Lucid

Chapter Fifteen

Her eyes are trained on the road as she drives.
    "I'm excited to see how he's doing. I haven't seen him since the day he was admitted. What was that? A week ago? Two?" Mom asks, as if I would know. All the days seem to be mixing together, and that's what I tell her. "However long it's been, I'm excited. He looked really awful when I last saw him. Poor guy. Losing his daughter and watching it happen slowly right in front of his own eyes."
    "Damn, Mom. Fuck. He's not losing her. She's gonna wake up."
    My mom gets suddenly very quiet. She knows I know that that isn't necessarily true. When we arrive and psychiatric hospital Mom tells me to stay in the car but to move to the backseat.
    The doctors want him to join outpatient at a nearby center where he'll spend a few afternoons per week there. In addition, he's started medication and will be going to individual therapy apart from the outpatient. They also don't want him to be alone but they don't think it's healthy for him to obsess over Alyssa, so Mom offered him the guest room and he'd said yes. All of this communication was done through the doctors.
    Mom also received a guide on what to do if he dissociates, which was a very uncomfortable thought for me.
    "It might not even happen, he seems to mostly stay Matthew," she had said. "But if it does happen, the doctors want us to stay calm and treat him like a normal person."
      The doctors told Matthew and Mark, so either way he'd know what's going on to some extent. Regardless, the thought of another person inside Matthew's body coming out and talking to me or being around me was very strange. The whole thing was foreign to me. I had never even heard of DID until Matthew.
      I unbuckle and climb over the center console to the backseat, which I know would piss Mom off, but she isn't here to see it and I know I won't leave shoe marks. I sit in the seat behind the driver so I can see Matthew and hold polite conversation.
       I'm a little taken aback as Matthew and Mom walk out with a bag that says PATIENT BELONGINGS and a stack of papers. He's glowing. He looks so... healthy. Healthy and normal.
      He climbs into the passenger seat and immediately speaks. "I can't thank you guys enough for letting me stay with you. I doln't have any family I could go to and it means a lot. I don't want to be alone during a time like this, and I can't spend my time in that room anymore. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the doctors were right. It isn't healthy."
   "Oh, of course, Matt. We're happy to have you. We have the guest room all set up. There's a bathroom for you too down the hall. And if you ever need any groceries just tell me and I'll add them to the list."
     I can see him blush. He probably isn't used to relying on other people. He's been single for a long time. He probably does everything himself.
     "Don't worry, I'll stay out of your hair. I'll drive my car over to your place so I can take myself to the outpatient and therapy. Otherwise I'll be doing work up in the guestroom. I really won't be a bother, I promise."
   "Nonsense. You're free to move around the house or ask for favors. We can watch movies, the three of us. You wouldn't be a bother. I've known you for a long time, Matt, you're welcome at our home just like you always have been."
      He smiles and looks down at his bag and the papers.
      "I know this has to be kind of hard on you two too. Honestly I still find it hard to believe that what they told me is true. I know some nights I have trouble going to sleep and then the whole night is a blur and I wake up still tired but other than that I have never noticed anything being off. The doctor said since no one else has noticed, I probably only do it for a few hours and at times of relaxation when stress catches up to me, like at night in bed when I'm reading or watching TV. I don't want you guys to be uncomfortable though. I know it's weird. But I don't want you to treat me any differently because I'm the same guy you've always known."
    "We know, Matt."
    "Yeah," I tell him, "don't worry. You're like family to us. We're here for you."
      I sound a lot like my psychiatrist and for a moment I'm repulsed. The rest of the drive Mom and Matt talk about random things. First how work is going for Mom, then the weather, then some crazy stories from the ward. We stop by Alyssa's house. He brings out a small bag of clothes and toiletries and he gets his keys and gets in his own car.
      Seeing the house makes me shift uneasily in my seat. The last time I was here was when Alyssa attempted suicie. I notice how dull the house looks, how the rose bushes in the front are wilting. I guess that's what happens when you don't take care of a home.
     Matthew follows behind us as we drive home. We're there in just a few minutes. Mom tells Matt to get comfortable in his room.
      As I head up the stairs she shouts: "Show him which one it is, Miles. Oh, and dinner will be ready at six."
   "Thanks," I shout back down.
     I lead Matthew to the guestroom.
    "And you can use that bathroom. I use the one across from my room, so it's all yours. Oh, but the water takes a bit to warm up and the temperature dial is backwards, so hot is cold and cold is hot. Other than that it's all normal."
    "Thanks, Miles. Appreciate it. You hanging in there?"
    I look into his hazel eyes. I never realized how much they're shaped like Alyssa's. Almond-shaped, although hers are more upturned and feminine than his.
    "Yeah, I am. Doing my best," I answer.
    "That's all you really can do," he tells me.
    I think about that. He's right. That's all I can do is my best. With that I go to my room, lie on my bed and think. I get lost in thought until I smell food and Mom shouts at me that dinner is ready.
    Once I'm done eating, I go back upstairs and flop right back down on my bed where I was before. I stare up at my ceiling fan. I watch it spin. Doing my best. I close my eyes. I'm doing my best. I close my eyes and I will sleep to come.

