A Year of Novembers

Chapter Eleven

----------Author's Note-----------

I am just going to post the rest of the novel tonight! There are definitely errors, as this is the first draft and is completely unedited, but please comment and vote! I really would like to hear your voice and opinion on this!

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            James staggers into my counselling room on a Sunday in mid- February, barely making it to the couch before he falls. I am not supposed to have any patients on Sunday, since it is reserved strictly for filing paperwork, but the state James is in stops me from kicking him out. He is crying, crying like a man who has lost his family, and I fly to the door, closing it from prying eyes and saying, “James, James, what’s wrong?”

            He doesn’t answer, so I sit beside him on the couch, my eyes wide in alarm.

            “James,” I whisper again, tentatively placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t object, so I gently rub his back in a soothing motion. “James, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

            He moves away from me, flinching away from my words, and I keep my hand raised in the air. I was not built for situations like these. I want to help. I want to do something- anything- but this moment of despair and melancholy is not meant for me yet, and I cannot do anything but watch as James Augustus Rush weeps drunkenly.

            He’s wearing a suit jacket and a pair of slacks, which are fairly clean, but his dress shirt is wrinkled and spattered with what looks like ink. His hair is not combed as I’ve always seen it, and is instead sticking up in unruly tufts. He always looked so clean and well- cut.

            He lifts his head a bit.

            “James.”

            His eyes are shut tightly, and he’s grimacing as if nothing in the world has ever hurt as what is hurting now. “James,” I repeat, reaching over the distance between us to touch him again, and he jerks away from me as if I’ve burned him, a tangle of letters snaking out of his mouth.

            “What?”

            “I said I’ve got Alzheimer’s.”

            It’s like the entire world ends right then and there.

            “What?”

            The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small smile, and he opens his eyes to look at me. “Alzheimer’s, Sophie- girl. I was right about losing my mind, after all.” He tries to laugh a little, but it comes out sounding like he’s choking. His eyes are as pale as ever, an ice blue with a clear sheen of tears rimming the bottom lashes. He had eyes the color of regret.

            I want to disappear from the world in a whiff of smoke, want to make everything stop for a moment because it’s going too fast, oh, my god; everything is falling apart faster than I can process it and I just desperately need it all to stop.

            “No way,” I say, shoving his arm. “Don’t play with me like that, James. You almost made me feel  bad.”

            James smiles at me, then makes some guttural noise, resting his head in his palms.

            It’s true.

            “James, James, please,” I breathe, and my voice cracks off into a whisper. It can’t be possible. He was fine in December. He was just normal James a little while ago- how is something like this possible?