Apone didn't offer up any argument when I told him that I couldn't recertify in CPR at this time. In fact, he wished me luck in my therapy, and said I could talk to him anytime I wished.
I'm finding that the more people I talk to, the better they understand me. At the same time, there's still a lot they don't know, and I'm not sure I'm ready to open up yet.
That night was the first time since yesterday that Ferro talked to me, and I could tell Vasquez was a little confused. Ferro sat across from us at the dinner table, asking me how I was doing. I described, with minimal detail, about what happened in the gym, and in Ranelli's office.
The conversation didn't last very long, as Hudson strolled over and plopped down next to Ferro, a hunk of dry garlic bread clenched in his teeth. He seemed really happy about the fact that we were having chicken alfredo for dinner-until he took a bite and found it was whole-wheat linguine.
"Well, I got excited for nothing, man," he mumbled. "Between this and the garlic bread, I won't be able to shit for two days."
"We don't need to know," I replied.
It took Hudson a moment to realize Ferro was with us. He glanced at her and said, "Don't you usually sit on the other side of the table?"
"Is it wrong that I came to talk to Drake?" Ferro asked.
"No. What're you talking about?"
"What happened in the gym," I said.
Hudson paused his chewing. "Oh. Yeah, I . . . I wanted to do something, man, but Hicks said not to. Something about not wanting you to get spooked when you snapped out of it."
"Guess that makes sense," Ferro replied.
"Well, part of it was because Hicks wanted to talk to me and apologize," I said.
"Wait, Hicks apologized? I thought you had to apologize."
"We both apologized. Had to. Hicks made some mistakes, too."
"Ah." Ferro glanced down at her tray, then back up at me. "So, Drake, are you free Friday night?"
Hudson promptly spit his water all over the table, and I started choking on my garlic bread. Vasquez got behind me and started driving her fist into the upper part of my belly. The chunk of bread flew out, landing in a puddle of Hudson's water, creating a gross, wet mass. Coughing, I said, "What?! Friday night . . . I . . . me?! Oh, no. No, no, this's gotta be a joke."
"Not like it's a date. I think it was nice we got to talk yesterday, and maybe it'd be better that we get to know each other in a more relaxed place."
Hudson snorted. "That's a date, man." He grabbed a napkin to clean up his mess. "Admit it; you like Drake."
"As a friend."
"Nuh-uh, you wanna really get to know him, dontcha?"
"Hudson, shut the fuck up," Vasquez hissed.
"What? I'm just goofing around-ow! Don't kick me, man!"
"You're being a dick."
"Yeah, you're not involved with the decision-making process here, Hudson," I said. "Look . . . Ferro . . . we can go somewhere, if you want, but . . . just know that I'm not looking for any romantic relationship. I'm all for going as friends."
"That was my plan," Ferro said.
"OK. Sounds great. We'll get passes and go to a bar."
You can imagine Vasquez wasn't very happy. I reminded her that I wasn't going to announce to everyone that we were dating, and I wanted to improve my relationship with the rest of the unit. I concluded my argument by stripping down to my underwear.
"Considering your little outburst from a few nights ago, I don't know if I'm up for it," Vasquez said while getting in bed.
"Yes, you are. You're thinking, 'oh, wow, Drake's up for it, finally.'"
"Am I? You're a dumbass, sometimes." She still pulled the covers back for me. "You know, this isn't the only way to prove you love me, right?"
"I know," I replied. "Have I been faltering in saying 'I love you' every single day?"
"Actually, yes, you have. I didn't get one yesterday."
"Consider this to make up for it."
"You can try harder than that."
"I love you, too."
