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The Hail Mary is a marvelous construction made by some of Earth's best and brightest minds. Don't get me wrong, it was still a floating space coffin for most of my journey–at least, until Rocky had shown up and saved the day in that regard. But overall, it really is a marvel of ingenuity.
Stratt had either thought of every possible necessity or found someone to think of it for her. Redundancies, safety protocols, how-to manuals. Pretty much anything and everything that might have been even remotely needed to help solve the Astrophage problem. And then a bit extra just to be safe.
Armando is no exception to this. They are my diligent medi-bot. Working to keep me alive day in and day out. (Sometimes a lot more than others.) Thankfully I don't have to rely on them as often these days. Mostly they just deal out food now. Maybe I should rename them to Chef.
"Thank you, Armando," I say as I take the foil wrapped meal and paper cup of vitamins they pass down to me. It reads 'day 245- meal 3'.
It was really more like day 256 but I had started skipping a meal a day a few weeks ago in an effort to stretch them out longer. I'm just glad I still get to eat real food; it’s not going to last forever. I’m taking steps to mitigate that inevitability, though it’s not a fun process so far. The experiments with incorporating Taumeoba are slow and very unpleasant, to say the least. Totally not looking forward to having to eat that stuff.
"Grace eating, question?" Rocky calls from the lab door above me. I can’t see him from where I’m sitting on the edge of my bed but I know he’s probably peeking at me through the floor to see what I’m doing. He still doesn’t like to be near me when I eat.
“About to,” I call up. While I wait for him to decide if he wants to join me or not I unwrap my meal and chow down. The little cup of vitamins sits beside me, waiting to be taken with the water I always drink after eating.
”Disgust! Hurry eat so Rocky come down, demand!” Rocky chirps back immediately. He was definitely peeking at me because I hear him shuffle away quickly.
“Nothing’s stopping you from coming down here!” I remind him. He honks at me, disapproval heavy in his tones. I don’t even need the translator for that one anymore. Actually, I’m getting really good at not using it at all. Most days now we only need it maybe once or twice.
Taking pity on his discomfort, I do hurry through my meal. Maybe I’m a little curious why he wants down here to the dormitory when most of his stuff is in the lab sections of his tunnels. We mostly just hang out here when one of us needs to sleep. Oh. Does he need to sleep? Okay, now I feel a little bad for making him wait.
“All done, Rocky!” I holler as soon as I finish my food and crumple the trash in my hand. He doesn’t answer me right away even though I know he heard me. He can hear me anywhere on this little ship.
“He~ll~o?” I call a little louder.
Still no answer.
Getting a little worried now I move to stand up.
Did he fall asleep before he could get to his nest? Dang, I really hope not. Sitting in the lab for hours watching him is really uncomfortable on my back. I do not want another tension headache from that, thank you!
As my weight shifts on the mattress it sends the paper cup of vitamins tumbling off and onto the floor. They clatter against the metal floor and skitter under my bed. Crud.
My knees click as I bend down to pick them up. Before I can find them under the very small pile of laundry under my bed there is a clatter of sound above me that makes me jump and inadvertently hit my head on the bottom of my bedframe.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I hiss, rubbing at the back of my head and blinking tears away. I’m still rubbing at the spot as I stumble towards the ladder. That sounded like something falling. Or maybe Rocky falling?
“Rocky, if you’re awake I’m going to be really, really annoyed that you’re ignoring me,” I warn him, climbing the rungs while telling myself it’s totally his fault I hurt myself this time. Totally.
When I poke my head up through the hole in the floor to peer around the lab Rocky is already angling his body towards me, sheepishly standing in his xenonite ball. Two of his claws click together, carapace pointing slightly down. It takes me a second to put together what the noise had been.
“Aw come on,” I mutter, heaving a sigh as I climb the rest of the way into the lab.
”Was just looking. No touch. Fell on own, statement,” Rocky says, most certainly lying. He’s still standing in front of a broken laptop resting on the floor, like he’s trying to hide it from me. As if I can’t see the thing through the ball. The screen is totally black, tilted back at an angle it definitely isn’t made to go. Ugh!
“That’s the second one this month! Why don’t you use the one I gave you instead of trying to take mine?” I ask as I crouch down to get a better look. I have to gently push him away so I can pick up the computer and see if it’s salvageable. A few wires poke out when I lift it. Yep. Dead then. Very dead. Lovely.
"One you gave no work right, statement. Cannot use. Not fault you device so fragile. Only small touch, statement,” he argues.
I shoot him a dubious look.
“They are all exactly the same. Have you even turned yours on?” I accuse. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve even seen him use his at all. “And maybe if you didn’t throw them around they wouldn’t all break, by the way!”
