What Happens on the Cruise

81. The Devil Went Down to Georgia

As soon as Tim hugged him, Adam completely broke down in tears, as if he'd been barely holding himself together and couldn't anymore. Tim walked him over to the couch so Austin could join them.

Adam leaned into Tim. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be angry with you, but I just am."

"It's okay," Tim assured him. "We'll deal with it."

"I'm so tired."

"When did you sleep last," Austin asked, sitting on the other side of Adam.

"A good night's sleep? Before the accident."

"Damn."

"The whole thing flashes through my mind and then I'm awake and I'm panicked and then I'm angry and then I'm worried because I'm not sleeping and then that makes me angry again... And I just can't..."

"Maybe you just need someone to talk to," Austin suggested.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Adam, one thing I learned long ago is that hurt people hurt people," Austin said. "If you let this fester, it isn't going to stop with us. So instead of telling it to yourself over and over, tell us and let it go. Let us carry it."

"Okay. I don't even know where to start."

"How about you tell us about the accident. I don't remember it and Austin's memory is spotty, so tell us what you remember," Tim suggested.

"Oh, God. It was so..." Adam shook his head. "She was so happy for you. Talking and smiling. So excited to be helping. And you were joking about wearing white. She was laughing, and you, Tim, turned to smile at her. And then I saw the light was red."

***

Adam talked for a long time, perhaps the longest he'd ever talked in one sitting. He described the accident, the horror of being the only one conscious when the car had finally stopped moving, his sense of helplessness, the days of uncertainty as Ericha had laid in a coma, how she'd woken up screaming in pain, the heart-wrenching experience of her awaking over and over again to her paralysis, the gut punch of Dr. Singh's prognosis, the continuing uncertainty of Ericha's condition, the stress of their separation and handling Cerise alone, the sleeplessness and anger, all the anxiety of modifying the house and their whole lifestyle. Everything poured out of him like a flood, only interrupted by bouts of crying. When it was over, he slumped back, exhausted and teary.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Tim asked, "Do you feel any better now?"

"My brain hurts," Adam answered, "but yeah."

"Austin's got some really good pain meds," Tim said jokingly.

"Hey, now," Austin responded, "none o' that."

"I probably have the same ones, but I haven't been taking them because I don't want to sleep through something if Cerise needs me." He closed his eyes. "Think I need a drink."

"Is the goal hydration or inebriation?" Tim asked, getting up from the couch.

"Um. Yes?"

"Since Cerise isn't here, are you planning on taking the good painkiller?"

"Probably."

"Okay, then let's steer clear of the booze." He turned to his husband. "Austin?"

"Do you have any herbal tea?"

"Herbal tea?" Adam gave Austin a perplexed look.

Austin shrugged. "No alcohol, no caffeine, no carbonation, no dairy, no acidic food or drinks. And I'm really, really tired of all the clear juices."