Who: Rylee and Carson When: Tuesday, Oct 10, morning and on Where: The car, the VA in Portland Status: Complete
Carson had woken up feeling ... weird. Just kind of on edge from the moment he’d opened his eyes. The day before had been kind of strange, and he’d had intense dreams that lingered through him getting up out of bed. The feelings lingered, anyway, he couldn’t quite remember what the specifics had been about. Carson got some clothes on and got into his chair, wheeling his way down the hall into the bathroom. He took his time in there, trying to shake off the grumpy brain-fog and truly wake up. Today was the day he and Rylee drove down to Portland to get his new prosthetic. The VA down there still had all his measurements on file, thankfully, so he wouldn’t have to go through half a dozen fittings before they got it right this time. Carson was eager to be on his feet again, even with crutches. His calf was healing, but slowly, so he would need the extra support, but just being mobile while upright was going to feel so good.
Carson had a nice time with Jared the day before, and it had been incredibly good to get outside and do something. But when he’d gotten home again, he’d found something stuffed under the door -- an envelope full of money. It had his name on it, in writing that seemed like it should be familiar but he couldn’t quite place. Carson had opened it once Jared was gone, and been completely shocked to find fifteen grand in there. In cash. The bills were big, so there was no mis-counting. Carson had stashed the envelope away in his room, nervous about it and not sure what to do with it. Did he have some rich benefactor he didn’t know about? Had someone done a collection to help with his medical bills? Fifteen fucking thousand dollars?
He hadn’t told Rylee about it when she’d come home, not yet. He wanted to think about it first, decide whether or not he was going to try and give it back. Carson had a couple of suspicions on who could’ve stuffed it under the door, some more likely than others, but he wasn’t positive yet. It was still weighing heavily on his mind that morning, like some itch that he couldn’t quite reach. It was an insane amount of money, and it felt insane that someone had just given it to him, just like that. Part of him wanted to keep it and not breathe a word about it ever, but he wasn’t sure if he could do that in good conscience.
Once he was done in the bathroom, Carson made his way to the kitchen to get himself some breakfast. He was preoccupied enough that he fumbled taking the milk jug out of the fridge and dropped it ... and of course it exploded all over the floor. “Fuck!” he barked, a surprisingly strong surge of anger shooting through him. His fist shot out against the nearest cabinet door before he realized it was coming, and that cracked too, earning another loud curse.
Rylee had woken sometime after hearing Carson in the hall, though she hadn't been too eager to jump out of bed and get the day started. They would be driving to Portland, and it meant being in a closed space with Carson where they would probably be forced to talk, and she feared it would be meaningless chit chat to avoid the deeper discussion that neither of them seemed to want to have. But then again, maybe the drive would be beneficial. Maybe they would talk and things could get back to normal. Rylee wasn't holding her breath for that one, but a touch of optimism never hurt.
After a few minutes of lingering in bed, Rylee finally rolled out of bed and got dressed. She knew Carson was having a hard time getting around without his prosthetic and she didn't want to make his morning more difficult than it was already going to be. Needing to brush her teeth and hair, Rylee left her bedroom, not bothering to stifle a yawn, as she padded down the hall to the bathroom. She had just flipped on the light when she heard the commotion in the kitchen, following by Carson's curses. What the hell...?
Afraid he might have hurt himself, Rylee hurried down the rest of the hall and turned into the kitchen, where she found Carson, looking red faced and angry, and a sopping mess of milk on the kitchen floor. "It's okay," Rylee said, stepping over to pick up the busted milk jug off the floor. The crack in the cabinet was impossible to miss, but she said nothing about it just yet, more focused on wanting to get the kitchen floor cleaned up. "What happened?"
Just like that, Carson knew it was going to be a bad day. He hated feeling out of control, and he definitely did just then. It being a familiar sensation didn’t make it any better at all. He’d rolled backward away from the mess, all of him feeling tense and agitated, and started looking for a towel to grab when Rylee showed up. And of course she started cleaning up after him automatically, because he was halfway helpless and he fucking hated it. “I dropped it, stop,” he told her sharply, holding a hand up. “Just leave it, I’ll get it.” Carson would get it because he could, goddammit, he wasn’t helpless. He moved his chair a bit and reached for the roll of paper towels to start tearing some off and tossing them to soak up the mess.
"Carson," Rylee began, opening the plastic trash bin to shove the milk jug down into it, "that's too much liquid for paper towels and you'll end up using the whole roll. Just let me grab a towel from the linen closet and the mop. It's fine." She was trying not to sound exasperated, because he was in a mood, and she didn't want to piss him off or make him feel helpless. But he couldn't get around very well and while that wasn't his fault, it just was what it was. He wasn't going to be able to get down on the ground and clean it up the way it needed to be cleaned up. That's why she was there, to help. Rylee held up both hands and took a breath. "Just let me clean it up, okay? Please."
