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Gary watched Pete's train leave, and stayed there on the sidewalk for a bit, long after he could no longer see the lights of the train. He lit up another cigarette, then climbed the stairs to the platform to wait for another train.
Why, he thought to himself.
Why couldn't I spend just one more minute with him in the diner?
Why didn't I walk up to the train platform with him? We were both getting on the same train.
Why did I say 'Be safe'?
Gary had no answers for himself, other than the same answer he'd always come to, Because this is the way I am. It felt like a cop-out to him, accepting his own actions as involuntary, and chalking it up to "just because". But Gary knew that his own mind was a place where no one wanted to go - least of all himself - and for him, self analysis was particularly dangerous. Even with his medications and therapy, Gary still felt like an animal wearing a human's clothes. The feeling was less pronounced than it had been in high school, and because of that, he was able to function in the world, with other people. Or, at the very least, understand why a person would want to function this way. But along with that semi-freedom, came another new feeling: self consciousness. Gary had always been aware of himself and his actions, but seldom if ever, cared what anyone thought about either. Until he met Peter Kowalski, that is.
Having a clearer mind had long ago helped Gary to understand that the way he had felt around Pete, was the way he was supposed to feel all the time. People generally expected him to act with some amount of compassion, and the few years after leaving the hospital when he had failed to do this, were the worst years of his life. Most people look the other way when a child or teenager does or says something inappropriate to a situation. When an adult does the same, it's not only acknowledged, it's emphasised.
When he had left the hospital, Gary had suddenly found himself in a place where people not only expected certain behaviour from him, they demanded it. Usually with terrible consequences if he refused. Sticking with his old ways of doing things worked for him, for a while, but soon Gary had come to the realisation that whatever he had been, whatever Bullworth and his parents had allowed him to become, was not something that could exist out in the real world. Through trial and error, numerous lost jobs and failed relationships both friendly and romantic, Gary was forced to accept something he'd known since the day he was expelled from Bullworth; he needed help. Not the "help" he had gotten from the other hospital, which was more like a temporary prison, but real help. And he was sure it would work this time, because he had actually wanted it to.
The train arrived, and snapped Gary back to the present. He stepped through the doors, and quickly found a seat. This particular train line was pretty empty at this time of night- or morning, Gary corrected himself, as he glanced at his cell phone and noticed the time. Settling into his seat for the ride, Gary wondered if Pete had made it home safely, and considered sending him a text message. Quickly deciding against that, and not really sure why, he settled for watching the buildings pass by through the train's windows.
When the train finally made it to his stop, Gary stepped off and lit a cigarette. Deciding that he wasn't going home, he headed for the small recording studio he and his band mates rented, where he spent the rest of the morning hours trying and failing to write new songs.