, see. I didn’t *seem* like a person with ADHD, see.

It’s just hard to explain inattentive-type presentation to people who aren’t already familiar with it. Being on Xyrem and Adderall have helped a ton with executive function - I can actually plan out my week in a notebook now! I’ve been doing it for two months! The notebook has to be line of sight, though. I never close it, either. It’s always open to that week’s tasks. If I can’t see it, it might as well not exist. If it’s there, but closed, it might not organically occur to me that this is the schedule book and that I should open and check it. This explanation didn’t help my (former) therapist at all.

This morning, I had an early appointment. A phone notification alerted me to it, just in time. I get to the appointment. It’s fine. I leave. I get to the pharmacy. I do not have my walletphone. Ah! Good old Tish. It’s back at the doctor’s office. I go back to the hospital, where my original parking spot is still vacant. I get the walletphone. I go back to the pharmacy. I get my meds.

The appointment was for my meds. I’ve been on desvenlafaxine since probably 2011. Had a 3 month supply. Lost the third month’s supply somehow, and needed doctor approval for the pharmacy to refill early. ADHD’d my walletphone at the appointment I only had because I have ADHD. No idea how I lost the meds. When my uh, brain more normal friends misplace their phones or wallets, it ruins their whole day. I forget mine all the fucking time and have to just get on with it. That’s just Monday for me. I know that if I tried to explain this to my (former) therapist, he’d say “everyone has days like that, sometimes”.

I, not being that invested in explaining or justifying myself, would just sigh.

“Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

[never-not-ever]

Sooo I woke up around 11:30 this morning. I got back in bed and was planning to go back to sleep. I was in the middle of replying back to my Nana cause she asked what time my appointment was today cause I was supposed to go get meds from PACT but then I heard this pounding on my door.

I looked outside and saw the car was there so I figured it was my Nana but I thought it was weird cause my Nana usually doesn't do that, she'll text me. Anyways it turned out to be one of the nurses from PACT. I didn't pick up my meds last Friday, didn't reply back to the other nurse when she called that Friday. Then Monday the new clinician who's supposed to be my PACT therapist (I haven't met her yet) texted me but I never replied. Tuesday my case manager texted asking if I was still coming in for our weekly check in but I didn't reply.

The nurse who came today was so nice and I apologized for not replying to everyone and told her how bad things have been. She was really supportive and said how no one's mad at me, just everyone was worried. She said my Nana's worried about me but I don't think they have her number so she must have run into her right before she came to my door. She mentioned me not picking up my meds and I told her how I haven't taken them in a bit, I think it'll be two weeks this Sunday. I told her I just take meds to sleep and that I started taking my PRNs once I ran out of trazodone. She mentioned maybe that's why things have started to get bad again but I think I said something about how it was never good to begin with. She offered to bring me my meds today or even tomorrow if I changed my mind but I told her I'd just wait...

I tried to ease some worry and told her how I'm seeing my therapist on Sunday and I'm going to talk to her about calling the hospital to see if there's any beds on my old unit. There's no point in starting my meds up again if they could change and also I didn't think they were doing anything anymore. She saw my arm and made note that I "started cutting again" and I told her how it's been happening for weeks. She made a comment about getting me back on track and I laughed and said I was never "on track". She asked if I was still in the partial program and it's funny cause someone else asked me that recently. It was only a 2 week program. She wondered if that's when things started getting bad. Again... they were never great to begin with.

"So what are you doing then, do you see friends or anything?" I told her that I have friends but don't talk to them that much and don't see them. I mentioned how I haven't replied to a lot of people. My sister reached out, a couple friends from my old unit reached out, two that are still there and one who's at resi at the hospital. So it's not just PACT that I've ghosted...

After she left I saw her talking to my Nana outside so I sent my Nana a text. I told her how we came up with a plan for Sunday and how I might have to go back to the hospital but it won't be as long as last time. She replied back and was incredibly supportive and wasn't judgmental at all so it relieved a little anxiety I had about telling her. Then I asked if I could use the car for a bit and I went to the beach.

[lightspren]

possibly interesting week coming up

monday: dad has cardiology appointment, significantly higher than zero chance of the cardio telling him he has congestive heart failure

wednesday: dad is back in my clinic following up with PCP. potentially having to stay for an IV med? if his oral lasix hasn’t been cutting it.

(side note: frankly either of those appts could end with him being sent to the hospital. he was Not Doing Well when we were there on Saturday. and if that happens i’m sure it throws the rest of this out the window but time will tell!)

thursday: off work but, if dad got the right parts in for his lawnmower, spouse and I are going BACK over there to finish fixing it (got it half fixed saturday but they’d sent the wrong guard and some other thing was wrong with it. don’t know what, don’t care. it’s up to dad and my uncle figure out “what”, spouse and I are purely there to implement whatever fix is needed). and tbh we will probably go to my parents’ even if they don’t get the parts in bc they’ll be sad now if we don’t.

friday: need to purchase shit to make jalepeno poppers to take to—

saturday: family picnic with siblings, parents, niece and nephews, and at least one aunt and cousin. i will be chasing small children around a park from approx 12 pm to 6 pm

so. yeah. if you noticed me off handedly mention my dad potentially has a terminal illness, yep that’s what I said! i am coping with that like any normal person with a shitty dad does, meaning i’m putting the emotions in a teeny box in my head, gift wrapping the box in the ever present guilt regarding my feelings towards him, putting that in a locked chest labeled “TOXIC WASTE”, shoving it to the darkest corner of my brain, and making snarky dismissive jokes about it on tumblr 👉🏻😎👉🏻 this surely won’t come back to harm me in any sort of way

[theretirementstory]

23/06/2024. Sharing memories from 2022 when a visit to Paris meant seeing the sights, even if from a distance. Not like to visits to Paris now which entail seeing the inside of a hospital building!

I arrived in Paris on Monday supposedly for three days, but I suppose by now you know how it goes, anything that can go wrong will go wrong! It’s all about my blood count, namely the platelets which even with meds, daily transfusions etc will not rise above an 8. A healthy person has a low platelet count if it falls below 150 so you see the problem. Treatment is due tomorrow so I only hope that that will trigger a positive response.

I was a bit grumpy when they said I had to stay in hospital, I hadn’t brought much in the food line with me, can you believe the doctor, yes THE DOCTOR went shopping for crisps and Mars Bars for me! My white blood cell count increased and I was allowed to go to the cafeteria to take a coffee, on my own! It was good to be allowed out of my room, I did some crosswords and then came back. It was short lived though as the count fell the following day 🤔.

My “boy scouting skills” let me down this time as I only brought two books with me and am now having to limit the number of chapters I read a day 😩. Plus my electoral papers are 3.5 hours away so I doubt I will be able to cast my vote. What a flaming “to do”.

It’s the Euros football competition and my two teams, England and France are making hard work of it. Am I surprised? Not really, too many matches may be tiring out these footballers who are placed on pedestals only to be “kicked off” when they fail to achieve all that they have been bolstered up to do.

The Tour de France starts on the 29 June, another opportunity for “athlete bashing” when our hopefuls fail to achieve.

It’s the Spanish Grand Prix this weekend and another sport where more and more dates are added all to make someone a lot of money. This used to be the sport I followed in the days of Damon Hill, Mika Hakkinen etc etc. It was a time when the drivers actually drove the cars, I haven’t watched it for 7 years now but feel like it’s not the same. Ok I know things have to change but surely for the better. (This is my opinion only).

Just in case you had forgotten we have had the longest day and summer has officially arrived (somewhere).

Last night “The Photographer” and “The Jetsetter” went to the Coop Live in Manchester to see “The Killers” and “Travis”. Still waiting to hear how it went.

