Exit Wounds | Noah Sebastian

T H I R T Y T W O

"You're up late," he says carefully, everyone is so careful with me.

"I needed some air," I reply, eyeing him studying me.

Nick and I were friendly, but kept our distance most of the time.  I didn't want to make Noah upset if I got too close with his friend that I slept with.  He had never seemed like he cared about our past, but I didn't want to chance it.

"I don't think this is going to help if you wanted air," he says, holding up his cigarette.  An unexpected breath of air leaves me, not a laugh, but not not a laugh.  "Look, sign of life," he says, sarcastically as he stubs out his cigarette.  "Come on," he says, nodding his head in the direction of the sidewalk.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere," he grins and I stub my cigarette out and fall into step with him.

The whiskey was starting to wear off, some of the feelings were starting to slip in.  Nick doesn't say anything while we walk, I was afraid he was going to try to give me the same bullshit Noah had been giving me, but he just walked.  And I walked with him.  

"Noah threatened to send me home," I say after twenty minutes of silence.

"You are an adult, Delaney, he can't tell you what to do," Nick says, his voice comforting in the early morning sun.  "Do you want to go home?"

I am silent for a long pregnant minute, "I don't want to be away from him, but I don't want to talk to him."  

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

"I don't want to burden him with my grief when I know he's grieving too," I tell him, squinting in the sunlight.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Not really," I reply, and he chuckles.

"I'm going to tell you anyway," he bumps my shoulder with his, "I think you would be helping him by talking to him.  The two of you are both in the same pain, but hiding it from each other.  I think part of loving someone is leaning on them in times of need."

"I know," I sigh, "I know I can lean on him, but it's easier not to.  I don't want to start talking, because if I do all of my pain is going to bubble to the surface again.  It doesn't hurt as much where it is."

"For now," he replies, "but one day your grief will turn into a cancer that spreads to anyone and everyone you love."

"I know," I say, "I know all of this, it doesn't change anything, though."

"It doesn't have to change right now, but you can't keep it bottled up.  I know it seems easier, but it's not in the long run."

Nick and I turn around and head back to the buses, we stop at a coffee shop and pick up some muffins and coffee for everyone on the way.  I feel a little lighter after my talk with Nick, but I don't feel better.  All of the whiskey has worn off by the time we get back.  

Noah is awake when I step onto the bus, and he eyes me suspiciously.  I can tell he wants to ask where I've been, but he doesn't want to upset me.  I show him the coffee and food, he takes one of the coffees, but doesn't reach for a muffin.

"I went for a walk with Nick," I offer, because I don't want to keep things from him.  Well, I don't want to keep everything from him.

He doesn't say anything, just nods and continues studying me.  I can't stand the scrutiny so I grab my coffee and go sit at the table.  Noah follows me silently, sitting across from me.

"What?" I snap, because what is he doing?

"What do you want to do, Laney?"

I don't know what I want to do.  If I go home, if I'm alone in our house I'll drink myself to death.  I'm self aware enough to know that I won't get help, I will just drink and drink and drink.  I don't want to be here either, but I don't not want to be here.  I don't know where I belong anymore, I just feel lost.

"I don't know," I finally say, honestly.

"Would you be open to talking to someone?"

"Nick tried this morning," I tell him and his frown deepens.

"A professional, Laney," he reiterates.  I don't answer him for a long time.  I've never been to a therapist, but it doesn't seem like I could do something like that.  I can't talk to Noah about my issues, how was I going to talk to a stranger?  And what are they even going to tell me other than all of the cliches I already know.  I don't know if it will help, but I needed to do something.

"Yes, I think I could try to see a therapist," I reply, I needed help crawling out of this hole.  Noah had done everything in his power to help, but I needed more than him.  I needed a professional.  

"Good, I made you an appointment for this afternoon," he stands and settles into the booth with me, kissing my hair, "I also threw away all of the alcohol on board.  You can drink again when you aren't using it to medicate yourself."

I want to whine, and throw a fit, but I know that's what needed to happen.  If he hadn't gotten rid of it, I would become more dependent than I already was.  Besides, if I needed something to take the edge off there was always the venue and plenty of bars around.

-

While everyone went in the venue for the show, I had my first appointment with my first therapist.  We didn't talk so much about how I was feeling as much as she wanted to ask about Finn and who he was as a person.  I love talking about him, and how kind his heart is and the session was over before I knew it.

It's nearing time for doors to open so I make my way inside the venue, feeling a little lighter.  Not a lot, I'm still very weighed down by my grief, but one day at a time.  I find Noah's dressing room and find him getting ready for the show.  He's drinking tea in his cargo pants, sans a shirt.

"Hey, how'd it go?" he asks gently.

"It went well, cathartic, I'm excited to keep going," I tell him honestly.  "Are you ready for the show?"

"Yeah, just a couple more weeks until the end of the tour," he replies.  He hasn't made a move to come to me, and I hate it.  I hate that I made him standoffish, I keep my eyes on him as I make steady strides over to him.  He has a hint of a smirk when I reach him.  He watches me, looking for what I need, but making me take it.  I step into him and press my ear to his chest, sighing when I feel the stead thump-thump-thump of his heart beat.  It's beating strong in his chest, he's here.  He's alive, and well.  Noah's strong arms wrap around me, embracing me.  Tears spring to my eyes, I haven't cried in weeks.  My tears turn from blurry in my waterline, to full body shaking sobs.  Noah doesn't say anything, he just rubs my back while my session catches up with me.

I don't let go of Noah until it's almost time for them to go onstage.  

"I'm gonna be okay," I tell him, and I mean it for the first time in a long time.  He smiles at me, a wide genuine smile that I haven't seen on his face in too long.