Chapter 9: Drown
Standing in the elevator, I took calming breaths to help myself stay relaxed. I didn't know why I was making such a big deal of this. All I needed to do was talk about what happened. Manuel beat me up. That's it. Sucked, but was no big deal. It's not like it was the first time, anyways.
God, I wish it really was that simple, but the hammering of my heart and the nails cutting into my right palm said otherwise.
Cálmate, pendejo!
I fidgeted with my left jacket sleeve, hating how it clashed with my cast. I hadn't dressed to my usual standards, but I still made sure to dress nicely with dress pants, a polo, and jacket. I had showered, shaved, and even gelled my hair. No need for anyone to think I was greatly affected by what happened.
It'd just been a fight between two men…a fight I'd embarrassedly lost, but just a fight. Who cares that it was my padre.
My phone went off as I exited the elevator, and I froze when I noticed it was Mami. Swallowing nervously, I wondered what I should do. This was her first attempt at contacting me since the incident. What could she want?
To apologize?
Scold?
Beg?
I resisted the urge to gnaw on my bottom lip as I settled for answering the phone. My brain told me I'd regret answering, but my heart told me I'd regret not answering.
"Hola, Mami," I greeted cautiously.
"Rafi, how are you, papito?" she asked in genuine concern.
My muscles relaxed as I replied, "I'm fine. How are you?"
Her breath was shaky before she answered, "I-I'm not doing well. Tu papi was arrested after…they're charging him with felony assault, and I couldn't afford his bail."
I said nothing in response, knowing that saying, "I'm sorry," would be a lie.
"What do you want?" I questioned warily.
"Look, mijo, I'm so sorry for about what I did," she apologized remorsefully. "I never should have slapped you no matter how angry I was. I love you so much, Rafael, you must know that."
A lump settled in my throat as I nodded my head. Knowing she couldn't see it, I cleared my throat and told her, "I love you too, Mami, y está bien. Ya sé que nunca lo volverás a hacer."
"Sï, I'll never do it again," she quickly agreed, sounding relieved by my understanding.
I too was relieved by her apology, especially since I could hear the sincerity in her voice. She truly was sorry, and I knew she loved me. I sported a small smile as this conversation was going better than I anticipated.
My good mood was ruined, though, at her next words.
"I need your help. I can't afford to get Manny out of jail, and Mr. Buchanan says he won't be his lawyer for the assault charge," she informed me rapidly, knowing I wouldn't like what she was asking me.
"Could you please help?" she pleaded, her voice thick with tears. "I know Manny hurt you, and lo siento mucho, Rafi, but you know how your papi is. He was hurt by what you said in court, so he lost his temper. Besides, he said you threw the first punch, so you can't blame him for fighting back."
I felt both hurt and anger flood through me and had to fight the urge to snap.
How could she blame me?
I had thrown the first punch, though.
How could she ask this of me?
What didn't I just give in to her? What harm would it do to me? It'd make her happy.
It's not my job to make her happy! Manuel is a monster, and I owe him nothing.
"I won't help him," I spoke firmly. "Right now, I'm at the station getting ready to give my statement."
"How can you do this?" Mami asked in bewilderment. "I know what he did was wrong, but he doesn't deserve to go to jail for this. He'll apologize"—
"Manuel has never apologized for anything in his life, and I guarantee he won't apologize for beating me," I retorted scathingly, anger finally getting the better of me.
"Rafael," she began chidingly, and I simply hung up, gripping the phone tightly in anger, hurt, and renewed betrayal.
"Barba," a voice called, "you alright?"
I turned to see Fin giving me a look of concern. I didn't want to imagine what he was thinking, so I forced my expression to relax as I nodded. I didn't bother with an explanation as I walked over towards him. I could tell he was assessing my state, and seemingly satisfied, graced me with his crooked grin.
"Liv told us you were coming in to give your statement," he remarked, an undercurrent of sympathy in his tone.
"Better soon than later," I returned dryly.
He simply nodded in agreement before leading me into the conference room where Olivia, Carisi, and Rollins were already waiting.
"You need the whole team to interview on an assault case?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course not," Liv immediately responded, giving me a kind smile. "Carisi will be conducting your interview…if that's okay?" she tacked on uncertainly.