Carson wanted to say no and order her out of the kitchen. He kind of wanted to scream, too, and break everything he could get his hands on. Couldn’t he even get some fucking cereal without something going wrong? His heart was pounding too hard and he felt shaky with rage that was really overblown for just spilling some milk. He also knew it wasn’t Rylee’s fault and she was just trying to help. And he loved her, so he needed to walk away. Wheel away. Whatever. His movements jerky with anger and frustration, he pivoted his chair and rolled toward the living room. It was going to be a great hours-long drive later on, they were off to a great fucking start. Carson took himself to a spot in the living room where he wasn’t visible from the kitchen and hunched forward, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and trying to do the deep, counted breaths that usually helped calm him down.
Rylee watched and waited until Carson had wheeled himself out of the kitchen toward the living room before she reached out to close the refrigerator. It was quite clear that he was angry, but there was nothing Rylee could do about it right then. Sometimes she had to let him work through those moments of rage on his own, though she was always there if he needed her to be. When he said nothing else, Rylee got to work. She toweled up the milk and quickly gave the floor a scrubbing with the mop. Rylee left Carson alone, not minding the silence in the apartment as she cleaned. It was best to let him calm down before they spoke again and Rylee didn't want to push him to talk while he was still irritated. The kitchen started smelling of lemons from the floor cleaner, and once she was finished, she put the mop away and washed her hands. There was no more milk so cereal was off the table. Drying her hands on a hand towel, she then walked into the living room where Carson was sitting. "Why don't we get ready to go and head out early. We can stop and get some breakfast to go if you want. I can run into Moxie's and grab some muffins, or whatever you want."
Carson sat right where he was, listening to Rylee clean up and trying to get a handle on himself. He slipped from anger into a despair that felt chest-crushing for a little while. Like he would never, ever be balanced again. He would always have these problems and be impossible to live with and not able to cope with everyday life frustrations and he couldn’t even have normal relationships to begin with and the VA probably didn’t even have his leg ready and he would be stuck in this wheelchair for some reason or another for the rest of his life and nothing would be good again ... It was an awful, dark spiral.
Carson’s head jerked up at the sound of Rylee’s voice, and he realized his mind had drifted too far afield and he’d stopped listening to her. What she said sounded like a peace offering, and he was hungry. He had no reason to say no and sulk some more, but that was what he wanted to do. “Yeah, okay,” he said after a moment and another deep breath. He needed something to even him out first though. “Gimme a few minutes.” Carson turned and pushed himself past her and down the hall to his room again. He had to change, and maybe smoke half a joint or something to chill.
Rylee watched him go before she closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. She was starting to realize it might be a much longer drive to Portland than usual. Hopefully whatever frustrations he was feeling that morning would wear off and they could start over and try to get the day going on the right foot. Since Carson had gone to presumably get dressed, Rylee left the living room to finish getting ready herself. She wasn't sure if he needed help or not, but Rylee supposed he would tell her if he did. Maybe. Finally she sat on the couch to pull on her shoes, her hair tied back into a ponytail. She opted for casual today, jeans and a long sleeved shirt. "Carson," Rylee called down the hall. "Everything okay?"
It was easy enough to change from his boxers into a pair of clean lounge pants, a t-shirt, and one sneaker. He’d been wearing a lot of those kinds of pants lately since he was sitting down so much, and he would need their flexibility for the leg fitting today. Carson got back into his chair and tucked the floppy leg of the pants up under his thigh, then grabbed a joint out of his top drawer. Carson wheeled to the window and pushed it open, then brought up his lighter to fire up his medicine. He didn’t use it a lot, but on days like this when he felt really unstable and he needed not to be, the medical-grade pot helped. Carson was almost halfway down the joint when Rylee called for him. “Yeah, coming!” he called back, taking one more big drag and blowing it out the window before he stubbed it out. Carson tucked the remainder into his pocket just in case he needed it later, then turned to head back out into the hallway. He grabbed his crutches and his other shoe on the way out and met Rylee in the living room. “Ready when you are,” he murmured.
She was ready, and she grabbed her keys and purse before turning toward Carson. Rylee had no idea if it was a good idea to talk to him now, or wait until the silence in the car was unbearable enough to try then. For once, though, Rylee wasn't sure how to start. What did she even want to talk about? His mood? Hers? What had happened between them, or what things were going forward? Rylee wasn't used to being this insecure or uncertain. Not with Carson, at least. It was frustrating. Sighing inwardly, Rylee opted to wait before opening the can of worms that was her brain, and she walked over to open the front door for him so he could exit first and she could lock up. "Feeling okay?" she asked, once they were in the hall and she could lock the door. Rylee could smell the lingering aroma of pot, so maybe that had helped calm him a bit.
Carson wasn’t super stoned, but he did feel more relaxed. So far, anyway. He wheeled himself out of the apartment and headed with Rylee toward the main doors. “Yeah, m’alright,” he answered, though he couldn’t sound really definitive about it. Carson didn’t know how he was feeling, if he was being honest. Off-balance and weird, but now that was at least muted. He went with Rylee to the parking lot and went through the frustrating ritual of getting him into the car. His left leg was getting less painful to put weight on, but it was still a bit of a struggle and it did hurt. He was just looking forward to getting back on the crutches they tucked into the backseat.