“The Photographer” started his new job this week, it looks as if it was a good week. He was invited to the “Summer Bash” in London this coming Friday, sounds like fun. As well as starting the new job, it’s a new place to live and he wants to make friends so managed to find a group where he could have a game of football, to fill in one evening. All positive stuff.

“The Reconnect Navigator” was out on an organised Ghost Hunt last night. It wasn’t “The Trainee Solicitors” thing so no idea what he was doing, probably lost in a book! It’s been another busy time for him this week going between Uni and work. Another two weeks of this course and it will be over and he can settle back into his job.

I am pleased that my family are doing so well, it’s good to be able to do things independently as it gives you more to talk about with your partner. Well I guess that’s how it works 😉.

So many friends, French, English and American have been in touch with me, trying to find out how I am. It’s great to have all these people rooting for me.

Anie seems to have been having a good holiday, she was in the Loire the other day, presumably heading home.

Friday night, all over France, was the fête de la musique. The centre of Bar-sur-Aube was taken over with musical activities, jazz, rock, choirs, duo’s or single singers. It looked to be buzzing! That’s what I like about France always some sort of fete to get you out and about.

Not sure if either of these songs were sung but here are my picks for this week.

The first is by No Doubt, it’s “Don’t Speak” from 1996.

The second is by The Verve, it’s Bitter Sweet Symphony from 1997.

Such choices for me this Sunday morning: a crossword perhaps, or a snooze or maybe I can read my 15 chapters of the book, decisions, decisions!

Whatever you are doing today, I hope the sun shines on you.

Have a good week until next week.

[acidmatze]

I’ll be there for you (Yes, like the Friends theme) Chapter 5

Summary: After being in a coma for two years Vash wakes up, not being able to remember Anything that has happened since he was “a teenager”. How is he gonna adapt to living in a world so strange and unfamilliar? (vaguely TriStamp timeline post ep 12) By finally leaving the hospital and entering his Rehab arc Warnings: None this time Word count: 4.4k Chapters: 1 2 3 4

How did this week pass by so fast?

Vash feels like it was basically yesterday that he woke up to this strange world.

And now he's already standing outside, Karina next to him, waiting for the van that's supposed to bring him to the rehab place.

He's bringing several bags with him. Two of them filled with the new clothes he got the other day.

It is still somewhat dark outside, the suns barely grazing the horizon so its also really cold. Vash can see his breath when breathing out.

He's wearing his new jacket. It's black with red arrows going zig zag from the top left to the bottom right.

One small bag is full of his electronics stuff.

Last Friday Karina suddenly brought him a phone as well.

And another one is filled with hygiene stuff like shower gel and shampoo and towels and lotion to put on his scars when they ache and of course toothbrush and toothpaste and other necessities.

His new meds are in there as well.

On Thursday Dr. Nichols did a whole battery of tests with him.

Among other things testing his working memory and attention.

He then concluded that Vash has ADHD, whatever that was. From what Vash gathered it has to do with his focus and emotional regulation and such.

Vash also spend a lot of time filling out official-looking papers to get an ID and everything sorted out. And a bank account.

„Its so cold... I hope that van is coming soon.“ Karina complains while rubbing her arms.

„Its gonna get hot soon enough, just wait.“

„I'd rather not Wait.“

Other cars are approaching and picking people up or letting people out near constantly. Seems like Mondays are very busy for hospitals.

An ambulance rushes past, sirens blaring.

„I'm gonna call the place if no one's here in 5 minutes!“ Karina declares.

Then a small white minivan drives up to the two and stops.

It would look suspicious if it wasn't for the sticker on the car with a flock of pigeons flying on it, reading „Dove's Wings bus service, car 12“

The driver lets the window down.

„Hey, are you Vash?“

„Yup, that's me.“

The engine stops and the driver gets out to open the trunk.

„I'm Marcel. Put your bags in here. Before I drive you to the dorm I have to stop by the gas station real quick, hope you don't mind.“

„That's fine...“

It's a bit cumbersome to haul the heavy bags into the trunk with only one hand.

Luckily Marcel realises this quickly and helps.

He's a short rather gruff-looking guy with a light buzzcut and pale skin. Vash easily towers over him.

Which is still a really weird experience.

After all, the majority of his Lived Experience Vash was shorter than others.

Even as a teenager everyone else was much taller than him. When did he hit such a giant growth spurt?

Vash climbs into the van next to Marcel.

Karina waves at Vash.

„I will call you in the afternoon when my shift is over, okay? And I will definitely visit you on the weekend. You can't get rid of me.“

Vash chuckles weakly and also waves at his new friend.

„Girlfriend?“

Vash whips around.

„Huh? What-? No! Just a.. a regular friend.“

„Cool, cool.“

Marcel starts the motor and off they go.

Then he turns the radio on.

Vash has no idea about music much, even though Karina did her best to introduce him to as many bands as she could. He does vaguely recognise the singer as someone Karina likes.

Its a nice unoffending voice with nice unoffending guitar. Nothing that Vash would listen to in his free time though.

Then Marcel lights up a cigarette and offers the cigarette pack to Vash.

„Do you smoke?“ „Uh.. no, thanks.“

„Good for you. Don't start. Its a waste of money. How old are you?“

„153.“

Marcel barks out a laugh.

„Good joke!“

„28 then.“

„Seriously? You don't look a day over 19 or something. You got a serious case of baby face, my guy.“

„Yeah... I've heard that quite often.“ Vash lies.

He hasn't heard it at all but feels like this is the appropriate response.

They are driving through what seems to be the oldest dictrict of the city.

It seems to be emulating ancient 17th century central european architecture but Vash can't say how accurate it is.

Shops on the ground floor, apartments on top all crammed next to each other.

And so many people outside already, even though it is still early in the day.

„It's not winter yet so school and work still start at 6, so most of the work can be crammed in before it gets hot.“ Marcel explains, as if he can read Vash's thoughts.

„And in winter?“

„Eh... 7-8ish. No mid-day break either but instead everyone can go home earlier overall. Allegedly on Earth seasons actually meant something in many cultures but here it only tells you when the suns will rise and set. Except for fall. If it rains then it rains in fall.“

Rain.

Vash only has seen rain once so far in his life.

He was so excited he immediately ran outside and Brad dragged him back inside the ship and scolded him for getting the floor muddy.

It rained hard for maybe half an hour and then it was over. Within an hour the sand was back to its usual dry and hot state and everything carried on as if it hadn't rained at all.

What Vash had witnessed relatively often though were dry thunderstorms.

Now the scenery is changing.

The road gets broader and now has two lanes in each direction. The buildings become more modern and brighter, to deflect the suns.

Then they turn right into a smaller street again, probably now entering a more residential area.

The buildings that previously were all at least three to four stories tall are now getting smaller and less dense. Small shops line the road here and there.

Apartment buildings turn into row houses and then slowly into small family homes.

They pass a small park and Vash stares at the large lusciously green trees.

Then more houses. Kids waiting at a bus stop.

It's so weird to see a place like this. So full of life. Full of people doing their thing.

Not hanging by a thread.

They enter a slightly wider road again and a little later Marcel stops at the gas station.

„I'll be back in a minute. You want some snacks? I can get you some.“

„Uh... some chocolate bars? But no white chocolate or coconut.“

Marcel lets out a small grunt in acknowledgement.

„Alright. You get the kiddie chocolate.“

The van door slams shut.

Kiddie chocolate...

Vash watches Marcel while he recharges the car's battery. Its weird that „gas station“ is a word that's still so widely used even though almost no vehicle on this planet uses gas.

Its most likely a leftover from Earth English.

Vash watches the scene outside.

Some more kids and teens, probably on their way to school.