I thought the question over, wondering who this conversation would be easiest with. Honestly, none of them. Why didn't Olivia want to interview me, I then wondered curiously. Head already aching, I stopped thinking and replied, "That's fine."
She nodded before coming over, patting me on the shoulder and then leaving. Rollins greeted me with a smile, telling me it was good to see me before following Fin out and closing the door.
Letting out a sigh, I sat myself in one of the chairs, Carisi looking indecisive before seating himself across from me. He looked uncomfortable, which for some reason caused me amusement.
"Relax, Carisi, you're freaking me out. I haven't seen you this quiet with me since…never," I drawled, and he chuckled, relaxing somewhat before turning suddenly turning professional. Before he began, however, a question suddenly occurred to me.
"How did you guys land this case? It's not exactly under your purview," I stated curiously.
"Barba, are you serious?" the detective asked disbelievingly. "You're one of us, so of course we took the case. Nobody hurts one of our own and gets away with it," he declared strongly, and I couldn't help but smile at that, warmth spreading through me. What a difference from my own mother's reaction.
"Thank you," I felt the need to say. "Now, let's get this over with."
"Right, so run me through what happened," he said, pen at the ready to write down my recount.
I hated that there would be a record of this, available for anyone to pull up.
"After my testimony, I went to the restroom," I began, keeping my voice even, "and as I was drying my hands, Manuel stepped in. I didn't notice until later, but he had locked the door. He was angry over what I'd said in court, appalled at my gall. Called me a coward, traitor, disgrace, and said Mami would hate me now as much as he did." I noticed the way Carisi's jaw clenched at my words, which both touched and bothered me. How could something so trivial as name calling upset him?
"I responded that I wasn't afraid of him anymore, and that the only person I betrayed was him," I continued. "I called him a rapist and a monster. He told me to watch how I spoke to him and then reminded me of the threat he'd given me if I failed to get him exonerated."
"What threat was that?" Carisi interrupted, brows furrowed. "And why would he expect you to get him out of this? You weren't even his lawyer."
I let out a loud, humorless chuckle. "Listen, Carisi, every bad thing in Manuel's life is my fault. It never mattered that I wasn't his lawyer. I was to do everything in my power to make sure he wasn't found guilty, and if I failed, he made the vague threat of making sure I paid for that failure."
Carisi's professionalism dropped as he sported an outraged expression. I stopped him from saying anything, though, as I continued speaking.
"I scoffed at the threat, saying there was nothing he could do to me when stuck in prison, and he replied that he never said he would come after me," I recounted, pausing as I didn't want to admit the rest. I didn't want to tell him how my own father had threatened them all. I flicked my eyes towards the one-way mirror, knowing at least Olivia was on the other side listening. She didn't need to know this.
"What happened next?" Carisi pushed, giving me an opening when he asked, "Is this when he attacked you?"
"I threw the first punch," I admitted bluntly, and Carisi looked taken aback, pen hovering above his paper. I could see the wheels turning in his head.
"You said he wasn't threatening to come after you, so who was he threatening?" he pressed, and I cursed his detective skills. I would have to be honest, but por Dios, I didn't want this information getting out there.
I sucked in a huge breath, looking away from him as I dismissively said, "Uh, just people I knew."
Carisi stared at me, patiently waiting for me to expand. He had to have inferred by now, so why make me say it?
Because that's not how it works, I chided myself. You have to say it.
I tapped my fingers on the table in agitation, huffing out a breath before finally answering, "He threatened to hurt all of you, Noah, and Rita. I knew it was empty as there'd be nothing he could do when in prison, but…I let my temper get the best of me, so I punched him."
I let out another humorless chuckle before continuing my embarrassing tale. "I regretted the action immediately as I recalled that I wasn't a fighter, and the look he was giving me, it was absolute fury." I looked down at my lap in shame, hoping I wasn't blushing.
"I flashed back to my childhood," I admitted, still unable to make eye contact with Carisi. "All I could think about was protecting myself and getting away. When people began banging on the bathroom door, it gave me the opening I needed to shove Manuel away and get out. Just as I was leaving, I was hit hard on the back, which knocked me to the floor. Manuel was holding his cane, and when he brought it down again, I put up my arm to shield myself. Bystanders tried to stop him, and I took the chance to run, and then…well, everybody knows what happened," I finished, feeling a sense of relief that this part was over.
