"But where there's peace and serenity; there's an explosion waiting to happen."
Amara's POV:
Everything is okay. After a journey of pain, fighting and hopelessness. After exerting yourself to things you never should. After a long, and tiresome battle. Everything is okay. And it is exactly then, that the world comes crashing down.
Being afraid of happiness is a real thing. Not the happiness itself, but what will replace it when it's gone. Fear of being happy, especially common for those with anxious attachment styles, abandonment issues or previous trauma; rewriting the neural pathways in the brain to rather register happiness as something that should be partnered with anticipation and sheepishness, due to the reality of what usually comes after—disappointment, or pain.
Terminal Lucidity. Rallying. The surge. All terms used in the medical field among professionals to describe the mask of health a patient exhibits before they ultimately deteriorate. The mental or physical clarity that they regain before their death. The period of time where things seem okay, and you begin to believe that after all—maybe you can breathe. Maybe, just maybe... everything is okay.
Until suddenly, it isn't.
So what is it called when this happens outside of the hospital? When there is no patient, with a chart and a diagnosis to analyse. No name, symptoms or vitals.
I don't have an answer to that question.
So what do you call the fast decline in a person, or relationship, when there is no physical explanation? When there is no numbers to crunch, or forms to sign. When there is only two people, fighting against an ocean whose waves are relentless and stronger than them both.
Because there is no way to tell that you are in the highs, until the lows sweep you off of your feet; knocking the rose tinted glasses from your eyes as you crash to the ground. And consequently, there is no way to tell whether you are in the surge until the rapid decline hits, until the bad comes along and you question whether the good was ever good at all, or just a symptom of your impending incompatibility.
And even when the bad comes along, and each wave hits you like a bullet to the chest, pulling you under until you can't think anymore—how do you know if you'll ever resurface? How do you know if this is just a low, or the soul crushing death of the love you've watched grow for so long.
And when you don't know how to save them, the person you love so much. What then?
I help people every day. I save lives and I mend peoples injuries. I fix the external, and even internal troubles of the patients I see. But I just don't know, I don't know whether I can pull him back this time. When it comes to the pain intrinsic. I don't know whether I can bring him up for air long enough to save him, without drowning myself. And when it gets to that point; where you have to choose between saving the person you love from their darkness, and letting your own swallow you whole in the process—how are you ever supposed to know?
Is this just a bump in our road, or is this the aftermath of our surge?
—————
(April 30th.)
"You look nervous... relax. This isn't your first time in this chair." she smiles warmly.
She's right, I'm no stranger to therapy—I just didn't expect to see myself in this room again any time soon. It's just a catch up appointment, a follow on, I have nothing to worry about.
"So, how have things been? How are they? You seem to have a lot to catch me up on." she chuckles, making me feel at ease.
"Things are good, they're really good," I begin. "Mason is... well, alive. And he's doing great, we are doing great. It's a long story, and it took a lot of time to get where we are now... but we got there. My mom isn't in rehab anymore, my friends are happy, I'm doing well in my job."
"And you? How are you feeling, Amara?"
"—Great, actually. For the first time in a long time."
"And the nightmares?"
"Not as frequent. They're still bad, when they do come," I adjust myself in the seat anxiously. "But they're better."
"I'm glad, that's amazing news," she nods. "Is there anything that's bothering you?"
"No."
She tilts her head slightly, clasping her hands on her lap. "That thing... the one that popped into your mind when I asked you that question. The one you pushed away—what is that?"
"There wasn't a thing." I furrow my brow.
"There was. Even if it was subconscious, there was."
I pause to think, but shrug. "There isn't anything, things are good now."
She sighs. "Our time is up, since you only wanted half of a session. Would you like to schedule another?"
"No, thank you," I say almost immediately. "It was nice, to catch up. But I'm done with therapy."
"Alright," she holds her hands up. "Do you still have my number?"
"Yes."
She raises her brow, and gives me a knowing look. She reaches into her purse and pulls out one of her business cards, writing on the back before handing it to me. Her hand wraps around mine, "Here. Just in case."
—————
(May 6th.)
"You okay?" I ask, placing my hand on his thigh.
"Of course. Why?" he responds.
"Just checking."
I lean my head on his arm and close my eyes for a second. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" he repeats.
"You've just been a little... off." I say, my head still resting on him.
"Off?"
"Yeah, just not yourself," I sigh, and feel him shrug. "I have to go to the store, do you want to come?"
"No."
His short dismissal makes me lift my head. I look at him, but he isn't looking in my direction. He loves shopping together. He'd never admit it, but he does.
"I want you to come, you know?" I say in case he feels I only asked to seem nice. "You can stay in the car."
"Not everything is about you, Amara." he replies. His voice is distant and even slightly hateful, it makes me jump. I notice his hands are shaking, and I don't know whether it's anger or something else—but I do know that he does not want me to keep prying.