People on bicycles. Many many cars.

It is still so weird to Vash to see this many people in one place. He can't imagine the scope of the entire city.

What little distance they have covered so far already feels incredibly large to him.

Do the people who live here even know how harsh the desert is? Being here is so incredibly different from the ship.

Vash can barely believe he's still on the same planet.

Has Nai ever been in a city as well? Where even is he now? And will Vash ever see him again?

Well, he probably already has but can't remember.

But before he has the time to ponder about this more, Marcel returns.

He dumps a few chocolate bars in Vash's lap.

„Sorry they only had coconut and white chocolate.“

For the fraction of a second Vash is inclined to believe the man but before he can embarrass himself he realises it's a joke.

„Guess I have to puke all over the van then.“

„If you clean it, be my guest.“

The ride continues in silence, except for the radio.

Vash opens the packaging of the chocolate and starts eating.

He didn't eat anything at the hospital this morning, he was way too nervous.

Its nougat, the chocolate.

Which is good because Vash really likes that. He opens the second bar and basically shoves it in his mouth with one go.

Marcel lets out a snort but doesn't say anything.

„I haven't eaten anything yet.“

„I'm not judging. Just laughing. You don't behave like an adult.“

There it is.

Vash almost shrinks into his seat.

Then how is an adult supposed to to behave? He hasn't figured that out yet.

He was about to open the third bar but lets it drop back into his lap instead. Suddenly he doesn't feel hungry anymore.

There's no way he's gonna fit in anywhere like this.

But it's not like he can help it, dammit!

Some part of him is still 15 and it will probably take a long time until that changes.

„Hey kiddo, why are you crying?“

Huh?

Vash pulls out a tissue from his pocket and blows his nose.

„I don't like being told that I don't behave like an adult. I know I don't. I can't change this.“

Marcel nods.

„I wasn't making fun of you, you know? If I would then i would have the wrong job. I drive people around who can't get into this van without help. Who can't fasten their seatbelt. Whose pants i have to pull up before they get in cuz they don't know how to use their belts after going to the bathroom. Who don't even realise when they need to go to the bathroom so sometimes they pee their pants during the ride. I also drive people around who don't talk. Who talk too much. Who talk a whole lot but not very well. Who say the same word over and over. I'm not judging anyone. My ego isn't blown up like that.“

„Will I meet them?“

„Eventually I suppose. But you're mentally ill so you live in a different section of the grounds. You'll meet them at work then. I also drive people like you around. Plenty.“

Vash can't imagine people like this. Luckily soon he wont have to use his imagination anymore but will experience it in real life.

They are back in a residential area. Small apartments and houses everywhere.

„We're there in a second. Look here's the convenience store. You wont have to walk far to get there. Just down this road. There's a bus stop. That line will take you directly to the old town, where we started out. Maybe not the most exciting part of the city but there are many nice small shops and cafés. And the biggest cinema in the city is there as well, in case you like movies. I think your group will go there from time to time.“

They make another right turn and Vash recognises this street from the photos.

They have indeed arrived.

Marcel parks under a tree in front of a wide two story tall red brick building.

There is a dark-skinned woman with glasses and long black hair waiting outside.

Vash and Marcel get out the van and Marcel shakes the woman's hand.

„Morning Nancy.“

„Good morning Marcel. I see you brought our new resident?“

„Yeah, that's Vash. Vash, that's Nancy.“ Nancy walks towards Vash and eagerly shakes his hand as well.

„Hi, I'm Nancy. I'm the leader of the group you will live in. Everyone will be so happy to meet you. Two weeks ago half of the group moved out into a different dorm and since then it has been way too quiet. Let me help you with your bags.“

The bags, that Marcel unloaded in the meantime.

He nods at Nancy.

„Well then. You got everything under control here. I'll go then and pick up the daycare patients.“

Nancy turns to Vash and basically beams at him.

„Let's take your bags inside first so I can show you your room and then we have to return to this building for a bit to do all the administrative stuff. Do you have any issues with walking?“ „Nah, just my left arm that's not doing so hot.“

„Great! I mean, that you can walk. Not that you lost your arm. Cuz we will have to walk a bit to your dorm. It's further down the road and then we turn left.“

They pass two other buildings, one to the left and one to the right.

The one on the left looks a bit like a school but smaller than what Vash had seen previously. But it has a schoolyard and a small playground and all.

The building to the right looks rather plain with chipped beige walls and a flat roof. The windows are just a tad bigger than the air conditioning unit on the wall.

„Villa Marigold“ says a blue sign outside.

„That doesn't look like a Villa...“ Vash mumbles and Nancy starts laughing.

„Well, we can't exactly call it Hut either, right? It will get renovated soon though.“

Hopefully it will get some bigger windows then. And a new coat of paint.

Another similar building is standing next to the „Villa“ but this one Does have a more colourful appearance. Its painted in a light blue colour and someone drew a flock of doves over the entrance.

They make a left turn just when Vash has spotted something looking suspiciously like a greenhouse far down the street.

„Wait! Is that a greenhouse?“

He points at it.

„Oh? Yeah it is. Good eye! We don't have time to go and look at it now but since you're gonna live here now you can go and look at it whenever you to from later on. You could also work there if you want. Do you like plants?“

Does he likes plants? „I... I have no idea. But I've never seen a greenhouse or.. many plants at all. So I'm just curious.“

„That's fine. Its good to be curious about things. Keeps your brain sharp.“

Sadly Vash feels his brain is as dull as a 6 hours math lesson.

Or the edge of a paper tissue. Depending on what meaning of „dull“ you have in mind.

The dorm they now enter is three stories tall and has a slightly sloped roof, unlike the majority of the other buildings which all have flat roofs.

It is painted slightly off-white and the paint looks new as well.

The stairway looks old and made of dark wood. Their steps echo slightly.

Nancy opens a yellow heavy-looking door.

„Fire-proof doors“ she explains „Your room will also have one. Almost all doors in the dorms are like this so get used to having to push a little harder.“

They are now standing in a large hallway with windows to the yard outside to the right light grey carpet and the walls are painted in a very light peach colour.

Paintings that look very much like the people living here painted them are everywhere on the walls.

Around the door that seems to be leading to the kitchen is a flower mural.

„Okay your room is number 105 so we go left.“

The room doors look like they are made of light wood but since they are supposedly fire-proof that can't be true.

They are probably painted to look like wood or something, Vash muses.

There's a little nook with armchairs and a very cozy-looking couch as well.

Vash hears two girls' voices from the staircase on the other end of the hallway, leading upstairs to the third floor.

„Have you seen Joe during assembly? He looked like he was about to fall asleep again.“

„Yeah I tried waking him up for breakfast earlier but he didn't wanted to open the door. I told him on Saturday not to drink so much when we went to club but of course he didn't listen.“

„Sounds like a killer hangover.“

„Totally. Anyway, we should hurry and get the kitchen cleaned up before someone complains again.“

They walk in the opposite direction as Nancy and Vash.

Nancy stops in front of room 105.

„Okay this is your room.“

She digs in her pocket and pulls out a small key which she then hands to Vash.

„And this is your key to the room. You will also later be given a key for the front door downstairs but our director hands those out, not us. Not every resident has one mind you. We got some troublemakers we can't just let come and go as they please. But don't worry about that.“

Vash opens the door.

He doesn't know what he expected his room to look like but certainly not like this.

Probably more like a hospital room?

This room is fairly large but mostly empty except for a desk with an office chair, an armchair made out of bast, a closet, a large mirror, a bed and a nighstand.

The floor is laminate made to look like wood in a similar shade as the door.

The curtains look rather heavy and have an old-fashioned plaid pattern on them.

The walls are white but not clinical-looking and overall the room is open and bright.

