Page 23 of The Darkness Within

Making a quick detour, I drive through a fast food restaurant and order a strawberry shake and a large fry.

“Here,” I shove the shake at him, “try that.”

His first sip is hesitant, but he quickly finishes off the entire shake before starting on the hot, greasy fries.

“God, that’s good. How did you know?”

A knowing smile twists my lips. “I’ve been where you are, Nash. It’s hard to process food when your stomach is torn up from pills and alcohol and stress. The shake is the perfect thing. But the fries? Alcohol makes you crave salty foods.”

He wipes his greasy fingers on his cargo pants. “You said we’re friends, and I want to be, I do, but we’re on unequal footing, and the difference between us is too large. I’m a fucking mess and you can see every single one of my flaws. You don’t want to be my friend. You just want to save me.”

“Isn’t that what friends do? Save your ass when your head is buried too far inside of it to save yourself?”

“Are you saying my head is buried up my ass?” A hint of a smile teases his lips. It’s the first time he’s actually looked at me this entire drive.

“Do I really have to say it for you?”

When I pull into the parking lot, Nash hesitates. “You don’t have to come in. I’m a big boy, Brewer.”

“Cut the sarcasm. I’m just going to help you inside. I’m not staying.”

I remember wanting to push everyone away, to keep everyone at arm’s length so I could hide all of my dirty secrets under the rug. He doesn’t have to hide his secrets from me. I already know what they are.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when he opened the door. There wasn’t a fucking thing in his apartment. Not a chair or a rug or a picture. No couch, no TV, nothing. I expected a neglected mess, unfolded laundry, and unwashed dishes in the sink. I wasn’t expecting… Nothing.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Your personality isn’t your best quality,” he returns snidely, dropping his keys on the empty counter.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Go right ahead,” he offers, pointing down the hall.

After I relieve myself and wash my hands, I peek inside his medicine cabinet and find the only cabinet likely stocked in this entire apartment. A cocktail of prescription drugs lines every shelf. I recognize most of the labels. Anti-anxiety, antidepressants, blood pressure, heartburn and nausea, migraines, sedatives, muscle relaxers, supplements, erectile dysfunction, and stool softeners. He’s a fucking mess. Most of these manage side effects from other meds, and all of them are directly related to his trauma. If he hadn’t been in captivity, he wouldn’t need any of these meds.

It’s a fucking tragedy and a shame.

But it doesn’t excuse his behavior. He’s abusing these drugs, and he’s abusing his body.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Nash looks worse for wear. He’s holding onto the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Next to his hand is a prescription bottle.

“I think I need to go lie down,” he mumbles, sounding barely coherent.

Jesus Christ, how many did he swallow?

He lets go of the counter and stumbles, and I rush to steady him. “I don’t need your help,” he gripes, pushing me away. “This is why I moved out here, to get away from everyone.”

“It’s called a geographical cure, and it’s bullshit. You can move five hundred times, but no matter where you go, there you are. You’re still stuck with yourself, and you’re the problem, not the people around you trying to help you.”

“You’ve got all the answers, don’t you, Brewer? Do you know how to fix my fucking head?”

His nasty tone doesn’t intimidate me one bit. It just tells me how much he’s hurting that he’s lashing out at me. “There is no fixing your head, only learning how to live with it. You can keep running, and running, and running, keep hiding, but the shit you’re running and hiding from is always going to chase you, and it’s always going to find you because it lives inside your head. You can’t escape from it. That’s why you need to learn how to live with it.” As we move down the hall, he balances by throwing a hand against the wall. “Let me help you, Nash. Let me in.”

“In my head?” He laughs sarcastically. “Not a fucking chance. Trust me, that’s not a place you want to be.”

“Please, Nash. Trust in me. Let me into your darkest nightmare. Let me sit beside you and hold your hand so you’re not alone.”

“You’re really trying for that martyrdom, aren’t you? You can’t save everyone, Brewer.”

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