”Okay, was lie. Really no want use that one until home. Save for scientists there, statement. Important device, statement. Important. Important,” Rocky confesses, his whistling tone low and filled with guilt. He still doesn’t apologize for breaking this one, but I can tell from his body language he is at least remorseful.
That takes the air out of my sails. I deflate on the spot, feeling bad now for being annoyed with him at all. It’s not like we don’t have enough laptops to lose a few. It’s just that I’ll have to rewrite some of the notes I was taking on this one. But it’s not like I don’t have plenty of time for that.
“Sorry, bud. I’m not mad,” I say, turning to press a palm flat against his ball. He perks up, immediately lifting a claw to slot against my hand through the barrier.
“Were you trying to do something with it? Maybe I can help,” I offer.
He seems to think this over for a moment, one of his claws tapping against his carapace in what I’ve learned is a thoughtful gesture. When he finally answers his tones are hesitant.
”Want find human movie for Grace, statement,” he admits. The claw pressing against my palm taps as he speaks. I return the taps absentmindedly.
My heart squeezes with his confession, warmed by his effort. It’s admittedly cute. He was trying to find us something to watch! How could I have been annoyed with that?
It had become a ritual of sorts for us since we started our journey to Erid. To watch television together, that is. Every week or so for the last month we would put on some human entertainment and enjoy it together. It’s an easy bonding thing for us and a good way for me to feel like I am staying connected to my Earth culture.
He hasn’t gotten to pick anything himself yet. I’ve been too excited to show him various things to even ask if he wants to decide. That’s my bad.
Great. Now I feel bad for snapping at him and for hogging the metaphorical remote.
I sigh, letting my hand drop from the ball. He trills a questioning tone, dropping his own arm back down.
“That sounds nice actually. I can go get another laptop from storage. Maybe just let me do the controls this time, okay?” I settle on, hoping it’s a good enough suggestion.
It must be because he immediately gives a shimmy, excited chirps filling the air.
“Yes! Yes! Let Grace do this time! We watch human movies and sit together, demand!” He’s going jazz hands now.
“Alright, alright. Let me get the computer. Can you go get our movie watching seats ready?” I ask, pulling myself back to my feet with the help of his ball. As soon as I’m standing he’s rolling away back towards his airlock.
”Rocky get nest ready! Grace get thinking machine! Meet at nest, demand!” he recites.
I shake my head, amused that he still calls it a nest despite my many arguments that it’s just a few blankets pushed together in the corner of the dormitory. Whatever makes him happy, I guess.
That evening I forgot totally about the vitamins I’d dropped. It’s not until two weeks later that I rediscover them.
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I've done the math on it and from the amount of food Stratt sent up, she expected us to take no more than nine months to complete the mission. Any more than that and Earth would have been kapoot.
It's been about nine months now since I woke up, so I will run out of my own food supply soon, I reckon.
There is, of course, still the food left from Ilyukhina and Yao's supply. Not to mention the years worth of coma slurry–and now taumeoba–to supplement my diet later. So, I should have plenty of food to get me to Erid and have some spare time for the Eridians to find me suitable nutrition. It's definitely going to suck by then. Big time. Not looking forward to it at all.
For now I'm just happy I get to eat solid food still. Coma slurry is horribly disgusting to eat. And taumeoba isn't any better. Bleh.
"Thank you, Armando," I say, grabbing the foil pack of food the robot arm lowers down. I'm unwrapping it and taking a bite while I wait for it to hand me the little paper cup of vitamins.
It never does. Hmm.
"Can I get the vitamins, too?" I have to ask when I'm almost done eating, a little perturbed it didn't just offer them like usual.
"Vitamin supply depleted," it answers.
"What? How?" There should be plenty left! Sure, I’m probably out of my storage by now but there is still Ilyukhina and Yao's supply left, too. There is no reason it should be gone!
"Vitamin supply depleted," it repeats.
"That makes no sense. It's only been nine months. I should have 18 months left," I grumble aloud, setting the half eaten meal down and moving over to the interface for the food storage.
A few minutes later and I've got some data pulled up. I'm not liking what I'm reading, though. There was only ever enough vitamins for me. Why would they do that? Why only pack them for me? It didn't add up.
"Grace okay, question?" Rocky's birdsong voice carries into the dormitory. No doubt he hears my grumbling, annoyed sounds and has come to investigate.
"Grace confused," I answer automatically, still trying to make sense of the numbers on the screen.
He climbs down his tunnel to join me in the dormitory, shuffling where he stands against the barrier.
"Why confused, question?" he asks.