There's a door, probably leading to the bathroom.

Vash puts all of his bags down next to the bed and walks around the room once.

Yes, the door does indeed lead to a small-ish bathroom.

„I know this looks rather dull and empty. You can get your own furniture and rugs and put anything on the wall that you like but if it has to be hung on a nail then ask us first. Though I would advise you to wait a month or two with playing interior designer.

So we can determine how long you will be staying in this room. Would be annoying if you had to move just when you got cozy in here and then find out you can't fit all your furniture in the new room.“

Then they leave for the admin building.

But on the way down Nancy runs into a colleague who informs her that the person they want to talk to is actually right now in This building in the office section so they walk back up.

„Well I guess I show you the admin building at another time.“

They go back up the stairs but this time turn right in the hallway.

A guy with spiky red hair is mopping the staircase at the end.

In contrast to the one they just walked up this one is much newer and almost looks like its made of something like rubber?

Vash can't tell what material it is but it has some big anti-slip nubs on the steps.

Nancy taps the guy on the shoulder who takes his headphones off.

„Hey Paul, is Mr. Friesen in his office right now?“

„Uh... Yeah but he's in a meeting.“

The guy, Paul, nods at Vash.

„Are you new?“

„Yeah I just... I just moved in.“ „Cool, cool. Don't mind the ghost.“

Vash winces.

„A ghost??“

Paul shrugs.

„I dunno I haven't seen it either but a few guys upstairs say they have seen one here. Like, they wanted to talk to a counselor and it looked like someone was in the office cuz they saw a shadow in the glass but when they got closer it vanished. I think it's rubbish but figured I should warn you.“

Nancy chuckles.

„I don't believe it one bit. You know how they are upstairs. Sometimes they get bored and cook up some Scary Stories to tell the younger peeps.“

Seems like some really funny people are living here.

Maybe Vash wont stand out that much after all.

They continue walking.

„Okay if Mr. Friesen is not available right now then I will show you the rest of the dorm.“

The next hallway is overall darker than the one Vash's room is in. Obviously, because this one doesn't have any windows but doors to each side, most likely leading to the other people's rooms.

There's a ping pong table standing right in the middle of the hallway.

That seems a bit stupid and dangerous to Vash but also very funny.

One door is open and Vash can look right into someone's room.

To prevent the door from slamming shut a stool was put in front of it.

The person who probably belongs to this room is sitting in a beanbag in front of a TV and plays a video game.

Loud music is blasting out into the hallway.

„Are you just allowed to do that?“ Vash asks.

„Do what?“ „Play loud music with the door open.“ he clarifies.

„Sure. It's not like people are sleeping right now. At least, they shouldn't be. This is group 2. You are in group 1 and upstairs is group 3. This is a mixed use building so on the ground floor is the daycare. Daycare means they live off grounds and are brought here every morning and get picked up in the evening. The majority of them are seniors or people otherwise not able to work in the workshop. Usually we don't run into each other a lot.“

They walk past the kitchen.

„We cook our own lunch here. Each group has a kitchen and two people are doing the cooking together. They also plan the grocery shopping which we are doing.. actually right now. That's why no one's in there. Each Monday we take the big van and drive down to the store to get most of the things needed for the entire week. Sometimes we also do this on Fridays again cuz we also cook together on the weekends. At least when enough people stay here over the weekend. The majority of the time though almost everyone leaves to go to their parents or visit friends. You are also free to do that of course.“

There is yet another staircase at the end of this hallway that they take upstairs to look at group 3 as well.

Nothing much is different here except that they have a foosball table in the hallway. There is also a big room with huge windows and the wall to the hallway is glass as well.

Nancy explains that this is the assembly room but sometimes they also do other therapy things in there. Another room up here that the other groups don't have is the computer room. Everyone is free to use the computers if they don't have their own.

And back downstairs they go.

Mr. Friesen got done with his meeting in the meantime so now it's time for even more paperwork.

Meeting Mr. Friesen and getting all the paperwork done took an hour and now Vash's head is swimming.

He wishes he would get a break now but unfortunately the day is just beginning.

The weekly schedule he has in his hand says that before lunch he will meet his psychologist. After lunch his physical therapist. Later in the evening there's a nordic walking group but Vash has no idea what that is. There's a note telling him that's outside though.

He walks next to Nancy who is taking him back to his room.

„Saverem, huh? I was told you can't remember your family name. Did you remember or...?“ „Mom's family name. Well, not literally Mom but.. kind of... I don't know who my actual mom is.“

„Well, now it's also your name. So now you're her son for real.“

Her son for real...

He can't dwell on that because as they pass the kitchen someone from in there is shouting: „Hey! New guy! Come here for a bit!“

Nancy grabs Vash's arm and drags him into the kitchen.

„Well, well, well that's a great opportunity to meet the rest of the group! Hello everyone, this is Vash! Say Hi to Vash.“ „Hi Vash.“ the small group of four people parrots.

„Uh... hi...“

Four people, two girls and two guys are staring at him like he's an endangered animal.

„What happened to your arm???“ one of the girls suddenly yells. Shes short and round and has big glasses and pigtails and doesn't actually look to be much older than 18.

„Chelsea! You don't randomly ask people what happened to their arms!“ an equally short but very skinny boy says in a hushed but urgent tone. He looks just as young.

Vash lets out a weak unsure chuckle.

„Shark got me.“

„A what?“ Chelsea is still pointing at him „You're a liar! There are no sharks on No Man's Land!“

A tall man with nerdy glasses and very short dark hair speaks up.

„We usually call that one a Joke. Forgive her, she just says whatever is in her head. Which is a whole lot so you might want to invest in earplugs. I'm Steven, I'm the current group president. And those two are Melvin“ -the young guy with glasses who is still shushing Chelsea- „and Anna.“ He points at a girl who looks like the exact opposite of Chelsea.

Nancy nods at the group and seems very happy about the developments.

„I see you're talking to each other just fine. Maybe Vash can help you with the lunch prep? How is everything going anyways?“

„We are almost done cutting the vegetables and honestly there isn't much to do then. I'm gonna put the steaks in a pan in an hour or so, Melvin takes care of the rice. Yeah.. that's basically it.“ Steven answers.

„I uh... I have to go to my appointment soon..“ Vash reminds Nancy.

„Oh yeah I almost forgot about that. You do that. I see you all for lunch!“

[kifu]

So I realized yesterday how close I was to losing one of my friends. He's a current coworker, but considering coworkers ARE the only friends I have up where I live, he's a fucking friend. One of the three coworkers (going on four I suppose) I've ever had up here. But anyway.

He was in a bad place. His wife that he ADORES and centers his life over decided (out of the blue) to end their marriage. They've been together for just short of a decade, just got married last year. Now no one knows his wife's side of the story. She won't tell him what happened, just made it clear that it's over.

It ripped my man apart. Threw him over the edge.

Found out that he called the other current coworker I consider a friend this Saturday, but he didn't answer his phone. Hell, I tried texting him when I started getting red flag suicide messages for help. Turns out, he accidentally left his phone on airplane - was blissfully unaware. I stopped hearing from my guy reaching out.

Found out on Monday that he checked himself into the hospital. Learned yesterday that he planned to ask our coworker friend to come over for "gun therapy" (it's a thing up here, very common) and shoot himself as soon as our coworker's back was turned. I indeed felt sick most of yesterday.

I got a call from him today. He's out of the hospital, on new meds for depression and preexisting psychosis, with weekly therapy sessions. He told me I'm the only one he's planning on reaching out to in our workplace until he can talk to our boss.

