~ Emma
Nick doesn’t go to work all weekend and when I join him on the couch after his latest nightmare on Sunday night, he tells me to go back to bed because I need sleep before I go to work tomorrow.
“I’m not going to work,” I tell him, my eyes half closed in exhaustion.
“What?” he asks, twisting a little so he’s looking right at me. “You have to go. You should go, Emma. I don’t need you staying here, babysitting me.” His words sting and he immediately apologises. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Anyway, I have the week off.”
“Why?”
I take a deep breath as I sit up. In reality, both of us are exhausted because neither of us has slept since Nick came back. It’s only been two nights, but it’s been two very disturbed nights filled with his nightmares and me trying to comfort him. Even when he’s managed to grab a nap on the couch, it’s never for very long and always ends the same way: with him waking from a nightmare.
I know it can’t go on like this, but still I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I’m being a coward; I know that.
“Why, Em?” he repeats.
I give him a smile. “Because,” I say, glancing down at my hands. “Because Jason gave me the week off.”
“Why?’ he asks again.
I exhale. “Because I was messing up at work.”
“What?”
I glance up and find Nick unusually focused as he watches me, waiting for my answer. I force myself to take a deep breath as I wonder how I’m supposed to explain this without making everything worse. The last thing he needs is to feel like something else is his fault.
“Yeah,” I say, reaching for his hand as I offer a small smile. “I was having a bad week and Jason suggested I take some time off. It’s no big deal,” I offer, shrugging.
“Bullshit,” he says, sitting forward a little. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him since this all started. “This isn’t like you, Em.”
I shrug, because it’s the best explanation I’ve got right now.
Nick watches me, scrubbing a hand over his face as it finally dawns on him. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
I shrug again, not sure what to say at this point.
“Oh fuck, Emma, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me against him. “I’ve really fucked things up here, haven’t I?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head against his chest, knowing I’m the one who’s fucked things up. “But…” I pause, force myself to take a deep breath before I say what I know I should have said two days ago. “I do think we need to talk about what happened, Nick.”
I pull back a little so I can look at him, but Nick looks away, stares at the TV as though he’s avoiding me.
“Nick?” I whisper.
He turns now, smiles at me in a way that’s supposed to be reassuring, but is most definitely not. “It’s okay, Em, really,” he says. “But I am sorry it’s messed with your work, truly.”
I shake my head, not believing a word he’s saying. “It’s not messing with my work,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. “I just want you to be okay,” I add, my words a whisper.
“I will be,” he says, pulling me against him again. “I will be.”
But he’s not, and as the week goes by things don’t get any better, they get much worse. The nightmares don’t stop. If anything they get more frequent and more graphic, so that by the end of the week, Nick’s not even sleeping at all anymore.
Work is out of the question and instead he spends most of the time sitting on the couch alternatively drinking beer to dull the pain or coffee to stay awake.
Tony messages me every night, letting me know he’s taking care of the bar, asking if he should come and see Nick. Every time I relay the message though, Nick shows no interest in either the bar or Tony. He doesn’t even leave the apartment and by Friday I’m at a loss as to what to do, because this limbo we’re in feels like something indefinite and I’m no longer sure what to say or what to do or how to make any of it better.
No amount of medical training has prepared me for this, because for the first time in my career, I’m not removed from the situation. I can’t just switch off and detach my emotions when I’m dealing with someone I care about.
And because of that, I’m more confused than I’ve ever been; unable to make a diagnosis or work out the best course of treatment. All that feels too clinical, too detached from this reality and the person I’m trying to help. The person I care about.
Worst of all though, is the regret I still feel for causing all of this in the first place. For opening up a wound that was simply trying to heal itself in its own way.
Do no harm.
Feels like an ironic slap in the face now.
“Hey,” I say, handing him a bowl of pasta. “Hungry?”
Nick shakes his head, ignoring the food and instead taking another sip of beer.
“You need to eat,” I tell him, holding it closer.
“I’m not hungry,” he says, pushing it away.
I stop; watch as he finishes his beer before pushing off the couch and walking into the kitchen and grabbing another. I follow after him, the bowl of pasta still in my hand.
“But you’re thirsty?”
Nick turns, a pissed off look on his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I exhale, my eyes closing briefly as I try to work out the best way to say this. “You need to eat, Nick,” I tell him. “You need something more than alcohol in your system.”
“Do I?” he says, slamming his beer on the kitchen bench.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he says, stepping towards me. He grabs the bowl from my hand, roughly spooning several mouthfuls of pasta into his mouth before throwing the bowl into the sink where is smashes against the pots. The sound makes me jump, but Nick doesn’t notice, instead picking up his beer and walking straight past me and back out to the couch.
I step forward, my hand grabbing the edge of the sink as I try to remain standing, an ache spreading throughout my chest as my body almost doubles over in pain.
I know this is beyond me now; that no amount of medical training or experience has prepared me for this. I can’t help Nick, no matter how much I want to. I need…I need help.
My phone sounds out with a text, and I’m not sure if it’s an omen or a blessing. I grab it from the kitchen table.
Jason: hey, just checking in to see how things are going? I hope everything’s better…that you sorted whatever it is you needed to sort. You ok to come back next week?
I almost start crying at his words and without even thinking, I hit the call icon and hope to god that this is the right thing to do.
That I’m not going to make things worse than they already are.