"I'm out of vitamins when it's only been 9 months. I shouldn't be out yet. There should have been enough for triple that time considering–y’know.” I don’t say ‘considering my two crewmates’, because that is a touchy subject for both of us. We both know what I mean. “But the computer says they only packed enough for me. It doesn't make sense," I explain, turning to face him as I run a hand through my hair, mildly frustrated.
"What word mean, question?" Rocky chirps, tapping his claw twice on the xenonite wall.
"A vitamin is basically extra nutrients. Like the ones I take with my end meal every day. I thought it was just to supplement my diet. But now I'm not sure," I explain. He makes a humming sound, like he does when thinking over something.
"Maybe humans think only Grace need extra nutrients, suggestion," he offers. He's learned a lot about human biology but not enough really to know about this particular topic. There could be any number of reasons Stratt thought it was important to send me up with vitamins and not the other two crew members. Heck, for all I know the reason could be one of those elusive memories I still can’t recall.
"Maybe it's because I'm not an astronaut? I don't know, honestly," I sigh. "It's just weird is all. I guess I'll be fine without them."
"When get to Erid, Grace can help make more, idea," Rocky says, trying to soothe the slight emotions flaring in my voice. He doesn't like when I get annoyed or nervous. It makes him annoyed or nervous.
"Yeah, probably. Hopefully."
"Good good good. Grace come to lab now. Check tanks, demand," he says, tone back to his normal overlayed harmonics.
"Yeah, I'm coming, hold your horses," I answer, pausing shut down the interface before heading for the ladder.
He scuttles ahead to beat me there. Ever the competitive rascal.
"No have animal to hold. Human idiom stupid, statement," he calls below to me, hopping into the lab above my head.
"Rude!" I call up with a shake of my head, fond despite the harsh judgement being thrown my way.
Just to bother him in return, I tack on, “I'll let that slide this time.”
He gives a burst of chirps and honks, his version of a sarcastic laugh. ”Grace think Grace very funny. Know that also human idiom. Also stupid one, statement.”
“Okay if mine are so stupid let me hear an Eridian one, then. We can decide once and for all,” I request as I pull myself to my feet.
He's in his airlock when I get into the lab. It seems he plans to join me in his hamster ball. He likes to watch me work. Well, more like he likes to catch me making mistakes so he can point them out. Same thing, really.
”Would not understand. Too advanced. Hurt squishy human brain, statement,” he says simply, tone unmistakably haughty.
I snort at his attitude. So modest.
“Sure, sure. Stupid me forgot about my squishy brain,” I nod, rolling my eyes at him. He gives a real chortle at that. I’m so happy he can make himself laugh at my expense. The little butthead.
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Four days later I wake up covered in sweat with my whole body sore and uncomfortable. I feel like I just got hit by a truck or something. Am I sick? Ugh, please no. I’ve managed to avoid that so far and would like to keep my winning streak.
I felt fine yesterday…Well, mostly fine. Sure, I went to sleep earlier than normal but it was just because I was feeling slightly run down. Which is nothing out of the ordinary for someone stressed out. (I.E. someone living in a tiny space-coffin turned space-taxi.) This is more than just being tired, though.
With a truly pitiful groan I sit up in bed. Immediately I regret the action because my head swims like I was just spinning in circles.
"Ugh, geeze," I moan, hands pressing into my eyes to try and steady myself. It doesn't help.
"Grace okay? What wrong, question?" Rocky's usually melodic voice is already stressed. I don’t usually wake up like this so he can tell something is out of the ordinary. Plus, he’s gotten to know my many human noises by now. My distressed ones are particularly grating to him.
"I don't know, buddy," I say truthfully. With great effort I pull the blankets off my legs, letting it fall to the floor. My skin instantly breaks out in goosebumps, a chill settling over me even as I still feel overheated.
My hands are trembling, I realize.
It takes some effort–my brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton–but I manage to wrangle my thoughts into enough order to run through a few possibilities.
My first thought is infection, but my arm has healed pretty well and I would have probably gotten sick earlier if it was related to that. I know burns can become infected easily, but this is a fairly closed environment and it’s been at least a month since the last of my open wounds closed up. Just to be sure I give the burns a good inspection. The skin is tight and pink but looks healthy. And when I press a hand to the raised flesh on my arm it doesn’t feel any warmer than the rest of my skin.
So probably no infection from that.
My next thought is low blood sugar. I’ve had it happen once or twice in my youth and it felt kind of similar. Shaky, hot-cold sweats, nausea, dizziness. It’s worth considering.
”Grace. What doing now? Okay now, question?” Rocky calls out. Oh yeah, he’s still there.