I've been a lifeline for someone before. My wife, in fact. I have NO problem advocating for those that can't for themselves. I have no problem dealing with suicidal ideation. I'VE been there. Active suicide is a little different. Not the first time I've dealt with that, either.

I am happy to help him even he needs it. HAPPY that he's willing to reach out as he leaned a life without his wife. I am scared I might not say the right thing when I am now the one he trusts most.

My brother almost committed suicide a couple years back. His girlfriend was cheating on him with his best friend. He lost his entire friends group. My brother still hasn't figured out how to get better.

I'm lucky. A lot of my problem was living in the city. Yeah, brain didn't help either, but I learned healthier coping mechanisms that social ideation is far and few in between. I KNOW how I got there, but you can't just ... talk someone into that mindset. For one, it's hard. It is so so hard to change the way you let you speak to yourself. Two, most of the advice you can give just sounds superficial and stupid. But it really is all up to you. Happiness really is a choice, even if it's a really hard choice. I don't know how to make that sound better to someone that hasn't gotten to doing the work.

But I'm generally pretty big on trying to choose the words well enough that they're difficult to misconstrue. I'm not willing to lose my friend. He's become important to me, and not having him around this week has been incredibly ... weird and noticeable. We've been strict partners for months now, and I'm suddenly paired up with someone else. I just want my friend back and I can't wait to see him again to give him a hug.

I'm lucky I can do that.

[hasufin]

It's probably nothing, until it isn't

My cat just had a lobotomy.

Okay, they prefer to call it a lobectomy. And not a cranial one - this was to the lungs. But I'll get to that.

So, last Friday, I noticed that my boy Shiro was making a kind of odd noise, that he seemed to be wheezing a little bit, and when I touched him he made a moaning noise. This was all very minor, it would have been easy to say "It's probably nothing", and I almost did that.

But, knowing that cats are very good at masking distress, I decided to take him to the emergency vet. There, they determined he had a pleural effusion - fluid in the cavity around the lungs. (As an aside, an awful lot of medical conditions are just "description of the symptom in bad Latin or medical jargon" which means once you understand that you end up going "Yes, I came in with knee pain, and you have diagnosed me with knee pain, but that doesn't tell me anything I didn't already know.")

Anyway, so they drained the lung cavity and concluded it was most likely congestive heart failure. They gave me some meds for that and told me to make an appointment with a veterinary cardiologist. Which I did, for this coming Monday (got really lucky). I took Shiro home, he seemed a little better for a while but just kinda sat around. He also didn't eat or drink, which was worrisome.

On Sunday, I decided to call the vet again. The place I went to on Friday (associated with our regular vet) said they were slammed with pets needing Oxygen and told me to take him to another emergency vet which was actually closer. They looked at him, concluded he had more fluid, which should not have built up so quickly, and proceeded to do more testing. They found it almost certainly wasn't CHF, nor cancer, which would have been the two most likely causes.

In fact, the problem turned out to be lung torsion. One of the lobes in his lungs got twisted - something which can happen spontaneously, but is quite rare. Further, the CT scan showed that the twisted lobe was pressing against another lobe (cats have 14 in total, 7 lobes per lung) and along with the fluid buildup was making it hard to breath.

Yesterday evening they performed surgery to remove the affected lobes. He has been recovering, but is still at the veterinary hospital. It seems he's still not eating, and I authorized a feeding tube. They're still projecting a recovery, but I remain quite worried about my boy.

There are two things I've taken from this.

One is financial. I don't want to go into numbers, but the amount was a LOT. If we did not have insurance specifically for this kind of thing, it would have been a very hard decision. As it was, the big issue was the vet wanted the payment up front, which is reasonable when you're talking a few hundred for a tooth extraction, but as I told them, the last time I moved that kind of money it was a direct wire transfer and it took a week to set up. It's worrisome that we've reached the point where "amount you need to keep your cat alive" is running up against "Whoa whoa whoa that's a lot of money to be flashing around, what are you a drug dealer?" My spouse spent over an hour on the phone with Bank of America trying to get them to authorize a check, which they would not do even though they acknowledged both that they were speaking to the account holder, and there was more than enough money in the account. Spouse is going to be changing banks, because what is the point of having money you can't use in an emergency? Trupanion really came through, though, pre-authorizing a large cost on a Sunday, and getting my upfront down to where I could easily put it on a credit card. Again we're not in any financial trouble for this, it's just it was a very considerable amount of money.

Second, the thing which haunts me is how very close I was to Doing Nothing. Because none of the signs were that obvious. Until the moment the emergency vet showed me the ultrasound, I was still feeling I was just wasting my time and theirs. And even over the weekend, it seemed Shiro was just off because of having been to the vet, and we'd go to the cardiologist on Monday to make a treatment plan, and it'd all be... well, not great, but predictable. I could very easily have woken up Monday to a dead cat and never known why.

I have to confront the reality, too, that I'm just not ready to lose Shiro. I know he's 14 years old, he will be dying in the next few years. He's been with me through four relationships, seven homes, and four jobs. I'm glad that This Time it's something we can treat. Eventually it won't be, and I'm going to have to face that.

[i-am-still-bb]

In the interest of “breaking the stigma” I think I’m just going to name what I’m dealing with outright, because if my husband had had complications from his gallbladder removal in January I would not have hesitated to share that. And I really believe that mental illness should be treated no differently.

(check tags before you click “keep reading”)

On the Monday after Easter (April 10, 2023) my husband told me that his aunt and uncle (S & D) were coming over to take him to the hospital. I asked why and I assumed it had soemthing to do with the emergency gallbladder removal surgery that he had at the very end of January. He told me that he had been thinking about killing himself. And that he has thought about it off and on for years. I learned no more in that moment because S and D arrived to take him to the E.R. He was admitted to a Crisis Stabilization Unit (CSU) that night. It was voluntary, but underthreat of the pink slip (sectioned / involuntarily committed). 

I felt like someone hit me over the head with a 2x4. I knew that something was wrong, because he’d been acting really weird since I arrived home from Sacramento (April 2) and he had been acting weird for a while. I had expressed my desire for him to stop taking the Adderall that he had started taking in early February because that was really the only thing I could see that had changed in recent months. (Doctors have since told him to stop taking it.)

On Tuesday I found his journal and found out that he had intended to attempt suicide on Easter if he could get out of coming to a family event with my son and I. Why Easter Sunday? Because of that family thing. Some of my family lives 2.5hrs away, so my husband would have a guaranteed 8hr window at least. And if that failed (which it did) he intended to try on Wednesday April 12th in the 1hr window from when I leave for work at 10:30 and when he has to pick up our son from school at 11:30.

The rest of that journal was basically a log starting on the previous Wednesday (April 5) (actually the same day that he had a therapy appointment) of all the things that were wrong in our relationship. How he views it as a failure. That he thinks there is nothing left to salvage. And more. That document is thousands of words long. I skimmed because I could not stand to read it. 

He did reveal these thoughts and plans (only the Wednesday one) to S and D on Saturday April 8th. On Monday the 10th he messaged S something that alarmed her and prompted the immediate trip to the E.R.

While he was in the CSU he was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), and Bipolar 2. That last one is pending because if Bipolar is diagnosed in an inpatient, emergency setting it should be confirmed in an outpatient setting once the patient is more stable. That appointment is early next week. I guess fingers crossed, but not crossed?

MDD - duh, given the suicidality

CPTSD - I had suspected this for a while

Bipolar 2 - I was not expecting that, I know too much about bipolar to be really optimistic. 50% of bipolar individuals attempt suicide at least once. 40% have a mixed episode meaning that they can have the suicidality of the depression and the focus and drive of the mania making them more likely to plan and attempt to carry out their plan. Their risk of suicide is 30x higher than those with no mental illness. Their life expectancy is 10yrs shorter than the rest of the population. 83% of diagnosed cases are classified as severe. And its unpredictable. You can be stable on meds for years, decades, and then suddnetly you’re not. 