"Okay."
I grab my purse and keys and make my way to my car, slouching down and taking a deep breath in. He's just having a bad day, maybe it's a work thing—or something else with his dad. I'm just not used to him talking to me like that, to him acting like he doesn't want me there. But that's not his problem, it's mine. We all have bad days, right?
I reach into my pocket for my keys, and pull out a card caught on the key ring. "Whenever you need to talk." it says, alongside her contact number.
I slide it back into my pocket and make my way to the store. Hopefully, he just needs to cool off.
By the time I get home, I open the door to find he isn't there. I sit down on the couch and take off my jacket, pulling out my phone. I dial his number and listen to each ring, each one confirming that he isn't going to answer.
I let out a sigh and pull my fingers through my hair, before grabbing the card and dialling the numbers in.
"Amara, is everything okay?" the voice answers almost immediately.
"That session, is it still on offer?" I ask nervously.
"We can revert back to our weekly sessions if you'd like, for a monthly period. If you feel you need more than those four, we can talk about it." she tells me softly.
"Alright."
She hums as she flicks through pages of what I assume is her appointment diary. "The next availability I have is.... the 10th, is that okay for you?"
"I'll see you then."
—————
(May 10th)
My foot taps nervously against the floor, all over again.
"And that kind of behaviour, it's out of character for Mason?" she asks.
"Yes," I shrug. "Completely."
She nods. "I thought hostility was a trait you were aware Mason owned?"
"Maybe," I agree. "But not with me. Never with me."
"You have always refused point blank to tell me about Mason's life and why he left, why you thought he was dead, Amara. I am guessing that he has not always taken the best life choices, went down the correct paths," she pauses, as though for me to confirm or deny. I simply nod. "Things like that affect people. Can you be completely sure he isn't still doing these things?"
I pause. If Mason was re-involved with the mafia... he would tell me, right?
"May I ask why you asked for this session, Amara? Why didn't you speak to your friends about this? Matt was your closest, right?"
Before I speak, she interrupts. "I mean that in a simply curious way, not that I don't want you here. I'm very glad you took me up on my offer." she says softly, nervous that I may have misinterpreted.
"They're Mason's friends, too. They may not be totally on board with him yet, but they're getting there. I can't jeopardise that," I admit. "Somethings going on with him, Jen. And I don't know how to help him."
"Has there been any other incidents since the night you called? Have you been in contact?" she asks, twirling her pen between her fingers.
"Yes, last night." I sigh, recalling what happened.
I flinch as I touch the metal through the towel I used to protect myself. Will I ever be able to drain something without burning my hand?
My phone rings, and I grab it quickly, hoping it's Mason.
"Hey, Steve." I answer with a sigh.
"Amara, have you spoken to Mason?" he asks, and my eyes widen.
"About what?"
"He fractured two of his fingers today at work. He didn't tell you?"
I furrow my brow. "No, he didn't. He's been... busy." Why the hell wouldn't he tell me?
He lets out a frustrated sigh. "He did it by punching the brick he was laying, Amara. After he started to escalate," he tells me. "I'm sorry but I can't let him keep this job if he's going to act like a frat boy who just got dumped."
"I'll talk to him, Steve. Please just give him another chance." I beg, my mind running in circles. What is going on with him?
I drop what I'm doing and drive to his apartment, with no response as I bang on the door. I flip over the doormat and find the spare key, making my way inside. Its silent, besides the background noise of the TV. I open the door to see him sitting on the couch, his fingers taped together and his eyes bloodshot.
I can't tell whether he's been crying, drinking, or just not sleeping. I take a seat beside him, the smell of alcohol confirming the question for me almost immediately. I look to the floor in the far corner of the room where the clock lies, smashed across the ground.
"Mason, what's going on?" I ask quietly.
"Nothing."
I try my best to fight back tears. I know he's lying, but I don't want him to have to comfort me right now—I want to help him.
"Mason," I say softly, placing my hand over his sore one. "I'm here for you, you know that... right?"
He slowly turns to face me, his eyes empty, and low from the alcohol. "I know," he says. "But I'd like you to leave now."
"Mason-"
"Please leave."
He turns away, and moves his hand from under mine. I take a deep breath and stand to my feet. "Okay, if that's what you need." I say quietly.
~
"The clock was broken?" Jen asks with a furrowed brow.
"Yeah."
"Does it have any particular memory attached to it? Did someone buy it for him?" she questions, seemingly just as confused as I am.
"No." I sigh.
"Give him some space, Amara. When he's in this mind frame, you don't know how he could react to your presence. I know it's difficult, but he asked you to leave him be."
My eyes widen. "He would never hurt me."
"I don't doubt that, Amara. You know him," she says kindly. "But be careful. He sounds like he's mentally not himself, and whatever he's going through—he needs you to listen."