Now, my fervent hope was that whatever lawyer Manuel obtained would convince him to take a plea deal. Lord knew I didn't want this going to court. I honestly didn't think I'd be able to handle it.
"Okay, I think we're good, now, unless there's anything else you'd like to add?" Carisi questioned, thankfully not commenting on anything I'd said.
"Nope," I immediately answered.
A loud knock on the door sounded, Olivia walking in along with Holmes, Rollins, and Fin. The look on Holmes's face put me on edge, and I could assume what he was about to say.
"Mistrial," I grunted before the others had settled themselves, and Holmes heaved a sigh as he nodded.
"There were jurors that witnessed the altercation between you and Manuel, and the judge felt the event would cause prejudice," he explained.
"She figured they'd indict him based off what they saw happen rather than off the evidence," Carisi translated automatically, even though everyone knew what Holmes had meant.
Goddammit, I thought furiously.
"There'll be a new trial, of course," Holmes announced, "and I'm even more certain we'll get a conviction after you testify about Mr. Barba's reaction to your original testimony."
Mierda.
I took my left hand and massaged my temples, wishing I'd brought my pain meds. I didn't even want to testify against Manuel regarding the assault, let alone testify once again about the abuse. The damned assault only opened me up to more questions I didn't want asked or answered.
"And if I don't want to testify again?" I asked aloud, stone faced when everyone turned to look at me with varying degrees of confusion, concern, and understanding.
"Is that a hypothetical, or are you deciding to not testify?" Holmes asked, voice not giving away his feelings.
"I don't want to testify," I declared honestly, allowing emotions to reign over logic. "I don't want to be a part of any of this anymore. You have plenty of evidence without me—by the way, who's the prosecuting attorney on the assault charge against him?"
"I am," Holmes replied, and I raised an eyebrow at him before deciding not to question it.
"You plan on pleading this out?" I inquired, and he nodded affirmatively.
"Good luck with that," I remarked with a smirk. "Manuel has and never will admit to doing anything wrong, and since I threw the first punch, he will blame me the entire thing on me. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he attempted to file an assault charge against me."
"No prosecutor would ever dream of taking on a case like that," Carisi asserted with a scoff of derision. "They'd take one look at the pictures of your injuries, and"—
"Pictures?" I interrupted in surprise before immediately realizing that, of course they would've taken pictures of me.
Liv looked ready to explain, but I held a hand up while shaking my head and saying, "Never mind, stupid question."
"Mr. Barba," Holmes addressed, "if your father refuses to accept a plead, then this will go to court, and you know as well as I do, that without your testimony, the likelihood of a conviction is"—
"Negligible," I finished for him. "I know."
I could sense and see Holmes's frustration, and although I shouldn't, I felt amused. I felt a sense of empowerment, which made no sense to me. Idly, I wondered if perhaps I really should seek therapy.
"Okay, you know what, guys, let's table this for now," Olivia ordered. "Isaiah, you do what you do, and if you need Rafael at any point, then we'll cross that bridge when we get there, okay?"
Looking unhappy, but understanding there was no use pushing the matter, the attorney nodded his head before leaving.
Leaning back and kicking my feet up onto the table I looked around the room in an almost daring way.
Go ahead and push.
I dare you to ask.
Try and get me to talk.
Feel pity.
Convince me to testify.
Pry into my life.
My thoughts must've been expressed on my face or I perhaps I gave off the vibe, because uncomfortable yet concerned gazes were exchanged amongst the squad. I could tell there were things they wanted to say, but they wisely kept their mouths shut. Their eyes continually flicked towards Olivia imploringly, obviously expecting her to handle me.
That irritated me, and I abruptly dropped my feet to the floor, standing up.
"Not that this hasn't been fun and all, but I'll be leaving now," I informed them. "I'm sure you have more important things to be concerned with that my family drama. I'm positive I'm not the only one from a broken home, so please stop treating me like a victim. It was a fight, one I lost. I honestly wouldn't be bothering with charges if I didn't know that you lot and Rita would haggle me until I agreed."
"Barba, come on man, don't be like that," Fin cajoled, giving me a disapproving look. Ever the protective big brother, I thought in annoyance.
"We're just trying to help you out because we're worried," Rollins spoke up, and I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets.
