“Julian.”
“Yeah,” he rasps.
“You didn’t answer my question down there,” I say. “How areyou?”
He stares at a spot on the ground for a moment before he finally says, “Getting there.”
“I’m sorry.” I frown, wishing I could do more for him. “You’ll get there, you know. Not today or tomorrow, but you will.”
“You sound very post-rehab right now,” Julian jokes, chuckling.
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, it sounded weird didn’t it?”
Julian leans forward and takes the same position as me. “I don’t know, man,” he laughs sadly.
“What don’t you know?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know if I’ll make it.”
“Don’t talk like that, man.”
Julian shakes his head, pushing his hand through his hair. “Don’t take this too personal,” he mutters, “but I kind of missed you.”
I snort. “Lost my way a bit without you too.”
“I can tell.”
Julian was the only person I really spoke to while in NewYork. Iin rehab, he’d call and check in, and I’d call back. He’d send pictures of Grace when she was born saying I had to get my shit together to see my niece.
“I lost my way too, I guess,” Julian exhales heavily. “I’m just fucking exhausted.”
Julian was the only other person I could talk to about my depression, we were going through it at the same time. He is still grieving and he is a single father, running this gym, and it’s a lot. But he was and still is the only other person who gets the dark shit that went on in my head. Now, it seems similar things are going through his head again.
“Julian, have you…spoken to somebody?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I probably should, I know.”
“For your sake,” I say. “And for Grace’s.”
“For Grace,” he echoes.
I nod. “Does she know? Or at least…have you tried…”
“I don’t know how. How do you tell your three year old that their mom died giving birth to them? How do people to do it? Because I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”
“It’s fucked up,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “I’ll just figure it out eventually.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” I murmur. “I didn’t want to leave.”
“I know,” he says. “Your dad was an asshole.”
I huff. “Trust me, I know.”
Julian had seen the abuse firsthand, and instead of making me feel embarrassed in front of him, he helped me. He was the one who helped me before I met Lana.
I left too much of myself behind and I forgot who I was when I got to New York. I think I miss my old self more than ever these past few days—aside from the addictions.
