cw: verbal fighting, panic attacks, accidents, injuries.
chapter 13
July 13th — 7:15 am
—
“I can’t leave Trin are you crazy?”
After Dennis quickly filled Ivy’s food and water bowl, he tearfully muttered a sorry to her and somehow walked half an hour to Trinity’s apartment, where they were yelling at each other now.
“You can literally leave whenever you want dude! He can’t cage you in his house!” Trinity yelled back, fed up with Dennis, but more so with Robby. The man she’d asked to look after Dennis so he wouldn’t get taken advantage of, broke her trust and took advantage of Dennis himself.
“Don’t be stupid Trin I need to look after Ivy, Jesus!”
“Just ask Abbot to do it! He should’ve been Robby’s first choice anyway! You never listen to me Dennis, did I not tell you to say no to Robby?”
The way Trinity directed blame towards Dennis stung, intentional or not. He hated feeling like everything bad happens to him through his own doing, like he’s a curse on himself.
“Don’t act like it’s my fault! It’s not my fault— please stop yelling at me!”
Dennis cracks, letting the back of his knees hit the sofa and collapsing, head in hand. Air seizes from his lungs as his shoulders shake, silent tears rushing through. Trinity froze before making her way to Dennis, holding him while she whispered apologies and reassurance.
“Shit. I’m sorry huck, it’s not your fault I know I’m sorry, fuck. It’s okay we’ll figure it out.”
“I can’t leave, don’t make me leave his house please.”
Trinity sighs, thinking for a minute before caving. “Okay. I won’t, I won’t.”
“I cussed our boss out. Like, aggressively.” Dennis broke the silence a while later. Trinity lets go of him and doubles over, cackling. “I taught you well huck.” She said proudly.
Dennis smiles before it falls, remembering something. “I told him not to come back.”
Trinity sighs, glare softening. “You didn’t mean it. He knows that.”
“You don’t know that.” He bites back immediately. Trinity stays patient.
“No, but I can hope.”
August 20th — 6:10 am
It had been 38 days since the fight. Robby never reached out again, neither did Dennis.
Like his first few days, Dennis had went back to sleeping on the couch. His back had gotten used to the stiffness a week in. Regardless, being in Robby’s house was already too consuming — his room made Dennis feel like he was being buried alive. Robby’s clothes, his stack of old cds and vinyls, his stethoscope hung on the cabinet handle, every little thing reminded Dennis of that night.
The thought of moving back out was too daunting, though he never understood why. He didn’t try to understand, instead going out of his way by sleeping on the couch and no longer using Robby’s shower products, instead buying his own and moving entirely to the guest bathroom. He stopped using the stupid mug Robby got him and let it collect dust in the corner of the sink, settling with a plain mug he’d thrifted instead.
He couldn’t leave but he could surely make his life easier, or that’s what he’s calling it.
He never stopped taking photos of Ivy though, accumulating an entire album and would imagine showing them to Robby once he returned. But Dennis never let that thought linger, shoving it away immediately.
Dennis tugged at his hair, willing the thoughts away as he grabbed his hospital badge and bag and walked out the door. The anxiety buzzed under his skin as always, a constant since that day. Dennis hated thinking about how much things have changed since that day, but it’s hard to avoid the fact that yeah, he’s changed. For the worse, that too.
Dennis puts on his earplugs, turning his playlist onto a deafening volume as he decides to walk to the hospital to clear his mind.
The plan to clear his mind didn’t work out that great, thoughts about Robby piercing through the loud music. He wondered if Robby was being honest that night, if it really was a mistake. Or was he deflecting and self-sabotaging as usual? Dennis wondered if Robby thought about him at all, if he even enjoyed talking to him or whether he was doing it as an obligation.
Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for him to not talk to me anymore. He needed an excuse after all, who wants to willingly talk to me anyway? I’m clingy and lame and pathetic and annoying and—
All Dennis hears is a loud horn before he slides across pavement — body suddenly on fire as his head hit the road with a disgusting crunch. Black spots fill his vision, his breath faltering as his eyes close against his will.
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