While everyone's lost, the battle is won.
It has been seventeen days since Robin Rice left Chicago. It feels like it's been much longer for him. Like months or years. His plane landed four hours ago. He wasn't alone at the time, but he is alone now, sitting in the Conrad basement common room with his journal in his lap. His phone rings. A sharp, quick tone. He answers it.
"Alright. Yeah. I'll be in tomorrow. ...I'm fine. No. I'm not in the middle of any- Yes. I have plenty. It's- I will use it if necessary, but only if necessary. I'll be in tomorrow. I know where it is. Fine." He rubs his forehead with his fingers, shuts the phone, and then settles himself down, again, with his journal which has caught up on all the entries that he's missed.
What happened exactly? What did he miss?
There's no one here to answer the questions for him, but anxiety has begun to spread in his chest, greater than it did on the ride home or the day that preceded it when he finally decided it was time to go. Now or never. And he did make a promise or he might be there still. Will anyone be able to tell? Does it matter? Will it always work? The stakes are higher now. Is it worth the risk? All of the worries that plagued him have temporarily been overshadowed by what existed in the journals.
An incident occurred... Ruvin's mind was damaged
I love you, and I'm not sure why. Please come back. I'm scared.
Ruvin. That was eleven days ago. Eleven fucking days for her to be confused and afraid and for him to not come when apparently she needed him although he'll never be able to understand why.
There are emotions in the pit of his chest. Guilt. Anger. Shock. Fear. Concern. There's heartbreak, too. For the last week, all emotion has felt far away like it exists around him, like he's observing it more than feeling it. The emotions that he's experiencing upon reading these entries are starting to hit too close to his heart this time. His fingers are trembling.
And then the recent entry from someone he didn't think to say goodbye to, because it shouldn't have mattered to her as much as it did, as much as it mattered to him.
and last time we spoke you were...well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
He rubs his face, again, and glances at the coffee table to look for a pen. A pen would be good. One step at a time. Pen. Deep breath. Everything within him is fine,or he can make it fine with one extra step. It's time to take care of the rest.
"Alright. Yeah. I'll be in tomorrow. ...I'm fine. No. I'm not in the middle of any- Yes. I have plenty. It's- I will use it if necessary, but only if necessary. I'll be in tomorrow. I know where it is. Fine." He rubs his forehead with his fingers, shuts the phone, and then settles himself down, again, with his journal which has caught up on all the entries that he's missed.
What happened exactly? What did he miss?
There's no one here to answer the questions for him, but anxiety has begun to spread in his chest, greater than it did on the ride home or the day that preceded it when he finally decided it was time to go. Now or never. And he did make a promise or he might be there still. Will anyone be able to tell? Does it matter? Will it always work? The stakes are higher now. Is it worth the risk? All of the worries that plagued him have temporarily been overshadowed by what existed in the journals.
An incident occurred... Ruvin's mind was damaged
I love you, and I'm not sure why. Please come back. I'm scared.
Ruvin. That was eleven days ago. Eleven fucking days for her to be confused and afraid and for him to not come when apparently she needed him although he'll never be able to understand why.
There are emotions in the pit of his chest. Guilt. Anger. Shock. Fear. Concern. There's heartbreak, too. For the last week, all emotion has felt far away like it exists around him, like he's observing it more than feeling it. The emotions that he's experiencing upon reading these entries are starting to hit too close to his heart this time. His fingers are trembling.
And then the recent entry from someone he didn't think to say goodbye to, because it shouldn't have mattered to her as much as it did, as much as it mattered to him.
and last time we spoke you were...well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
He rubs his face, again, and glances at the coffee table to look for a pen. A pen would be good. One step at a time. Pen. Deep breath. Everything within him is fine,or he can make it fine with one extra step. It's time to take care of the rest.