I've heard that you're really not supposed to let your mind wander mid-act, because your partner will notice. Vasquez is used to my mind wandering off at all hours of the day, so, she generally doesn't care if it goes off on its own stupid path while we're busy. Does it make for a poor finish? Sure, but neither of us care. Anyway, my mind had wandered off to Ferro and how I'm going to convey to her that I don't want a romantic relationship while not hinting at the fact that I'm actively in a romantic relationship. I could make up an elaborate story and get poor Miranda involved, since we "dated." On paper, it sounds like a good idea, but I know that could really hurt Miranda, and especially Vasquez, because people will talk.
Not to mention Hudson. I know I haven't really written about his little dilemma regarding Miranda, but it was something that crossed my mind that night. He did write back to her, as far as I know, and received a reply this morning. Judging by the letter, Miranda seems to be understanding of how Hudson feels, but she still wants to give it a shot with dating him, despite the fact that they are thousands of miles apart. My guess is that they're going to stick to letters for now, and I hope they can physically meet again in a few months once the holidays arrive and we all get a little more freedom.
When we were done, we lay next to each other, smiling. It's pretty rare to see Vasquez smile, so it makes me happy knowing I'm capable of making her happy. "That wasn't so bad," I said.
"No, it wasn't," Vasquez replied, moving closer to me. "You did good, Drake."
"Even though I was thinking about something else?"
"What were you thinking about?"
"Friday. Just . . . thinking about how I can convince Ferro that I'm not available and not in a relationship."
"If she gives you a question that can be answered with one or two words, keep it to one or two words. She doesn't need an entire book."
"I won't give her an entire book." I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "I save that for you."
"Lucky me."
"You are lucky."
"I'm really not, and I'm not having that conversation with you, sweetheart."
"I know, I know. You fucked up in life, just like me, and here we are, together. I meant that you're lucky to have me in your life, and I'm lucky to have you."
"Don't get too sappy, Drake. You know how I feel about sappy."
"You hate it so much, you love it."
"No, I just hate it."
"Then why do you like it when I put a little of my body wash in my clothes when you do the laundry? Why do you like it when I hug you really tight-like this-and rub the back of your head? Why do you like ever-so-subtly touching my fingertips when we're in the gym?"
"I shouldn't have to answer that." Vasquez smirked. "Why do you like it when I steal chocolate kisses from the lounge and put them on your smartgun? Why do you like it when I sneak into your bathroom and get your stuff all laid out for your shower?"
I snorted. "You haven't done that in awhile."
"I can start doing it again. If you do the same for me."
"Deal."
We were about to settle down to sleep when someone began knocking on the wall. "Psst! Hey, Vasquez, I got a pair of your socks in my laundry pile, man," Hudson whispered. "Want me to bring it over?"
"Why didn't you bring it over earlier, moron?" Vasquez replied.
"I just looked in my pile now."
"No. Hold on to it till morning."
"OK." Hudson knocked on the wall again. "How's it going, Drake?"
"Go the fuck to bed," I hissed. I then looked at Vasquez. "How'd he know I was in here?"
"I dunno. Maybe he heard us getting busy while he was in the shower."
"I didn't hear the shower, though."
"Your mind was off in la-la land, so what do you know?"
My dream last night went like this: I awoke on a cot that was very low to the ground, in a room that was really bright on one end, but dim where I was. There were no windows.
I got off the cot, and saw, of course, nightmare Hicks crouched nearby. His mouth was covered in blood, and he was panting. I looked over to see the body of what I assumed to be a doctor near a desk. It wasn't someone I knew, and his throat was completely torn out. Blood pooling beneath him had soaked his stark-white coat.
Hicks was watching me the whole time, blood and drool running from his mouth. He didn't make any move to attack me, so I turned to face him. "Why're you doing shit like this?" I asked.
I got no answer. I shouldn't expect an answer. Hicks continued to stared at me, and then approached me. I backed away, but he kept coming. He didn't quicken his pace when he saw my nervousness. He waited until I was backed against the wall, and then nudged my hand with his head. A universal sign from animals that it's safe to touch them. In my dream state, I accepted it, and patted his head, lightly caressing his hair, which was greasy from days without washing.