“Just give me a minute, buddy. I’m trying to figure it out,” I sound pathetic and the words come out more like I’m begging than telling him. He seems to accept it, though, just letting out little nervous trills as he starts to shift his weight from leg to leg. He’ll probably start pacing and pulling his hair out soon if I don’t get some answers.
“Computer, blood sugar test, please,” I request, laying carefully back down on the bed. My head still spins despite being horizontal. Nausea twists at my stomach from the sensation.
The arm of the medi-bot lowers with a quiet whir. I let it take my hand and prick my finger, not even caring at the moment. It takes the sample and raises back into the ceiling. A minute passes before it sounds the results.
“Blood glucose level is 84 milligrams per deciliter. Acceptable range,” it says in that false-kind monotone it always has.
It’s both helpful and not. Back to square one.
So it’s not my blood sugar. It’s not an infection.
Then what is it exactly?
Am I having some kind of stroke? …That would suck.
“Run scan,” I request.
“Unavailable request,” it replies.
“Run scan!” I demand.
“Unavailable request,” it repeats.
“And why the heck not?!” I bark, agitated with the situation. I can feel my heart starting to race. It feels like a hummingbird stuck behind my ribs. Like it might flutter away at any second.
Rocky makes this buzzing, trumpet-like sound that I’ve never heard before. Something tells me it’s adjacent to concern, but I know I’m not understanding the full meaning of the sound. I ignore him for now.
“Run scan. Do exam. Do something!” I try to reason with the computer.
“Exam unnecessary.”
I’m going to throw something.
“Please. Tell me why it’s unnecessary, again?" I ask with a withering sigh, pinching at the bridge of my nose while I urge my brain to settle. It feels like my thoughts are simultaneously bouncing around without order and stuck behind a thick cloud of fog. It’s a disorienting feeling, to say the least.
“Symptoms recorded and within acceptable range,” it says. Which is at least something. I’m not sure what, but it’s more than the non-answers it was just giving.
“Within acceptable range for what? Am I sick? Having a stroke?” my voice is getting higher with each back and forth. This is not how I wanted to wake up today.
Rocky copies my stressed tone of voice with his own squeaking warbles. He’s actually pacing now, carapace tilted towards me like he’s staring at me on the bed. Knowing him, he probably is.
The computer doesn’t answer me this time. It simply lowers it’s arm back down and hands me a paper cup. For a moment I think it’s more vitamins, which would really send me over the edge right now after it told me I was out a few days ago.
When I look into the cup it’s just two pills I recognize as pain relievers.
“Thanks,” I say, dryly.
It hands me water, which I also take. How thoughtful.
I grumble as I sit up, closing my eyes to keep the room from moving so much. My stomach is still flipping threateningly and my heart is still fluttering. I feel weird and bad. Restless. On edge. It’s as I’m taking the medicine that I place the slightly familiar bodily sensations.
The memories are vague, but, I feel like I’ve just had a panic attack. I know I didn’t. I just woke up. It makes no sense.
”Rocky talk now. Grace say what wrong, demand. Why quiet? What that blood test, question?” Rocky seems to burst forward, no longer able to keep himself in check. ”What that word, question? Tell symptoms. Can help. Can record symptoms also, statement!”
“Whoa, whoa, please. Just slow down.” I press the heel of my hand into my eyes again, willing the foggy feeling to go away. It’s getting harder and harder to think straight. This is getting mildly terrifying. We are quickly approaching freak out territory.
”Grace worry Rocky! Acting strange! Acting bad! No like! Tell what wrong, demand!” Rocky says, only slightly less frantic than before. No less emotional, but at least one of us still has a hold on their faculties, it seems.
“I don’t know!” I snap, clenching my jaw at the raw anger that spills out with the words. It evaporates just as fast as it appeared. I snap my mouth closed, eyes popping open to stare in mortification at Rocky.
Immediately I want to take it back. I don’t lash out at Rocky. I don’t lash out at anyone like this. This isn’t me. A sudden swell of emotions rises in me and I feel my eyes fill with tears. I have to stifle a sob, swallowing down the guilt and shame that’s trying to settle over me. What the heck?!
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” I choke out.
Rocky has frozen behind the barrier, tilting his carapace and tapping at the wall to get a better read on me. Thankfully it doesn’t seem like he’s taken my anger to heart. He seems more concerned and confused than offended or hurt.
”Grace heart sound different, statement,” Rocky comments, seemingly randomly.
Now that he mentions it, I recognize that fluttery feeling as heart palpitations. Great. That doesn’t add to my confusion or fear at all.
“Computer, diagnoses.” I try again after a moment to gather myself. I’m getting desperate for some kind of information. If the medi-bot knows what’s wrong, surely it will tell me if I just ask the right way.
