Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles) by Zoey Derrick Page A
Authors: Zoey Derrick
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don't. God, this is going to sound so fucking cliché, but it's not you, it's me."
I watch as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head in my direction.
"This is what you're going to have to deal with, me - fucked up. I don't know what will trigger it, what will cause me to feel this way and I sure as shit do not want you to have to witness this. Eric, it's not fair to you."
"But it's my choice."
"No, Eric, it's not."
He stands up again and I slink back into the wall instinctively though it's the wrong response. I watch as fear and pain wash over his features as he takes in my body language. "Oh, but it is," His tone is menacing, but I feel the depth of his conviction and it slides over me like a warm breeze. "You say this isn't going to be easy, and I believe you. I'm sure there is a mountain of shit you haven't told me about what happened to you and I certainly have no fucking clue how to even start helping you work through this, but Jesus Christ, Calvin, we have too much history - too many fucking years between us. If you think I'm just going to walk away from you, run screaming in the other direction, I assure you, you have another thing coming. I have not waited this long to learn about what haunts you to just walk away from you."
"Jesus, Eric, I'm not something that you can magically put back together. It won't work like that. But this is also my choice. My choice whether or not this goes any further. It is my choice to realize and understand that every time I see fear or worry or pity in your eyes that you don't have to be here. You don't have to watch me go through this, and for what? For you? God dammit, Eric, I would walk through hell barefoot for you, but I cannot and will not put you through this. All this pain I know I am going to cause you, is it worth it?"
I watch as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hands unfurl themselves as his body relaxes. I watch as his eyes well up with unshed tears, tears of pain that I know I've caused him. My heart wrenches at knowing I'm already causing him so much pain already. Pain shoots like lightning through my body, zapping me in ways I never thought I could ever feel. I would take a dozen shattered cheekbones over witnessing this pain and my inability to comfort him crushes me. "Go home, Eric."
A single tear falls down his cheek, my hand twitches with the need to wipe it away, but I stay put. The agony of loss creeps over my entire body and I just need him to leave. Without a word, I watch as he turns toward the door. When he reaches it, he stops with his hand on the knob. I watch as he rests his head against the door. "I would walk through heaven, hell, and the Sahara without shoes, food or water for you," he says so quietly that I can barely make it out. "When you realize that I am not someone you can push away with your demons, you know where to find me."
My knees buckle and his hand turns the knob as he pulls the door open before storming out and slamming it behind him. The moment the door closes, I jump and my entire world goes blank.
Sometime around three in the morning, I wake up on the floor of my living room drenched in sweat. It takes me a few minutes to realize where I am and why I'm there. Then like a flash flood, it all comes rushing back to me.
Dinner…
Eric…
Demons…
The hurt, the pain, the desire, the love…
I let the one thing I've ever loved walk right out my door. I threw away my one chance at redemption all because I'm too goddamn stubborn to let him help me, to let him redefine me.
I punch the floor, hard. My knuckles crack on impact, but they only sting slightly as I crawl my ass down the hallway and up into my bed where for the first time since I was seven, I cry myself back to sleep.
"Dude, it's three-thirty in the morning, what the hell?"
"I sneee ewe to commmme an get meee."
"Jesus Christ Eric, where are you?"
"Druunnk, in a bar,"
"Well, no shit Sherlock, where?"
I watch as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head in my direction.
"This is what you're going to have to deal with, me - fucked up. I don't know what will trigger it, what will cause me to feel this way and I sure as shit do not want you to have to witness this. Eric, it's not fair to you."
"But it's my choice."
"No, Eric, it's not."
He stands up again and I slink back into the wall instinctively though it's the wrong response. I watch as fear and pain wash over his features as he takes in my body language. "Oh, but it is," His tone is menacing, but I feel the depth of his conviction and it slides over me like a warm breeze. "You say this isn't going to be easy, and I believe you. I'm sure there is a mountain of shit you haven't told me about what happened to you and I certainly have no fucking clue how to even start helping you work through this, but Jesus Christ, Calvin, we have too much history - too many fucking years between us. If you think I'm just going to walk away from you, run screaming in the other direction, I assure you, you have another thing coming. I have not waited this long to learn about what haunts you to just walk away from you."
"Jesus, Eric, I'm not something that you can magically put back together. It won't work like that. But this is also my choice. My choice whether or not this goes any further. It is my choice to realize and understand that every time I see fear or worry or pity in your eyes that you don't have to be here. You don't have to watch me go through this, and for what? For you? God dammit, Eric, I would walk through hell barefoot for you, but I cannot and will not put you through this. All this pain I know I am going to cause you, is it worth it?"
I watch as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hands unfurl themselves as his body relaxes. I watch as his eyes well up with unshed tears, tears of pain that I know I've caused him. My heart wrenches at knowing I'm already causing him so much pain already. Pain shoots like lightning through my body, zapping me in ways I never thought I could ever feel. I would take a dozen shattered cheekbones over witnessing this pain and my inability to comfort him crushes me. "Go home, Eric."
A single tear falls down his cheek, my hand twitches with the need to wipe it away, but I stay put. The agony of loss creeps over my entire body and I just need him to leave. Without a word, I watch as he turns toward the door. When he reaches it, he stops with his hand on the knob. I watch as he rests his head against the door. "I would walk through heaven, hell, and the Sahara without shoes, food or water for you," he says so quietly that I can barely make it out. "When you realize that I am not someone you can push away with your demons, you know where to find me."
My knees buckle and his hand turns the knob as he pulls the door open before storming out and slamming it behind him. The moment the door closes, I jump and my entire world goes blank.
Sometime around three in the morning, I wake up on the floor of my living room drenched in sweat. It takes me a few minutes to realize where I am and why I'm there. Then like a flash flood, it all comes rushing back to me.
Dinner…
Eric…
Demons…
The hurt, the pain, the desire, the love…
I let the one thing I've ever loved walk right out my door. I threw away my one chance at redemption all because I'm too goddamn stubborn to let him help me, to let him redefine me.
I punch the floor, hard. My knuckles crack on impact, but they only sting slightly as I crawl my ass down the hallway and up into my bed where for the first time since I was seven, I cry myself back to sleep.
"Dude, it's three-thirty in the morning, what the hell?"
"I sneee ewe to commmme an get meee."
"Jesus Christ Eric, where are you?"
"Druunnk, in a bar,"
"Well, no shit Sherlock, where?"
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