Page 61 of Inside the Maelstrom: Part One
I couldn’t see Otto’s face, but I knew the tenseness in his shoulders. He didn’t approve. He’d get over it. Aviva wouldn’t be hurt. She knew she was too good for us; that's why she was still chasing goddamn ghosts.
We pulled into the airport, and security hustled us straight to the terminal lounge. I needed more sleep, more food, more alcohol. More everything. No sooner had we sat down than an announcement came over that our flight was delayed by two hours. Dammit.
I headed straight to the bar, ordering a cognac, neat. It was an old man drink, but fuck it. It was smooth going down, so I could knock back four before I even felt it.
I should have known Otto would appear beside me like the Ghost of Boyfriends Past, Present and hopefully Future, if he didn’t get sick of my bullshit.
He grabbed my drink, taking it straight out of my hand and replacing it with my meds. “Water, please,” he told the bartender, who reappeared with a sealed bottle of water. Otto pushed it toward me. “Take them.”
I rolled my eyes but downed the pills. “Such a fucking nag, Otto.” I opened my mouth, proving they were gone, like we were back in the institution and not at an airport a whole world away.
He shook his head at me, handing me back my cognac. “You’ve been violently sick. Your meds haven’t been as effective as they’d normally be. Don’t fuck this up just because your brain is all out of sync. Don’t fuck it up for all of us.”
With that, he just walked away, not giving me the chance to argue. I would have argued that it wasn’t my bipolar that was fucking with me right now. No, it was reality, that dark fucking dominatrix. She was beating me with her studded paddle of truth.
Okay, even mentally I’d taken that metaphor too far.
I walked back to the small group of people who would be sad if I died. I liked to think Aviva would be sad, and even Evan might shed a tear. My father would rejoice, my mother would be too fucking stoned to notice, and life would go on.
Aviva rested her head on Sampson’s shoulder as he spoke to Otto about stock figures and MMA fighters, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Her full pink lips were slightly parted, like it took too much energy to keep them pursed.
Without even pausing his conversation, Sampson pulled her onto his lap, letting her lie against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t protest, just laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She was still recovering. She should have had another couple of days building her strength back up, but she’d wanted to go, wanted to find the next clue in the next city.
We were all so pussy-whipped that we’d caved. I don’t know why though. We’d fucked her less than a handful of times, but somehow, that was enough. I was quickly learning that was the real magic of Aviva.
They kept talking and I kept drinking until our flight was called. Viva kept casting me worried looks, which I ignored. I didn’t want to talk about my cursed brain right now, and I was kind of hoping that Otto was right and the meds would magically even me out. Otto deserved better too; they’d all be better off not being dragged under by my bullshit.
It was a long flight to Yokohama, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I was next to Sampson and not beside Otto or Aviva. Sampson gave me a worried glance. “You alright, man?”
I nodded. “Still a little green from the food poisoning, but nothing that killing my liver with sake won’t cure.”
He looked at me for a little longer, then shrugged and stuck his earbuds in his ears. That's what I loved about Sampson. He didn’t worry. He did what he could, supported when he had to, and the rest he just let go. He didn’t try and change me, didn’t expect anything from me except for me to be my usual, insane self.
The flight attendant poured me a champagne, and I followed Sampson’s lead, putting in my earbuds and closing my eyes. Maybe I’d fall asleep and dream of a world where I was a normal man, who went to work, loved his girlfriend, and was not constantly stalked by the shadows of his very own demons.
Chapter33
Otto
Iwatched Hendrick out of the corner of my eye, that heavy feeling in my chest one I knew all too well. If I was honest with myself, I’d known the crash was coming, but I’d kind of hoped I was wrong. Falsely hoped that this last stint at rehab had done some good. Which was naive of me because Hendrick didn’t need rehab—he needed regular therapy and chemical intervention. His giddy happiness was usually a precursor to his lows, though those usually came when he had too much downtime to think, or was adjusting to new meds.
On the other hand, I watched Aviva, who was far more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. She knew something had shifted on the cab ride to Kolkata airport, but she didn’t know what, because she didn’t really know Hendrick. She only knew the confident, arrogant, playful Hendrick. She didn’t know the Jekyll to his Hyde. Didn’t know he was bipolar at all.
No one did, except those closest to him. Though I was fairly sure his father knew—it would have been in any number of psychiatrist reports. Didn’t stop the fucker from beating his son though, and causing his bipolar to double down with a side of PTSD. God, I hated that son of a bitch. I hoped that one day he’d get hit by a bus and rot in the pits of Hell where he belonged.
Yokohama was exactly as I remembered it, and as we pulled up in front of the hotel, Aviva was pressed tightly against the glass window of the cab. “Holy shit, it’s huge.”
We all looked at Hendrick, waiting for the inevitable dick joke, but he was staring at his phone with a glazed expression. My heart constricted in my chest, but I pasted on a smile for Aviva. “It’s not the fanciest hotel in Yokohama, but it's okay and has an amazing view of the Cosmo Clock wheel.”
She gave me a knowing look, but she didn’t protest. Maybe she was becoming more comfortable with us as well, learning that when we stayed in fancy hotels, it wasn’t because we were trying to impress her. It was legitimately because Hendrick and Sampson were whiny rich boys who didn’t sleep on anything less than thousand thread count sheets.
We all climbed out of the cab, and bellhops hurried over to collect our baggage. I wouldn’t say it to Aviva, but I was getting tired. I wanted to go home, and I wanted to see my parents. Hopping from hotel room to hotel room, bookstore to bookstore, was starting to wear me down. I wasn’t like Sampson, who was literally at home in a hotel, or Hendrick, who’d never really had a home where he felt comfortable and safe. I’d grown up loved, and secure in the knowledge that I’d always have a safety net to fall back on.
Hendrick hung back, and Aviva sidled up to me while Sampson checked us in. “What’s wrong with him?”
I swallowed hard, and looked at the man who had my heart in a vice. “He’s bipolar.”
Aviva didn’t gasp with shock, or look horrified. She just nodded, like I was confirming all her suspicions.