It was a process getting Carson into her car, and then the wheelchair. She was really hoping that he would be able to move better on crutches once they fit him with his new leg. And maybe that would help brighten his mood a bit. Rylee knew how much Carson hated his lack of mobility. Rylee went through the proper motions once they were on their way. She made sure he was comfortable, then drove to Moxie's where she ran in to get some coffees and an easy breakfast to eat on their way to Portland. Once they were finally on their way, Rylee sipped her coffee carefully and debated whether or not she wanted to turn on some music. It would at least fill the space of silence. Usually she had no trouble chatting away with Carson and she wasn't sure if her hesitance came from his mood or other things. "If we have time, we should stop by that café for lunch. Bayside? It's never too late in the day for eggs benedict, right?"
It was hard not to stew in the car while Rylee went in to get them a portable breakfast. Carson should’ve been doing that, or at least going with her to help carry stuff. But no, he was stuck. Hopefully he wouldn’t be stuck for too much longer, but it was still frustrating while it was happening. Ever since he’d gotten hurt overseas, he’d pushed himself to recover and be as independent as possible, and being set back for any reason really pissed him off. Food helped a little, and Carson didn’t try to make conversation either as they got started. He was tired and cranky and a little out of it in ways that had nothing to do with the weed, it felt like. He looked over when Rylee spoke, one brow quirking. “Oh, uh ... yeah, sure,” he said. Carson lifted his coffee for another swallow. He knew that was a shitty answer, and he wasn’t being very easy to be around at the moment, but he was having trouble fully shaking off that bad feeling he’d woken up with. “Whatever you want.”
There was nothing about this that Rylee felt was inconvenient to her. She had been helping Carson since he'd come home, missing half his leg and suffering from PTSD, among other things. His health was never a burden because she loved him, and she wanted him to get better. Sometimes helping Carson was all Rylee had to make herself feel useful. Being a waitress wasn't exactly life changing for her, or anyone else. To her credit, Rylee didn't sigh at the short answer. She didn't generally push him too much when he was feeling like this, but she didn't think she could handle this kind of car ride in silence. "So what's going on," Rylee asked, setting her coffee back down in the cup holder. "I feel like something's on your mind." Or multiple somethings, for all Rylee knew. She wanted to hope that Carson knew he could still talk to her. And quite frankly, he couldn't retreat from this conversation, so Rylee figured, what the hell, might as well try.
Christ. Of course she would ask him something like that, so they could have This Conversation somewhere neither of them could get away from it. Carson had known that was inevitable, and probably needed to happen, but he still didn’t have any good answers. Nothing felt good at the moment. He took another bite of his breakfast sandwich to stall for a minute, giving a noncommittal grunt at first. “What do you think?” he muttered then, more sour than snappish. Carson was already irritated with himself. Fuck, why was everything so hard all of the sudden?
“I’m fuckin’ ... crippled all over again and a burden, I still don’t know what really bit me, I dunno if it’ll heal right ... I dunno how to act around you anymore, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me all the time, it’s like I just can’t get a handle on living like a normal fucking person. I can’t -- I’m not ... good for anybody. Not you, not Felix, not any of the whole other list ... did you know that Jared Gaines is bi? He’s known me for years, never shown a bit of interest, then Ty Solomon comes out of the closet and they’re all sickeningly in love now. Like great, that’s great, but here I am fuckin’ ... in love with my cousin. Because that’s normal and healthy and will totally turn out fine.” The rant was finally stopped by a sudden lump in his throat and Carson turned his face toward the window, pushing his glasses up on his forehead to wipe impatiently at his eyes.
That... was a lot to process. But she'd asked, and it wouldn't make sense to dismiss it all. She didn't want to dismiss it all. Rylee just wasn't sure what she was supposed to start. No wonder he was in a mood. Rylee didn't respond right away, but kept her eyes on the highway in front of her. She didn't want to say the wrong thing, or sound like she was trying to placate him to get him to cheer up. No one wanted to be placated. She had heard something at Moxie's about the two deputies, but it hadn't really shocked her much. Small town gossip wasn't always true, after all, but... it sounded like this particular rumor was on the money. Not that Jared Gaines and Ty Solomon being a thing was the important part to focus on here.
Rylee licked her lips and swallowed, finally sparing a glance at Carson. Time to buck up and lay some shit on the table, she supposed. It probably helped that she wasn't sure if she was angry or upset or sympathetic. It felt like one big ball of emotions sitting in her stomach at the moment. "Okay, for one thing, Carson, you're not a fucking burden. I swear to whatever God out there exists, if you say that one more time, I will.... I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be pretty. The bite will heal and it will heal fine, and you'll be walking and back at work in no time. The doctor didn't give us any real reason to worry, okay? People get bit all the time, you're not going to turn into Cujo for Christ's sake." Rylee paused just long enough to take a breath. "And you know what, I'm sorry that you don't feel normal. I'm sorry that you don't feel good enough for me, or Felix or... whoever else is on your list. But you're wrong. You're amazing and you deserve someone who will see that, no matter what happens, or how many fucking legs you have, or if you get angry for spilling goddamn milk. I'm sorry." Her voice cracked a little and Rylee stopped to clear her throat, her eyes focused intently on the road ahead. "I feel like I'm the reason you feel like this. You deserve a normal life, and a normal relationship. I should've just... let things go. Ignored them. Just..." Rylee exhaled slowly before glancing at him. "I'm sorry."
