Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, everyone. Plushie and I have both been kinda busy. Hopefully we'll have a bit more time now since I'm out of school. And congrats to Plushie on her achievement!
Chapter 21: Therapy
Micky sat in his wheelchair in the middle of the room; there were 3 total other chairs arranged in a circle with a space left for Peter's wheelchair. So far he was alone and could only think about how he'd ended up here. He knew guilt played a major factor in how he'd ended up here, but there was more to it than that, he just wasn't sure what. Maybe this therapy session would help him figure it out. He was scared and didn't really want to talk about his feelings with his friends; guys didn't do that kind of stuff. But if he couldn't trust them with his feelings, he couldn't trust anyone. After a few minutes of waiting, the door opened and Lea, his therapist, came in with his three best friends; Davy pushing Peter's wheelchair.
"Have a seat, gentlemen," Lea said. Mike smiled and sat down next to Davy after he parked Peter's chair next to Micky. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," Peter said. "Whatever we can do to help Micky."
"This is going to be for all of you," Lea said. "Not just him. You were all involved in the accident and traumatizing incidents like that always come with some problems."
"Of course," Mike said nodding in agreement. "So where do we start?"
"Let's start by discussing the rules in here," Lea started. "First off, no interrupting. Everyone will get a turn to say what they want. Second, you have to let that person speak. And no arguing. No yelling. If you get upset, take a deep breath and think about what you want to say before you say it. Is that clear to everyone?"
"Sure," Davy answered as everyone else nodded. Micky was used to these rules already in the group therapy sessions he'd had here, even though he'd never taken part in any of them.
"Good; first I want to talk about the events leading up to the accident," Lea said. "Micky has told me that he feels guilty for it, so I'd like to start by dealing with that."
"I don't really remember it," Mike admitted.
"Of course not," she answered. "Davy?"
"Well, I remember it being rainy," Davy said. "I don't remember much either. But the car itself wasn't working very well. The top to the convertible was broken and the rain was starting to leak into the car. Micky tried to fix it, but the top blew off. I saw lights and that was it. Woke up on the ground with Micky hovering over me."
"Right," Peter agreed. "There was another car. A drunk driver."
"How did you feel when you woke up, Davy?" Lea asked.
"A lot of pain," Davy answered.
"Other than that," Lea said. "Emotionally. How did you feel?"
"Terrified," Davy answered. "I had no idea what was going on."
"Did you feel anything else?" Lea pressed. "When you did realize what was going on."
"No, just the terror that my friends were hurt," Davy answered.
"You felt no anger?" Le prompted.
"Not really," Davy answered.
"What about you, Peter?" Lea asked.
"I woke up in the hospital," Peter answered. "I didn't really feel much other than fear."
"You felt no anger?" Lea asked.
"No," Peter answered. "I rarely ever feel angry at anything."
"Mike?" Lea asked.
"I was angry at the situation," Mike answered.
"And Micky?" Lea asked. "Tell me exactly what you felt when you woke up after the accident?"
"I was scared," Micky answered. He didn't really want to go back to that day, but he figured he'd have to if he was going to get any better. "I didn't know what happened at first either. When I looked around and saw Davy, but I didn't see Mike or Peter. Then I got even more terrified when I saw Mike, but didn't see Peter or the car."
"But you found the car?" Lea said. "You went over to it to save your friend. Talk about that."
"What do you want me to say?" Micky asked.
"You were scared when you saw Peter, right?" Lea asked. "You told me that before. And yet you dove right in and crawled into the car to save his life. Why?"
"I had to," Micky answered. "If I didn't, he would have died."
"But you put your own life at risk in the process," Lea said. "Was that even going through your mind? How dangerous it was for you to do what you did?"
"Not really," Micky answered. "The only thing I thought about was getting Peter out."
"So you didn't feel guilty then?" Lea asked.
"I guess not," Micky said. "I didn't have time to feel guilty, really."
"So when did you first feel guilty?" Lea asked.
"When I woke up in the hospital, I guess," Micky answered.
"Micky, that's-" Peter started.
"Please, let him speak," Lea said. "You felt that the accident was your fault because you were messing with the top of the convertible, right? Even though a drunk driver hit you? Explain that a little more."
"I don't know," Micky said. "I just feel like Mike would have seen the stop sign if he hadn't been yelling at me. He would have stopped and the driver would have passed us."
"And hit someone else?" Davy suggested.
"Please, wait your turn," Lea said.
