just_muse_me | 5.1.6.
5.1.6. “There are more pleasant things to do than beat up people.” - Muhammad Ali
Co-written with drcampbell | Follows THIS
Riley reached over and gently took the teaspoon from Lachlan’s fingers after he’d let his Scottish pal stir the milk into his tea over and over again for close to a minute. “I think it’s mixed, mate,” he said and met Lachlan’s eyes with a smile when the halted spoon drew him out of his reverie. Lachlan’s left cheek was bruised and swollen with a cut just under his eye that seemed to have come from a ring on the other guy’s finger. The minute Riley had handed the packet of Advil over, Lachlan had swallowed four of the pills but still seemed to be feeling groggy. “Are you going to talk to me now like you promised?”
Lachlan pushed the tea away without even touching it. He leaned back in the diner seat and looked out the window. Riley had suggested a coffee before heading back to the hospital, though Lachlan knew it was only his friend trying to give him an opening to offload about what had happened. Either way, Lachlan was going to have to tell Tara what happened. The minute she saw his face, she was going to know someone hit him. She was far from stupid and she knew him better than she knew herself. Telling her he walked into a door was never going to cut it and he just didn’t want to lie to her anymore. Not to mention Riley’s assumptions were correct; he had one fuck of a headache and he couldn’t be sure if it was the punch to the face or stress causing it anymore. It seemed anytime there was suggestions of risk to the baby, he flipped out before he could stop himself. The knowledge this was their only chance hung over him constantly like a black cloud. He didn’t know what he’d do if the baby died. He could hardly keep on an even keel now and the obstetrician had assured them the baby was doing just fine.
“It was just the last thing I needed to hear, aye? It wasnae like I havenae heard it all before, but right now, I just… I couldnae take it, Riley. Not now. It made me so fucking angry. I dinnae like feeling angry. I dinnae like losing control. But to insult Tara veiled in the suggestion again that the bairn isane mine… I just couldnae take it. I’m the bairn’s dad. It’s my only… my only…” He pressed he heels of his hands against his eyes with a roughly exhaled breath; a fierce attempt to halt himself crying.
Riley nudged the napkin dispenser closer to Lachlan’s hand. “It’s okay, mate,” he said quietly. “There’s hardly anyone here and I picked the back corner booth for a reason. If it’s any consolation, I’m contemplating how to make the bloke hurt extensively right now, even if you did already knock him out.”
When Lachlan took his hands away, it eyes were red and wet, though no tears were falling. He took one of the napkins just to have something to do with his hands and proceeded to shred it into small strands and drop them into a pile on the red placemat before him. “I’m tired,” he murmured. “And so angry that I just dinnae know how to cope with it. I thought I was doing okay, aye? I thought I was mostly handling it, but everything has been shoved back to the surface. The bairn’s doing well, you know. Tara’s staying strong, but I’m here barely hanging on to my insanity and walking around getting arrested for belting random arseholes in the face. Wilson suggested I could do with some grief counselling. I guess if he was a trauma surgeon, he’d be suggesting I need trauma counselling. I had so much of it in the early days but didnae think I needed it anymore. Do you think I do? Is your therapist helping you with the HIV stuff?”
Riley sighed and scratched at his temple. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I was getting nothing out of it. It’s an outlet, you know? It gets it all out of my head for awhile and she helps me with ways of slotting it all into more manageable places in my mind. Which I do think you might need right now, especially considering the anger inside you. I know you’re only angry because you yearn so badly for everything to just be right with the baby, and it’s just not. I get that on some level. I’d give anything to not be HIV Positive and there are times that it makes me so angry that it had to be me and I feel like there is nothing I can do but scream and hit something to take that feeling away. But really, it’s mostly me that makes the moves to cope with it. The therapist can only suggest what I can do to help and accept; I have to do the rest. And fuck, it’s not easy. You’d know. Sometimes it’s even too hard to get out of bed.”
“Aye,” Lachlan agreed in a small voice. “I just dinnae think I know what to do anymore to feel better. Everything feels so frightening and dark. I see ultrasound photos and it’s like I’m waiting for them to tell me the bairn is dead. I keep touching Tara’s stomach to check for kicking because I’m so sure I’m going to feel there one day and just feel nothing.”