He was released late Monday on April 17th. And he returned to work. Before he was admitted to the hospital he did inform his manager that he was being admitted to the hospital and I communicated with HR while he was in the CSU giving them updates that consisted of that he was feeling better, antsy to get back to work, but still in the hospital. He returned to work on Tuesday the 18th. At end of business on Friday (April 21) they fired him. And given his glowing performance reviews, the amount of money that he had been making the company, the only real reason has to be the hospital stay. (On that note it looks like they’re contesting the unemployment claim.) 

This set him spiralling. He was planning suicide again. And didn’t tell me. Again. I was told that he was an 8/10 (0 being no suicidality or feelings and 10 being that an attempt was imminent) and I tried to help get that number down, but it went up to a 10. On Saturday he was still at a 10. D and I wanted my husband to call a crisis line. D reached out the the CSU and they contacted us. CSU asked my husband if he could come in for an evaluation. My husband agreed (he later told me that if he had been at a 10 in that moment he would not have agreed). D and I thought they would just talk to him, remind him of coping skills, etc. They decided to keep him for 23hrs. D and I were shocked. When they went to admit him the oncall doctor decided that my husband needed a higher level facility (severe suicidal thoughts is what they put down, and my husband disagrees with that, but can’t tell me what he wanted them to put). So the CSU sent my husband to the ER to be evaluated and later transported to a local hospital that has a lockdown wing. Once again it was “voluntary” under threat of the pink slip. He arrived at the lockdown unit Sunday morning. Everyone being admitted is subject to a 72hr hold and at many places weekends and holidays don’t count toward that. They did release him Tuesday morning (so only 36hrs into the 72hr hold). So he’s home again.

And he has barely spoken to me. 

I visited him in the lockdown unit on Monday. And it did not go well. He tried to tell me what to tell the nurse practitioner so they would let him out. I don’t toe anyone’s party line. And I did not respond well, but I tried to. I really tried to remain calm, and explain myself. But he decided that because I wasn’t just rolling over and saying “yes, master, whatever you want” that I didn’t believe him and that I was against him even though I repeated stated that I heard and understood him, and repeated his words back to him. No one is against him. They’re against the illness. I now know that some of this could be part of psychosis, a common symptom of Bipolar and would explain some of the other things like him believing that everything he is doing is wrong and bad. But that could also be the Depression. There is so much overlap between these things, which obviously makes it hard to diagnosis. ADHD, bipolar, CPTSD, and schizophrenia all overlap. But they each have a few things that makes them stand out from the other. but they may overlap as much as 75+%

So that visit did not go well. We pretty much sat in silence for the last 20m of the 45m I was there. And that silence has effectively continued ever since.

He went to group therapy yesterday and then went to S and D’s house without telling me, which, given the present circumstances raised my anxiety levels. Which I already have plenty of. If there’s a negative feeling or emotion I’ve probably experienced it in these past 2.5 weeks (except shame). 2.5 weeks that have aged me years. 2.5 weeks that feel like a lifetime. I’ve screamed, I’ve wailed, I’ve been numb, I’ve cried more tears than I can count, I’ve nearly puked from the emotions. 

And we still haven’t really talked.

And I can’t share anything I’m thinking or feeling with him because as of now the only triggers that he has identified for his suicidality are spilling food/drink, breaking dishes, upsetting me, me crying, or him feeling rejected (by me or by anyone else). Let it be known that I’ve made it very clear over the past decade that I don’t care if something gets broken or spilled. I want to know about it so I can replace the item, and I want the ensuing mess to be cleaned up. 

And as for me rejecting him. I didn’t get him lunch on Saturday because I assumed that he was still asleep. He was still in bed. He looked asleep. And I only got lunch for my toddler, not even myself. But in his mind he twisted that into proof that I don’t care about him or love him. He wrote that in the journal. He wouldn’t tell me that directly because I would get upset. He wrote more in the journal. And it’s pretty much all about me.

I trigger his suicidality. 

I KNOW that it’s the disease talking. But it really binds my hands. I can’t do shit without him taking it the wrong way. If I’m not making eye contact, because I’m trying to create a more comfortable space for him to be in while he talks, it means that I can’t bear to look at him, etc. 

And I know that I have my own things. I grew up with a highly neglectful and emotionally/financially abusive father, took up a lot of responsibility at a young age, had two relationships that had mild to significant levels of coercion when it came to sexual contact. Since our son was born in summer ‘21 I’ve had a lot more problems with anger and resentment. To be honest I probably fall somewhere on the mild end of the spectrum. And I’ve been so burnt out. And each time I expressed a need for my husband to even do basic tasks like putting his socks in the laundry, not letting food spoil on his desk, cleaning his bathroom (there are 3 bathrooms, I hate cleaning bathrooms, I am only cleaning 2), he feels like an absolute failure and wants to die. Forget about asking for help with our child when I’m massively overwhelmed and need a break. 

I am looking for a therapist of my own. 

And we were supposed to start couples counseling this week, but it was Tuesday morning and he wasn’t released in time to make it to the appointment, so it starts late next week. But I feel like most of our problems stem from the Depression. Him taking my face/words/actions the wrong way, his inability to do basic tasks (this is not new, he has been like this at least since August 2014), are all probably linked to the diagnoses. And I’m sure there are things about me that he wishes I wouldn’t do or would do. And I have asked that question explicitly several times. And I don’t get an answer. Because he doesn’t want to upset me. 

Leading up to this event I was asking him what was wrong. But the same thing happened that always happens. He just shut down and stared at me. And I would keep asking and trying to engage in different ways. And then I would lose my shit and yell. And then he would tell me something. And then we’d talk about it; and it was usually something ridiculously minor that he had blown out of proportion. And now I think he was in a suicidal place each of those times and he just threw me a bone to make me shut up. And now I don’t feel like I can trust him. But that’s something to be addressed in couple’s counseling that isn’t linked to mental illness. But he will probably see my mistrust as just another way that he has failed me, another reason why I would better if he weren’t here, so I don’t even think I can share most of this stuff in couple’s therapy because it’s all just going to trigger him. Maybe if we reach a point of stasis? But then I won’t want to talk about it for fear of triggering another depressive episode to begin. 

But to him (I think) I’m somehow I’m just supposed to be who I was on Monday the 10th while I was at work teaching my students about the Impressionists, who I was when I went to the gym after work, who I was blasting music in the car on my way home with the windows down and the sunroof open, who I was in the shower and getting dressed and thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my Monday, who I was before an atom bomb was dropped in the middle of my life. 

And I’m not.

And I will never be again. 

I’ll be similar, but I’ll never be the same. 

And that upsets me. I have negative feelings about that too. Grief for who I was, grief for what I thought my future was going to be like.

And a grief for what the past was. Because I want to go back to before, but there really isn’t a before. He’s been dealing with this for most if not all of our relationship (we tarted dating in early 2012). And now when memory photos pop up on my phone I can’t help but wonder what he was really feeling, where his mind was. We went on a camping trip late last summer and those photos have been popping up. In each one where my husband isn’t standing or walking somewhere he’s slumped with his head down. And I feel like I can’t have good memories of that trip, because it really looks like he was in the middle of a Depressive phase. Or I can have the memories, but they are now tainted with knowledge that I did not have at the time. 

--

I am trying to take proactive steps. I’m looking for my own therapist to help me deal with this trauma that is likely to be ongoing, but also the anger and stuff. I also have a small worry that what is going to probably going to prove to be a repeated trauma is going to trigger something in me because my dad and his biological mother probably have/had undiagnosed mental illnesses.