“Diagnoses: Antidepressant Discontinuation Syndrome,” it answers. Thank goodness!
Wait.
What?
“What?”
“Withdrawal symptoms within acceptable range.”
“Withdrawal?!” I yelp, eyes bugging open in my shock. I’m in withdrawals?
I watch, detached, as Rocky perks up at the repeated word, lifting to his full height before relaxing again.
”What word? What word mean? Bad thing, question? Sound bad, statement!” Rocky trills, two of his claws nervously rubbing against each other.
“It means my body is used to having something that it doesn’t have anymore. It’s making me sick,” I answer, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
”Grace sick? Grace sick, question? No sick! What wrong, question? No! No! No!” Rocky warbles, thumping two of his legs in agitation as he spins in place–probably trying to see my better.
I don’t even have it in me to answer him right then. All I can think is: Damn you Stratt. I was not meant to be here.
I’d always thought that astronauts couldn’t go to space if they took things like antidepressants. There were too many risks. Too many chances for situations just like this one. But, then again, I’m not an astronaut! I was pretty clear about that with her! With everyone! I guess she just thought the risks outweighed the rewards in this instance.
I definitely don’t feel that way right now.
I don’t even remember being on antidepressants. I feel like that’s something I should have known!
Wait a second.
Were those freaking vitamins I’ve been taking antidepressants?
Gosh, now I feel like a total idiot. How could I not have realized that before now? It’s so dang obvious now I feel like a total buffoon. I could have weaned myself off instead of going cold turkey had I just realized! Or remembered…
A vague memory from two weeks ago springs to mind, then. I was sitting right in this same spot, paper cup of ‘vitamins’ sitting beside me. Then Rocky dropped that laptop and I knocked over the cup as I stood up. Oh! Oh! I never picked up the pills!
Rocky makes a shocked sound as I rush off my bed and all but throw myself onto the floor. My knees will very much be bruised later, but I don’t even care. I have to know for sure.
The blanket I’d kicked off is thrown back onto the bed; the not-dirty clothes tossed over my shoulder. I ignore the paper cup that rolls away under my flurry of motion. It takes several long seconds of rooting around on my hands and knees before I finally spot the tiny, oval, pink pill. In hindsight, this would have been easier with my glasses. But oh well.
I raise triumphantly, pill held in my grasp as I hurry over to the nearest computer. It’s the one we were watching movies on last night. But they’re all the same so it doesn’t really matter which I use.
”Grace find vitamin? Will be okay now, question?” Rocky trills, moving with me along the length of the barrier. He's calmed slightly but that undercurrent of stress is still there–the low tone that accompanies his words.
“I’ll be okay,” I answer, only half paying attention. At least I know what it is now. It’s not a stroke. Just withdrawals. Yay. My only consolation is that it probably won’t kill me.
A minute later, I’ve found the name of the pill on the computer. It feels like naming your tormentor.
Paroxetine.
Ten letters on the screen, one tiny pill in my hand, and it’s making me feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin.
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Things in fact, do not get better from that point. They actually get worse, believe it or not.
I spend the rest of that day just trying to get a hold of myself. I think I am stressing Rocky out even more than myself. Poor guy.
The amount of times I go from angrily researching to despondently crying in the span of a few minutes is enough to make me feel crazy all on its own. That’s not even mentioning the random brain zaps (a word I found while researching) every so often that would make me freeze and grab at my head. The first one freaks Rocky out pretty bad. He still has the rumbling warble of helplessness underlying his speech even hours later. It’s making me feel inexplicably guilty.
I know logically that this isn’t my fault I’m experiencing withdrawals–or the underlying problem of depression for that matter–and I shouldn’t feel bad for worrying Rocky with something I can’t control. Even if I’d known about the situation from the start there probably wasn’t much I could have prevented other than being able to prepare myself.
Unfortunately, my current hold over my logical side is fraying by the second. So even though I know that all of that stuff is true, I am feeling something totally different. I can literally feel myself spiraling towards a breakdown. It’s not a great realization.
I really hate this feeling. Like, really hate it. And I don’t tend to throw that word around willy-nilly.
Even more than the feeling of starting down a metaphorical barrel, I hate that I’m going to be doing this all in front of Rocky.
Rock, who is without a doubt my best friend. Someone I respect deeply, and a not insignificant part of me wants to maintain a good image for. I know he thinks highly of me. (Gosh, people so rarely do that I selfishly don’t want to give that up!) We’ve done so much for each other in our short time together. Become so close through this mess.