"I didn't ask for your help, and save your worry for someone who needs it," I snapped, unable to hide my increasing anger.
"Rafael," Olivia called out in a scolding tone that hit a nerve as she sounded just like Mami.
"Don't!" I snapped furiously, my eyes flashing. "Just stop! Stop helping! Stop caring! Just stop! I don't need or want it, so just leave me alone!" I yelled, surprising not just them but myself with the intensity of my anger.
I left at that point, not wanting to see their expressions or hear their responses. I also didn't want to still be there when the embarrassment and regret hit, which it did when I was in the Uber taking me home.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
What the hell was I thinking? What the hell did I do?!
I covered my face with a hand as I closed my eyes. I barely refrained from groaning and cursing out loud, not wanting to alarm my driver.
My phone went off, and I shut it off without looking to see who it was. There was no one I wanted to speak to or hear from at this moment.
Walking into my house, I made sure to lock the door, not wanting any unexpected visitors, meaning Rita. She'd been the only one with the balls to barge into my house. In fact, turning my phone on, I quickly sent out a text to her that I wasn't a danger to myself before shutting it off again. Hopefully, that would keep her away.
My next step was to disconnect my house phone. No one would be disturbing me.
Walking into my kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of scotch and my pain meds, downing a couple pills with a swig of alcohol. I took the bottle, foregoing a glass, into my living room, settling myself down onto my couch and turning the TV on to a random channel for background noise.
Getting drunk sounded like the best thing I could do. Sleeping brought nightmares, and waking hours brought pain. Alcohol could dampen the feelings and hopefully make me forget, at least for a moment.
That's all I wanted. A brief moment of respite from the constant cacophony of thoughts going through my mind. Painful memories, guilt, shame, and worry was all that my mind and body could focus on, and I couldn't take it anymore. I was so tired, so damn tired.
Why did all of this have to happen? Why, why, why? It wasn't fair!
Tears began to well up in my eyes, and I quickly took another swig of the scotch.
Another sip.
A gulp.
Burning down the throat.
Fuzzy thoughts.
No relief, though.
It wasn't going away.
The pain was still there.
Why? Why did I hurt so much?
I curled up on the couch despite my protesting ribs, tugged the throw blanket off my couch and wrapped it around myself.
A knock sounded on my front door, a female voice calling out. The voice sounded muffled, so I couldn't tell who it was or what they were saying, but it could only have been Rita.
Goddamn interfering woman!
I refused to move or speak, satisfied the door was locked and no one would be entering. I closed my eyes, willing all thoughts and feelings to go away.
The knocking stopped, and I felt smug satisfaction at making Rita turn away. Take that, you old troll!
I snaked out a hand and reached for the bottle of scotch, mourning its emptiness. I didn't want to get up and grab another. I needed to invest in a minibar and install it next to this couch. Maybe a minifridge with food, so I wouldn't have to leave except for the bathroom.
Better yet, move all that into my bedroom, because then I'd have a comfortable bed and a close restroom. All I'd have to worry about would be food deliveries. I never had to go out again. No need to deal with the troublesome world.
A noise at the door caught my attention. The lock was being undone. Somebody was coming in.
I closed my eyes tightly, covering my entire self with the blanket. Goddamn Rita probably threatened the building supervisor with some sort of ridiculous lawsuit to convince him to open the door.
Maldita sea.
The door opened, and I heard the supervisor's voice. He, unsurprisingly, sounded nervous. The voice I had in return, though, wasn't Rita's, but Olivia's.
Fuck.
This was worse than Rita. She'd just drag me out of bed and force me to eat while distracting me with teasing and ridiculous stories. She didn't push for talks of feelings, which Olivia would. Olivia knew how to bush past all my barriers, and I could only hope she was unaware of that.
The door closed quieter than it had opened, the lock being secured once more before hesitant footsteps made their way closer. They headed first in the direction of my bedroom, and I idly wondered if I could make a run for it before recognizing the ridiculousness of that. I wasn't going to run away from my own home. Besides, the thought of walking sounded entirely too troublesome.
"Rafa," Olivia called out, concern evident in her tone. She was still searching for me, but I refused to answer her. I stupidly hoped she'd go away.
Her footsteps were more rapid as they came back my way, and I could imagine the crease in her brow as her concern increased. I knew I should feel bad, but I found myself feeling more detached than anything. Not quite numb, but too tired to care maybe.
