Commit This to Memory

Something's wrong. This definitely isn't right.

"'If we not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories.'"

The words seem oddly fitting for this situation. I can't help but feel that if everyone were indeed islands the human race would be better off. There wouldn't be any ties. There wouldn't be so much pain every time someone fucks up. Screw empathy give me apathy. Give me numbness. Make me a stone; I'm tired of everything hurting.

"'We draw our lines around these moments of pain, and remain on our islands, and they cannot hurt us. They are covered with a smooth, safe, nacreous layer to let them slip, pearl-like, from our souls without real pain.'"

"What the fuck are you reading?" I mutter without opening my eyes. I know that voice. "And why are you reading it?"

"Betty!" Justin cries. There a bit of shuffling then he grabs my hand in one of his while his other is placed on my forehead. "We were getting worried." If I had managed to do things right there wouldn't have been any need for worry. "I brought American Gods with me so I wouldn't go crazy from waiting," he continues, answering my question. "I've been reading it out loud to Charlie. Anna had been taking care of him while you were out and I think she wanted a break. He seems to like the sound of my voice."

I open my eyes and see him smiling weakly, worry filling his eyes. Just past him I see Charlie cooing in his carrier. "Yeah, he does," I mumble. "I've been playing your music to him as lullabies. Your voice is comforting to him." Justin looks away, pressing his lips together. I think he's embarrassed.

When he turns back towards me he's serious and even sadder than before. I'm afraid that our conversation is about to take the same turn. "Why?" The word presses down on me. Its weight sinking itself all the way down to my bones. "Why'd you do it again? I just, I don't get it."

That's the million-dollar question isn't it? It's always the thing that people want to know the most. And it's always the one thing that no one ever wants to explain.

"I was just tired," I say simply. "You know? I didn't want to deal with the daily shit my life contained anymore." I shift in my bed trying to get a better look at him without messing up all the wires attached to me. "And after everything that happened…" My voice trails off and I begin to cough.

"Maybe you should rest," Justin says quietly, then yells over his shoulder for a doctor. His hand is grasping the side of my bed, knuckle white. His right knee bounces up and down in a nervous and continual pace.

"Don't like hospitals do you, Pierre?" My voice is wheezy.

"Never have." He sniffs and reaches behind him for something. It's a water bottle, half full. He takes a sip. The way he drinks it, tight mouthed, carefully not letting a drop spill; the way the lid goes right back on after he takes it away from his lips. The way his eyes look as he does so, like he’s hiding a secret.

"You're still drinking?"

Justin looks at me in shock, subtly clutching the bottle closer to him. "You wanted me to lose," he mutters. "It's the only way I know how."

If I had the energy I would have punched him. I would have screamed at him for being an idiot. If I had the energy I would have kicked him out and made sure I killed myself this next time. But as it stands, I just sigh and say, "You shouldn't believe everything I say."

The doctor walks in, starts checking my vital signs, and asks me how I'm feeling. Same old typical routine, nothing’s changed. Nothing ever has.

"I should go," Justin mutters. He starts to collect his things and makes sure Charlie is securely fastened in his carrier.

I don't want him to go. But I don't say anything, I just watch him leave. I watch him walk away.

Usually I'm the one walking away. I'm the one who pushes people out and leaves. No one’s ever left me.

He's given up on me; I can tell. He's decided to stop chasing me; I'm no longer worth the effort to him. I can't say I blame him. I would have given up on me long ago. And I suppose I have, twice.

And in this moment I realize, I don’t want to lose him.

"Justin?" I call, hoping he can still hear me. I look at the doctor and say, "Can you get that guy who just left back in here?"

He gets up and looks out the door. Shaking his head he says, "He's gone. You should get some rest anyway."

I want to scream at him. I don't need rest I've been lying here for who knows how many days. I am rested up!

The doctor injects something into the tube in my arm. “It’ll take all of-“ I’m out cold.

When I wake up again Justin is sleeping in a chair. Anna walks in holding a steaming mug.

“Hey you’re awake again,” she says smiling.

I expect her to be mad at me. I want her to be mad at me.

She sets the mug on the table next to me then leans in and says, “I know I’m not supposed to do anything to antagonize you during the healing process but…” Her hand flashes down and the entire left side of my face stings. “…You deserve that.”

I bring a hand to my tender cheek. “Yeah I suppose I did,” I reply.

“Did someone get shot?” Justin stupidly mumbles as he bolts awake. He rubs his eyes underneath his glasses and grabs Anna’s mug drinking the contents down in a few gulps. “Let me know when Betty wakes up.” He slumps back down in the seat. A few seconds later he’s lightly snoring.

“I dunno what he sees in me,” I mumble.

“Probably the same thing you see in him,” Anna answers with an amused look on her face and I realize I’d been staring at the sleeping man. She sighs and adds, “I don’t know what the deal is with you two. I’ve never met two people more emotionally fucked. You’re both perfect for each other but neither of you can function together or apart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leans in and kisses my forehead. “It means make up your damn mind. Move on or make it work. No more back and forth. You both have to choose.”