I don’t think I’ve ever trusted someone so intrinsically in my life before meeting him. Maybe it’s because of that there is a piece of my heart he now holds. Having that level of respect makes the insecure side of me nervous, though. Because even worse to me than the idea of not having his friendship at all is the idea of losing it. Of being or becoming a person he wants nothing to do with. How could I live with myself if that happened? Likely, I wouldn’t even want to.
And that scares me, too. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to disappoint him. Gosh, I tear up just thinking about that stuff.
Those little worries that are usually easily ignored are already starting to whisper to me. Insidious and lurking, poisoning my resolve with each cumulating, intrusive thought.
Rocky shouldn’t have to deal with my issues. I’m so pathetic–such an idiot! How could I not realize this before now? I’m going to be so horrible to him for a while. I should just quarantine myself. I hate this. This isn’t fair. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Please. Please, I don’t want to do this!
I feel trapped by the very walls around me. By the terribly beautiful ship keeping me alive–the very one I’m supposed to be currently dying in. (Maybe Stratt will get that outcome anyways, a treacherous, negative part of me offers.)
It’s impossible for me to relax or focus on anything for more than a few minutes before my mind veers off course. I keep getting snagged on those thoughts and feelings I thought I’d been dealing with pretty well. Guess not so much in the unyielding light of the sun–or my unmedicated psyche.
Gosh, does this suck.
I have to keep reminding myself of the good things. Over and over in a mantra. I’m more convincing than reminding myself.
I’m going to Erid. I’m going to live a hopefully fairly long and content life. These horrible feelings are temporary. I can’t get through this. I’m not alone. I will be okay. And I get to stay with my best friend through it all. I’m loved now. I will have people that care for me in this new home. For crying out loud, Rocky is already planning to make me a dang biodome for me to live in! If that isn’t devotion, then I don’t know what is!
...
I still feel like I’m dying. It’s enough to make me almost laugh. The absurdity of it all–that this is somehow some of the best days of my life and some of the worst. It’s been a horrifying, scary, and stressful few months. And yet I wouldn’t go back now for anything. Not when I have Rocky beside me.
It’s–no, he’s all I can hold onto right now. He’s, quite literally, been my rock through this mess. I hope he can hold me up just a little bit longer. I’ll do my best to get better for him. I will..
ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ★
The days drag on.
Rocky hasn’t left my side for a moment since I woke up that first day of my withdrawals.
”Time eat, Grace, demand,” Rocky’s voice comes out like an accordion–upset, sad, worried.
“I’m not hungry,” I say automatically. Guilt is a stone in my gut that gets heavier every day. His tone stings at me every time he speaks now. I hate making him feel this way.
I pull the laptop I’m researching on closer, stubbornly re-reading the same paragraph for the fourth time. He makes the same sound with nonsensical notes layered atop, grumbling something I don’t understand. I’m too lazy to find the translator. I think it’s upstairs.
After a beat he tries again, ”Time eat! Been 64,800 seconds since last meal. Humans need eat every 18,000 to 50,400 seconds, fact! Too long wait! Eat! Eat! Eat! Demand! Demand!”
I wince at the volume of his words. He’s never been this pushy or even interested in my eating habits before now. It’s not a topic he ever lingers on. But the last few days he won’t drop it. I’m smart enough to realize it’s his own scrambling attempt at helping in a situation he has no idea how to navigate. He wants to help me.
“I feel nauseous,” I admit. Food sounds really unappetizing today. I just want to lay down and go back to sleep and wake up feeling better.
My argument draws a frustrated garble from Rocky that makes me feel even worse. He bangs a balled up claw against the barrier as he trumpets in annoyance.
”Being stubborn!” he accuses. ”Making excuses, statement!” And yeah, I don’t have any defense for that one.
“Will you watch me sleep? I want to take a nap,” I ask without preamble. I’m tired and don’t have the energy to argue right now. Or eat for that matter.
”Yes. Always watch, fact,” he agrees immediately. ”Still mad. But Rocky watch, statement.”
I set aside the laptop, rubbing at my eyes with a tired sigh as I get comfortable right there in the little ‘nest’ as Rocky likes to call it. It makes me feel just a little better. I’m drifting off before I even realize.
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The next two days slow to a crawl. I’m still experiencing withdrawal symptoms, and unfortunately it seems they will last another few weeks. Everything is somehow both overwhelming and underwhelming to me. My new routine has become waking up and staring at the wall until Rocky’s insistence to get up pushes me out of bed. It’s all I can do just to go check the tanks before climbing back into our nest.
And yeah, I don’t even care that I’m calling it that now. I’m spending most of my time just resting there so I might as well adapt the language, too. I can tell it’s bothering Rocky that I’m being so lazy but I just don’t have the energy or focus to do anything more.