Carson kind of wanted to sink through the floorboards of the car and just lie down on the interstate and let the next semi roll over him. It was all so overwhelming all of the sudden. Overwhelming and heavy and fucking sad. He wasn’t surprised by anything Rylee said, she’d bitched him out for calling himself a burden before, why should now be any different? She could say it a million times, and he wasn’t sure he would ever believe it. She was his cousin, and he adored her and loved living with her and appreciated everything she did for him, of course ... but it didn’t seem like she would ever have a normal life either, because of him. So he could empathize with the self-blame part of what she said, even though she was very wrong.
“No, it’s not ... don’t say that like it’s just you,” Carson blurted more than said, that sadness starting to really take over. His voice was wavery and before he could stop it, the tears were coming freely. Fuck. “You’re not allowed to be sorry, it’s not you, Ry! We’ve been ignoring this shit for years and it hasn’t gone away! Both of us, and it’s not going away. No relationship is ever gonna be normal, because I’m not normal, and I dunno what to fuckin’ do ...” He covered his face with his free hand, his skin feeling too hot as he tried to muffle a few unstoppable sobs. Fuck, he couldn’t hold his shit together today at all, could he?
Rylee briefly considered pulling over so she could console him, comfort him somehow with the right words and a hug. But she didn't think that would work, and they had an appointment, and getting Carson healthy and mobile again was important, especially in the midst of all of this. Still, her fingers tightened around the steering wheel for a brief moment before she reached out with one hand to touch his arm. Rylee knew Carson was right, and that it wasn't just her. It was both of them. Even before they both admitted how they felt, they were enabling something unhealthy. Promises of growing old together, forsaking normal relationships and normal futures. In her heart, Rylee knew she would give that up for him. Whether they moved away, or just... loved each other in secret. She would find the right option. But Carson deserved more than that, and she knew it. He felt abnormal because of his disability, but she was perfectly healthy and she was still a fucking trainwreck.
"You keep saying normal like that's something to strive for," Rylee said, her tone light despite how heavy everything felt in that moment. "Look, Car, we're going to figure this out. I want you to have whatever it is that you want. And if that's normality, I'll do whatever I need to do to get you there. I swear it."
Carson heard her, technically speaking, and he felt her hand on his arm, but he was too caught up in his own emotions at the moment to really respond. He pulled the front of his t-shirt up over his face and cried hard for a while. It was so stupid and he hated every second of it, but if his body needed to purge, then so be it. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last. He’d never been great at regulating his emotions to start with, and the PTSD and brain damage had just made it even more difficult. Adding in how fucked up things had been lately ... no wonder he was a mess. Didn’t mean he liked it, though.
Carson knew he loved Rylee -- he had felt more-than-cousinly things for her since they were teenagers, but the real feelings had developed during his recovery. If he hadn’t gotten hurt and she hadn’t been so wonderful about helping him, maybe they wouldn’t have been in this situation now. They could’ve gone on to have fulfilling lives and relationships instead of bouncing from one short-term boyfriend-girlfriend to another ... or not even bothering with the relationship part like Rylee so often did. It seemed to him that it was as much his fault as it was hers. He’d needed her too much, he’d let himself lose control of it. He should probably just pop open the car door and take care of this problem for both of them.
That thought shocked him enough to break the crying jag, and Carson sniffled as he wiped at his messy face. He hadn’t been suicidal in ... a very long time. Too long for those ideas to be cropping up now. “I think my psych meds might be fucked up,” he mumbled fuzzily. “I’m losing my shit, Ry, this isn’t good.”
Rylee let him cry, because she knew sometimes that's what he needed to do. It was cathartic for a lot of people to just purge emotion. So she drove in silence and placed her hand on the back of his neck to rub it gently. She hated that she couldn't really do anything for him at the moment. Or... ever. She couldn't go back in time and keep him from joining the Marines, or getting hurt. She couldn't go back in time and make sure they never shared that kiss when they were twelve. Rylee knew there were steps she could take now to maybe make his life easier, but they were difficult steps and it hurt her stomach to even consider them. But god, she hated seeing Carson this miserable, especially when she felt partially responsible. For a moment there, she had thought confessing that she loved him too would lead to something better for the both of them, but it hadn't. It seemed like it had made everything worse.
When he spoke again, Rylee looked over at him, her brows drawn together in concern. "We'll have them check you out when we get there," she said. "You've had a rough couple of weeks, Carson, it's just everything piling on at once. If it's your meds, we'll get it fixed. Just... breathe, okay?" She really hadn't meant to upset him, especially now when they were on their way to Portland. Honestly, she had the worst fucking timing. "What can I do?"
