Crash
Page 27
“I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve to suck down the same oxygen as everyone else.”
Everything slammed to a screeching halt and I looked at the broken man standing in front of me.
“Jesus, Will! Have you been taking your medication?” I slipped from his arms and charged towards the bed, where his bag sat. I rifled through it and found two empty prescription bottles. A hollow feeling swallowed me as I held them in my hands.
“I dumped them in the toilet,” he admitted, crossing his arms.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I was numb—I couldn’t feel anything. Grief, remorse, guilt—they’re all normal, human emotions and I can’t just take a pill to shut everything out. I have to deal with it.”
Not again, I thought desperately. Images of Jessica lying in a pool of her own blood from her slashed wrists burned in my mind. “But suicide, Will—”
“I don’t want to kill myself,” he said sharply. “I just sometimes wish that I were dead. Don’t you?”
I shook my head violently. “No! Will, that is beyond fucked up. You need to forgive yourself and allow yourself to feel better. Making one mistake doesn’t mean that you deserve to be tortured forever.”
He smiled humorlessly. “One mistake,” he said blackly. “It was more like three.”
Three? What does that mean? Three people?
My body seized as he walked past me, his face suffused with so much hatred that for a moment I was terrified. He slammed the bathroom door shut as I sank on the bed, numb with shock.
* * *
Will found me on the terrace an hour later, drawing more sketches. He said nothing about what happened earlier, he only threw a backpack at me and told me that I was expected to hike with him.
My mind reeled with what he told me—and the things he hadn’t. I resolved myself to ask him what happened when we got back from hiking. He needs help. I doubt anyone knows what he's going through. I thought about calling Luke, but I knew that Will wouldn’t want anyone to know about his issues. From the tense look on his face, I knew that he regretted the meltdown in our hotel room.
I really understood why Luke warned me about him. He wasn't stable. He didn't take his medication; he was completely fucked up with guilt. Borderline suicidal. I already went through that with Jessica, and I knew that I didn't want to spend years trying to fix someone, but that didn't mean that I had no sympathy for him.
Will and I walked along the uneven path, saying little and quietly appreciating the spectacular scenery. Every so often I would glance to my right and just stop to gaze at the endless deep blue water that shifted into a vivid turquoise when it approached the shore. Combined with the bright green grape vine-covered hills and the colorful houses, it all looked like a highly colored, vivid dream. None of it seemed possible, and yet, I was here. I walked on the trails and observed it all with my eyes. We climbed high up the hill until our village was just a tiny handful of brightly colored boxes, shining like a beacon. Green, luscious vegetation surrounded our path; endless rows of grapes wound around the hills, reminding me of California. On the way up, a man-sized hole was cut in a chain-link fence, revealing a tiny wooden stand and a man crouched underneath. A crude wooden sign said, “Fresh Limoncello and Lemonade!”
Tired hikers stopped to buy small cups of fresh lemonade from the exuberant salesman behind the hole in the fence. The sun beating down on our backs made a cup of fresh lemonade sound very appealing, but I decided to try the limoncello instead. Cinque Terre was known for its lemon liquor and I still hadn’t tried it.
“Do you want to have some?"
He shook his head. “I don't drink."
Nevertheless, William entered the queue to buy my drink, refusing my offer to pay. He returned with a small glass of acid-yellow liquid and a plastic cup of lemonade for himself. He smiled as I took a sip. It was very sweet but refreshing. He laughed at me.
“What's so funny?"
“You're going to fall on your ass. That stuff is pretty strong."
I shrugged. “I don't feel anything." I took another swig of the almost sickly sweet beverage and smacked my lips.
“That's because you're standing still."
Sure enough, when I took a step and lurched upwards, I stumbled. My ears burned as William’s laughter rang out on the narrow path. It annoyed me, but it was so nice to see him smile that I didn't object. My mind swimming, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
I yelped as I collided with Will’s stationary body and would have fallen down if he hadn’t grabbed my arm.
“Sorry,” I gasped as I righted myself. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Lightweight,” he muttered. “Try not to kill us both, will you?”
I felt another wave of warm dizziness that had nothing to do with alcohol as he squeezed my arm. We continued up the trail and I drank the bottle of water to shake the warm sleepiness from my limbs. Gradually, the buzz from the limoncello melted away and we were rewarded with an incredible view of the next village, Vernazza. The pile of multicolored buildings sat directly on the beach below the green hills, wrapping around a tiny harbor where a half dozen boats rocked from the ocean waves.
We stood there for a while, taking pictures of the village and appreciating the view before we began the descent down.
Gradually the path became level. Ahead of us was a picnic table with a sign and a blue bucket hanging on a tree. A tabby cat sat on the table, licking himself. The sign was in Italian. William moved his lips soundlessly as he read the sign and his face darkened.
“What does it say?"
“It just says to feed the stray cats with the food in the bucket."
We stood in a small clearing in a forest area. Several yellow eyes blinked at me from hanging, low branches. A black cat watched us from the arm of a tree, another one scratched its claws on the bark of a tree, and yet another dashed from bush to bush. Another cat leapt on the table and meowed plaintively at us. Will outstretched his hand and the cat immediately bumped its head against his knuckles.
“Poor bastards,” he sighed.
On closer inspection, we saw that many of the cats had filthy, mite-infested ears. Some were limping badly, and others had sores in their mouths.
“I wish I could help them.”
Apparently, he had a soft spot for animals. I wanted to roll my eyes at the whole thing, but Will looked upset at the state of the animals.
“Well, why can’t you? Just hire people to trap the cats and bring them to a vet in town. It’s a huge waste of time, but it’s obviously important to you. I can’t wait to see the headlines, ‘Foreign Billionaire Saves Cats of Cinque Terre.’”