"Can I say something?" Peter asked, but he didn't wait for Lea to answer. "I've been silent for far too long. I stayed silent because I didn't want to start a fight, but we ended up fighting anyway. So I want to finally speak. Micky, I don't think Mike would have seen the stop sign no matter what you'd been doing. The windshield was almost completely obscured. Even I couldn't see anything. Micky, the accident wasn't your fault. It was dark and the windshield was covered in rain. We couldn't see anything, let alone a darkened and covered stop sign. You shouldn't feel guilty. If anything, you should feel the opposite and I should feel guilty. Lea's right. You risked your life to save my life. You could have died inside that car, but you didn't care."
"Peter, I didn't see much of a choice there," Micky said.
"I know," Peter said. "And that's why I don't feel that guilty for it. I feel kind of guilty, of course, because I think its only natural since you did get even more injured saving me; you broke your ribs in trying to get me out. You burned your leg. I should feel guilty for that. But I know you did it because you love me. You love all of us. And that's all that matters to me."
"I...I don't know what to say," Micky said.
"We couldn't see anything in the night," Davy said. "Even after the accident. We couldn't see through the rain. That's why it was so hard to see Mike at first. Micky, Mike couldn't have seen the stop sign no matter what the circumstance. It was too dark and too rainy. You didn't contribute to the accident any more than the rest of us. It was that drunk. It was his fault. Please believe that, Micky. Please."
"I…" Micky trailed off before falling silent. His mind brought himself back to that night. Sure enough, he remembered just how dark and rainy it was. How hard it was to see. How impossible it would have been for Mike to see the stop sign. There really was no reason to feel guilty.
"Micky?" Lea prompted.
"I'm sorry," Micky said. "I was stupid."
"No, you weren't stupid," Mike said.
"Guilt is a normal human emotion," Lea said. "You just have to learn to deal with it. How did you deal with it, Micky? Did you figure that out? What the real reason was for taking the pills?"
"I took them to escape," Micky answered. "I didn't want to face my friends. I didn't want to face what I'd done to them. I couldn't. It hurt. So I worked. And that hurt my ribs, so it really did start with just pain relieving. But it turned into more than that. It turned into a way to take the guilt away; the pain of seeing my friends so...so crippled."
"Maybe you shouldn't think of them that way," Lea said. "Look at how they've been improving. They're getting better. Maybe look at it this way: you should want to be with them to watch and help them get better."
"Yeah," Micky said a little lost in thought.
"We can cover that stuff later," Lea said. "Why don't we move on. Peter, you mentioned there was a fight. What happened there?" Micky didn't remember most of the fight, so he listened to Peter talk about what happened. It stung a little when Peter said Davy accused Micky of being selfish and when he said they had screamed and yelled at each other.
"I've never heard either of them like that before," Peter said. "I stayed out of it because I was scared."
"Did you agree with Davy?" Lea asked. "Do you think Micky was being selfish?" Peter didn't answer right away. He looked down at his hands and started wringing them together.
"It's ok, Pete," Micky said. "Tell the truth. That's why we're here, right?"
"I do agree with him," Peter finally said. "I think you were being selfish. And with what you just said about leaving because you didn't want to see us hurt. But what you should have done was stay home and help take care of Mike and I. Instead you put it all on Davy. And that wasn't very fair to him." Again, Micky was at a loss for words. He didn't really know what to say.
"I agree," Mike offered. "But I don't think I did much to help the situation. I sort of withdrew into my own little world. I wanted to be alone. I should have been a little more helpful, too."
"I think that's understandable considering your situation, Mike," Lea said. "But acknowledging that is the first step to fixing the problem. Davy, do you have anything you want to say?"
"I shouldn't have yelled the way I did," Davy said. "I just snapped. I felt so much pressure on me and I was so worried and scared for Micky. I just snapped."
"I understand," Lea said. "Micky, what do you have to say to them?"
"I don't really know," Micky answered starting to feel tears welling up in his eyes. "You guys are right about everything. I'm sorry doesn't seem like it's good enough. I should have been there for all of you, but I wasn't. I ran away. And what I said to you, Davy...as you took me to the hospital...I'm so sorry. I didn't really mean it."
"It's ok, Micky," Davy said crossing over to hug him. "I think we all forgive each other." Micky felt the warmth fill him with Davy's hug. Peter rolled over and wrapped his arms around Micky as well. Even Mike, who rarely showed much emotion, walked over and hugged them. Micky finally felt happy. For the first time since before the accident, he finally felt happy. And that he was on the road to recovery.
Peter frowned in concentration as he did his physical exercises. Debi had driven him to the doctor's office where his physical therapy was held and dropped him off for the session, and as he worked, Peter found his thoughts drifting until he had completely tuned out his therapist. He was thinking about the group session he'd had with the others that morning. He had felt anxious at first, not sure what was going to happen. Then when it actually came time to start, he'd found himself… relaxed. Truly, for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he was safe. All four of them were together, talking things out. No secrets, no yelling, no accusations. Finally, Davy and Micky had been able to patch things up, and Peter had been able to say some of the things he'd been feeling.
