Can You Keep A Secret?

Chapter One Hundred and Five

           

-Andy's POV-

            "Is he okay?" Chloe asked, handing me her bottle of water.

            "Yes. I mean, no. But he will be." To be honest, it was a quite difficult question – physical and mental wellbeing were two totally different things. Was he going to die? Probably not. But I had no way of telling what was going on in his mind – My educated guess would be that it was nothing good. He sat crouching on the ground, silent tears streaming down his face, breath coming in short, rapid spurts.

            From what he had told me, I guessed that he was back at the shooting – Something from tonight had triggered the flashback. I found myself beginning to panic as well, because I had no idea how to get him out of there, but I tried to keep a calm exterior. The person who probably knew the most about Rye's PTSD was Mikey, but Mikey was in Liverpool with Liv. I called Jack over and asked him to call Mikey, even though that sparked even more questions within the group of girls. Right now, that didn't matter – The only thing that did was Rye.

            I motioned at them to back away, and leaned closer to him, whispering, "Rye, you're okay, you're in a safe situation, it's alright, you aren't at the station anymore," but nothing seemed to be getting through to him. Jack had walked over to the side to talk to Mikey in privacy, and I rubbed the back of Rye's head, wishing against all else that I knew what to do to help him.

            I was then temporarily blinded from the flash on somebody's phone, which made something snap inside of me.

            "Seriously?" I asked, bristling. A simple "please delete that" would've worked, but I was angry. "Unless you're calling someone to make arrangements to get home, put your phones away. All of you." One by one, I watched the night grow dimmer as the electronic glows were all turned off. "I honestly can't believe that. You guys have no idea the sort of shit that Rye's gone through in the past two months, and it's honestly disgusting to me that anyone that would even think about putting this on the internet for anyone to see. He is the bravest fucking person that I know, and he doesn't deserve to be treated like that. Ever."

            It was quiet for a moment before a girl asked shyly, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

            "If you could...if you could leave us alone, that would be a big help, thanks," I said, trying not to sound too much like a bitch as I said it. The group dispersed and backed away, and I was able to focus all of my attention back to Rye. I sat so that he'd be able to see me if he opened his eyes, but not so that I'd be the only thing that he saw. I didn't want him to mistake me for somebody else – For somebody who'd be out to harm him.

            I grabbed his hand, repeating the affirmations – "Rye, you're okay. You're at the park with me and Jack, and Brooklyn's just inside, and you aren't in danger and there's nobody who will hurt you." Jack came back over and crouched down beside me.

            "It's like he's in another world," He noted.

            "Did Mikey have any advice?" I asked, anxious to get him out of whatever state he was in.

            "Just to wait it out and comfort him once it's over. I don't think it's ever lasted this long before."

            Almost right as he finished speaking, Rye began quivering, muttering silent words with his lips. I pulled him against me, his face on my chest, as he began the process of coming back down to Earth, down to us. It was difficult to watch, to know that there was no way that I could intervene and somehow make it easier for him. I was doused with relief when he finally opened his eyes again.

            "Rye?" I asked softly. He was breathing heavily, but he turned to look at me. "How about we go inside?" I helped him up and Jack stuck to his other side. He didn't speak until we were inside, and he was wrapped in a blanket and clutching a warm cup of tea. Even then, he spoke in a whisper, so quietly that I could barely hear him

            "It was like I was there again," He began. "I can still picture his face so clearly. And I remembered some things that I didn't before...The little girl being wheeled in beside me at the hospital. She was so young. 7, 8 years old, maybe." He squeezed his eyes shut, and I was afraid that he would return back there, but he opened them again and said, "I'm sorry."

            "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry that you've had to go through this. That you still are." He shook his head.

            "And I've got the easy go of it." I moved over to hug him again, and he told me, "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

            "That's okay," I replied. "I'll stay up with you."