It was so wet, I gasped, my eyes stung. It was raining sideways and I couldn't see anything, my clothing weighed me down, I kicked my shoes off to swim better. I spluttered, trying to catch a breath. My brother was nowhere to be seen, I looked harder in the mist of rain on the ocean and went under again. Nowhere. Kicking, I made it to the surface again and held fast to furniture that floated near me, my lungs ached from the water residing inside them. My face was perpetually wet and stung from the salt and the gales of wind. I coughed to try and expel any of the water swallowed inside me. James… I kicked my bare feet through the water, they were tangled with refuse below the surface. Have to find James.
John was in the distance on a small boat, his curls haloed in golden light, he called to me, his voice the only placid thing in the midst of so much horror, "Alex, Alexander, babe, come back to me."
I shook my head and tried to scream back to him that I had to find my brother first. Nothing came out but choked sobs. I have to find him. I have to find him. I have to find him!
"Alex, baby, I'm here." John crouched in his boat, visoring his eyes with his hand to look at me, he was dry, still golden, angelic. He reached out to offer me his hand.
He was the angel coming to take me away. Away from my brother. I was dying and he was coming to take me. To take me back to my mother.
"No! No, I can't. I have to find my brother!"
James…
"Alexander, babe, come on, I've got you." He took my hand.
I choked and sat up. Dark, dry, bed, John. I coughed again, sure that I would rid myself of sea water. My legs were wrapped fitfully in the blankets of our bed. John sat next to me, illuminated in the golden light from the lamp on his bedside table and brushed my hair back from my tear-sticky face. I gripped him for dear life, clinging to him was the same as clinging to reality.
"I didn't find him! John, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't." I sobbed into his chest, barely catching my breath.
John held me against him and rocked me like a child, "shh, it's okay, it's okay. Five things you see?"
"No. I didn't find him, it's my fault. He's gone and it's my fault. He's gone. I didn't. I didn't." I cried, letting my hair fall over my face.
"Alexander, five things, love." John gripped my shoulders and made me look at him.
I glared at him and looked around our dark bedroom, "clock, p-pill bottle, you, our w-wedding picture, bottle of water."
He wiped my face with a tissue, "that's excellent, lover, four things you feel."
"John, no," I tried to protest.
"Four things."
"Blankets are hot, your hand on on on my back, soft bed, t-shirt."
"Good, baby, three sounds."
"Talking, city, drip, the faucet's dripping again, dripping water."
"Okay, that's good, two smells." He rubbed my back and I tried to match the pace of my breathing with the motion, still convinced my lungs were filled with seawater.
"Your O-old Spice and laundry detergent."
"Beautiful. Taste?"
I searched his eyes frantically, I didn't taste anything. I kissed him, "c-cinnamon." I said breaking away from him.
"You did such a good job. Feel better?"
I panted, "a little bit."
He continued to hold me, rocking me in his arms, "that one was bad," he yawned and reached for the pill bottle on my nightstand.
"I'm sorry." I hid my face in my hands and felt how sloppy I was.
He shook out two pills and handed them to me, "don't ever apologize, Alex. You survived horrible things. You are entitled to your feelings, they are valid. I love you, you're good."
I swallowed them dry along with his words and tried to believe him, "fuck me, John?"
He pursed his lips and looked at me under worried brows, "Alex, we've talked about this."
"Please?" Tears hiccupped my voice, I was desperate for him.
"Alex," he started again, "you know as well as I do that you use sex to dissociate from your panic. It's not healthy, babe."
He didn't want me; didn't want broken, ugly, useless me. I peered at him through my lashes and spat out my own self loathing, "you're not my fucking therapist, John. I'm not one of your patients."
I could see him try not to be hurt, forcing a smile, "and thank God for that. I get to be your husband instead."
"Then why don't you want me?" I pawed the tears away from my face, hating the water, the wetness, the salt.
"Alex, I want you, but when you're like this you don't want me, you want to not feel. I don't like feeling used any more than you like feeling unwanted."
I didn't believe him, the pit of my anxiety spoke in my voice inside my head, filling up the space in my skull, he doesn't want you. How could he? Useless. Pathetic, so pathetic. So worthless. Nobody wants you.
I cried harder, wanting my mind to be silent. John wrapped his arms around me and sighed.
"Leave me." I pleaded.
"I never will."
"Leave me, you can't fix me. I know you thought you could. Like, you meet this guy in a club and you like him and you go home with him and you think it's great, he writes books, you're a therapist and you think you can be this power couple, but then you realize just how fucked up he is and that you can't fix him. You can't fix him. You can't fix me. It's your job and you can't do it. So leave me."
"It's not my job to fix you, it's my job to love you. I'm not your therapist, I'm your husband. I do that job well. I love you with all that I am, Alex."
"I am cancer, leave me, John."
"You are not cancer, you're my Alex, you're my love, I'm never going anywhere." I heard him sniff.
