My firefly - Rudy Pankow & Drew Starkey

40

𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐤, 𝐒𝐂
𝟑𝟏 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗
𝟎𝟐:𝟏𝟐𝐚𝐦

Leni jolted awake to the insistent sound of knocking at her apartment door. For a disoriented moment, she stayed motionless, hoping the noise was just a leftover echo from her dreams. But the knocking came again—louder this time, heavy and unrelenting, with a rhythm that made her pulse quicken.

She groaned, her face still pressed into the pillow. "Are you kidding me?" she muttered, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, illuminating her darkened room. 2:13 a.m.

She let her head fall back with a soft thud, her frustration mingling with a creeping unease. It wasn't unusual for random sounds to puncture the stillness of her quiet apartment building, but this was different. This was intentional.

Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled toward the door, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. Her heartbeat picked up as she reached for the chain lock, pausing to peek through the peephole.

Her stomach sank when she saw him. Rudy.

Leni sighed, already bracing herself as she undid the locks and opened the door.

There he was—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and shoulders slumped. His blonde hair stuck out in odd directions, as though he'd been tugging at it in frustration. The faint smell of alcohol clung to him, mixing with something else she couldn't quite place.

"Rudy," she said, her voice sharp with a mixture of annoyance and concern. "It's two in the morning. What the hell are you doing here?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. He just stood there, staring at her like he couldn't find the words he wanted to say. Then, before she could react, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

The suddenness of it made her stiffen. Rudy wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type, and their friendship had always been defined by sarcasm and banter rather than overt displays of emotion. But as she felt the tremor in his body, the way his grip tightened like he was holding on for dear life, her irritation began to melt away.

"I didn't know where else to go," he whispered, his voice rough and unsteady.

Leni sighed softly, awkwardly patting his back. "Okay, okay. Come inside."

She guided him to the couch, where he collapsed heavily, burying his face in his hands. Leni leaned against the door for a moment, studying him. This wasn't the Rudy she knew. He was the loud one, the guy who could make a room erupt with laughter, the one who always seemed so carefree. Seeing him like this—fragile, broken—felt like seeing a house of cards topple in slow motion.

"You can't keep doing this, Rudy," she said, walking over to sit across from him. Her tone was softer now, but there was still an edge of exasperation. "Showing up unannounced, I mean."

He nodded without lifting his head. "I know. I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just... I couldn't be alone tonight."

The raw honesty in his voice made her chest ache. She sat back, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "What's going on?"

For a long time, he didn't answer. He stared at the coffee table as though it might hold some kind of solution, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket she'd tossed over him.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was hollow, stripped of its usual bravado. "Everything's a mess. I'm a mess. I can't sleep. I can't think. And tonight, it felt like I couldn't even breathe."

The weight of his confession settled heavily between them, filling the silence with unspoken truths. Leni leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "Rudy," she said softly, "have you been drinking?"

He flinched but nodded, his face crumpling with shame. "I thought it'd help. It didn't."

"It never does," she murmured, her voice steady but not unkind. "Have you talked to anyone about this? A therapist, maybe?"

He laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the stillness of the room. "Right. Like anyone wants to hear about Rudy falling apart. I'm supposed to be the fun one, remember? The guy who's got it all together."

"That's crap," Leni said firmly, her gaze locking onto his. "You don't have to be anything for anyone. It's okay to not be okay."

For the first time, he looked up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You say that, but you don't talk to anyone either, Leni. You bottle it all up. You're just as bad as me."

The words hit harder than she wanted to admit. She straightened, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from the truth. "Fair point," she said after a moment. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't get help. You deserve to feel better, Rudy. You deserve to heal."

He shook his head, his hands clutching his hair. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start here," she said simply. "By talking. By letting someone in. You've already taken the first step by coming to me."

He stared at her, a flicker of something—relief, maybe—crossing his face. "Thanks, Leni," he said quietly.

She smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You don't have to thank me. But you do have to promise me something."

"What?"

"No more surprise visits at ungodly hours," she said, attempting to lighten the mood. "At least text me next time."

A weak chuckle escaped him. "Deal."

The tension in the room began to ease, but the weight of their conversation lingered. Leni got up and fetched a pillow and an extra blanket, tossing them onto the couch. "You can crash here, but you're stuck with the couch."

Rudy smirked faintly. "I've had worse."

She paused in the doorway of her bedroom, glancing back at him. He was already lying down, his eyes closed, but his expression remained troubled.

"Goodnight, Rudy," she said softly.

"Goodnight, Leni."

Lying in bed, Leni stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. She hated seeing Rudy like this—so vulnerable, so lost. It reminded her too much of herself, of the nights she'd spent feeling like she was drowning in her own mind.

She couldn't fix him. She knew that. But she could be there, and maybe, just maybe, they could help each other find their way out of the darkness—one small step at a time.

1070 words