He swore. “I can’t believe we’re joking about this.”
“If we don’t joke, I’ll just cry,” I admitted, tears already starting to form. “So let’s joke until reality sets in… or until these drugs wear off.”
“Anything,” Tristan whispered. “Anything for you.” His eyes narrowed. “Is there something else? You look… upset, not that I blame you. Are you in pain? Do you need a nurse?” He started to stand, but I pulled him down.
“No.” I exhaled loudly. “I’m just curious about one thing. Do you really still think you’re capable of doing what he did?”
“No,” Tristan said quickly. “Do we all have darkness within us? Absolutely, but you can’t live in fear. You always have a choice, and I choose to continue to focus on taking medicine that I know will help me with my own struggles. Taylor… not only did he struggle with bi-polar from my father’s side, but his biological mother had severe mental issues. She was eventually hospitalized because she was unsafe to herself and others. But Lisa…” A nervous expression crossed his face as his eyebrows pinched together. “…I do take meds for bi-polar, you should know that. I was never diagnosed with what Taylor had. When my dad mentioned a bad seed, he was just trying to warn me away, trying to make me angry enough to drop it. I’m healthy, I’m fine. My medicine helps keep the highs and lows normal. It’s not like it’s a death sentence or anything, but I know, after everything with Taylor, it probably scares you. I’m… sorry.”
I gripped his hand and squeezed. “You’re sorry for actually taking medicine to help you? If I had cancer, I wouldn’t apologize for getting chemo, would I? If I had the flu and needed to take ibuprofen to help my fever, would you judge me?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Then why is this any different?”
“Because it’s close to home,” he whispered. “And I couldn’t live with myself if you were afraid of me… because of him.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said boldly. “Not anymore. And not of you. Not now, not ever.”
His head slowly rose as his eyes searched mine. “Promise me… promise me we’ll discuss things if I do something that reminds you of him. I can’t…” His voice cracked. “…I can’t lose you, Lisa.”
“Sorry.” I smiled. “But you’re kind of stuck with me, especially after offering to die and give me your lung and all that.”
He cupped my face and kissed my mouth softly. “You’re so brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave.” Our foreheads touched. “I just want to be in your arms.”
“Done.”
****
Tristan slept in the chair that night. Gabe had threatened to do the same, or worse yet, sleep on the floor, but I kicked him out. I needed time alone, time to breathe, time to be with Tristan.
I wasn’t sure why I was so calm. Maybe it was because everything was out in the open. When I closed my eyes, I still saw Taylor’s face. I still saw the blood. But instead of fear, it was just pity I felt. I felt sorry for him, sorry that he couldn’t live a normal life, sorry that he was sick, because everyone deserves a chance to live.
I truly believed, in that moment, that having a psychological illness was just as bad as being physically ill, maybe worse. When you’re physically ill, people can see what’s wrong; they can help you fix it. When something’s wrong inside the mind, all doctors can do is guess, and people can’t tell if you’re sick. They don’t believe you a lot of times, until they see the outward signs of your sickness. Maybe you’re walking aimlessly on the street talking to yourself, or you hurt someone you love. That type of sickness is harder to define, harder to fix, and scary, because in the end, the sickness is you.
That’s a tough pill to swallow. Knowing that what’s in your head might not be right — but not having any idea how to fix it.
My mind was going into overdrive, thinking about Taylor, what had led to his madness, what had led to his end.
Tristan stirred in the chair, and his head tilted back. I smiled at the sight. He was so beautiful. Moonlight lit up the side of his face, showing off his strong jaw, his perfect profile.
I was done.
Tired of waiting for life.
And I refused to be the type of person that held a grudge like Taylor had, the type of person that let madness consume me, or maybe even bitterness, revenge — they were all a type of poison, a type of sickness that if allowed in your body, would destroy you from the inside out.
“Tristan,” I whispered.
He jolted awake. “Are you in pain? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He moved to my bed, his hands caressing my face.
“I love you.”
He closed his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he bowed his head and kissed me on the forehead. “I love you too.”
“Dr. Blake.”