Carson knew how the VA worked, and he knew that unless he declared himself ‘in crisis’ that nobody in psych could see him today. There were waiting lists, he would have to make an appointment. And if he did say he was in crisis, they would commit him for observation. For a moment he considered doing that, just to make sure, but frustrated anger flooded through him again. He didn’t want to stay at that fucking place any longer than he had to. It made him mad to think that his mental health was slipping again, and some of the stuff he’d been seeing and feeling ... fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. His fists clenched in his shirt and Carson squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, counting through a couple of deep breaths.
“I dunno,” he murmured finally. “I just ... really don’t feel right.” He didn’t want to tell her all of it, about that day the reflection in the mirror had seemed different somehow, but strangely magnetic. Or about how he was so sure that what had bitten him hadn’t been a normal canine. Or about the dull desire to lie down in traffic. Or about how he’d fucked Brad Fitzgerald to feel halfway normal. Or about the money. He rubbed both hands over his hair. “I can’t lose you and I don’t wanna hurt you and I just ... everything seems so fucked up right now and I dunno what to do.”
Rylee knew that there was a possibility that Carson would have to stay overnight. She hadn't planned for it, but she would make it work if it came down to it. She wouldn't just leave him there alone. His mental health was better than her own comfort. She glanced at him again, frowning. "Carson, you're never going to lose me. And you know, everyone in my life has hurt me at some point, except for you. That's not something you need to worry about. You need to focus on yourself and getting better. If we have to stay so they can re-evaluate your meds, then we're going to stay. I told you we're going to fix this, so that's what we're going to do. It's going to be okay." Rylee's words took on a stubborn, determined tone. She hated seeing Carson like this. But they had gone through this before and come out on the other side intact. This time would be no different.
It was usually reassuring when she took that sort of authority to make sure he was taken care of, but for some reason today it just made Carson feel worse. How could she know it would be okay? It had been okay before, but that didn’t mean it would always be okay. He was obviously deteriorating, and there had to be a bottom to that somewhere, right? What if this was it? What if this emotional rollercoaster and seeing shit that wasn’t real was his bottom? It didn’t make sense, but it was still happening and it was scary. Carson wanted to cry again, but he fought hard not to, because he didn’t need to look any more crazy than he was already feeling. “Okay,” he mumbled miserably. He knew there was more to talk about, real shit that they needed to discuss, but God, he didn’t know if he could right then. He leaned forward, the top of his head against the dashboard and his face in his head, going back to counting breaths.
Rylee knew he didn't really believe her, but that was okay. He was allowed to be scared, but she was convinced once they got to the VA, everything would smooth out and they would have his new leg, and answers. And if they didn't have answers, they would find them. Rylee reached over to rub his back gently, aware that this wasn't the right time to talk about anything else on her mind. Carson was going through something, and that was more important. Maybe it was just better to let what had happened go and get back on track. They didn't have to talk about it. If they'd avoided it this long, maybe there was a good reason for it. Rylee didn't want to feel sorry for herself, so she focused on driving, but left her hand on Carson's back, just in case he needed the comfort. "I love you, Car," Rylee murmured. "Whatever it is, we'll work through it."
Some more tears squeezed out of Carson’s eyes as another wave of emotion rolled through him. This one wasn’t all bad, there was some fierce love in there too. He immediately felt horribly guilty that he’d fucked Brad, after he and Rylee had their ... confession. Carson knew it would upset her, and he bit his tongue on the sudden urge to confess and cry and make her pull over so he could hug her tight. That would be so stupid though, especially since they were stuck on this mini road trip together. “I love you too,” he managed to get out, his voice a hoarse and wavery mess. “So fucking much.” Carson sat up enough to snag Rylee’s hand and brought it to his face. He squeezed it and held it to his cheek before kissing it a few times. “I’m so sorry I’m such a fucking mess. You deserve better, I love you.”
Rylee did what she could to keep her eyes on the road, though she glanced frequently at Carson until he sat up and took her hand. "Don't say things like that," Rylee murmured before she squeezed his hand gently. "Not the 'I love you' part, but the rest of it. I don't care that you're a mess, Carson. We'll be a mess together. It's you and me, remember?" She smiled softly, though her throat felt dry and tight and her eyes were burning, like she wanted to start crying with him, but she couldn't do that. Wouldn't that be a sight, the two of them sobbing in her car on the highway. She wanted to hug him, but the car was moving and she couldn't risk crashing. "We've been through worse than this, haven't we? You're fucking strong, Carson, and I know you're going to get through this too. I don't have any doubts."
Had they been through worse than this? Physically, for sure. Probably mentally too. Emotionally ... he didn’t know anymore. Maybe it was just too hard to see through all the tumult that was going on inside of him at the moment. Carson just felt wrecked. Wrecked and stupid. He held onto her hand for another minute or two before he let her go so she could drive properly. He tried to cling to the ‘it’s you and me’ part, because that was what mattered, right? Nevermind for now that they couldn’t be together, not really. Not like they wanted to ... because they did, right? Fuck, it was all too much for him to really process well, and Carson tried to stop obsessing over everything, sitting back and looking through the windshield with a furrowed brow. “I couldn’t do any of this without you,” he murmured. Rylee already knew that, he was sure, but it bore repeating, especially on days like this.