"Rafael!" Olivia yelled, sounding much closer than before as well as angry. I'd been found.
There were seconds of silence where she probably waited for some response from me, but I remained silent. Talking required too much energy.
Slow, hesitant footsteps made their way towards me, stopping when they were right before me. She must have knelt, because I could feel her breath on the blanket I was covered with.
I heard her shift around before hearing the drone of the TV change to soft classical music.
"Please tell me this bottle wasn't full," Liv remarked, only a hint of disappointment in her tone.
I attempted to respond, but that required too much work, so I just made a noise.
She seemed to take that as a yes, for she let out a sigh.
The hard clink of glass on my hardwood floor revealed she was upset, but when I felt her hand land where my head was, it was as soft and gentle as ever.
"I'm going to pull this blanket down so I can see your face, is that alright?" she asked quietly, and I made a noise that I felt said no, but she clearly interpreted as a yes for the blanket began to move.
A moan of dissatisfaction escaped me as cool air hit the top of my head and then my face. I scrunched my eyes closed, not wanting to see the look on her face or eyes.
"You look like hell, Rafa," Liv commented not unkindly. "I doubt drinking a full bottle of scotch helped either. Mind showing me your eyes, please?"
I very reluctantly opened them, and my heart skipped a beat at not just how close she was, but also how beautiful she looked.
"You're beautiful," I blurted out, eliciting a startled laugh from her.
"Well, you're beautiful too," she retorted with a teasing smirk.
I narrowed my eyes, somehow feeling I was being made fun of.
"I'm tired," I whispered, and her eyes turned sympathetic as she nodded, one of her hands softly caressing down my cheek once.
"Everything hurts," I then admitted, and it wasn't my pain, but hers that caused my breath to hitch.
"I know, but you're not alone, Rafael," she insisted, her hand moving to the top of my head. I leaned into the gentle touch, craving it like a man dying of thirst would crave water.
"You have friends who want to help you, not judge," she continued, beginning to run a hand through my hair.
"I like that," I murmured appreciatively, and she smiled as she replied, "I noticed."
Neither one of us spoke as she continued her soothing ministrations. We looked at each other, and I was relieved to see no judgment, derision, or disappointment in her eyes. There was nothing but kindness and something I couldn't quite identify.
"My mother hates me," I eventually spoke, tears welling up in my eyes. "She called this morning to apologize for slapping me, but then she asked me to help Manuel. Told me it was my fault I got beat up. Shouldn'tve said those things cuz I knew he had a temper, and that I started it all anyways by throwin' the first punch," I explained, words starting to slur.
"She's wrong," Livia stated softly yet firmly. "I'm sorry she hurt you."
I squinted my eyes, fighting back tears of pain. It wasn't simply hurt, it was agony.
"She's all I had," I spoke, voice cracking with emotion. Olivia's hand stilled momentarily before once more continuing to run through my hair.
"No, she isn't," Livia insisted fervently, leaning closer to me. "You have me and Noah, Fin, Carisi, Rollins, and Rita. We're your friends. We're your family."
Tears obscured my vision before they began to fall slowly down my cheek. Family, she said.
"Family isn't always those you were born with. Sometimes it's what you make it," she spoke, "and you're part of my family."
I'm part of her family.
None of this made sense to me.
I was so confused.
"This is all my fault," I expressed brokenly, and she frowned as she asked, "What's your fault?"
"Everything," I answered. "Shoulda kept my mouth shut. Knew better. I knew better. Don't talk 'bout family stuff, ever, Mami always said. Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut, Livia?"
"Rafa, listen to me, you did nothing wrong," Olivia asserted, both her soft hands cupping my face, thumbs wiping at some stray tears. "None of what's happened is your fault. It's Manuel's. It's always been Manuel's."
"That's not what Mami says," I argued pathetically, tears continuing to fall. "I knew better than to push. Why did I have to push 'im?"
"You didn't push him," Livia refuted, her voice calm but her eyes blazing with emotion. "You did an incredibly brave thing testifying against him, and you put yourself through that because it was the right thing to do. I am so sorry for what Lucia is saying, but no matter how much she loves you, it doesn't make what she's said correct."