    "I'm doing my best," I say harshly.
    "What?" Alyssa says, like she can't believe I'm talking to her.
    "I'm doing my goddamn best. I love you and I want you to wake up and I'm sorry I'm not succeeding yet but I'm trying my hardest and doing my best and that's all you can ask of me."
    She shakes her head. "I don't ask anything of you. But that doesn't matter anyways. I don't want to talk to you. I don't remember what happened while we were drunk but I did look at my journal. And that night I wrote one sentence and it didn't bring back whatever happened that night but it did bring back the emotions I felt, and it didn't feel good."
    "What did you write?" I ask.
     I need to know what she thought happened.
    "Miles doesn't want to kiss me because deep down he knows it's disgusting that my lips have touched a gross man's lips."
     I take a step back and my shoe makes a loud sound as it makes contact with the linoleum floor.
    "Woah, what? I never said that."
    "You didn't have to, Miles," she says. Without looking or sounding like she's going to cry, a tear slips from one of her eyes and rolls down her cheek, landing on the floor by her foot. "It's okay, I wouldn't kiss me, either. It's just a reminder of everything. Being in a coma has kind of been nice. I can live without having to worry about him."
    "Alyssa, that's not what happened. At all."
     "Yes it is, stop trying to deny it for your pride, you look stupid," she whispers, crossing her arms.
    "Are you sober?" I ask.
   "What kind of question is that?"
     I repeat myself. "Answer the question: are you sober?"
    "Of course, I don't normally drink, why wouldn't I be?"
     I don't take the time to answer her. Without even processing it through in my head, I take a step forward, gently grab her by the waist and kiss her. I pull away slowly.
    "What the hell?"
    "I knew you only kissed me because you were drunk," I tell her. "That's why I stopped kissing you that night. I knew you were drunk and you wouldn't kiss me sober and so it felt like I was taking advantage of you."
    "Miles, did you just... I..." She puts her fingers to her lips, touching them softly. She looks down. She appears deep in thought.
    "I'm sorry if I crossed a line, I should've asked first."
    "You just did that because you're trying to prove a point."
    I shrug. "Yeah, I am trying to prove a point. I would kiss you regardless of the shit you've been through, Alyssa. It's not about that."
    Her eyes widen. "Wait, what? Then what is it about? Miles, hold on, I thought you kissed me that night because you were shitfaced."
    Fuck of course she doesn't know that I like her. I'm suddenly not sure what to do. If I tell her, since doesn't feel the same way, it might give her even more of an excuse to not wake up, right? She could use it against me that I'd break her heart.
    "I've gotta go," I tell her.
    "What the fuck? What do you mean? I'm always the one who wakes up first."
    "Not tonight," I tell her, and I shut my eyes tight and try to open them in real life.
     I do open them, and when I do I see the room sways with vertigo. My stomach convulses. I stand up and stumble over to my trash can. I steady myself before throwing up. The sound of it splashing makes me hurl again. I cough a few times, spit into the trash can and then lean up against my wall. I open my eyes and the room has stopped swaying. I take a few deep breaths.
      I stand up and go to the bathroom. I splash some water on my pale face and brush my teeth. I look in the mirror at my blood-shot eyes.
    What did you do?