Falling Walls (III)

Chapter 5

Suppressing the new wave of tears, I left for the bedroom, where I sank into the soft cushions and called my friend Dave, that big lump in my throat tightening. It was good to hear his voice. Dave listened to my worries, as petty as they could sometimes be.

The talk to Dave had made me feel much better. Closing my eyes, I felt the tiredness fall over me. He loves me. Of course he loves me. I had to promise Tom to never doubt us again. But then, pictures and words of Tom ignoring me and being annoyed caught up with me.

Of course I understood that everyone had bad days, but would it be like this every time the going gets tough? I promised myself a long time ago that I would not allow any man to upset me or my kids anymore.

If only I could switch off and wait. I'd never been good at that. Whenever I felt strong emotions, positive or negative, I needed to let them out. As hard as I tried to relax, I soon found myself standing back in front of Tom, in a mix of being teary and enraged. I leaned over his desk, the familiar scent of him filling me completely. This time, he looked right back at me, guilty. Guilty of what?

For a while I said nothing. Staring at Tom, I now noticed how red and puffed up his eyes were. Shit! "You should rest a bit, Tom," I tried to suppress my anger and disappointment.

"I can't, Lisa. I have to finish a few things," he replied sweetly. His eyes twitched, and something in his hands under the table rustled.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing."

"Show me," I ordered. Walking around the desk, I now stood right next to him. "Show me," I repeated firmer, holding my hand open.

As if insignificantly, Tom placed an almost empty pack of pills in my hand. The label read: "Modavigil".

"What are these", I asked, alerted. Nervously, I studied the package from all sides, waiting for an answer, while Tom supported his head with his hands, leaning on the desk.

"Prescription only" and "narcolepsy". Narco - lepsy. In my mind, I took the word apart, trying to figure out what it could mean. "What are these for, Tom? Talk to me."

"They're nothing. Just for concentration." Rubbing his red face again, he looked at me through small eyes.

"They're prescription drugs, Tom. Tell me, please!" I pleaded with him. Was he ill?

"What is Narcolepsy? Epilepsy? No. Lepsy - lepsia - attack, seizures. Narco - narcoses. Narcoses seizures?" While I mumbled guesses, trying to make sense of the medication Tom was taking, he hid his face behind his hands, keeping his eyes closed. When breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth was pressed into a painful, thin line, making it obvious that he didn't want to talk about it. From all the face rubbing, a rash had spread over his cheeks.

No, he was exhausted, really exhausted. I shouldn't be angry at him. He needed my help, for once, without my judgement or resistance. But what type of medication was he on? Suddenly all my anger and self-doubts were replaced by empathy and pity. This had nothing to do with us.

Walking back around the desk, I sat down in the chair again, leaning back against the rest. Reaching out to him, placing my hands over his to show him my compassion, I requested again: "Please tell me, Tom. If you're ill, you can tell me. I'm just worried about you."

"Don't." Tom lifted up his head, looking at me with small, red eyes. "I just haven't been sleeping well all week and have a lot to do. I'll just finish this and then I'll catch up on the sleep tonight."

"You're going to bed now, Tom," I ordered.

Pointing at his laptop, Tom let out an artificial chuckle. "I have to finish this in the next hour and then there is some stuff I need to send to Carlos, and I have to revise some documents before we visit the factory. I can't sleep now. If you give me those pills, I'll finish it, we'll visit the factory and we can be in bed by seven."

"And by then there will be something else, Tom." The more I thought about it, I couldn't remember seeing Tom sleep at all in the past week. If he had been keeping himself going with those pills all those days, no wonder he was going all mental now. Getting off the chair, I walked over to his side of the desk, grabbing his hand off the table and pulling him up.

"You're going to bed now, Tom!" I ordered. "End of discussion. This stuff can wait."

"No it can't." His statement was accompanied by a shy chuckle.

"Tom!" I took his face into both my hands, making him look down at me. "We're in this together, right?" I don't think Tom understood what I was talking about, but he nodded.

"I need you sane, Tom." Pulling him gently, Tom now followed me without resistance to the bedroom. The sun was shining bright through the window, blinding my eyes. Squinting my eyes, I continued pulling Tom over to the bed, where I softly pushed him down. His eyes were closed already, and carefully I pulled his shoes off him, before closing the blinds to darken the room. I hadn't put a blanket on Tom. It was too hot and sticky. Instead, I turned on the ceiling fan which slowly, then faster, spun around with a swirling sound, cooling the room to a comfortable temperature.

"I won't be able to sleep without you," Tom yawned as I was about to leave the room.

His arm was stretched out to me, but his eyes kept closed. "Wake me up in an hour." Ignoring his request, I cuddled up in his arms, where I almost fell asleep myself. I knew I had to keep myself up, or I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. And I really didn't want to let Tom down. This was my chance to prove to him that he could rely on me.

Tom's rhythmical breathing soon gave away that he was fast asleep.

Crawling out of bed, I couldn't resist giving Tom a kiss before making my way to his office. The twins were still busy in their bedrooms and so I logged myself into Tom's computer while making some calls to cancel all afternoon appointments. A smile spread over my face at the thought of how Tom had given me his password when he first returned from Germany. I had insisted that he didn't tell me, explaining to him that I would never use it. It was his business, his computer, his password. Yet, here I was, logging into the walls of his holy empire, into the account that held all the information, knowledge and power Tom possessed. Was it the right thing to do, sending Tom to bed, I wondered. He wasn't a child that needed to be sent to bed. He'd achieved everything he did by following his instincts. Did I even have a right to tell him to forget about his deadlines and then try to deal with it? What if I would make a huge mistake? But it was too late. All my brooding didn't help.

The document that Tom had last been working on opened up on the screen in front of me: Tables of data and a contract. And I did not understand a word. "Shit!" When I minimised the window, an email opened up, stating that the revised contract needed to be returned in – "double shit" – just over an hour. Above the email were at least another ten flagged as important, and a bunch of others, some opened, others unopened. One of the unopened one's caught my eye: Sender: Jennifer Machold. No, there was no time for jealousy or spy games. I just had to trust Tom and concentrate on that contract. 

It only took me two or three minutes sitting on that desk to understand why Tom took those pills. How long has he been doing this for, I wondered, staring out the window into a colourful garden, filled with flowers. For a moment I watched the monkeys sitting in the tree branches. I could have day-dreamed all day, when I reminded myself about my mission. My gaze wandered through the room, coming to a halt on a full bottle of cognac. Wasn't that ironic. Well, it was lunchtime, and it was cognac, not prescription drugs on an ongoing basis, I convinced myself. Maybe a glass or two would help, I thought.

And indeed, by the time it was five in the afternoon, and a few glasses later, I had everything on Tom's list done. At least everything I could find.