Riley sipped his coffee and then put the mug down to warm his hands around it. “The last thing I want to do is sound cheesy and corny, but maybe you need to boost your positivity and optimism a little. Maybe packing the baby stuff up is just encouraging your dark thoughts? It might be time to start seeing the positive at the end of the tunnel rather than the scary what-ifs? My offer is still there to help you set up the baby’s nursery. Maybe you could go shopping for some baby furniture with Tara? Book into her Lamaze classes. Talk to the baby, sing to it. Start preparing for the baby as if they really are going to arrive in three months, not seeing the picture as just waiting for he or she to be hurt or at risk until they’re born.”
Lachlan was watching Riley and taking in every single word. He was choked up at just the thought of it all, needing to grab a napkin to wipe at his nose. “But if something does happen and all that’s…”
“I know,” Riley said softly, nodding a little. “It’ll probably be the hardest thing you ever have to do, but you’re going to be a dad, Lachlan. That little baby Tara is carrying is something you helped to create. A son or a daughter… probably your only one, and you’re letting the fear make you miss all the wonderful little things you might not ever get a chance to experience again. It’s not born yet, but it is living inside your wife. It has little fingers and little toes. It has a little nose and eyes. Do you really want to spend the first parts of your child’s life thinking he or she has a death sentence hanging over their head?”
“No,” Lachlan choked out with a sob and put his hands over his face. “God no.”
Riley leaned forward over the small diner table and rested his hand on Lachlan’s forearm. He took some napkins from the dispenser and eased them into Lachlan’s fingers. “Then why don’t we stop at the paint store on the way home and you can pick some samples for the baby’s nursery? We can slowly start to work on it once you admit to your worried wife what you’ve been up to and had some sleep?” he suggested.
Lachlan took his hands from his face and wiped at his eyes with the napkins. When he looked at Riley it was still with apprehension in his eyes and almost a plea that he’d need help to face this. “Aye,” he said in a tiny, tearful voice. “Aye, I really want to try.”
Riley smiled and squeezed his friends arm. “It’s settled then. Just no pink or blue. I don’t think either of us have enough luck to wager a guess like that,” he joked. “A wee one with your genes is liable to be born the opposite to whatever we pick just to be a cheeky shit.”
Lachlan managed a small smile. “An Irish-Scot bairn cannae be for the fainthearted,” he agreed and then put his hand over Riley’s, a tiny squeeze emphasising his thanks without needing to utter anymore words.
Tara Brennan-Campbell [doctortara], James Wilson [justwilson] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,457
Co-written with drcampbell | Follows THIS
Riley reached over and gently took the teaspoon from Lachlan’s fingers after he’d let his Scottish pal stir the milk into his tea over and over again for close to a minute. “I think it’s mixed, mate,” he said and met Lachlan’s eyes with a smile when the halted spoon drew him out of his reverie. Lachlan’s left cheek was bruised and swollen with a cut just under his eye that seemed to have come from a ring on the other guy’s finger. The minute Riley had handed the packet of Advil over, Lachlan had swallowed four of the pills but still seemed to be feeling groggy. “Are you going to talk to me now like you promised?”
Lachlan pushed the tea away without even touching it. He leaned back in the diner seat and looked out the window. Riley had suggested a coffee before heading back to the hospital, though Lachlan knew it was only his friend trying to give him an opening to offload about what had happened. Either way, Lachlan was going to have to tell Tara what happened. The minute she saw his face, she was going to know someone hit him. She was far from stupid and she knew him better than she knew herself. Telling her he walked into a door was never going to cut it and he just didn’t want to lie to her anymore. Not to mention Riley’s assumptions were correct; he had one fuck of a headache and he couldn’t be sure if it was the punch to the face or stress causing it anymore. It seemed anytime there was suggestions of risk to the baby, he flipped out before he could stop himself. The knowledge this was their only chance hung over him constantly like a black cloud. He didn’t know what he’d do if the baby died. He could hardly keep on an even keel now and the obstetrician had assured them the baby was doing just fine.
“It was just the last thing I needed to hear, aye? It wasnae like I havenae heard it all before, but right now, I just… I couldnae take it, Riley. Not now. It made me so fucking angry. I dinnae like feeling angry. I dinnae like losing control. But to insult Tara veiled in the suggestion again that the bairn isane mine… I just couldnae take it. I’m the bairn’s dad. It’s my only… my only…” He pressed he heels of his hands against his eyes with a roughly exhaled breath; a fierce attempt to halt himself crying.
Riley nudged the napkin dispenser closer to Lachlan’s hand. “It’s okay, mate,” he said quietly. “There’s hardly anyone here and I picked the back corner booth for a reason. If it’s any consolation, I’m contemplating how to make the bloke hurt extensively right now, even if you did already knock him out.”
