Come Back Home

Chapter Nine

-Andy's POV-

Sometimes pain feels like a physical thing. It rests in your chest, pressing and creating an ache, like a rock resting on your lungs and making it hard to breathe. It spins around in your head and your stomach, making you feel like something is off, but you can't quite point out why. And when you can't find the cause, it's difficult to stop it from spreading, and soon enough it's wrapped around your heart and has seeped into your bloodstream and if feels like you are no longer yourself, but merely just a pile of broken pieces stuck together by the monster that lives in your mind.

There's nothing you can do and nowhere you can run because it's inside of you, and it doesn't matter how far you go; It will follow you. And it doesn't matter how far along you are in recovery, because it will come out of nowhere, making it all the worse, because you'd thought, for a second there, that that you were really free of it this time, that it might not come back. But it always does, even when you're at a hotel in America on tour, even when you'd been laughing a moment earlier, and all because you decided to go to the pool and suddenly all you can think of is the water filling your lungs.

And it was hard to fight against it, once you went under. It was easy to get addicted to a certain kind of sadness, if only because it was familiar. It was frustrating, though, having to fight every time to come back up for air even when you knew that happiness was better and that falling back down, staying underwater for too long, would only make things worse.

Luckily enough, though, I wasn't the only one of us who had experience in fighting a silent battle. Rye saw right through me as I stretched my towel out and attempted to keep my breathing even, pretending as if the world hadn't just shifted and that I wasn't struggling as I lost my grip, as the shrieks and laughter hadn't suddenly become muted and grey.

"Hey." His hand curled around my arm, and I inhaled the smell of sunscreen that he had slathered all over himself. I leaned over and rubbed in a white patch that he had missed. "What say we try and find a vending machine for some snacks?" The look on his face told me that this was less about hunger and more of an excuse for me to get out of here and find my head again.

It would've been easier to brush him off, say that I was fine and lay here until the pain consumed me entirely, but I knew a lifeline when I saw one, and this time, I took it. I waited until we were out of hearing reach from the others before speaking.

"I just feel like I should be over this by now, I guess," I said, trailing my fingers across the railing and avoiding looking him in the eyes. I knew that I was safe around him, that it was okay for me to be vulnerable, but that did nothing to stop the shame from burning up within me. He had been through the worst and made it out on the other side – What right did I have to whine to him? But, if my counselor were here, she'd tell me that these thoughts were counterproductive and prevented me from getting the help that I needed, so I continued on anyways. "I mean, we're in America and it's bright and sunny and we're surrounded by all these great people and opportunities and it's what I've been working towards all this time – So why am I still sad? Like, what's wrong with me that I can't just be happy about it?"

Rye took a moment to think before answering, and we arrived at a white bench, nearly blinding as the sun bounced off of it. We sat before he replied.

"I think it makes sense, really. You've gotten used to the same routine and places, and even though this new thing is a good thing, it's still a big change, and that's always scary. So while you're trying to adapt to everything, so is your mind. Just try and give it time, yeah? And notice and hold onto the good moment when they happen." As always, what he said made perfect sense.

"Are you sure? Like, do you really think so?" I asked, still a little uncertain. Sometimes it felt like I would never get past this, never recover in full. Despite it having been so long, I kept almost expecting to wake up one day cured, never once plagued by an unwarranted bad feeling again.

"I know so." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it for comfort. As he did, his bracelet slipped further down his wrist, the charm that I'd given him all that time ago still attached to it. It reminded me that I did have an important effect on the lives of those around me, that I wasn't just a bad thing.

"You know what we should do?" Rye asked, perking up. An excited smile spread across his face, his happiness infectious and passing onto me, as well.

"What?" I asked, following him as he got up and began to walk with a determined swagger before I even knew where he was headed.

"Gracie's let me have Mr. Puffles for this tour, right? We should go around photographing him in different places to show her what a good time he's having."

"And that you haven't lost him yet," I added in, nearly having to trot to keep up with his fast pace.

"Exactly! And then I can, like, message her the pictures with captions of how he misses her and stuff." I couldn't help but grin at his cute idea. Despite their big age difference, the two of them had formed a unique bond after he'd passed out on the train – Which he'd called and told me about afterwards – And the two of them both seemed to help each other with the problems that the shooting had inflicted on both of them.

She visited the flat often, and it was entertaining to watch them play with Barbies together, and to watch her mess around with his hair. I could see how happy he was to be around her, though, and how that joy was echoed within her, too. I'd spoken with her parents a few times as they dropped her off, and it made me realize something.

The tragedy had changed Rye in many ways, and not all of them were good – Yet, somehow, he still managed to reflect a world of good around him. He took something awful and changed it into a good thing – Into a reason to do better, to help everyone who needed it, to let his heart shine through. I wanted to be more like him. I wanted to be able to fight through the pain to become a better person. I wanted to use this to help other people get through it, too. I'd kept my depression a secret for so long that I'd never really considered opening up about it, but maybe – Just maybe – It would be worth the risk. But for now, I simply chased Rye across the hotel and back to our room to retrieve the bunny, who we then photographed in a series of places – Conked out on Rye's bed, chilling on a chair in the lobby, and 'eating' a chip that was half the size that he was.

When we returned to the pool to assure the others that we hadn't gotten lost on our journey for refreshments and to orchestrate a rather detailed scene of Mr. Puffles enjoying an afternoon by the poolside, I didn't see the lake that I could've died in, like before. Instead, I saw it for how it was – Jack half asleep on a floatie and Brooklyn diving on top of him, sending them both crashing into the water, Mikey laughing until they teamed up to drag him in too, Rye trying to adjust the pink swirly straw so Mr. Puffles could have a sip of coolada, and the sun illuminating all of us. It was a beautiful day in America, and I made up my mind to enjoy it.