Status: I have a lot of this written in parts, but it's not finished yet, by far! I just needed a place to put all of this!
The Dream and the Dreamer
Part seven.
He had never felt pain so excruciating before, physically or emotionally. Amir’s absence was so blatantly apparent, no matter what. It was weakening and Jake was barely able to complete the basic tasks necessary for being a normal functioning human being, let alone a comedy writer in New York City. No one blamed him whatsoever, but that sympathy didn’t help in anyway. It was only a thick blanket of easement. Ridding himself of his responsibilities was only even more painful in itself. He would sometimes think back to California, the days when he would wish Amir away, when Amir was fired even. He looked for some way out, back to his former self when he didn’t care. It didn’t help; nothing seemed to help at all.
Every time he breathed, it felt like he was inhaling freezing cold air. It stung and burned in his chest. Every day it felt like he had glass swirling around in his lungs. Every detail of the world reminded him of Amir, a constant agonizing reminder of both good and bad moments. So, in a way to preserve himself, Jake withdrew from the world, isolating himself further. He kept himself curled up in the tangled, dirty sheets that still smelled of Amir. His world became a bare mattress and those sheets tucked over his face as he slept at night, a failed replacement.
Sarah eventually came into the picture, assuming the role of a sympathetic caretaker as soon as she saw what a mess he really was. She took care of him when she could, making their co-workers fill in when she was busy with Saturday Night Live. They all were numbed with a stunned and irrevocably brutal sadness at the dismal condition Jake was in. Sarah coaxed Patrick and Streeter in helping him to shower, dress and clean up the house, for the first several days. Eventually, Jake fell back into a routine, but it was basic and barely there. The constant helping quickly got old as the days went on. One night, as they walked the illuminated streets of New York in search of proper food, Sarah completely lost it at the heavy silence, but put it gently.
“Jake, you need to start getting yourself out of this,” she started, clearly frustrated but absolutely ashamed of having to do so, “I understand how hard it is for you, because he just disappeared, but you know something like this was inevitable,” her sentence faded into silence, but the words still stung Jake’s ears as if she screamed them. “It was never going to last or be okay, there’s no way it could have ever truly lasted,” she painfully whispered this, hating herself so much. The words burned all over Jake, overwhelming all other sounds. He had known this, which ripped him apart on the inside, because he hid it so well, refusing to allow it to surface in the fear of it coming true. All those nights of conflicting with his own thoughts, his worrying—he had known and he knew from the start. As good as it may have been, the years of annoyance, the soft kisses and late night—Jake shook his head. No matter what, they were always fucked. He finally admitted it to himself and that realization settled in his chest, heavy with lead.
Every time he breathed, it felt like he was inhaling freezing cold air. It stung and burned in his chest. Every day it felt like he had glass swirling around in his lungs. Every detail of the world reminded him of Amir, a constant agonizing reminder of both good and bad moments. So, in a way to preserve himself, Jake withdrew from the world, isolating himself further. He kept himself curled up in the tangled, dirty sheets that still smelled of Amir. His world became a bare mattress and those sheets tucked over his face as he slept at night, a failed replacement.
Sarah eventually came into the picture, assuming the role of a sympathetic caretaker as soon as she saw what a mess he really was. She took care of him when she could, making their co-workers fill in when she was busy with Saturday Night Live. They all were numbed with a stunned and irrevocably brutal sadness at the dismal condition Jake was in. Sarah coaxed Patrick and Streeter in helping him to shower, dress and clean up the house, for the first several days. Eventually, Jake fell back into a routine, but it was basic and barely there. The constant helping quickly got old as the days went on. One night, as they walked the illuminated streets of New York in search of proper food, Sarah completely lost it at the heavy silence, but put it gently.
“Jake, you need to start getting yourself out of this,” she started, clearly frustrated but absolutely ashamed of having to do so, “I understand how hard it is for you, because he just disappeared, but you know something like this was inevitable,” her sentence faded into silence, but the words still stung Jake’s ears as if she screamed them. “It was never going to last or be okay, there’s no way it could have ever truly lasted,” she painfully whispered this, hating herself so much. The words burned all over Jake, overwhelming all other sounds. He had known this, which ripped him apart on the inside, because he hid it so well, refusing to allow it to surface in the fear of it coming true. All those nights of conflicting with his own thoughts, his worrying—he had known and he knew from the start. As good as it may have been, the years of annoyance, the soft kisses and late night—Jake shook his head. No matter what, they were always fucked. He finally admitted it to himself and that realization settled in his chest, heavy with lead.