Two Worlds

Chapter 2

Night rolled around, just as he rolled around in bed. Tossing and turning, restless beyond comprehension. He felt as though he could yell. He gripped the sheets and let out a low groan before abruptly sitting up in bed. The sudden change in his position made his head spin slightly. When his stomach started to burn he briefly wondered whether the decision to follow Heather's instructions was a good one. It has been two days, each day seemingly getting worse. With a groan he clutched his stomach and slowly rose from his bed. His head still spun, which in any normal circumstance would be worrying, however, he knew it was simply the effect of the medication. He silently cursed Heather for the sick feeling consuming him and although he knew Heather was only trying to help him he wasn't one to often see reason.

He had poured himself a cup of milk with the hope of easing the burning in his stomach. To his dismay, one sip of the milk had him running towards the bathroom. Within seconds he had emptied his stomach contents. There's no way this medication can make me feel this miserable. With a trembling hand, he wiped away the leftover sick on his chin in disgust. He felt like a mess. He slowly rose and clambered into the shower. The fact that he was dressed in a white wife beater and silk black boxers didn't bother him. Once the cold water hit his body he let his lip tremble. To him, showing weakness was like admitting defeat although, in that moment he felt as though his soul was shattering and couldn't help but let his guard down. He had a good job as a renowned architect, a stable income, a great apartment but none of this could fill or take away the burning feeling in his chest. Not the burning from just spewing all over the bathroom toilet, but the burning of longing, loneliness and emptiness.

After several minutes of self-loathing he had gotten out of the shower, redressed into dry clothes and attempted getting some sleep. Fortunately he had slipped into a deep sleep within a few minutes of restlessness. Deep brown eyes haunted him that night- eyes he did not know, but eyes that felt like home.

-

"Celeste?" He sighed sleepily into the phone after being rudely awakened by its constant ringing. He wasn't sure what time he had finally fallen asleep, but as tiredness weighed down on his body he knew he hadn't slept much.

"Did I wake you up, Derick?" The surprise in her tone made him feel like ending the call right there. She doesn't know.

"Why are you calling me at-" He checked the time and rolled his eyes,

"-6am." He didn't care if he sounded rude.

"O-oh, well Dr. Black asked me to inform you of an AA meeting." He suppressed his laughter at this. Does this woman know I am not an alcoholic?

"I am not an addict." He said sourly.

"Y-yes, I know. This is for people recovering from mental disorders." He clenched his jaw at this. He didn't know something like that even existed. What's next?

"Doesn't 'AA' seem like an irrelevant label then?" He snapped. Lashing out was second nature to him. He wasn't sure why he always felt the need to push people away, but he did anyway.

"I guess, but-"

"Just email me the details." He cut her off and ended the call.

Once again he had no intentions of coming off as a rude person, he just simply did not feel like continuing the conversation. His phone vibrated in his hands. He shook his head at the email which was sent too fast for his liking. He noted that the meeting was being held at 5pm that evening. He debated on whether or not he wanted to attend and decided that he had nothing to lose in the matter. He lay silently in bed for a few more minutes, contemplating what he had to do that day. He thought about work, shrugging away his anxiety regarding his increasing workload. He wanted to work, although, at the same time he could not gather enough motivation to actually get to doing it. He hated leaving his work pending- he hated leaving anything pending- but somehow managed to procrastinate until the last minute.

"Get a grip." He mumbled and forced himself to get out of bed.

He walked towards his work desk, papers sprawled over every inch of the desk's surface. He grinned slightly at the irony of the sight before him. At least I'm not the only thing that's a mess. He plopped himself down and forced himself to organize what lay before him. After what seemed like hours of organizing, cleaning and rearranging he was sat, staring at a blank piece of paper with a pencil in his hand. He was supposed to be planning the design and layout of a new apartment building his father wanted to build. His father, the owner and founder of Cohen Art, and his boss. Cohen art, what a 'creative' name. He snorted and rolled his eyes. He could think of a million more innovative names which could have been used instead of the current, but he didn't dare mention anything of the sort to his father. Some may have thought that Derick was stubborn and unlikable, that was until they met his father. Arthur was a whole new type of personality on his own. He was thankful for his father though, despite the relationship they had. His father didn't push him to complete designs and irrespective of whether he finished a design or not his father never belittled him in the matter. Arthur understood, as he lost his wife Mercia to mental illness.

As Derick sat remembering his mother he let his thoughts guide him in his drawing. His mother was his lighthouse and even though she was not around anymore her presence and memory held him upright. Of course, sometimes not even that could give him peace, but overall the memory of his mother helped him gather strength. His mother always had him promise that he would find a way out of the darkness and that if he couldn't himself that he would reach out for help.

"Remember Derick, when you feel like all hope is lost- reach out. Someone is bound to pull you out of the darkness." His mother's words drifted in his mind, a sad smile playing on his lips.

Oh mother, why did you never follow your own advice? He sighed and pushed away all thoughts regarding his family. He decided to put on some music to drown out his thoughts. He had no specific taste in music, but he liked to listen to covers of songs which was solely instrumental. Something about the way the instruments on their own sounded made him feel more relaxed. He closed his eyes briefly and took a few calming breaths while the music flooded his soul. Whilst doing this, he temporarily entered a blissful state where he had nothing on his mind. No looming sadness, no worry, no tension in his shoulders and no emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He felt at ease. Unfortunately, this was short-lived, as he forced his eyes open. He knew the feeling couldn't last and almost felt foolish for reviling in the moment. Derick knew that he was stubborn for thinking that he couldn't feel anything other than what he was currently feeling, but although he knew this he kept himself trapped.

He frowned and stared down at his half-done drawing. It wasn't great, given his state of mind, but it was good enough. He pushed himself to finish it, and was pleasantly surprised when he succeeded in his task. When he was done with his drawing he didn't feel like doing anything else. At least I got something done. He thought whilst rolling up the blueprint for the apartment building. He silently placed it next to four of his other sketches, making note that he needed to take them to his father. He dreaded meeting up with him, but knew it had to be done. His father was respectful of his depression and gave him a lot of leverage, however, the leverage only sufficed for a little while.

After sloppily tidying up his workspace he walked towards the kitchen. With pursed lips he stood in front of the fridge. He tried establishing whether or not he was hungry, but decided on eating something regardless- knowing that drinking medication on an empty stomach was never a good idea. After having a banana and a cup of yogurt he drank his anti-depressant. He knew he would be feeling sick within the hour and against his better judgment decided to drink a sleeping tablet as well. Stumbling back to bed, he was surprised as the sleeping tablet was working much faster than he anticipated. He didn't anticipate it working at all actually. Almost falling a few times he successfully lied himself down on the bed, his eyes drooping heavily. With sleepiness making his brain somewhat sluggish, he couldn't shrug off the feeling that he was forgetting something. As darkness consumed him, he was left wondering what it was he was supposed to be doing.