"She doesn't love me. He doesn't love me," I said. "Liv, what's wrong with me?" I asked desperately. "Why does all this hurt so much? Why can't I get over what happened? Why am I so fucking pathetic?"
I forced my hands up from the blanket to cover my face, shame flooding through me.
"Sorry," I cried as a sob escaped me.
I felt as Olivia wrapped her arms around me, my forehead landing on her shoulder as I failed to choke back my sobs.
I couldn't make out what Olivia was saying, just her continuously soft, gentle tone.
I eventually wrapped my own arms around her, holding on tightly as if she was my only lifeline.
I was drowning, and at the moment she was all that was holding me up.
Olivia's POV:
I held onto my best friend, his tears soaking through my sweatshirt. I had no doubt my own tears were soaking into the back of his shirt.
His crying was nearly silent, gasps of breath the only sound he allowed himself to make. The shaking of his shoulders and constant flow of tears showed me how distraught he was.
I kept my grip firm, but not too tight as I recognized he was still injured. His grip on me, however, was almost vicelike as if he was afraid I'd disappear, as if I were the only thing grounding him.
I'd known he was in a bad way, especially after his loss of temper at the station, but I hadn't known he was this upset. I'd given him several hours to calm down before deciding to contact me. I'd originally taken the coward's way out, attempting to call him, but his phone had immediately gone to voice mail. Calling his home phone resulted in the same thing. I knew it was because he'd turned off/disconnected them.
I'd considered calling Rita, but somehow knew that was the wrong move. I instinctually knew I'd be the only one capable of getting Rafael to open up. We were each other's best friend, and as no one knew me better than him, no one knew him better than me.
Arriving at his apartment I'd been unsurprised by getting no answer. I knew he wanted no visitors. Feeling stubborn, I'd convinced the building supervisor to let me in. I'd immediately walked towards his bedroom, brows furrowing when I saw the door open and the bed empty. I entered briefly just to see if he were in the restroom, but he wasn't. I called out, but received no response, causing me concern.
Could he be hurt?
Was he not here? If so, then where was he?
I walked into the kitchen and saw no sign that he'd been here recently. Dishes that had been washed were already dry.
The living room was the next place I checked, and I immediately let out a, "Rafael!", partially in exasperation and partially in relief. Relief left quickly, though, as the lump under the blanket didn't move. I took in the empty bottle of scotch and only grew more concerned.
Cautiously approaching so as not to startle the man, I knelt down next to him and asked if he'd drank the whole bottle. A small noise was the response I was given, but it let me know he was awake, listening, and coherent enough to understand what I was asking.
I gave him forewarning before I gently yet firmly pulled down his blanket, uncovering his face.
Oh, Rafa, I thought sadly as took in his tortured green eyes. They were so open right now, the alcohol no doubt to blame for his lowered inhibitions, further exemplified when he blurted out that he thought I was beautiful.
I couldn't help but tease back that he was also beautiful. It wasn't a lie. Rafael was an incredibly handsome man, something I'd never failed to notice, but also had never acted on. The closer we got, the harder it became to ignore. I couldn't deny that I was sexually attracted to him.
I ran a hand through his hair, pleased at how much it seemed to soothe him. I had a stray thought of utilizing such a tool when in the middle of an argument with him, feeling a burst of amusement at the imagined expression that would cross his face.
I brushed those thoughts away as he began to speak, his voice so small, lost, and full of pain.
His mother's rejection hit him harder than almost everything else, I felt. She'd always been in his corner, a rock keeping him steady, but had left him now when he needed her more than ever.
That he thought he had no one bothered me as I thought it would've been obvious by now that he at least had me.
I'd underestimated the impact his abuse had on him. He'd so expertly hidden it from everyone, most of all himself. I hoped the next time I broached the subject of a therapist he'd agree because he was in desperate need. I could be there for him, but I couldn't help him properly process and deal with the abuse he'd suffered growing up.
As terrible as it was to see my friend in so much pain, I'll admit to feeling some relief as tears were a release. He bottled so much up, that I hoped this would prove somewhat cathartic.
Let this be the breaking point, because all that could follow would be healing.
A/N: So, Rafael's tongue was a little looser here due to the alcohol, allowing Olivia to finally break through his barriers. This is his rock bottom, so while everything won't be miraculously fixed after this, he will start to heal.