"Ah yes. Our 'mutual handsome and indolent friend'!" Laszlo sneered.
"Is that what you think of me?" John dreadfully asked, so terrified of the answer his breath was suddenly cut off.
"No, that's what Sara thinks of you. And that's all you'll ever be to her!"
"Be careful, Laszlo. Or you'll die an old lonely man."
That's how his short evening with Laszlo had ended. The stubborn alienist had vehemently refused to tell what he had done to Sara and barely implied the illustrator was nothing to him. Again.
Why was John still helping or even hanging out with someone who keeps calling him 'useless' and keeps reminding him of his alcoholism? Because of their criminal investigation, yes. Everyone, even the head of the police relied on Laszlo's remarkable brain to catch the children killer. This monster had to be caught, no matter what, not even John's life or sanity. But God! Sometimes, John wondered why was he friend with such a cold man. It's like the alienist suddenly lost all capacity of diplomacy and compassion as soon as he wasn't with children. Was he even nice with all children? John wondered.
What time was it anyway? It was already night. He needed a drink. A strong drink. He had tried to stop and switch for the cigarette but… the hell with sobriety! Every time he argued with Laszlo –more than half of the time, that is, he felt like only a good pure whisky could relieve him. What's more, he had an urge to punch everything right now. Laszlo more than anyone else. But as he was barely capable of fighting, the cross illustrator decided to take his whisky in a speakeasy where wrestling and betting is still legal. Watching instead of acting will be quite enough to him.
Uh? What? Where was he? And… what was that horrible throbbing pain in his left eye? The hangover headache was here too but he was used to it. John tried to flutter his eyelids open. It was all gray. Women all dressed in white. A hospital? What… what was he… how had he come here? Who brought him here? Why? His thoughts were brutally interrupted by the sight of the last person he wanted to see.
"Ugh! You." John bitterly sighed.
"I'm glad to see you're still living." Laszlo enunciated.
"Please, tonight was terrible enough to me."
"You're welcome."
"I'm sorry?"
"Your gran struggled to overcome her fear of telephones to inform me you were here. Some good soul found you beaten up in a dark alley early this morning."
"And of course, that good soul wasn't you." John assumed.
"No, it wasn't."
"Then where does this cocky 'you're welcome' come from?" The hurt illustrator spat out.
"Well as you see, I've put my work on hold to check on you." The alienist explained.
"Pardon me not to kiss your boots, your Majesty. I was convinced I was nothing to you." John grumbled, avoiding Laszlo's insisting stare.
"What are you talking about?"
"Please, you think I'm nothing but a burden. I'm useless, my theories are always stupid, no matter if I almost die to get them, I'm such a loser I drink and sleep with anyone, I'll never find love anyway, my drawings are never good… I'm just good enough to look handsome and be your personal messenger."
"If you say so." Laszlo faintly shrugged his shoulders.
"I just say what you're thinking of me!" The frustrated reporter lost his patience.
"And it's not what you think about you?" The proud doctor retorted.
"So I am right. Maybe I'd have said 'thank you' if you hadn't come at all." John grumbled before he turned his back, ruffling through his bed sheets.
"So that's it? I come all the way here, delaying my work and the investigation and that's all you have to tell me?" Laszlo got on his high horses.
"I've never asked you to come!" His fed up friend almost screamed, looking back at him. "If your work is so important then bugger off and leave me to die. I'm sure that's what you secretly want."
"I secretly want you to die?" The alienist frowned his eyebrows.
That rather is the total opposite.
"If not caring about someone - a friend!- who puts his life in danger to bring you clues, never thanking him, calling him useless, constantly reminding him his worst memories and mocking his tendency to drink is not wanting him to die, then what is it?" John ranted.
"John, I needed to know about your and everyone else's worst feelings for the investigation! To catch our murderer! You know that!" Laszlo claimed.
"Yeah, cause everyone is a potential murderer except you."
"I'm no exception."
"Of course. Since you want me to die." The miserable reporter whined.
Laszlo sighed out of annoyance.
"Since you hurt Sara. You still won't tell me what you did to her?"
"You can ask her. I'm afraid I'm not proud enough of what I did to say it." The doctor simply told.
"Sorry if I don't cry over your fate." John scowled.
An awkward and heavy silent fell in the bedroom.
"You really think I don't care about you?" Laszlo couldn't help asking.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Indeed. Why shouldn't you?" The alienist agreed before he left the room.
He was about to go for the hospital's exit when he froze on the spot. He angrily huffed out.
He really was the champion of it, right? The champion of hurting his friends, then hurting them even more hoping they'll go away and so won't be hurt again. Why were they so stubborn? Especially John. Why was he still so benevolent, so kind, so willful to stick by Laszlo's side? Although the doctor had made everything to brush –well, rather punch- him away? John was too fragile and too carefree to keep on investigating on a children murderer! Or just to keep hanging out with him! Being by Laszlo's side meant constantly putting his life in danger! The black-eyed illustrator just had said so. The alienist feared for John's life because of his incapacity of self-defense and of distrusting strangers yet he also used this disadvantage to demoralize and chase him away. In vain. It just resulted in hurting him even more; strangely without getting him out.
What was Laszlo going to do, apologize? John would never believe him! It was easy with Cyrus, Mary and Stevie. Laszlo had never hit or abuse or talk down on them. They fully trusted and loved him. But with Sara and especially John? It was more impossible than to catch that invisible killer. Yet, his feet wouldn't go any further and his brain warned him that if he walked away, it'd be the last time he or anyone else would see John.
How many times did John have a hangover now? How worse had it already gotten? How many times had he got beaten up? How many times would John ruin his health and sanity before the worst happen? Would he even be currently in a bed and not in a coffin if no one had found him last night? How stupid Laszlo would have looked if John had been found dead a few hours after their argument?
The doctor slowly breathed in and out. Maybe John was right. Maybe, surely he'd die alone. So be it. It'd be safer for everyone he cared about. If only no one cared about him.
"Why do you push away those who care about you?" John once asked him.
"The question is not why I push you away, but why are you staying?" He'd replied.
Surely that was the most sincere thing Laszlo had ever said to John in a long time. He turned around and walked back to the bedroom.
You're not happy or safe with me, so why don't you go away? Must I kill you myself to be sure of it?
"Oh, won't you give me a break? I thought I could finally rest! Oh I get it. You didn't roast me enough today, is that it? You crave it like I crave booze?" John complained.
"John… I am sorry… if I ever… made you feel bad." Laszlo tried.
"If?" John bitterly chuckled. "Ah! Even now, your nerve is still the biggest huh?"
"Well then, sorry… for having made you feel bad." Laszlo modified his sentence.
"I'm in a hospital bed, after some corrupted jerk beat and almost shot my brains out, after I've tried to drown my problems down like I never did before, while I thought for once I could sober up… all this amongst a sordid case of a bloodthirsty children killer and I just feel 'bad'? You really see nothing beyond your own nose, do you?"
See? You don't believe me. Why do I bother apologizing? Why do you bother being friends with me? The trying to be nice doctor thought.
"Do you even know why I drink my ass off?" The reporter asked out of the blue.
"To forget Julia."
"She's why I've started to drink. Do you know why I keep on doing it?"
"I don't follow you, John." Laszlo sincerely answered.
"Ha. Maybe you should do it more often then. Wouldn't it be nice to switch places from time to time?" John sniggered.
"Get to the point, please."
"Oh come on! You keep gratuitously talking down on me, seeing me as a mere tool for your work, and as I was beginning to sober up I suddenly dive back into the whisky jar? Like last night? As if by pure chance?"
"What do you-?" Laszlo began to ask before he painfully realized.