I’m reading books about suicidality so I learn about it, but also so I can learn what I can do to help and support.

I have books about bipolar and CPTSD that are on my list. 

I agreed with no hesitation to the couples counseling. (I actually thought my husband would be the most resistent to this given his opinions on mental illnesses or having problems that require therapy/counseling meaning that you are broken, but I guess that may have changed and that is a good change.)

I’m taking a seminar with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).

My husband and I have a meeting with a NAMI coordinator on Friday (he hasn’t yet told me if he’s going or responded to my calendar invite). 

I’m considering going to some of their support groups for friends and family if I can make it work with childcare.

I’ve gone to church more in the past 2.5 weeks than I have in the last decade. I’ve been thinking more about mindfulness and trying to let go of desire because the desire is causing suffering. Religon has returned for me, I guess. 

But I’m pretty helpless in this situation. And I’m trying to accept that if he wants to he will find a way to end his life no matter what I say or do. And if he does attempt and complete, its not my fault even if it feels that way. 

--

EDITTED TO ADD: And now that I have legitimate reasons to be worried about his safety he keeps turning his location sharing off. We share our locations with each other. And it really only gets used to see “are you still at X? if so I have a question / request, but if you’re not there anymore, its no big deal” or “are you on your way home with dinner?” It was on earlier today when I used it for the first reason. He’s in the neighboring city visiting his grandma. Our rat needs something from the vet, but I don’t want my husband to be agitated if I ask for him to stop by the vet and he was already on his way home. I can probably call them tomorrow and pick it up on Saturday morning, but if he’s 5m away now it would make sense to do it now rather than me driving 30m there and back on Saturday morning.

(Location sharing is also what kept me from calling the police and ERs on April 8th when he was at D and S’s house. He left for a martial art around 11, told me he was eating with a friend around 1:30-2. And then wasn’t home until after midnight. I started to get worried when it was after 4 and he wasn’t home. But I saw that he was at D and S’s house so I wasn’t particularly worried.)

So I check his location. He’s still at his grandmother’s. I send the text. It’s short enough that the preview would probably show him the whole thing, so no big deal if it’s not “read.” I check a bit later to see if he’s “read” the message or responded. Nope. He’s been gone for 3hrs now and I check to see if he’s on his way home. So I know whether or not to add the perscription only rat food stuff to my to do list. And his location is turned off. WTF.

So he saw my message. Didn’t respond. And turned location sharing off. Thanks. That makes me feel great. Does he want me to be upset? Does he want me to bring this up? I’m not going to because I don’t want agitate him or myself. I’m getting so tired of the passive aggression. Just tell me your pissed. 

[persephones-journey]

So, I haven’t talked about my personal stuff I am dealing with but I feel like I need to get it off my chest.

On July 8th, my grandfather fell in the house and got his head on the floor. He had had problems sleeping and took a sleeping pill that caused him to be confused. He was walking without his walker and fell.

I took him to the ER and they found bleeding on his brain. The neurologist saw him and because of his age, health issues he is a bad candidate for surgery so he’s been in the hospital ever since.

He was doing well, but because of his injury he couldn’t take his blood pressure meds so his dialysis has been hit or miss when it comes to removing fluid, so he wasn’t eating much.

Last Saturday, they found that on the right side, the bleeding had healed but not on the left side. It was causing pressure in my grandfather’s skull. He ate a bit Sunday and Monday and was still talking to me and he was passing all the neurological tests. But the doctors wanted him to see a speech specialist because his speech was becoming slurred. I explained that could happen when he has fluid overload.

The doctor made the appointment and had a bag of fluid, sugar water basically, hung to run overnight so my grandfather wouldn’t get hungry.

Tuesday, he was completely changed. Barely talking, confused, and having trouble eating.

The doctors blamed the blood infection they had discovered and the head injury, not fluid overload. My grandfather hasn’t lost strength in his arms or legs and his pupils aren’t fixed, like you would expect with pressure and bleeding on the brain.

And so, the past few days he hasn’t been eating so the doctor called me yesterday to let me know that he thinks my grandfather has a matter of weeks left, because he isn’t eating much. And he can’t swallow much so a feeding tube isn’t an option, as they couldn’t put it through his nose. And they won’t do any scans of his brain, cause even if the bleed is worse, he’s an even worse candidate for surgery now.

So I’m basically having to feed him when I go and pray that his blood pressure stays stable enough for the dialysis to remove fluid, which I know he has cause I hear it when he coughs.

He still talks to me and holds my hand tightly and looks at me when I talk to him but I can see the confusion there sometimes and I am torn between wanting him to get better, and basically asking for a miracle, or letting him go.

And I feel so selfish for wanting him to keep going because of financial reasons. I am trying to get another job but until then, my grandparents pay for everything with their old age pension. My grandfather never minded this because I look after them and live with them. The only thing I paid for was my student loan (I mean I don’t have much expenses anyway). But if he died, we’d lose that income. My grandmother is a diabetic who needs a Walker and is going blind. She needs care so it’s not like I could get a full time job, even if my grandfather gets better and comes home because he needs to go to dialysis 3 times a week.

So yeah, my emotions have been all over the place. I have been hiding in my stories but I don’t know, I feel guilty for that.

I don’t know what to do or how to feel. Everything I do feels like it’s not enough.

[gnomeicecream]

Medical tw

Friday night my boyfriend came back to bed after a bath, said his side hurt. Fifteen minutes later we were in the car on the way to the ER because 'hurt' was now 'I cannot stand nor speak'.

Get settled in the ER intake waiting room, BF in a wheelchair cause walking is beyond him. Half hour or so later, talk to nurse 2 for further questions. Wait. BF soaked in sweat. The Nurse(tm) comes by asks why he is now on the floor, we say remaining upright was too painful. She goes and brings nurse 2 to the backroom. Another half hour and we are finally taken back to a room.

Do you think now, James will get pain meds, or at least an 'are you actively dying' check over? NO! We wait, they say it will take a bit for a doctor to get freed up. A hour passes. I go into the hall twice to try and get anyone to help us. This is the fuckIng ER! If he did have say, a ruptured organ internally bleeding he'd have been dead before anyone came and saw him. The nurses just say to wait.

Well sure the Doc took that long but the nurse that checked you in and placed him on a monitor would have-Again No! When i say no one saw us I mean no one.

Finally I just blocked off a nurse pushing a laundry cart and asked to see the doctor. Remember, BF is in 10 on the scale pain for this whole story, curled up and crying like a depressed shrimp. Laundry nurse suggests we ask our assigned nurse. I say we never got one. Within five minutes we not only have a nurse come in but several and a doctor not long after who got some pain meds ordered.

It is now 1 am. We left at say, 7. So tests, blood draws, CT scan, urine sample ect. The doc declares BF will be admit to the hospital. He has a white count of 22, dehydration, two hernias, fever, diverticulitis and is in late Covid. I left to sleep at 3 am.

(Bonus, the parking attendant is gone so I had free parking)

Aaanyway that was Friday night. It is now Monday at 5 so we are trying to get the latest update. Yesterday James was largely unchanged, high white count high pain fever and high heartrate. Had a hiccup where there was no one overnight with access to the pain cabinet so he went back up to 10.