When Lachlan took his hands away, it eyes were red and wet, though no tears were falling. He took one of the napkins just to have something to do with his hands and proceeded to shred it into small strands and drop them into a pile on the red placemat before him. “I’m tired,” he murmured. “And so angry that I just dinnae know how to cope with it. I thought I was doing okay, aye? I thought I was mostly handling it, but everything has been shoved back to the surface. The bairn’s doing well, you know. Tara’s staying strong, but I’m here barely hanging on to my insanity and walking around getting arrested for belting random arseholes in the face. Wilson suggested I could do with some grief counselling. I guess if he was a trauma surgeon, he’d be suggesting I need trauma counselling. I had so much of it in the early days but didnae think I needed it anymore. Do you think I do? Is your therapist helping you with the HIV stuff?”
Riley sighed and scratched at his temple. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I was getting nothing out of it. It’s an outlet, you know? It gets it all out of my head for awhile and she helps me with ways of slotting it all into more manageable places in my mind. Which I do think you might need right now, especially considering the anger inside you. I know you’re only angry because you yearn so badly for everything to just be right with the baby, and it’s just not. I get that on some level. I’d give anything to not be HIV Positive and there are times that it makes me so angry that it had to be me and I feel like there is nothing I can do but scream and hit something to take that feeling away. But really, it’s mostly me that makes the moves to cope with it. The therapist can only suggest what I can do to help and accept; I have to do the rest. And fuck, it’s not easy. You’d know. Sometimes it’s even too hard to get out of bed.”
“Aye,” Lachlan agreed in a small voice. “I just dinnae think I know what to do anymore to feel better. Everything feels so frightening and dark. I see ultrasound photos and it’s like I’m waiting for them to tell me the bairn is dead. I keep touching Tara’s stomach to check for kicking because I’m so sure I’m going to feel there one day and just feel nothing.”
Riley sipped his coffee and then put the mug down to warm his hands around it. “The last thing I want to do is sound cheesy and corny, but maybe you need to boost your positivity and optimism a little. Maybe packing the baby stuff up is just encouraging your dark thoughts? It might be time to start seeing the positive at the end of the tunnel rather than the scary what-ifs? My offer is still there to help you set up the baby’s nursery. Maybe you could go shopping for some baby furniture with Tara? Book into her Lamaze classes. Talk to the baby, sing to it. Start preparing for the baby as if they really are going to arrive in three months, not seeing the picture as just waiting for he or she to be hurt or at risk until they’re born.”
Lachlan was watching Riley and taking in every single word. He was choked up at just the thought of it all, needing to grab a napkin to wipe at his nose. “But if something does happen and all that’s…”
“I know,” Riley said softly, nodding a little. “It’ll probably be the hardest thing you ever have to do, but you’re going to be a dad, Lachlan. That little baby Tara is carrying is something you helped to create. A son or a daughter… probably your only one, and you’re letting the fear make you miss all the wonderful little things you might not ever get a chance to experience again. It’s not born yet, but it is living inside your wife. It has little fingers and little toes. It has a little nose and eyes. Do you really want to spend the first parts of your child’s life thinking he or she has a death sentence hanging over their head?”
“No,” Lachlan choked out with a sob and put his hands over his face. “God no.”
Riley leaned forward over the small diner table and rested his hand on Lachlan’s forearm. He took some napkins from the dispenser and eased them into Lachlan’s fingers. “Then why don’t we stop at the paint store on the way home and you can pick some samples for the baby’s nursery? We can slowly start to work on it once you admit to your worried wife what you’ve been up to and had some sleep?” he suggested.
Lachlan took his hands from his face and wiped at his eyes with the napkins. When he looked at Riley it was still with apprehension in his eyes and almost a plea that he’d need help to face this. “Aye,” he said in a tiny, tearful voice. “Aye, I really want to try.”
Riley smiled and squeezed his friends arm. “It’s settled then. Just no pink or blue. I don’t think either of us have enough luck to wager a guess like that,” he joked. “A wee one with your genes is liable to be born the opposite to whatever we pick just to be a cheeky shit.”
Lachlan managed a small smile. “An Irish-Scot bairn cannae be for the fainthearted,” he agreed and then put his hand over Riley’s, a tiny squeeze emphasising his thanks without needing to utter anymore words.
Tara Brennan-Campbell [doctortara], James Wilson [justwilson] referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,457