I had fallen for a trap. Hicks dug his claws in my side and tore open my belly. I collapsed to my knees, watching in shock as blood and what I assumed to be part of my intestines spilled from me. That hideous grin spread across Hicks's face. More saliva appeared at his lips, and he began slowly approaching me again.
Jolting up in bed, I threw off the covers to check myself, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw I was intact. Vasquez lifted her head, and groaned before grabbing the blanket. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nightmare, honey," I mumbled, rubbing my face. "I'm sorry."
She pulled me down, covering me with the blanket. "Shut up and go to sleep. It's two in the morning."
Four hours of sleep isn't enough for me. I tossed and turned for the remainder of the night, giving up around four. Vasquez was fast asleep, so I opened my nightstand to get my journal and write out the events of yesterday. I didn't think I was up for that long, but I eventually heard Apone going around and knocking on everyone's doors.
My lack of sleep was apparent throughout the day, but at least I got to spend the majority of that day with Ranelli. In fact, I told him about my dreams and how I couldn't sleep afterward; it wasn't because I was scared. I just couldn't get back to sleep.
"Insomnia is a fairly common symptom of mood disorders, as are frequent nightmares," Ranelli started. "However, you dreams involving Hicks are, as you've said, more than a bad dream. They are manifestations of your fears. I think you may be right when you said you believe this . . . version of Hicks is a physical representation of your post-traumatic stress, while also being your worst fear as to what could happen to Hicks as long as he's ill. The problem with dream theories is that they tend to focus on one object or scenario in a dream, and when you attempt to combine the meanings of different things you see, they come out to be nonsensical, and they don't take into account the context of the dream. Post-traumatic nightmares tend to be literal; they replay the event in your head at night. You seem to find yourself in different places, seeing different things before you relive the feeling of choking to death. I believe it's due to fear; the fear of being in an unfamiliar place, with no chance of help, when you start suffering a flashback. Not to mention, you've traveled, so it's not unlikely that things you've seen will pop up in your dreams."
"I think I knew that, but thanks for confirming it," I said. "How do I . . . get more sleep?"
"I imagine you've tried doing something that relaxes you?"
"Yes."
Ranelli thought for a moment. "Two things you can try. One is taking a mild sleep medication. The other is stopping by my office for tea."
"I can't do that to you every single day. I'll do the medication."
"Pity. I enjoy your company."
"Thanks, but you should be able to go home every night. That's a luxury I don't have, and probably never will."
"Don't think like that, Drake. You'll find a place to call home before you know it. Besides, I live on base with you, and if the unit is transferred before your treatment is finished, I go with you."
"I'm sorry, then. Believe me, you'll get tired of this place pretty quickly."
"My job is to help those who are tired of this place. Try again."
Friday came around rather quickly. I still wasn't sure about how I was going to conduct myself with Ferro, but I did know that people were going to ask questions when we got back from our . . . outing (I refuse to say date).
I'm not going to spend that much time describing what happened, mainly because nothing interesting happened and I told her a very, very basic summary of everything I've written in my journals, without divulging too much. I'll be honest, it wasn't a bad time; it was actually kinda fun, and it gave me a chance to give someone a fresh image of myself.
Ferro was open with me about her life. She told me flying had always been her thing and entered the Marines right out of high school. Becoming certified to fly in both air and space was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she had been in this unit for almost her entire career.
She told me this: "Believe it or not, I actually knew about Hicks's little problem. It was pretty obvious when he arrived that something was up. Apone told everyone the same thing: 'Just leave him alone for a few days.' Not hard to do. But, it didn't take long for him to warm up to everyone and establish himself as a leader. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure he was forcing it to think about something else."
"Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do," I said. "It's over now. We've made up and we're working to try and make our lives better."
"Well, that's good." Ferro looked out the window for a moment, then looked back at me. "What do you do in your downtime?"
"Sleep. Go to the gym when it's empty. Sit on the toilet for as long as I want."