Rylee smiled softly at Carson. "I don't know about that, but you'll never have to find out." No matter what happened, she always be there for him, and she hoped he knew that. She did feel guilty for... so much. Rylee was starting to realize that maybe telling him that she loved him too had been a mistake. He was already going through a lot and that was just one more monumental thing to pile on his shoulders. Maybe this wouldn't have been so bad for him if that had never happened... one less thing to stress about. It wasn't like she could go back and change things now. All she could go was try to help him through this so they could get home and he could start to heal, physically and mentally. Rylee could purge her own emotions later. "Do you want to listen to some music?" she asked. "I'll let you pick?"
The irritable part of him that had apparently taken over his whole being for the day wanted to say no, to just cross his arms and sulk for the rest of the trip. But that was stupid because he had no reason to sulk at Rylee. Pretty much the polar opposite. None of this was her fault. He’d started all the unrest between them by completely losing control and pretty much assaulting her, and now he knew if she knew about Brad it would upset her and he was just doing everything fucking wrong lately. At least music meant they wouldn’t feel so compelled to talk. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered morosely, leaning forward to start hunting down a station. Carson settled on some oldies rock and eventually pulled the lever to recline his seat back and closed his eyes. His head hurt, and even if he didn’t sleep, it was another small form of escape.
Rylee said nothing, but glanced at Carson once he had reclined and shut his eyes. She bit back a sigh and returned her attention to the road while reaching for her now lukewarm coffee. It was going to be a long drive. Not that their trips to the VA were ever much fun, but it was never this tense.
They didn't talk much more until they arrived and Rylee helped Carson into the wheelchair. Honestly she couldn't wait until he was back on crutches because wheelchairs were a massive pain in the ass. They sat in silence in the waiting room, and Rylee couldn't help but feel immense relief when they were called back. She let the nurse push Carson's wheelchair, but stayed close, willing to let Carson do the talking for the moment. She was waiting to see if he would mention the issue with his meds, and his moods. Rylee was betting he wouldn't, but she wanted to give him the chance, at least. Despite how little they had spoken to each other during the duration of the drive, Rylee rested her hand on his shoulder to rub it gently, just so he knew she was there if he needed her for anything.
Carson didn’t absolutely love the VA either; he’d spent too much time in and out of there. Sometimes they seemed intent on fucking vets over, too. Usually he handled it better though, making sure to chat up the hard working nurses and say hello to the other vets who seemed open to it in the waiting rooms. Today though, he felt too pissy and on edge to be very personable. So he just sat with Rylee and flipped through a magazine without really seeing it while they waited. Finally it was time to go back, and Carson allowed himself to be wheeled into the exam room.
The first part of the visit was all about getting his new leg situated with the staff physical therapist. It looked shiny and new coming out of the wrapping, and Carson very nearly cried when it fit and sealed comfortably over his stump. Bracing himself between the exam table and the PT’s hand, he stood up and put weight on it and limped around a little. He would definitely need crutches until his remaining calf fully healed, but it felt incredibly good to be on his feet again, and his eyes did start leaking before the therapist managed to duck out of the room.
Next came the doctor, because Carson had told them about his injury, and he wanted to follow up. Carson had managed to more or less compose himself by the time the man made it in, and he let the doctor check the wound’s progress and ask him some questions about it. Then came more questions about how he was feeling overall. Without looking at Rylee, Carson assured the man that he was doing fine otherwise. Now that he had what he’d come for, he was eager to get the fuck out of this place and go back home. He could deal with everything else on his own.
Rylee stayed out of the way, but she listened intently, wanting to remember what the therapist and doctor said, just in case there were questions back home later. She knew Carson wasn't feeling right, and she didn't want to have to depend solely on his memory if something came up. She was relieved when the doctor seemed to think the bite was healing, but when Carson was asked about how he was feeling overall, Rylee tried not to huff too loudly, especially when she noticed how he purposely avoided her gaze. Rylee hated it when Carson lied to his doctors. There was a decision to be made, but it wasn't a very hard one. If she said nothing, they went home and then who knew what would happen. She had her arms folded casually against her chest, and Rylee stepped forward from where she had been standing near the window, out of the way.
"He's been having pretty intense mood swings," she said, looking directly at the doctor, rather than Carson. "Seeing things, feeling out of sorts. He told me today he thinks his psych meds are off. I know he won't say it, but I think he's in crisis and needs to talk to someone before things get worse." Rylee's tone was firm and matter of fact, even if her heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest.
The doctor’s eyebrows rose at Rylee’s words -- especially high at the ‘seeing things’ part -- and he looked to Carson for confirmation. The instant his cousin started talking, Carson knew she was going to rat him out, and white-hot rage flashed through him. “Goddammit, Rylee!” he hissed through clenched teeth. His hands gripped the edge of the exam table hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and color rose in Carson’s cheeks. He wanted to go home, and not have to deal with this bullshit, and after everything lately she was just gonna sell him out like that? “Fuck!”
