Out

Better.

The urge to drink was as strong now as when Ryker when died, but drinking was what had caused the mess in the first place. He felt physically ill- partly from being so dastardly hungover, but mostly from what he had caused. And maybe it wasn't completely his fault, maybe he was just a convenient excuse, but he took it on just the same. Dmitri had been right; he told himself all this time that he would get better- that he was trying- but he wasn't. He pushed his hand deeper and deeper into the water until he fell in. He had hurt Dmitri- something he had never wanted to do, and now he was unsure where they stood. Unsure how to make it up to him- unsure if he could. He had bandaged Dmitri's wrist tightly- grateful that the room's medicine cabinet was well stocked. What had Dmitri even gotten ahold of that could've hurt him? Nicodemus wondered, his heart beginning to quicken as he scanned the bathroom.

"What are you looking for?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He shook his head reassuringly as Dmitri cupped his head in his hands as he sat on the closed toilet.

Dmitri exhaled through his nose.
"Under the sink."

Nicodemus quickly pried open the brown cupboard and retrieved the serrated kitchen knife, carefully not to look too closely.
"A knife, huh?"

"Whatever's around." Dmitri explained quietly.

Nicodemus sucked in his breath before washing the knife under the tap.
"I want to stop drinking." He started slowly, Dmitri unspeaking.
"And I want you to try to stop cutting yourself. Just....to try."

"What if things get hard? What then?"

"Well, we have each other, don't we? When you want to cut, I want you to talk to me."

"And when you want to drink, you talk to me."

"Exactly."

Dmitri looked away for a moment, bleary eyed. Suddenly feeling horribly vulnerable and embarrassed. He always did this- he always let his emotions get the best of him. He should've expected it- Nicodemus was an alcoholic, and that urge couldn't just go away for good, it had to be consistently worked at, and there would always be some small part of him that wanted to drink, and some part of him that felt left out for not being able to do so. And Dmitri would get sad, or angry (of course he would, he carried around nearly seventeen years of trauma) and would crave the cold steel of sone sort of blade, and would crave the sting that came after. The release of whatever he had been holding onto. He'd miss picking at the scabs afterwards, his more subtle way of causing himself pain. He was never quite sure why that was the way he dealt with things, but it was. Cutting yourself was this way of saying; hey look. Look how sad I've been. Look how bad things have gotten. Look how I'm still here. It wasn't a weakness, it was a way to deal with the tragedies of life without ending it.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, wait a minute. Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Dmitri couldn't meet Nicodemus' sweet confused gaze
"For over-reacting. For making a mess."

"Now hold on- you don't really think any of this is your fault, do you?" He asked, taken aback. Dmitri didn't say anything. Breathing so quietly it was as if he weren't breathing at all. Nicodemus felt sick again.
"Dmitri, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for the way I was last night- because you're right. You're right, I told you I wasn't going to get drunk, and then I did. It was selfish and immature. I broke a promise, and on top of that I'm sure I said some things last night because that's the kind of drunk I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I made you hurt yourself. You matter more to me than you could ever know, I never wanted to hurt you, and I did."

"You don't talk to me like you should." Dmitri said gently
"You're supposed to tell me when you're sad."

"I'm not a very good boyfriend am I."

"Eh, you're alright." Dmitri teased before steadying his tone.
"I couldn't imagine feeling this way about anyone else. I mean that in a good way."

"I want tomorrow to be better ok? This isn't how I wanted to start our trip. I want to take you to the beach and I want to teach you how to surf and I want to make you banana pancakes and kiss you a whole bunch. I don't want to fuck this up."

Dmitri stood up, putting hands on Nicodemus' face kissing him hard.
"We'll make tomorrow better."