She looks to her calendar. "Our next session is the 18th at 4pm. Is that okay?"
"Yes, that's fine." I nod, gathering my things.
"Call if you need to, Amara."
—————
(May 18th)
"Just talk me through it, Amara." she exhales, looking at me with worried eyes.
"I just don't understand what's wrong with him, I just want to help."
She places her hand on top of mine. "Tell me about the other day, and we'll go from there. Walk me through it."
"We're just going to give you something to calm you down, okay?" I say quietly, stroking her arm to soothe her.
I turn to my intern. "4mg of lorazepam."
My phone buzzes from my pocket, and when I read the name my heart sinks. "Steve," I answer as perky as can be, closing the curtain and making my way into the hallway.
"Mason didn't show up for work today."
I sigh, tugging my fingers through my hair. "Sorry, he must've forgotten to call. He's sick."
"Sick?" he questions.
"Yes."
He pauses. "Alright. Talk soon, Mar."
I dial his number, and watch it ring out. Over and over again. Eight times, to be exact. I look at my watch and realise it's only three minutes until my lunch break. I patiently wait, praying that my pager doesn't go off within those three minutes—meaning I can leave. Each minute feels like it drags on forever, until all three pass. I grab my keys and drive over to his apartment yet again, unsure of which Mason I'm going to find.
Before I even reach for the door I hear smashing, breaking, frustrated groans coming from inside. I take a deep breath and slowly open the door, my eyes landing on the broken shards of glass and ceramic scattered across the floor—only to see a plate coming towards me. It misses, and smashes against the wall beside me.
His face drops and he rushes over, grasping my face with his hands in a frenzy; hands which are warm, sweaty and shaking. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks frantically.
"I'm fine. Nothing hit me." I assure him, my eyes unable to move from his facial features which look so dark and empty. He sighs in relief to my response.
"What are you doing? What the hell happened?" I ask cautiously, glass crunching under my feet.
He squeezes his eyes closed for a second, as though he was waiting for something to pass. "I have a migraine." he tells me.
I look at him, bringing my hand gently to his cheek where I rest it for a moment. "What aren't you telling me, Mase? What's going on?"
"Is it your dad? Did he call you again?" I continue.
His eyes open, bloodshot from lack of sleep. I can tell by the bags under his eyes and the sheer exhaustion written all over his face. "Go and get some sleep," I tell him. "I'll... take care of this."
He shakes his head. "You have to work."
"I'm on my lunch break. I'll get a page if I'm needed."
He seems hesitant, but makes his way into the bedroom. I stand among the broken glasses, plates, whatever else he broke, and try to compose myself. I grab a brush, and a shovel and start to sweep everything together. As I sweep pieces of him from the floor, I ask myself how everything got this way. How did this happen?
My pager buzzes from my pocket. I look at it and sigh, propping the brush up against the wall. "Don't go." the voice begs as I turn towards the door.
I turn around and see him standing across the room, his hands in his pockets. He looks unnerved... just, not himself. Unhinged, even.
"Mason, I have to. I can come by after work and we can talk—okay?" I say as softly as possible.
He strides towards me and grasps my arm lightly. "Amara, don't go."
I watch him as he looks frantic, sleep deprived, anxious. Even paranoid. I'm a nurse, for god's sake. But this isn't physical, it's emotional. What isn't he telling me?
"I have to, Mason. I'm sorry." I reach for the door as my pocket buzzes again and again.
"Amara, don't!" he yells, making me turn back quickly.
My eyes begin to well. "Mason, what's wrong?" I ask again, needing an answer.
"Damn it!" he snaps, slamming his hand against the wall as he turns his back to me.
"I'm watching you become this person that... that I don't know anymore, and there's nothing I can do to stop it," I cry. "I'm terrified that I won't get you back."
He turns back around. "I'm right here, Amara." he says shakily, his trembling hands grazing my cheek.
I shake my head. "No, you're not. Not the Mason I know."
I take a deep breath in and wipe under my eyes, composing myself before I make him feel worse, before I have to go back to work and pretend that everything is fine. To help the ones I know how to.
"When you're ready to come back to me, Mason. To let me help you. Let me know."
And with that, I leave.
~
"And then?" she asks.
"And then I went back to work." I say, a tear slipping down my cheek.
She offers me a tissue, and I decline. "It's just so sudden. This, it came out of nowhere."
"No, it didn't." she replies.
"What?"
"It didn't... come out of nowhere, that is. There will have been a slow progression, little things that you tried to ignore. And now you cant ignore it anymore, because it's not just slowly drifting—it crashed down."
I think back, and remember the small incidents that I pushed to the back of my mind. The snapping, the bursts of anger over small things. Just not being himself.
"I can't lose him again, Jen. I can't do it. But I don't know how to be there without making things worse." I shake my head, the tears beginning to fall.
"I can't watch him become the person he's most scared of."