The doctor seemed mostly unfazed, giving a little hum before he made a note on his clipboard. Which of course just irritated the fuck out of Carson more. “Can you clarify ‘seeing things’?” The doctor asked Rylee, though he mostly kept his eyes on Carson. “Any instances of violence?”
Rylee knew he would be pissed off at her. She knew this could potentially put a wedge between them for awhile until he realized she had done it for his own good. And she didn’t want to upset him but she loved him too much to let him ignore whatever it was he was going through and all she could do was hope that he could see that once this all settled. Rylee told Carson they would fix whatever was going on and this was part of that process. She glanced at him briefly when he cursed, but her expression remained calm and non-combative. Rylee turned her attention back to the doctor, uncertain as to whether or not she wanted to tell him about the ‘assault’. Carson hadn’t gotten violent with her, not really, but it had been extremely out of character for him, and that worried her as much as anything else.
“He had a hallucination in the bathroom a couple weeks ago,” Rylee explained. “In the mirror. If he’s had any others, he hasn’t told me about them. And no, he hasn’t been violent but lately he’s had moments where he hasn’t been acting like himself. I know he’s struggling and the only reason he won’t say so himself is because he doesn’t want to stay here overnight.” It was honest, at least, and Rylee knew the doctor didn’t have to take her word for it, but she was already betting that Carson’s anger at her words would more or less prove what she was saying.
Carson had huffed and grunted protests as Rylee talked, and by the time she finished he was pissed at her. And the doctors, and the hospital, and the fact he had to be there at all, at the whole fucking world, really. He rocked back and forth a bit on the table as she ratted him out, restless with anger, and then one hand shot out to hit something. It happened to be one of the instrument stands next to the exam bed, and it went roll-skittering away, tipping over to crash against the sink counter. “Fuck you!” he shouted, aware in some distant way that he was just confirming what Rylee was saying, but seemingly unable to stop himself. What he’d seen had been fucking real, goddammit.
The doctor had stood up at the outburst, but he made no moves toward Carson, which was probably a good thing at the moment. He looked mildly alarmed, but it certainly wasn’t the first time something like that had happened in an exam room, and wouldn’t be the last. “Try to calm yourself, Corporal,” he said evenly. “I will speak with the psych team and get someone in here to better evaluate. Ms. Mears, would you like to accompany me?”
While the outburst didn't exactly come to a shock to Rylee, it still startled her. Carson had experienced bursts of temper before, though she couldn't remember when they had ever been directed at her. And she told herself that his reaction now probably wasn't either. He had already been on edge and not himself on the drive here, and Rylee understood that. It felt instinctual to want to go to him and try to calm him down, but Rylee had enough self awareness that he probably didn't want that right now. Still, she was reluctant to leave him alone when he was angry, not that there was probably a whole lot she could do. The outburst alone probably warranted a more in depth evaluation and it was likely he would have to stay overnight.
Exhaling softly when the doctor spoke to her, Rylee started to cross the small room towards him, aware that she couldn't exactly stay in there when the psych team arrived. Rylee had spent plenty of time in the waiting room before, and she was okay with that. "I'm sorry, Car," she murmured, wishing she had something better and more calming to say.
“Fuck you,” Carson repeated in a growly mutter. He felt shaky and full of an anger that was bigger than him, that felt bigger than the whole goddamn place. He kept his head bent and didn’t look at her, his breathing heavy, hands gripping the exam table tight again to try to keep them from lashing out. He didn’t want to be alone but at the same time he didn’t want anybody in his face either, least of all Rylee. It wasn’t a comfortable state of mind at all, but Carson couldn’t seem to shake it off. He’d had a whole car ride and doctor’s exam to chill, and he hadn’t, and part of him knew this was the best thing, in spite of himself. At least when the psych people arrived, he could cuss them out without feeling guilty for it.
The words stung, but Rylee couldn't do much about it at the moment. Her own personal feelings about what was happening took a back seat to Carson's health. It always had. She just wanted him to be okay. She said nothing as she followed the doctor out of the room. He asked her a few more questions, but Rylee hedged on giving too many specifics about his outbursts. It was too personal in a sense, but she was hoping she had given enough information that they would give him a full evaluation. Rylee was led to the waiting room where she sat and rested her head back on the chair with a long, slow sigh. If Carson had to stay overnight, she would have to call off for her shift at Moxie's tomorrow. Unless she drove home to work it and drove back when it was finished. She had no idea how long Carson might have to stay, but she would just have to roll with it and wait until she knew what was happening.
It took a while for the psych team -- which consisted of three people as it turned out, a psychologist, a psych nurse, and a burly, silent technician who was probably there more for the doctor’s protection than anything -- to come into Carson’s room. They talked to him for a while, all full of soothing tones and gentle questions, but he only got more and more pissed and agitated. He couldn’t stay here, he had plans the next day. He owed Brad a date, and they’d set it for Wednesday and shit was already weird enough, couldn’t they just leave him the fuck alone? They listened to him rant about how the mirror was bullshit, but it had been real, and that the thing that attacked him wasn’t a dog or a wolf at all, but it wasn’t until the got up and tried to shove the psych tech that they really took action.
