Searching For Sanctuary

20. Reunited

That night after the horrendous tearing apart of the flat, Doc and I sat together on the wooden floor of the living room for quite some time. Even though I not only listened to the ticking of the clock - I felt each tick slice through my like a serrated blade - I lost track of time. It either moved too quickly or too slowly for me to ever keep up. I was lost in a world of in-between.

My bloodshot eyes became dry and my eyelids heavy. I fought sleep off as best I could in my state of exceptional exhaustion. It was as useless as swatting at a pestering fly. I didn't thwart the inevitable in the slightest, but it only used up the small grains of energy that I had left.

I was slouching, caving in on myself. I was hunching over, all too aware of my droopy eyelids covering my sight. I snapped out of it, sitting up with perfect posture and comically wide eyes. As ready as my body was for sleep, my mind wasn't as prepared. For some people, sleep was a means of escape from reality. Leave that behind and you can enter into a dream - peaceful and serene.

But that had never been my case.

At one point in my life, the world of sleep and dreams were entirely too much. If possible, the times that I was asleep were worse than when I was awake. And as devastating and daunting as my life had become, I wasn't sure if I wanted to test the waters to find if they were churning and crashing in my dreams as badly as they were in reality.

Doc had been silent up until this point, simply sitting and giving me both the company and distance that I needed. He always seemed to give me the right amount of both. I guess he figured the amounts out over the years. I didn't know how to thank him, but he always knew. That made me want to thank him again.

But I didn't open my mouth. It felt too dry, like my lips had been laced together.

My eyelids started to flutter shut, weary eyes becoming dark. My shoulders were sagging and I was leaning forward again, curling in. I felt Doc's hand on my shoulder, keeping me from toppling over completely. I wanted to thank him. I heard him shuffle on the floor beside me, getting onto his knees. He picked me up easily, carrying me down the hall to my room. He laid me in bed, pulling the comforter up and around my shoulders.

God, I really wanted to thank him.

Through bleary, bloodshot eyes, I peered at him with sincerity that was as clear as day. His eyes crinkled and his lips curled as he smiled down at me gently, nodding in understanding. He knew what I was trying to say. I think he read the message easier through my eyes than he did my words. We were strange like that.

He bent down and kissed my forehead, smoothed my hair, and stood back up, walking towards the door. He stopped in the doorway though. He turned around and opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. He smiled, shook his head, and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him. I never found out what it was that he wanted to say. He went to his grave with that one.

The following days were much of the same.

Doc called in to my work, telling my boss that I was "sick" and needed some time off. "Sick" was a bit of an understatement, but it worked well enough for my boss to give me the week off. I laid in bed, turned on my side, staring at the bare, white walls. Doc came in with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, sitting on the end of the bed with his legs crossed as he ate his meals too.

Like he always seemed to do, he didn't bother trying to start a conversation. I think he was waiting for me to do so. For the first couple of days, neither of us spoke. But on the fourth day, I cracked. It was a simple question that I asked, but with the way his features lit up, it would be safe to assume that it was quite the ordeal to Doc.

"Can we go somewhere?" I asked, voice thick and gruff.

Doc beamed. "I've got just the place in mind."