Page 59 of Only With Me
“Stay and talk to me. I don’t want you to leave being upset like this.”
Frustration streams through me, but I reluctantly return to the chair.
“Are you sayin’ I’m the reason you ain’t in a relationship?” he asks.
“Not entirely, but it’s why I don’t pursue ’em. How can I when I’m always worryin’ about you? I live in that duplex so I’m close in case I need to check on you. We work together all day so I can keep an eye on you. I track your location so I always know where you are.”
“Geez, stalker much? I feel like I need to get a restrainin’ order.”
“Fuck off,” I spit out, and he has the audacity to laugh.
“You don’t need to babysit me, Waylon. I’m a grown-ass man, and I know there have been times where I’ve not been reliable in terms of takin’ care of myself, but I don’t wanna be the reason you die old and alone.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. “However, witnessin’ my twin brother almost bleed to death—more than once—has given me enough PTSD for a lifetime. Our siblings are married and busy with their own lives now. I can’t help but think if I do the same, you’ll get left behind, sink deeper into your depression, or harm yourself again, and I won’t be close enough to find you in time.”
“I’m sorry it weighs on you this much. I ain’t purposely tryin’ to scare y’all.”
“Well, you do—more than you probably realize. You can’t continue livin’ like this forever. It’s gonna catch up to you, and eventually, the drinkin’ won’t be enough to numb the pain you’re tryin’ so hard to ignore instead of managing it. It’ll lead to you tryin’ other ways to cope, and most likely, they won’t be good ones.”
He stares at me, sadness covering his features, and I know he understands where I’m coming from. He just isn’t ready to admit it.
“You’re not alone in this because I feel it, too. The sadness and anxiety,” I remind him.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re stronger at not lettin’ it get to you than I am.”
I don’t know that I’d saystrongerversus focusing my attention on other things, such as him and keeping his stubborn ass alive.
“If the roles were reversed, what would you do? If you had to witness me spiralin’ out of control, how would you help me?”
“Probably beat your ass.” He smirks.
“Trust me, I want to, but I have a feelin’ the staff would frown upon that here.”
“Pfft. Don’t let that stop ya. You even have the upper hand. I’m connected to an IV, so I have limited range of motion, but no rib shots.” He points at me. “That shit hurts.”
“Do you know how to take anything seriously?”
He grins, lifting his other shoulder. “Life’s too short to be.”
“Wilder,” I say his name firmly. “What’s it gonna take for you to see that you can’t continue livin’ like this? Tryin’ street drugs is one step away from rock bottom. Next you’ll be addicted.”
“Probably knockin’ up some chick or wakin’ up hitched. Because at that point, just give me a shovel so I can dig my own grave.”
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I can’t tell if you’re just being an asshole for fun or if it’s the meds they gave ya makin’ you extra annoyin’.”
“A little of both.”
“Medication prescribed legally can help you if ya just gave it a chance.”
“Do I look like the lie down on a couch and talk about my feelings type of person? I can’t do that.”
“How do you know if you don’t put in the effort? There’s no harm in tryin’.”
He shrugs. “I’m already exhausted from tryin’ to block it out of my head all damn day. There’s no energy left at the end of the day to talk about it.”
“Waylon, you and I talk all day long about random shit. Sometimes you talk too much, so why not use those skills and talk to a professional once a month?”
“About what? I doubt they’d wanna hear about my recent hookups,” he mocks.