So why did he still feel so dead inside? He felt as if… as if nothing mattered. Stop signs, rain, pills, wheelchairs. Desk jobs and nurses and closets. Therapy sessions, hospital visits, flashing red lights and the lingering taste of coffee on his lips. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. At the end of the day, he would fall asleep and forget for a few hours, and then he would wake up and begin living the day the same as the previous one. He was, just like Micky said, crippled.
He knew Micky hadn't been talking about him; he knew Micky had been talking about all of them, about how he felt like he had failed them. But still. That's what Peter was now. And even though he would probably regain most of the use of his legs, there was always a chance that he would always have a limp, always walk with a gait, always have to use a crutch… He didn't want to think about it.
And yet, here he was, unable to think about anything else. He was so relieved to have Micky back, and Davy finally relaxing a bit, and Mike slowly realizing he cared about them… It made Peter overjoyed. But at the same time, he felt overwhelming fear about the future, and a deep sense of dread about what might happen, and below that, a strange feeling he couldn't identify. It was like a big black hole in his stomach, sucking all the air out of him until he couldn't feel anything at all. And it scared him. He didn't understand it. He just wished… he wished that this just hadn't happened in the first place. He didn't wish that Mike had seen the stop sign, he didn't wish that Micky had left the top alone, he didn't wish that the accident had been averted… he wished that none of this, not a single thing, had happened. Maybe they could have skipped out on the gig entirely. Maybe they could have gone into a different line of work. Maybe… Maybe if he hadn't even moved to California in the first place…
No. Never. He would give the world for his friends… but if they had never been his friends in the first place, he could keep the world, and lose some of this heartache as well. But why did his heart ache? What could possibly be making him feel this way? Everything was finally looking up. Why, then, did he feel like he was empty?
"Peter?" Peter looked up to where his physical therapist was looking at him questioningly. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Peter blinked, having been interrupted mid-thought. "...Yes," he said after a moment. "Yes, I'm fine. Just got distracted there."
The therapist seemed to gauge Peter's answer, then nodded. "Alright then," she said. "Let's get back to this then…"
As they got back to the exercise, Peter tried to focus, but it wasn't long before his mind began drifting again.
Maybe the problem wasn't that he was worried about losing his friends. Maybe he was just worked up over the whole thing with Micky and the pills. What had made Micky so dependant on the pills anyway? Aside from feeling guilt about the accident, Micky had tried to hide from his own feelings by taking the medicine to numb the pain. At least, that's what Peter got from that part of the session. But it wasn't Micky's fault. So why had they allowed him to go on thinking it was his fault for so long? Maybe… Maybe if Peter had spoken up at the beginning, none of this would have happened. Not "none of this" being the accident, or Micky's injuries… But Micky having to stay in a rehabilitation center. Could that have been avoided if Peter had spoken up?
Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe Peter was feeling guilty now too. Was that this feeling in the pit of his stomach? Was that this strange loneliness he felt? Somehow, guilt hadn't ever felt this strong before.
Peter sighed involuntarily, noticing as the nurse narrowed her eyes in thought. He blinked and started putting more effort into the exercise. His heart just wasn't in it today, he guessed. But he'd been feeling like that more and more as time went on. He didn't feel like sleeping, he didn't feel like eating, he didn't feel like doing much of anything. He was very careful to eat regularly and go to bed on time, he didn't want to worry the others, and he didn't really have much say in the matter anyway. But the food all tasted bland and hard to swallow, and more often than not, he found himself only pretending to be asleep. Maybe he did have a problem. Maybe he should tell someone.
But he was already so much of a bother as it was. He had to be helped to do everything. He couldn't even get out of his own bed without help, although he was making progress. The progress was just all too slow! His friends were going through so much, and he was dead weight.
That was the feeling, he suddenly realized. He felt like dead weight. He wasn't living. He was breathing, yes. He was thinking and talking and his heart was beating. But he felt dead. And he felt so heavy. He felt like he- and especially his legs- were made of lead. Sometimes he felt so heavy he imagined he could fall through the floor, him and that accursed wheelchair. And then his friends could go on, better off without him. Oh, he knew they would miss him. He knew that they needed him just as much as he needed them. That's what he wished had never happened. If he had just never met them in the first place, none of them would be feeling the way they did. Davy wouldn't have to take care of him. Mike wouldn't have to feel bad about not remembering him. And Micky… Micky wouldn't be in rehab, driven to addiction by feelings of guilt over a situation that would have stopped at the intersection, instead of burning at the foot of the hill.
But he had moved here. He had met them. And the crash had been real. There was no going back and changing it, there was no forgetting it had happened. This was his life now. If only he could get used to it.