That's all for now

[legit9thlunaticwarrior]

why i was in the emergency room (TW: hospital/medical stuff, needle talk, mental health)

starting on may 12, i was experiencing nausea and stomach discomfort that i thought was due to anxiety as i tend to get nauseous when anxiety. the 12th was my sister's birthday so we went to dinner; i thought i just got overstimulated in the restaurant (which was slightly crowded)

the next day, i went to *a crowded cosco* with my mom, but didnt get overstimulated. i was nauseous when i got home

my school attendance became a pattern. i struggled with curling a client's hair with the straightener, a friend helped me, then the instructor who will be mentioned again took over and redid the whole thing; sending me home. that next monday, i got into an argument with someone i consider a best friend about the curls. later that day, i went to talk to my director (who i am close with) to ask for a leave of absence so i can address my mental health, physical health, burnout and lack of motivation. i told her what happened with my friend and update her about that instructor; she's aware me and him dont get along. she suggested i talk to him which i did. i asked him if he had a problem with me and he laughed in my face the entire time we talked, which escalated to yelling. *petty donna coming through: if yall want more stories about how me and him dont get along, lmk*

i was having complete breakdowns over my health, crying to my mom at 1am. i asked her to take me to the er on sunday and that's where i went. they gave me an iv with meds, i had a ct scan with contrast, which sucked. i had broken down a number of times in that treatment room. ive learned i dont like the sensation of an iv needle going in, being there, and being removed. ct scan people were very considerate of it being my first time and my anxieties. the guy was helping me with my breathing and helping me up.

i went to see a GI doctor and i would rather not talk about the next appointment i have with that doctor (if you catch my drift)

i havent been able to eat, go out, or even sleep in my own bed. i havent been online much; just watching stuff, playing animal crossing, cross stitching, and on and off crying.

ive cried to my director, my parents, er doctors, er nurses, my therapist, my dog, and to myself. crying is good. crying releases excess stress hormones.

i appreciate everyone that commented or messaged me about what was going on, but i do apologize for not responding. @claymorexpunisher and @rickrude

yall tagging me in and sending me the tomfoolery on here and other platforms has 100% put a smile on my face and i continue to encourage it

i'll *probably* update when i have more answers

with love, d.r.

[theretirementstory]

My goodness, how has the last day of March come round so quickly? It is Easter Sunday too, the traditional day for giving Easter eggs, all those children running around “hyper” from too much chocolate!

I was hospitalised on Monday, had a catheter fitted in my femoral artery and had an early night as I was to wake up at 4am, washed breakfasted and be ready for the taxi to pick me up at 5am to take me to the hospital in Paris. Once again I was having cells collected, not stem cells this time but cells which will be engineered to fight the cancer cells in my body. Oh well will find out more as the procedure rolls along.

It was a grey day for the journey, which was a shame as the chauffeur drove me alongside the Seine, there were some gorgeous houses.

We went through the commune of Vincennes, where I spotted the Hippodrome de Vincennes (the Racecourse) recognised by the white railings as seen at Redcar, The Knavesmire etc. We then passed the Château de Vincennes, it was difficult to photograph through a rain spattered window. Then in the distance I saw the Barriere du trône we drove right past them too. I love these trips into Paris where the chauffeur always wants to highlight some of the lesser known sights.

When I arrived, on foot, at the hospital the nurse tutted! I should have been on a trolley (I knew this from before) but was pleased that my taxi company had sent a car. However, as he was unsure where I wanted to be, we parked up, walked to one place then had a longer walk to where I needed to be. She asked if I had had breakfast, said yes at 4am, so she brought me another breakfast which I thoroughly enjoyed.

My blood was collected, the nurse kept asking if I wanted the tv on, don’t know why as I slept almost all day. I was concerned about the chauffeur, how was he filling his day? How tired would he be for the journey back? I needn’t have worried, they cater for this at the hospital, he too had slept and was refreshed for the journey back. There were more sights to see on the way back through Paris, no good trying to get photos, but I did see “Eglise du Saint-Esprit de Paris” and the “Fontaines aux Lions” which is very impressive albeit being used as a roundabout. Our homeward journey was in torrential rain, you couldn’t see tail lights until you were almost on the vehicle! However he kept the speedo on 141 k/hr in the 130 zone and we made good progress 😂😂.

The chemo they had given at the end of February had done what was asked of it, so the Doctor in Paris said another session of chemo would be given. This was done over three days and I gave up pestering to be allowed home as I realise that by keeping me here any transfusions or injections that need to be given can be administered promptly and they are just safeguarding me. Although I had an injection to boost white blood cells yesterday, I was surprised when the doctor said this morning that it had risen from 2,000/? to 20,000 in one day. I told her I had had pain in my bones, shoulders, back etc and she said that was as a result of the white cells, not that I am a doctor, but it may have something to do with bone marrow. She said I should have asked for pain relief, I said it wasn’t that bad, I managed to sleep, but I know in future. The nurses are always checking with me for pain but I think I am on enough flipping meds so will only request it if it becomes too severe.

The catheter came out about three days after it was put in, certainly comes out easier than going in! I have had to have a test on my brain functions, it was ok, painless and listening to music at one point I was trying to think of the English words to a song and almost missed the commands to open and close my eyes. I have the date for an MRI scan and another PET scan, all of which are needed by Paris before the reintroduction of the cells.

I feel a little like Lyndsay Wagner in “The Bionic Woman” or maybe I will do when they put these engineered cells back into me!

I have had platelet and red cell transfusions this week and all I can say is “thank you” to the people who donate these.

Friday the food was abysmal, I hardly ate anything! Monique messaged, she would buy foodstuff and bring it to the hospital. I asked for cheese and ham baguette and a tuna salad sandwich, unfortunately she couldn’t get the tuna sandwich so brought three quiche, tuna and tomato, goats cheese and spinach and a leek one. I ate thé goats cheese one, ate half of the tuna and tomato and have the leek one to have at lunchtime if I fancy it. She also brought me a gorgeous cake, sponge with patisserie cream and fresh raspberries it was delicious! Plus, apples, pears, bananas, oranges and mandarins I certainly have plenty of fruit to keep me going!

The music choices this week start with Elton John, my personal favourite is “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word” but as a family we loved to sing along to a track first released in 1979 then made Number 1 in 2003, it is “Are You Ready For Love”.

I really hope that I haven’t had this Fleetwood Mac track before as it was a toss up between “Big Love” and this track “Go Your Own Way”, which is from the “Rumours” album of 1977.

So the long Easter holiday break in the UK usually sees people spending their time sorting out the garden, doing DIY etc and for “The Trainee Solicitor” and “The Reconnect Navigator” they have really taken this on board. One of the hedges has been successfully trimmed back, there has been a massive clear out, floors washed and everywhere given a big spring clean. It could be the turn of the partially blocked drain today (weather permitting) I am also wondering if the hydrangeas from last year are putting out leafy buds? There was a friends birthday to celebrate yesterday, so hope there are no sore heads this morning.

“The Photographer” and “The Jetsetter” snapped a photo of one of my old homes. Memories flooded back and I was surprised I could remember so many names of school friends and other friends from the mid to late sixties. Some of these friends I even remembered their addresses! Just goes to show I don’t have a lot to tax my brain at the moment 😂😂.

The weather here is grey, damp and cold, it looks as if the North East of England has had blue skies and some sunshine even if it has been cool too. I have had messages from the US, one from my friend who has had treatment for breast cancer, she is thrilled that her PET scan is clear, I am thrilled for her too! Hopefully, she will return soon to her beautiful home in Bar-sur-Aube. The other friend had been to see Billy Joel in New York, his special guest was Gordon Sumner better known as Sting! This was a lovely surprise as my friend is from North East England so a “local lad” on stage was a bonus.

I am going to finish reading my second book today (only brought two with me) then no doubt I will just read social media and news on-line although that just seems to be full of doom and gloom. I can also listen to some music although don’t think I will be jigging about as I am getting plenty of exercise visiting the bathroom regularly!

So I wish you all a Happy Easter Day, don’t eat too many chocolate eggs, have a good day tomorrow too before the start of another four day week.

Until next week!