Chapter 23
"Why the fuck don't you work better?" I muttered, glaring at the bottle of pills. Anti-depressants were supposed to help you be less depressed, and I guess they did, but they weren't a magic fix. Arthur had been wallowing in a pit of despair for three days and it was rubbing off on me. He was in the shower and I tried to summon up some willpower to get out of bed and make coffee. It seemed too much like hard work. "Get up, Travis, you dick," I murmured. What good was I to Arthur like this?
I hadn't expected to get such a kick in the guts from my own issues right now. Since meeting Arthur, and especially since I talked to him about why I was like I was, things seemed better. I couldn't even remember the last time I wrote in my journal. I didn't seem to need it and hadn't even thought about it. Every moment I wasn't at work, I spent with Arthur.
Then one morning I woke up and wondered what the point to it all was. That was yesterday. I made myself do everything I usually did until Arthur left for work. He headed off every morning to do his Punch and Judy act, and God knew how he did it. When he returned, shoulders slumped and dragging his feet, I admired him for simply getting out and doing that no matter how he felt. I hadn't gone to work yesterday. I laid on the sofa, smoking and draining the half bottle of whiskey I had, which I knew would only make me feel worse.
I faked it through the evening and made something for us to eat. Arthur barely spoke so it was easy for me not to. I sat with him and watched TV until it was time to go to bed. Today, it was worse. I started counting to three. On three, I would get up and make coffee. By the time I'd counted four times, Arthur was out of the shower.
"Travis? You getting up?" He started to get dressed.
"Yeah. In a minute."
Arthur made coffee and stuck some bread in the toaster. I closed my eyes and listened to him lighting a cigarette, pouring coffee, and stirring in sugar. The bread popped out of the toaster and he spread butter on it, then bit into a slice. He shook pills out of two bottles and gulped them down.
"Here you go." He placed a mug and a plate on the cabinet next to me. I opened one eye and didn't move. Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and touched my shoulder. "Travis?"
"Mm." I closed my eye again as he stared at me, frowning.
"Shit," he said. "I should have noticed. I'm sorry. I was so wrapped up in how I feel. Did you even go to work yesterday?"
"No."
"Get up." He slid an arm under me and hauled me upright.
"Leave me alone," I muttered. All I wanted to do was bury myself in the bed covers and wait it out. Even talking used every ounce of energy I had.
"No, I won't. Travis, you are always here for me. The last few days have been shit. I still feel like shit and I didn't notice you. I've never seen you like this. You weren't even like this after you told me about Vietnam." He picked up my mug of coffee and held it in front of my face. "Drink this and eat your toast so you can have your pills."
I took the mug and sipped. "I don't know how you do it." I sighed.
"Do what?"
"Go to work. Do the kind of job you do when you feel like this."
"I always did. We never had any money. I still had to take care of Penny. I couldn't just stay in bed. I can't now, because people rely on me doing the shows and we still need the money. I can put on a happy face when I have to. It doesn't reflect on the inside." He took the mug from me and handed me a slice of toast. "Eat, or your pills will give you a bad stomach."
I ate. I wouldn't have let him refuse. He was still suffering, and yet he pushed it aside to help me.
"Please don't," Arthur whispered suddenly. "I know it's hard, but we'll make it, together." He brushed his fingertips across my cheek, and I realised with embarrassment, that tears were rolling down my face.
"Fuck's sake," I muttered. I pushed his hand away and scrubbed at my face. "I'll take a shower."
"You've seen me much worse," he reminded me. "Don't hide from me."
"I'm not." I was, and my discomfort over my pathetic display pushed me out of bed and into the bathroom. I closed the door and stayed in the shower almost as long as Arthur did when he was struggling. Eventually, the water ran cold and I had to get out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the door. I avoided his eyes as I slunk out of the room. I felt laid bare—like he could see inside me. I shouldn't have cared. Like he said, I'd seen him much worse, but it didn't make me feel any less ashamed.
"You didn't take your pills." Arthur pointed at two pills he'd taken out of the container and placed beside a cup of water. "Do you want me to stay home from work today?"
"You can't do that. People will be waiting for you."
"I can if you need me. Remember the day after Christmas? I had the worst day I'd had in a while and you stayed with me. Even though I didn't speak or do anything. You were just there."
"Did it help?"
"Not really. I mean, I appreciated that you just sat there all day with me, but I didn't feel any less bad."
"And having you here all day won't make me feel any less bad. Go to work, Arthur. I'm okay," I lied.