He attempted another movie night last night, probably trying to cheer me up, but it ended poorly. It seems the smallest things set off my leakiness these days–even movies I used to enjoy. Unfortunately for me the tears are now accompanied by a hollow achiness that feels like someone scooped my insides out and left me nothing more than a husk.
That’s unfortunately not even all of it.
Trembling hands and prickling chills plague me. Nausea and dizziness come in waves that leave me reeling. I can’t stop ruminating on every negative memory from before that I can remember. At least I can remember more than ever about my time on Earth now! Yay!
That was sarcasm. (If it wasn’t obvious.)
Which brings me to my next noted symptom: lingering self-deprecating thoughts. Every insecurity and self doubt and anxiety comes bubbling up to the surface at the simplest of things. I feel like I’m drowning in it all.
Or I would be. If it wasn’t for Rocky.
Rocky isn’t wavering in the slightest through this. He hasn’t slept in days and I can see how he’s starting to slow. How he’s becoming lethargic. Still he refuses to give in. He wants to watch me. To be near me. To help me. Maybe he’s scared to leave my sight.
Gosh, I don’t deserve him.
He’s even brought his hamster ball down from the lab and into the dormitory. It makes me feel both burdensome and cared for. A strange mix.
The nest has upgraded in this adjustment period. With Rocky in the ball and insisting on sitting with me while I rest, the bed is way too small for us both. And I’m way too squishy for him to lay on top of me. So we move the mattress and blankets to the floor and add them to the corner. It’s actually slightly more comfortable than the bedframe when we’re done with it.
”Grace okay today, question?” Rocky asks, settling beside me in his ball. He’s asked that same question every day now. I’m starting to dread it.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I say. I’m not sure if I mean it today. My heart hurts. Everything hurts. I just want to cry.
I blink the warmth from my eyes, sighing as I tug my quilt tighter around my shoulders. A heaviness is settling over me; a brick added every day, every moment, until I fear I won’t be able to move with it.
”Heart sound funny, statement,” he comments, softly tapping a claw against the barrier of his ball nearest my chest. Any closer and he’d be pressed against me. I wish he was, actually. A sudden, needy desire to pull him into my arms has me swallowing.
“Just tired,” I reply, letting my heavy eyes close. He makes a disapproving sound. It kind of reminds me of an idling motorcycle.
”Very, very, very tired. Grace sleep and sleep. No eat good. No clean body. No watch screens. No talk self. No argue. Rocky no like change! Worry about Grace! Grace no act right, statement!” Rocky rants at me, nudging his ball just a tad closer. He’s bumping against one of my hands now.
“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” I say, voice just barely stronger than a whisper. Any more and I’m scared it will break. “I told you. This is part of the sickness. The withdrawals. I’m okay. But sick right now. I’ll get better.”
I hope.
But I can’t say that to him. I can’t admit that there is a chance that I won't get better. I’m going to do my best to fight this, to weather this. I want to, for him. And for the me that was happy and ready for the future. I know that happy part of me is still inside somewhere. If I can just hold on for this to end everything will be okay.
”Remember you told about sickness. Still worry. Still bad, bad, bad, statement. When get better, question?” he asks, nudging my hand again. I turn my palm over to press against the xenonite. He hurries to match my gesture on his side.
“A few weeks. Maybe more,” I admit reluctantly.
I can see his disappointment as plain as I could have on a human. His carapace dips towards the ground, his two forward legs tilting together as he makes a warbling sound like bubbles drifting up through water.
”Curse word. Not like that answer. But accept,” he says after a moment of processing. I can see gears spinning in his head before he continues. ”Have request now. After request Grace sleep again. Sickness need much, much sleep for heal, statement.”
I nod, content to just listen as he talks. The melodic words are soothing. I rub my thumb over the smooth surface of the ball as I admire the texture of his little claw this close up. It’s so small compared to my hand.
”Request to use thinking device. Do research so can help Grace. Already make tool for help use device without break fragile machine. Promise be careful. Want help, statement,” he explains slowly, probably wanting to be sure I understand it all easily in my (embarrassingly) depleted state.
“You know, usually a request is in the form of a question,” I joke lightly. He grumbles at that.
”Can use thinking device for help Grace, request, question?” he rectifies, clearly not amused with me.
“Yeah. That’s fine. But you really don’t have to do that. Honestly, you should probably sleep, too. I know you’re tired. It can’t be good for you to stay up so long,” I say, sliding my hand up the ball to tap, tap, tap at the xenonite near his vents.