"I'm sorry I'm so broken. You're-you're a therapist, you see crazy people every day. Of course you don't want to come home to one. Leave me."
"You're not broken." His voice was so tender, his arms around me so gentle.
"Yes, I am! I just… I'm not yours to fix." I sounded hollow, empty.
He seethed, finally angry, "I don't want you fixed! Goddammit, Alexander! I love you exactly as you are, I loved you the moment I saw you, I don't mind that you struggle, so do I! Sure, it's different, but everyone has struggles. We are the power couple, we have the dream life, so you have some mess. Who doesn't have mess? I love you."
I bent over myself and sobbed, clutching the covers to my chest, I cried openly, cried like a child.
John's hand was at my back again, his voice was tender and close to my ear, "it's been awhile since one of these happened. It's okay. We've talked about this, they'll come back now and then, we'll get you through them. It's not as bad as it used to be."
"I'm sorry." I sniffled.
"Shh… You're fine. I'm sorry, too."
"You didn't do anything wrong." I bent up to kiss him, more cinnamon. He relaxed into the kiss and I felt myself relax slightly, too. I reached between us and stroked him, he grew hard quickly at my touch, grunting and gasping into my hand.
"Can we?" I pleaded.
"Are you sure you want this?" He stared into my eyes and I nodded, brushing my stringy hair out of my face.
"I want you, John."
He slowly peeled our clothing away, tenderly kissing bare skin as he made it available, doting on me. He teased my entrance and took time readying me. One finger, one knuckle at a time, so delicate, so gentle. Opening me like I had the fragility of a China doll. He always took extra time when I was like this, unwilling to give me the satisfaction of pain, still trying to convince me of the lie that I didn't deserve it. That I especially didn't deserve it from him. I hurt him so often, so much, the least he could do was hurt me back.
"You ready, babe?" He asked, poising himself over me.
I nodded and started to flip over, he stopped me.
"No, no, just like this. I want to see you… see those pretty eyes." John told me.
"No, I'm hideous, my face is a goddamn mess." I coughed again, still sure of the seawater in my airways.
He held my chin and kissed me, "you're not hideous, you're beautiful, you're my husband and I love you."
My cheeks grew damp again, "I love you, too."
He wiped my tears and leaned back on his heels, "Alex, maybe this just isn't a good night."
"No," I snapped, "I mean, please, I… Please, John. I need you. Please, baby, please. I want you."
"Okay." He looked down at me pensively.
John lined himself up and entered me slowly, the lube taking almost all the sting away.
"Hard." I begged.
"Shh…" He petted my hair and rocked slowly, taking a deep breath and sighing.
I looked up at him as he stroked my cheek and moved in me, tears still falling. I gripped his arms, trying to convince him to speed up, to hurt me, to treat me like I deserved. Instead, he pried my fingers away and kissed my knuckles one by one.
My eyes fell shut, my world pulsing with colours with each of his thrusts. Empty, black, echoing, just feeling the friction of each movement. The sounds of my breathing rushed into my ears, flooding my consciousness.
"Alex," I could hear him far away through the rush of my breaths and ignored him, safe alone in the blackness. I knew he'd be upset that I was gone.
"Alexander, love, come back." The colours of his voice swirled in the blackness like spectres. I pushed them away and sat in the blackness by myself.
"Alex, baby, look at me."
James was next to me in the blackness. He looked at me, his skin blue and wrinkled, bloated and waterlogged, don't do this to John, he loves you. I gasped and opened my eyes, John was closer to me, his lips on my neck, still whispering to me to come back to him.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." I said again, reaching up to smooth his curls away.
He pulled away from my neck and looked into my eyes again. I stared up, meeting his gaze.
"There he is. You're okay." John whispered, that smirk that made me love him playing at his lips.
I gasped as he changed pace, speeding up just enough to let me know he was close and I wondered how long I'd been gone. I rocked back against him faster, meeting each thrust and came hot between us. He followed quickly after, a breathless chuckle on his lips, he pressed his sweaty forehead against my chest and I tipped his chin up to kiss his brow. Sometimes wet and salty was my favourite thing, I was aware of my fickleness.
He giggled at me as I licked my lips and pulled out, leaving our mess, just wanting the comfort of one another. I snuggled against him, his sweat slick skin growing cold in the air, I shivered and he wrapped me in our blankets. I felt filthy, from my crying and from our sex, and from the hand I'd been dealt in life, but in this moment I just felt him.
"I'm really tired." I told him.
"It's okay." John assured me, holding me tightly.
"I'm really heavy."
"It's the meds."
"I'm really sorry."
"Don't ever be." He yawned and squeezed me tighter still.
"How come I'm still like this?"
"It's trauma, babe. It's trauma."
I sighed, feeling the medication smooth me out, "will I get better?"
"You're much better than you were even last year, way better than five years ago."
"You really don't hate me?"
"Not even in the slightest." He kissed my temple.