Before he knew it, Carson was sedated and in the wheelchair again. It was kind of a relief, honestly, even though part of him still railed against the doped-up feeling. It was just a dull and unimportant railing. Distant. He was taken off down a hallway while the psych doctor and nurse murmured amongst themselves about PTSD complications and antipsychotics.
The nurse finally went to the waiting room to find Rylee, a plump and pleasant woman in her forties with curly dark hair and ‘Gladys Ortiz’ on her nametag. She checked with the front desk and was pointed toward Rylee, whom she approached with a soft smile. It had been almost two hours, the poor thing was probably wiped out. “Hello,” the nurse said. “Are you here with Corporal Durand?”
Every minute felt like an hour. Rylee checked her texts, her Facebook, read some news on her phone until the low power mode warning popped up on her screen. She paced the waiting room and went outside to plug her phone into her car charger as she dug around in the glove compartment for the pack of cigarettes she kept hidden in there for stressful times like this. She smoked two cigarettes before returning to the waiting room, where she sat, fidgeted, got up to pace again, and then sat some more. Rylee honestly wasn't sure how much time had passed when a nurse finally approached her, prompting Rylee to stand quickly, hoping for some good news. Carson was feeling better, he wouldn't need to stay the night, etc., etc. The drive home might be awkward and horrible, but they would get home, eat and make up and everything would be all right after that.
She nodded at the nurse and slipped the tips of her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans. "Rylee. I’m his cousin. Is he okay?" Rylee had been the reason for the psych eval, but she was still clinging to some hope that he wouldn't have to stay overnight. Even if it was necessary, Rylee knew how much he hated this place.
She looked nervous, the poor thing. Of course she was. Dealing with mental illness was never easy. Nurse Ortiz gave her a nod before the question was even fully out of her mouth. “We’ve got him resting now,” she said, a delicate way to say they’d sedated him. “We’d like to keep him overnight at least to observe his mental state. The doctor is concerned that the extra trauma from the animal attack has triggered a PTSD episode. But since it sounded like there was some trouble before that ...? We would like to re-evaluate his current medications and interview him again when he’s ... calmer.” The nurse looked sympathetic as she tilted her head at Rylee a bit. “Do you plan on staying in town? Do you need any help finding a motel room?”
Shit. Rylee knew well enough to know that meant he'd flipped out and they'd sedated him. She nodded and rubbed a hand over her face. "It's been a rough couple of weeks," she murmured before dropping her hand to her side. She knew staying in a motel somewhere close would be the right thing to do. But she also knew she wouldn't be able to see him until they were done and it would drive her crazy to sit around in a motel room alone all night. Rylee could only hope that once Carson was clear headed again, he would just let these people do their jobs and help him. Swallowing hard, Rylee brushed some of her hair away from her face. "Do you know how long he'll have to stay? I may just drive home and come back tomorrow. I have a short morning shift at work, and then I can bring him some clean clothes." Would Carson see that as her abandoning him? Did he even want her close by? Given his reaction when she spoke up in the exam room, she was betting he wouldn't even ask for her, which was honestly pretty gutting but it was what it was. She could try to be helpful in other ways.
The older woman reached out to give Rylee’s arm a little squeeze. That exhausted look was one that she’d seen countless times. It was tragic, how so many of these men lashed out at the women in their lives due to their sickness, and it just wasn’t good for anybody. “That depends on him and how well he responds to treatment,” Nurse Ortiz told her gently. “But don’t fret, he’s in good hands and we won’t release him until he’d stabilized. You go on home and get some rest. Does the desk have your contact information? We can call you tomorrow with some more information.” Corporal Durand’s medical records file was pretty thick, so Gladys was sure they had Rylee’s phone number, but she thought she ought to make sure before she left.
"I'm his emergency contact, so I should be in his file," Rylee said. She felt both dread and relief at leaving, and she wished she could at least give him a hug and tell him she loved him before she started the long drive home. But if he was sedated, he probably wouldn't even remember it later. "As soon as he's ready, I'll come back," she promised, as if Carson could actually hear her. Rylee didn't want to linger, afraid if she did she would change her mind and try to find a motel. He was in good hands, and he would be okay. She could get home tonight, clean up a bit and bring him some clothes and... whatever else he might need tomorrow. She managed a faint smile for the nurse as she turned to pick up her purse off of her chair. "Thank you for your help."
“I’ll be sure he knows,” the nurse told her. Even if Carson couldn’t hear her directly, the message would get to him. It always helped their mindset to know they hadn’t been abandoned by their loved ones, and Rylee obviously loved her cousin. Gladys nodded to Rylee and returned that small smile. “You’re welcome. Drive safe and take care.” Her job done, she turned to head off. There were unfortunately plenty of other psych patients to tend to, and not enough hands to do the tending.