Time to Move On

“Goodbye Luce.”

“Are you serious right now dude?” I questioned. “You asked me to stay.”

He bit his lip, blood oozing his mouth agaped again. “But you’re not doing what I want.” 

I scoffed. “You literally have no one else who’s gonna deal with your shit. You’re gonna be alone.” 

“I don’t care.”

I shook my head ludicrously. “Bye then.” I rolled the blood stained sleeves of my pullover up, taking out my phone to send a text. 

5 months later 

2am. My Converse scraping the floor with the redundant tiled pattern as I paced back and forth once again. Luce, you can do this, it’s time to-I shut my eyes and exhaled, more creases kneading their way up my lower lids. 

The endearing nurse who had always snuck him Chick-Fil-A from across the street wasn’t on call again until daybreak. He would be alone after I did this. And by alone, I meant not melodramatic self pity alone. He had no one else. 

“I can’t sleep. You might as well come in here,” His voice was heeding. 

It was nearly pitch black in his room, except for the fluorescent light coming from his Nintendo DS (he wasn’t allowed to go near his room). Though the aura remained the same, self deprecating and lacking in tenacity. I could barely see him, the scabs shaped like perpendicular lines on his chin were covered by his hands’ robust grip. He was thinking most likely, the one thing he was good at.

“Ryan, I think I’m kind of at my last rope here.” I choked out the words, much like I did a month ago when that grip was on my neck. 

The room went pitch black dark again as a small crash erupted. My eyes darted to the right side of his bed, his DS face down on those cold redundant titles. 

“You don’t just get up and leave!” 

“After the shit I’ve been through, I have every goddamn right too.” I retorted, my tone snarky, mimicking his. 

An explosion to my ear canals erupted as his lips widened and stayed stationary, the whole bed shaking in fight or flight. He shot up out of his bed, hands in balls. Darting for the call button, I barely made it as his concrete fingers attached themselves to the part of my arm that had the lingering purple contrasting from my otherwise light skin. 

The hero dressed in white and his sidekick dressed in mint arrived within the longest seconds ever elapsed. The needle was stuck in the sidekick's hand, and the hero had discouraged look glued upon his face. He took his stethoscope off, rushing to Ryan’s side, while the nurse restrained him enough to release the grip from my arm. 

“Ryan, I need you to breathe for me.” He said in the most patient yet impatient tone.

Ryan continued to struggle out of the nurse's arms, his teeth appearing to come into contact with his arm. 

“Dr. Charleston!” 

“Push one of haloperidol,” Dr. Charleston ordered, eyes gazing upon the clipboard. He flipped through what appeared to have been a myriad of pages, then looked up at me. “Luce, I thought you left days ago.”

“I did.” I sighed, sitting down in the chair next to the door that my body was way too familiar with sitting in.

Dr. Charleston groaned in frustration. “Did he text you again?” 

He didn’t even have to recognize my signature, pitiful solemn gaze to know my answer. Instead, he bent down, and sat on one of his knees. He patted me on the back sympathetically. 

“You’re a good kid, Luce. But this is clearly not benefiting you in any way. In fact, it would be damaging to anyone who was in your position.” 

I watched as Nurse Austin pulled the needle’s lengthy diameter out of Ryan’s IV. Ryan was passed out, though his front tooth guarded his lip. The mood of the room had shifted, like suddenly the darkness, sadisticity, and hostility had shifted back to the pitiful hopelessness that was normally present. 

“Haloperidol is in,” Nurse Austin said. 

“Great, Nurse Austin go ahead and take your break now. I need to talk to Luce here.” 

Nurse Austin nodding, trying to keep his excitement discreet as he exited the room. It seemed as though he was always assigned to Ryan when I was here. He was the most assertive nurse here, let alone one of the few that could actually restrain Ryan enough properly to calm him down. 

I yawned, my narrowed eyes daydreaming out the window. Ryan’s room was adjacent to the beautiful redwood that towered over the hospital. A blue jay was situating its nest, adjusting the sticks in a neurotic fashion. Then it left in the blink of an eye, as if it had all been an illusion. 

“I can’t just leave him.”

Dr. Charleston got up. “Haven’t you two shared your goodbyes on multiple occasions?”

“Yes, but then he reaches out and says he needs me. So I can’t.”

“Luce, you need to stop feeding into his cycle. It sure isn’t benefiting you and he is not gonna get better from you reinforcing it.”

I shot up out of my chair. “So you are saying that I’m the problem?”

“No, no, no. I am saying that by freeing yourself from this situation it’s not only going to help him in the long run but it will help you too.”

“I’m going to Princeton in the fall...fucking Princeton. I should be picking out things for my dorm, hanging out with my friends that care, coddling my mom but instead i'm spending nearly every waking moment with him.” I pointed at my longtime friends’ unconscious body; he snored in response. 

“So go. Do what you need to do. He’s gonna be fine.”

I watched Ryan sleep. He seemed almost tranquil on the surface, despite the fact that he was suffocating himself and everyone around him. 

Ryan turned over facing the left side of his bed, just as the bluejay returned. I watched it shuffle in and out of the pile of debris, before settling on a position. Its eyes fell shut and the bird stayed in its stagnant position. It was gonna be alright.