Everything slammed to a screeching halt and I looked at the broken man standing in front of me.
“Jesus, Will! Have you been taking your medication?” I slipped from his arms and charged towards the bed, where his bag sat. I rifled through it and found two empty prescription bottles. A hollow feeling swallowed me as I held them in my hands.
“I dumped them in the toilet,” he admitted, crossing his arms.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I was numb—I couldn’t feel anything. Grief, remorse, guilt—they’re all normal, human emotions and I can’t just take a pill to shut everything out. I have to deal with it.”
Not again, I thought desperately. Images of Jessica lying in a pool of her own blood from her slashed wrists burned in my mind. “But suicide, Will—”
“I don’t want to kill myself,” he said sharply. “I just sometimes wish that I were dead. Don’t you?”
I shook my head violently. “No! Will, that is beyond fucked up. You need to forgive yourself and allow yourself to feel better. Making one mistake doesn’t mean that you deserve to be tortured forever.”
He smiled humorlessly. “One mistake,” he said blackly. “It was more like three.”
Three? What does that mean? Three people?
My body seized as he walked past me, his face suffused with so much hatred that for a moment I was terrified. He slammed the bathroom door shut as I sank on the bed, numb with shock.
* * *
Will found me on the terrace an hour later, drawing more sketches. He said nothing about what happened earlier, he only threw a backpack at me and told me that I was expected to hike with him.
My mind reeled with what he told me—and the things he hadn’t. I resolved myself to ask him what happened when we got back from hiking. He needs help. I doubt anyone knows what he's going through. I thought about calling Luke, but I knew that Will wouldn’t want anyone to know about his issues. From the tense look on his face, I knew that he regretted the meltdown in our hotel room.
I really understood why Luke warned me about him. He wasn't stable. He didn't take his medication; he was completely fucked up with guilt. Borderline suicidal. I already went through that with Jessica, and I knew that I didn't want to spend years trying to fix someone, but that didn't mean that I had no sympathy for him.
Will and I walked along the uneven path, saying little and quietly appreciating the spectacular scenery. Every so often I would glance to my right and just stop to gaze at the endless deep blue water that shifted into a vivid turquoise when it approached the shore. Combined with the bright green grape vine-covered hills and the colorful houses, it all looked like a highly colored, vivid dream. None of it seemed possible, and yet, I was here. I walked on the trails and observed it all with my eyes. We climbed high up the hill until our village was just a tiny handful of brightly colored boxes, shining like a beacon. Green, luscious vegetation surrounded our path; endless rows of grapes wound around the hills, reminding me of California. On the way up, a man-sized hole was cut in a chain-link fence, revealing a tiny wooden stand and a man crouched underneath. A crude wooden sign said, “Fresh Limoncello and Lemonade!”
Tired hikers stopped to buy small cups of fresh lemonade from the exuberant salesman behind the hole in the fence. The sun beating down on our backs made a cup of fresh lemonade sound very appealing, but I decided to try the limoncello instead. Cinque Terre was known for its lemon liquor and I still hadn’t tried it.
“Do you want to have some?"
He shook his head. “I don't drink."
Nevertheless, William entered the queue to buy my drink, refusing my offer to pay. He returned with a small glass of acid-yellow liquid and a plastic cup of lemonade for himself. He smiled as I took a sip. It was very sweet but refreshing. He laughed at me.
“What's so funny?"
“You're going to fall on your ass. That stuff is pretty strong."
I shrugged. “I don't feel anything." I took another swig of the almost sickly sweet beverage and smacked my lips.
“That's because you're standing still."
Sure enough, when I took a step and lurched upwards, I stumbled. My ears burned as William’s laughter rang out on the narrow path. It annoyed me, but it was so nice to see him smile that I didn't object. My mind swimming, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
I yelped as I collided with Will’s stationary body and would have fallen down if he hadn’t grabbed my arm.
“Sorry,” I gasped as I righted myself. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Lightweight,” he muttered. “Try not to kill us both, will you?”
I felt another wave of warm dizziness that had nothing to do with alcohol as he squeezed my arm. We continued up the trail and I drank the bottle of water to shake the warm sleepiness from my limbs. Gradually, the buzz from the limoncello melted away and we were rewarded with an incredible view of the next village, Vernazza. The pile of multicolored buildings sat directly on the beach below the green hills, wrapping around a tiny harbor where a half dozen boats rocked from the ocean waves.
We stood there for a while, taking pictures of the village and appreciating the view before we began the descent down.
Gradually the path became level. Ahead of us was a picnic table with a sign and a blue bucket hanging on a tree. A tabby cat sat on the table, licking himself. The sign was in Italian. William moved his lips soundlessly as he read the sign and his face darkened.
“What does it say?"
“It just says to feed the stray cats with the food in the bucket."
We stood in a small clearing in a forest area. Several yellow eyes blinked at me from hanging, low branches. A black cat watched us from the arm of a tree, another one scratched its claws on the bark of a tree, and yet another dashed from bush to bush. Another cat leapt on the table and meowed plaintively at us. Will outstretched his hand and the cat immediately bumped its head against his knuckles.
“Poor bastards,” he sighed.
On closer inspection, we saw that many of the cats had filthy, mite-infested ears. Some were limping badly, and others had sores in their mouths.
“I wish I could help them.”
Apparently, he had a soft spot for animals. I wanted to roll my eyes at the whole thing, but Will looked upset at the state of the animals.
“Well, why can’t you? Just hire people to trap the cats and bring them to a vet in town. It’s a huge waste of time, but it’s obviously important to you. I can’t wait to see the headlines, ‘Foreign Billionaire Saves Cats of Cinque Terre.’”
