Lethe Vita

Chapter 9

The stories he heard spoken around him intensified his appreciation that his inhibitions had remained intact.

A few were about the slammer. He'd been in there once himself. The experience had, to his gratitude, been brief. Though a short visit, it had stuck with him, creating his life's mission to avoid landing in there again.

When he was arrested a second time, it hadn't been for overconsumption of alcohol. It hadn't lasted nearly as long as the first.

Neither had lasted long in comparison to the individual wearing a studded dog collar.

Certainly not for five-year stints, or longer.

Others were about court-ordered rehab. He'd known a few people forced to enter rehab, himself not among them.

Still others were about overdoses that resulted in emergency trips to the hospital.

When Brandon heard that, he looked over at Dylan, who shuddered out a breath that fluttered into the crack on the wall.

"Thanks for coming, man," said Dylan, eyeing the individual discussing resuscitation as if the man were a poltergeist come to haunt Dylan.

"Couldn't let you and Silver drive with all your inevitable blubbering," said Brandon, grasping for lighter conversation. "You would've totalled the car and the rental place would've had your head."

"I hope Bren's okay." Barely acknowledging Brandon's ribbing, Dylan fiddled with his denim pockets. "I don't like not being there to pick her up."

"Clare and Val have got it," Brandon assured. "I told them both to suck it up and call Steve if Bren needs anything."

"I'm sure that went over well."

"Oh, you know. A bit of ranting and raving. Something about me being a chauvinist dickhead and thinking they can't take care of Bren themselves. Nothing I can't handle."

"So bottom line is, they won't call Steve."

"I'll keep the phone on."

"Thank you." Dylan glanced to the corner. "Wonder what Silver's talking about over there."

"Judging by his face, I'd say Val."

"Could be Mel."

"Might be both."

"Remember the first time I took you to one of these?" asked Dylan, snagging fried dough off of the table that had provided him with his presumably third cup of coffee for the day.

"Do I ever," said Brandon. "One meeting's enough to scare anyone off of alcohol."

"You'd think," said Dylan. "Yet somehow, I always end up right back where I started."

"What'd your therapist say?" asked Brandon, sure Dylan wouldn't want to discuss such things.

"That it's not gonna be an instant fix, which I already knew. But after the way K2 wrecked Bren and I; I'll go to however many sessions I need to to make sure I won't be screaming once my kid is born."

"I think last night is the first time I heard you scream," said Brandon.

"And I'm guessing it nearly drowned Bren out," said Dylan with a look of self-loathing.

"It happened before hers," Brandon assured. "I'd say if you need anyone to listen -"

"Thanks, but I think I ought to let the professionals handle it."

"Noted."

Brandon wouldn't pry. His imagination would instead fill in the gaps, thinking of all the ways Dylan's K2 expedition could have gone.