come pick me up (alo)
You can hardly hear the sirens over the rushing of blood in your ears. Then Nick’s calling and you’re going to a party. You feel numb. There’s a blank look in your eyes, but Nick doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it.
You retreat to a sofa in a mostly empty room. It’s quieter. You huddle in on yourself, and you should be more embarrassed when you start to cry. There’s no space for embarrassment. There’s too much everything else. Your head is a mess.
You press your hands to your eyes, covering your face. Mini puts a reluctant hand on your shoulder, a small gesture of comfort. You decide to go and see Rich. You need Rich. Rich will make this okay, and if he doesn’t, then he can look awkward while you cry, but at least you won’t have to be ashamed about it. He wouldn’t take the piss about something like this.
You stand outside Rich’s house throwing stones at the window and yelling until he appears. You’ve got your luggage; you’re ready to run. The old idea is more appealing than ever. Your eyes are red and you’re babbling, panic and misery.
Rich just laughs. He’s happy. He’s so happy and you feel guilty.
You’re pale and shaky and you think you might be crying again.
He invites you in. He’s watching you with concern and you want to shrug it off. You try to insist that you’re fine, that you don't want to interrupt. He’s with Grace.
He leaves you in the living room and you want to run but he’s taken your stuff with him. He knows, and he’s stopped you. You can’t breathe again. When Rich comes back, he calms you down, tells you to talk to him. He wants to know what’s happened, what’s so bad that you’re like this.
“My dad...” you start. You’re choking on sobs then. Rich covers his surprise well, wraps an arm around your shoulders and holds on, an anchor, his steady presence to your storm. It takes a while until you can manage to talk again. “He’s in hospital,” you sound so young, so scared, but nowhere near as young and scared as you feel.
Rich has control of the situation. Rich is telling you that everything will be okay, without actually saying the words. You feel safe with Rich taking charge.
“But Grace...” you say, thinking of the girl abandoned in his bed.
You smile when he calls you a twat. You smile, or you try to smile. It’s teasing, it’s fond, it’s what you need. Rich is what you need.
You start shaking in the taxi on the way to the hospital. Rich holds your hand. It helps.
When the taxi pulls up at the hospital, you don't want to get out, but you’re still holding his hand so you have to follow Rich. He leads you over to a bench near the entrance. Each step closer to the automatic door feels worse. You don't want to go in. Your heart’s pounding again. You don't want to know. You want to go back to Rich’s or get very, very drunk.
Rich suggests you’ll go inside after five minutes. You don't know how to tell him that you can’t, that you can’t go inside that building, that you can’t make yourself do it and please, please can he not make you?
“Rich,” you start, and you can hear the panic in your voice but there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t make it go away. “Rich, please.” You’re frantic.
He’s not letting you leave. He’s not letting you leave. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
He’s telling you to breathe and he’s telling you to take your time, but you don’t have time. “F-five m-min-minutes,” you gasp.
Rich reminds you of the importance of breathing. You’re glad he’s here to do that. You’re glad he’s here at all.
You get up when he does and you let him lead the way to the automatic door. You freeze as it slides open. “I can’t.” You’re trying to get away. It’s like Rich is rooted to the spot.
Then there’s a nurse. You stare at her until Rich starts talking, then you watch him. The nurse says something back. You can’t hear the words. Rich will tell you if it’s important. You follow Rich back to the bench. “I don't have to go in?”
The doctor’s come to talk to you instead. To you. You don't want Rich to leave you. You cling tighter to his hand. They won’t be able to pry him away. “Please don't leave.” Rich promises to stay.
You retreat to a sofa in a mostly empty room. It’s quieter. You huddle in on yourself, and you should be more embarrassed when you start to cry. There’s no space for embarrassment. There’s too much everything else. Your head is a mess.
You press your hands to your eyes, covering your face. Mini puts a reluctant hand on your shoulder, a small gesture of comfort. You decide to go and see Rich. You need Rich. Rich will make this okay, and if he doesn’t, then he can look awkward while you cry, but at least you won’t have to be ashamed about it. He wouldn’t take the piss about something like this.
You stand outside Rich’s house throwing stones at the window and yelling until he appears. You’ve got your luggage; you’re ready to run. The old idea is more appealing than ever. Your eyes are red and you’re babbling, panic and misery.
Rich just laughs. He’s happy. He’s so happy and you feel guilty.
You’re pale and shaky and you think you might be crying again.
He invites you in. He’s watching you with concern and you want to shrug it off. You try to insist that you’re fine, that you don't want to interrupt. He’s with Grace.
He leaves you in the living room and you want to run but he’s taken your stuff with him. He knows, and he’s stopped you. You can’t breathe again. When Rich comes back, he calms you down, tells you to talk to him. He wants to know what’s happened, what’s so bad that you’re like this.
“My dad...” you start. You’re choking on sobs then. Rich covers his surprise well, wraps an arm around your shoulders and holds on, an anchor, his steady presence to your storm. It takes a while until you can manage to talk again. “He’s in hospital,” you sound so young, so scared, but nowhere near as young and scared as you feel.
Rich has control of the situation. Rich is telling you that everything will be okay, without actually saying the words. You feel safe with Rich taking charge.
“But Grace...” you say, thinking of the girl abandoned in his bed.
You smile when he calls you a twat. You smile, or you try to smile. It’s teasing, it’s fond, it’s what you need. Rich is what you need.
You start shaking in the taxi on the way to the hospital. Rich holds your hand. It helps.
When the taxi pulls up at the hospital, you don't want to get out, but you’re still holding his hand so you have to follow Rich. He leads you over to a bench near the entrance. Each step closer to the automatic door feels worse. You don't want to go in. Your heart’s pounding again. You don't want to know. You want to go back to Rich’s or get very, very drunk.
Rich suggests you’ll go inside after five minutes. You don't know how to tell him that you can’t, that you can’t go inside that building, that you can’t make yourself do it and please, please can he not make you?
“Rich,” you start, and you can hear the panic in your voice but there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t make it go away. “Rich, please.” You’re frantic.
He’s not letting you leave. He’s not letting you leave. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
He’s telling you to breathe and he’s telling you to take your time, but you don’t have time. “F-five m-min-minutes,” you gasp.
Rich reminds you of the importance of breathing. You’re glad he’s here to do that. You’re glad he’s here at all.
You get up when he does and you let him lead the way to the automatic door. You freeze as it slides open. “I can’t.” You’re trying to get away. It’s like Rich is rooted to the spot.
Then there’s a nurse. You stare at her until Rich starts talking, then you watch him. The nurse says something back. You can’t hear the words. Rich will tell you if it’s important. You follow Rich back to the bench. “I don't have to go in?”
The doctor’s come to talk to you instead. To you. You don't want Rich to leave you. You cling tighter to his hand. They won’t be able to pry him away. “Please don't leave.” Rich promises to stay.