"Yeah, we all do that. I mean, what do you for your mind and spirit and shit like that? We all got something we do to keep our brains from exploding."
"Mine's already exploded." I grinned, and tried to come up with something more serious. "I write. I keep a journal and write down everything that goes on during the day, and in my head. I also . . . I also cry. A lot. Mainly because I spend too much time in my head. I think a lot about what's going on and whether or not things'll get better for me. I worry about how I look to everyone. I worry about whether or not I'm treating everyone right. I worry about whether or not . . . I'm gonna go out into the world and find a place to call home. I worry and I don't take action-I can't take action-so I cry. I bottle up my emotions, and when no one has the balls to talk to me about what's bothering me, I take out my frustration on them. I've been doing that even before I developed PTSD."
"Hey, nothing wrong with being emotional, Drake. Just gotta know when the right time is to be emotional. On the battlefield ain't one of them."
"Hudson said the same thing."
"Hudson has his moments where a brain cell manages to charge up." Ferro smirked. "He's a good guy, though. Not sure where we'd be without him."
"You wouldn't want a relationship with him?"
"Not a romantic one. He's done some shit that make you think twice."
I frowned. "Like what?"
"About a year before you and Vasquez came, we were stationed in . . . no, we were on a colony. LV-510. You know, the place that's been up for decades and decades and they're a small city now? That colony. Yeah, so we were stationed there, and Hudson and a few of the guys went to a shady-looking diner. Me and Dietrich went along to talk and have a drink or two. An hour later, we see Hudson getting a lap dance. He was wasted. Completely wasted. Dietrich looks at me and says, 'I just won a lot of money,' and I replied, 'What for?' 'I made a bet with Wierzbowski that Hudson was gonna do something stupid.'"
I sighed. "Hudson told me he's done things he regrets, but he never went into details."
"I don't think he wants to. Still wanna be friends with him?"
"He's changed," I said. "He hasn't done anything of that sort since I've been here."
"Not that you know of. You're right, though. He has settled down over the last few years."
"I saved his life, and he's saved mine. I'm not gonna stop being friends with him just because of shit he did in the past. All that matters is how he's treated me."
"Not a bad attitude to have."
"Thanks. First time anyone's ever told me I have a good attitude."
Am I glad Ferro thinks I'm an OK guy? Yes. Am I glad that this could pave the way for me to be on better terms with everyone else? Yes. Am I going to share my deeper, darker thoughts with her? Absolutely not. It might be awhile before I do that.
I can sum up these last few days with one word: chaotic. My life changed, again, and actually for the better. I will admit that I'm glad I'm getting help. It's something I've needed for a long time, and for more reasons than just the fact that I'm suffering from PTSD. Starting therapy had a domino effect; I ended up learning more about Hicks's past. I ended up opening up a little to the others, and I tried to better my relationship with Hudson. I learned that it doesn't take that much for people to want to help you, but it's still just as easy to damage that bond.
I've traveled a lot of roads alone-that's what I'm used to-but there's a tiny part of me that wants somebody along for the ride.
Question: Is it better Drake gets treated alone? Or should someone (Hudson, Vasquez, or Hicks) be with him for added support?
Author's Note: I feel like this story is a bit of a mess. We hit major points for Drake, but they could've gone better. Part of it has to deal with the fact that I wasn't expecting to come home so soon. I found myself getting distracted throughout the process of writing this, and that's why many chapters were late and not sticking to the same schedule as before.
There is some good news, though; I'm going to be ghostwriting a children's novel based on a video game. I'm not giving up on the Drake series, but chapters might be published every two days instead of every other day. I love working on this, and don't want to quit, not if people are still enjoying it.
I'm still pondering the idea of doing short stories from the point of view of other characters, considering the one with Vasquez was fun to work on. How about Hudson? Or how about going into Hicks's past and writing about his issues?
Keep an eye out for the Christmas special. Happy reading - Cat.