"You won't—" He paused. "Travis, you won't do anything, will you?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"You won't hurt yourself."
"No!" I snapped.
"Okay." He finished doing whatever he had to do, then kissed me and left.
I crawled back into bed, feeling like the worst piece of shit. I hadn't missed the pained look on his face when I barked at him. He was having a bad time, too, and I probably made it worse for him. I just wasn't used to having anyone else around when my depression got the better of me. Usually, I drank copious amounts of liquor and passed out. Then I'd wake feeling like death, probably throw up a lot, and drink some more. Eventually, I'd feel less bad—not better, but less bad.
Rather than drink, I found my journal and tried writing in it. It was slow going, and only a few words at a time appeared. I lost track of how long I sat there with the pen in my hand, but it was the middle of the afternoon by the time one page filled up. I read it over as if I was reading someone else's thoughts and found myself surprised by the outpouring of self-pity.
"What do I even have to be miserable about?" I wrote. "I have more than I ever had before. I am healthy (mostly), I have money, and I have Arthur. For the first time in my life I have someone who loves me, who I love." I stopped and lit a cigarette, then continued. "If he left me, I'd have a reason to feel like this. Maybe I should see a therapist again."
I put the pen down and closed the notebook. Okay, maybe not. I'd seen plenty of therapists before, and none of them were any help. I could only imagine what their notes about me said. Probably that I should be in a padded cell.
The door opened and Arthur came in. He slouched into the room, closed the door, then turned to face me with a fake smile.
"Don't." I shook my head. "Don't put on a happy face for me."
His smile vanished in an instant. He put his bag of puppets down, took off his jacket and shoes, and sat on the bed beside me. "How are you? You've been writing in your journal?" He eyed the notebook.
"Yeah. I haven't done that in a while. I was asking myself what I have to be so down about. I have more than I ever had before. I have you."
"You don't need a reason to be unhappy," Arthur said. "We just are sometimes. I was never happy before I met you. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. How can I feel so bad when I have so much? If I'm awake in the night and I can hear you breathing next to me; feel your arm around me. How can I still be sad? I guess it's how we're made."
"I guess. I love you, Arthur. Don't doubt that."
"I know." He smiled, a genuine one this time. "I love you, too."
The next day was better. The black cloud hanging over both of us dispersed. I worked nights for a while to make up for the few days I hadn't done anything. The rent was due and although I had enough to pay it, it would leave nothing over for anything else we might need.
We barely saw each other for the next week. Arthur would get home from work around four or five and we ate together, then I'd go out and drive all night. I returned around three or four in the morning and slipped int bed with him for a few hours. Then he'd get up and go to work. We exchanged a few kisses in greeting, but that was all. To anyone watching from the outside, it probably looked like we had drifted apart.
Not seeing him much helped me. Since we met, he'd relied on me so much. I didn't mind—not at all. I loved him and I would have done anything for him. But I didn't like being the one who needed someone. I'd always been a loner, and suddenly finding myself in a new life that I shared with someone twenty-four-seven was so different, sometimes I didn't know how to deal with it. Being apart from him most of the day reset my head in some way.
By the next weekend, I found myself sitting in my cab waiting for fares, thinking about him. My chest ached with missing him and I wondered if he was feeling the same way. I imagined him curled up in our bed alone, lying awake, wanting me. I knew he wasn't taking his sleeping pills. The bottle was untouched, and the dark circles under his eyes grew by the day.
I glanced at my watch. Three-thirty. It was Friday night and the city was still buzzing, but I'd had enough. The rent was paid, the fridge was full of groceries, and the stash of money we kept in the apartment had grown again. I drove home, parked behind the building, and headed up the stairs. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I let myself into the little apartment.
I undressed in the darkness. I knew Arthur was awake. He lay still, pretending, but his uneven breathing gave him away. I crawled under the bed covers, slid close to him, and rolled him over to face me. "I missed you."
He chuckled softly. "You saw me last night."
"For an hour while we ate dinner. I miss you. I've been thinking about you all night. I'm sorry I've been distant."
"You needed to work nights to earn more. I know that."
"I needed to get out of my own head."
"I know that, too." Arthur touched my face. "I missed you as well."
I pressed closer so he could feel my erection. He sighed and squirmed against me. He began to get hard inside his underwear. His breathing quickened, and he slid one leg over my hip.
"You want me?" I whispered.
"Yeah. Inside."
"Get these off." I flicked the waistband of his underwear, and while he took them off, I reached for the lube.
