Yep, I managed to cry so hard I made myself sick. And I wasted most of that joint arguing with Kyle. All in all, a pretty shitty night. I was a mess for the next few days after that. Kyle didn’t come back and so I was convinced once again that he’d left me, this time for good, and fixated totally on how I’d been the reason he lost his job. So during that time, I cocooned myself in the comforter and wandered around the apartment feeling lost. I hadn’t been lying or exaggerating when I said that Kyle was my home. Physical surroundings didn’t matter to me in the slightest, it was people I got attached to that made where I was my home.
Matthew did his best to look after me, and I don’t think I was very difficult to take care of. At least, I hope I wasn’t. All I generally needed was prodding in the direction of either the shower or the kitchen, which he managed fine, I think. I didn’t really care if I didn’t shower or eat, but he seemed to. He did try to make me feel better, bless him, but every conversation came back to how it was my fault he’d lost his job, my fault he was a whore and therefore my fault he had turned into such an ass. He told me it wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t really believe him. I mean, would you believe him if you were me?
When I wasn’t obsessing over that, I was obsessing over how he had left me because I was pathetic and needy and clingy and too demanding and not good enough and generally a pain in the ass to live with.
Of course, y’know that frame of mind, where you’re sure things couldn’t get any worse? Guess who got a phone call from the hospital saying Kyle had been in an accident?
Matthew drove me to the hospital, mostly because I was hardly in any state to drive myself there, partly because I was freaking out. When we got there, I didn’t really look at Kyle much. He was all broken and bruised looking and hardly conscious. I just curled up at the foot of the bed so I didn’t hurt him. As Matthew sat down in the chair next to the bed, Kyle moved a little bit. I shifted carefully, watching him to make sure it wasn’t my imagination.
He groaned a little and I had to resist the urge to fling myself on top of him and cuddle him. He probably hated me now, given that I was probably the only reason he left the apartment anyway, but it hardly stopped me from loving him anyway.
“Hey,” Kyle said, sounding all drugged up. Sad thing is, it was hard to tell the difference between how he sounded drugged up in a hospital and drugged up at home.
“H’lo,” I mumbled, doing my best to be as inoffensive and small as I could possibly be so I didn’t piss him off.
“Where am I?”
“Hospital,” I told him quietly, edging up the bed a little so I could speak to him better.
“You had a car accident and it was my fault and I’m sorry,” I felt the tears welling back up and he looked like he was thinking about something.
“Oh yeah. Cars and trees don’t mix.” I didn’t really want to hear about it. I just wanted him to not hate me and have me back. I stroked his least bruised up finger gently like he was made of something really fragile. He just watched me.
“Please don’t leave me,” I mumbled, feeling a couple of tears escaping, “I know I’m shit and it’s my fault you’re here, but I really love you.” Not that it was much of a reason to stay with someone who had managed to destroy your life.
"Who said I was leaving you?" he asked.
“No one. I just wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“I’m not gonna leave you,” he told me. I risked shuffling up the bed a little bit more at that, hoping I could maybe curl up next to him instead of by his feet. He wasn’t really in any position to move at all though, so I settled down next to his legs, taking up as little room as possible.
"M'sorry I made you lose your job,” I mumbled.
"It's okay." It didn’t feel very okay. It felt very not okay.
"No it's not, I've fucked up your life and I didn't even know it."
"You haven't, gorgeous."
"I'll try and get you your job back at the restaurant," I promised him.
"Jeanette already tried."
"I want to try anyway. I owe you that much at least."
"You don't owe me anything." I disagreed with that, but I didn’t want to piss him off, so I shut up and we fell into a silence that I spent stroking his finger again.
“I love you,” I told him.
"I love you too." I held onto his finger, making him look down at me.
"I want to cuddle you but I can't.” Or at least, I couldn’t cuddle him without hurting him.
"Why? It's not your fault."
"I drove when I was wasted, it kinda is."
I mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear. "My fault you were wasted and driving."
"Was not." Again, I silently disagreed with him.
"Rayn, if you blame yourself I swear to god I'll walk out on you the second I get out of here." It was an odd way to sort things out, but it seemed to work. I buried my face in the blanket next to his leg.
“No,” my voice was muffled, but he seemed to hear me just fine.
“Agree it's not your fault?"
"'Kay,” I said, making him smile. I didn’t really feel like smiling back, since it would take more than that to stop me blaming myself mentally, but I let it slide, kissing his finger and earning myself a hum from him.