He tilts up at my wandering hand for a moment, his claw still splayed at the space mine was. I watch his vents shift. I feel like he’s considering my words, but his quick shimmy tells me he’s going to ignore me.
”Will sleep after Grace wake and eat. Do research now while Grace sleep. Both happy. Good idea. Good outcome. Get two tools from one ore, statement,” he says with the equivalent of an approving nod.
His obvious confidence in his own actions is enough to draw a smile from me. I drop the hand on his xenonite back down to press against his claw.
“Was that an Eridian idiom?” I ask, curious.
”Smart Grace! Is was, statement!” Rocky chitters excitedly. I hum, a warmth momentarily borrowed from his presence filling me up and chasing away the numbness.
“I think we have a similar one. ‘Kill two birds with one stone,’” I offer, hiding a yawn behind the edge of the blanket.
He nudges my hand to get my attention back.
”Sleep now. Will stay close. Will watch, statement,” Rocky says, his tones incredibly soft now.
I nod, unable to fight it anymore. It’s barely mid-day according to our imposed day cycle, but I’m exhausted. And knowing he’s right here beside me makes me feel a sense of peace that’s been eluding me for nearly a week now.
With my eyes closed I let my hand drop back to the mattress and pull my legs up to curl into a comforting ball. He’s made fun of me in the past for this–saying I look like a tiny baby animal when I sleep in this position. Today he doesn’t say anything.
I listen to him move over to the laptop sitting beside the head of the bed. The sound of slow clacking of keys starts to lull me. As I’m drifting off I swear I can feel his little claw brushing against my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp.
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”Rocky make plan for Grace. Will explain now, statement,” Rocky says first thing after waking up from his own slumber.
I don’t even have time to say hello, or good morning. Whew I can already tell this is going to be something serious.
“Okay? Explain away.”
I’m a little nervous about this proposed plan. I know he spent a while researching on the computer while I slept, but I have no idea what he read. Even if I did, I’m not sure I would be able to predict whatever he’s about to say.
”Read many good things while Grace sleep. Will help lots now. First, support important for heal. Good, good, because have Rocky. Rocky support, statement,” he starts, launching into his apparently very well thought out course of action.
Is he saying he will be my support system? I mean, I already kind of gathered that, but I’m touched that he’s so clearly stating it.
”Second, make good habits. Now Grace do bad habits. Need make good ones. Start move body more. Must move body good for fight bad mind sickness, fact,” Rocky explains.
Okay, so he’s saying I need to exercise. Ugh. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I want to! I want to just keep laying in bed and sleeping. It dawns on me then that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been wallowing in this just a bit.
”Third, need eat and clean body regular times. Grace no do this since sickness. Rocky will remind for all things, no worry. Important for take care of body because help heal bad mind sickness, fact,” he states, his melodies shifting from a chastising warble to an excited chitter as he speaks.
I just sit there, taking it all in, my eyebrows slowly creeping higher and higher.
”Next, need talk about sickness. This step important. Most worry over this step because Rocky not understand all human customs. Worry maybe not best to help. But we will try. Grace talk with Rocky about bad mind sickness. Rocky record symptoms. Record improvements, statement.”
“Okay, whoa. Are you telling me you want to be my therapist right now?” I ask, needing to clarify. He gives a quick jazz hand.
”Yes, yes, is correct word! Statement!”
“Uhhh,” I say, eloquent as ever. I’m at a bit of a loss for words here. Rocky wants to be my therapist? What–what kind of twilight zone is this?
“Are you sure?” I ask instead of voicing my confusion or concern.
He gives another jazz hands accompanied by a spin. A resounding yes.
”Yes, yes, yes! Good plan! Not many steps. Grace smart. Grace do steps with Rocky help. Will heal bad mind sickness quick, quick, quick! Statement!” Rocky cheers, chittering and chirping.
A smile twitches onto my face despite the sense of dread trickling over me. I’m a little anxious on how this will go.
But, dang, I mean, I’ve already trusted him with my life. So, this feels like it pales in comparison.
My heart pounds, a little seed of hope blooming in my chest.
He wants to help me. He will help me. He is helping me. I can do this. I don’t have to try alone. Because I’m not alone.
Warm tears fill my eyes and I don’t even try to keep them back this time. A wet giggle falls from my lips.
“Thank you, Rocky,” I say, the only thing I can even think to say right now. He chitters in reply.
Whether he knows how much this means to me or not, all the same, it’s hands down the most touching thing anyone has ever done for me or offered to do for me. And I know with all my being that he fully intends to follow his words through. I feel light, weightless for a moment, like I’m in zero gravity again.
”Leaky human,” he remarks fondly, followed by a chirping laugh. ”Rocky will help, promise.”