dreamlikenewyork | "It might as well rain until September."

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"It might as well rain until September."

Who: Luka Zanardi and Cole Carrington
What: Strange faces
Where: Southampton Hospital, NY
When: Day after THIS

Luka was still feeling a little numb from shock over what happened. He had managed to stop the guy from dying, but no one would tell him anything of his condition because he couldn't prove he was family. Besides the fact he actually wasn't family, no one knew who the guy was to know who his family was. It was the worst catch-22 imaginable. He had to have family or friends out there wondering where he was. Or maybe he didn't, and that was why he had tried to take his own life in the first place.

The police had been discussing the situation with him. He had to confirm no one harmed the guy, and Luka said he definitely didn't see anyone with him on the beach. Even though self-harm was evident with the cuts to his wrists, the guy had no wallet or ID information on him. He didn't have a phone, they hadn't been able to trace any abandoned cars left nearby. In fact, the guys feet had been covered in blistered and raw skin, which was making the cops thing he walked here from some distance. There were other things, but confidential. The medical staff looked concerned and so did the cops. They had assured Luka they would do what they could to try to find out who this 'John Doe' was. That was fucking heavy stuff. It was like a movie, but that was legitimately what they called people who had no identification.

Luka talked the hospital staff into letting him stay. If the guy had no one else on the face of the earth, Luka wasn't just going to piss off and forget about him. How could he forget? He wouldn't forget what happened yesterday morning for the rest of his life. He was shaken to his core and had managed to come down with a flu from getting in the freezing ocean to pull the guy out and it had started raining on them all while the drama was happening. Even still, he was staying. The guy had swallowed a lot of water and once he had started to cough it up on the beach, he started to breathe again. The paramedics still had to work on him for some time before he was stable enough to be carted off in the ambulance.

They said they had to be careful with someone who nearly drowned of 'dry drowning' within twenty-four hours. He had been in a pretty bad way for quite a few hours. It was almost twenty-four hours after the event before the nurses let Luka go and sit with him. Both wrists had been repaired and were heavily bandaged now, as were his feet from dressings. He looked terrible, and Luka really had to wonder what the guy had been through to push him over the edge like that. There had been clear intent to kill himself. The cops said this wasn't a cry for help. The location where hardly anyone was around, the wrists, the fact he had drugs and alcohol in his system, going into the water fully clothed. He had no intentions of coming out.

And when he was waking up, looking completely groggy and disoriented, Luka had no idea what he should say. "Hey, my name's Luka. You're in the hospital. Try not to panic."

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Cole was starting to think he was some weird construction of fucking invincible. A bomb couldn't kill him on his tour of duty in the Middle East, but it killed his lover. Multiple suicide attempts and, every single time, he woke and discovered he was still alive. Waking up this time, he just wanted to cry. He didn't have the ability to be angry at another failed attempt, he was just miserable and he had gotten to a point where he was done trying to go on. He was done with feeling awful for still existing and being that father who never had anything to do with his kid. All around him, his friends were succeeding in that, they were succeeding in kicking addictions, falling in love, and being amazing fathers. And he was still a failure.

He didn't know who this person was, and never heard of anyone called Luka. There was just no stopping him breaking down when he realised he wasn't dead, but in a hospital again. That meant he was right back to square one, and he had never figured out how to get very far beyond that. All he knew was that this Luka wasn't Emilio. Cole just wanted to get this shit done, and away from everyone he cared about so they didn't need to find his body. Now what?

Luka wasn't the sort to feel awkward or uncomfortable if someone was crying. He had cried many, many times himself in front of people over the years and it was always a comfort to have someone just remind you they were there, and you weren't alone. Of course, he knew he wasn't everyone. He just knew whoever this guy was, he was in a lot of pain and it was unlikely just physical pain. He pushed forward on the seat he had taken residence on and softly rested his hand on the guys arm, just above his elbow. He didn't want to push his way into his personal space, but he still wanted to help in some way.

"You don't have to talk to me or say anything. You can tell me to leave. I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. I'm sorry if that was really forward..." he apologised, only now thinking the guy might not want him there. There was a box of Kleenex, so he pulled some free and held them out to the guy with his other hand. "You might not be able to use your hands, they said it's best to keep them as immobile as possible. Is there anything I can do? Can I call someone? Can I get a nurse for you?"

"Who are you?" Cole finally asked through a choked sob. Who the hell was this guy and why was he here? There was no scrubs, no stethoscope, so it didn't seem like a doctor or staff. Staff probably didn't just sit randomly by a pathetic dickhead's bedside when yet another suicide attempt failed either. It wasn't Emilio this time. In fact, this guy was Emilio's polar opposite in looks. Emilio was gorgeous, dark with dark hair and dark eyes. This guy was blonde, blue-eyed and had no accent. Cole was just confused as all fuck, and his fucked up brain wasn't helping with any little bit of clarity.

The physical pain was definitely there. His head, his throat, his chest, his wrists, hands, feet. All over. It was like the physical pin-up of the emotional pain. He didn't want to keep doing this. No one understood that, no one wanted to just let him destroy his life, but they didn't realise he already had. He couldn't get better. Everyone had the faith in him that he should be able to, but that didn't mean he had the faith in himself. "Please, just go. Whoever you are."

"My name's Luka Zanardi. I live here in a beach house. You're in the Hamptons. Southampton. I saw you walking out into the sea from my bedroom at sunrise, so I went in after you and pulled you out. I'm sorry if I got in the way, but I couldn't just watch you do that..." Luka tried to explain. He was keeping his voice calm, even if inside hew as shaky and on edge with his rattled nerves. Without even thinking about it, he dabbed at the guy's face with the tissues for him.

He should have respected that request, but he still couldn't get up and walk away. There had been three times in his life that people hadn't walked away from him and left him to die. He couldn't do that to someone else. What if they all had a purpose for being on earth, all responsible for one life to save, and this was his? No one could explain the world, no one could even begin to. Things were at play no one could explain. "Will you just tell me your name? I can call your family, your friends..." he offered, his voice now taking a pleading edge.

Cole looked at Luka directly for the first time "The author?" he asked. He might live in a constant world of self-inflicted misery, but that didn't mean he was an alien. He still lived in New York, and he had read about an author called Luka Zanardi who lived in New York and was taking the teenage world by storm with his books. If this was him, what the fuck was he doing here? Even so, that had momentarily pulled Cole from the glitch his brain was stuck on. Self-loathing, misery, not wanting to exist anymore. Even if the tears were still falling, he was looking at Luka uncertainly now.

"No..." He didn't say his name. He didn't want anyone to call anyone he knew. He didn't want them involved. He was trying to release them from that shit, not burden them more. "I'm no one, there's no one to call. Please, just go. You're wasting your time."

Luka nodded. "Yes, I'm an author. I write books for young adults. I promise I won't write any of this experience into any stories, though," he continued. That was usually one of the first thing people asked him; if he used real people as models for his characters. He never really did. He admittedly took ideas from people, but he never took anyone's entire personality and transplant it into any character he wrote. Otherwise, what would be the point of creating? "Are you cold? They said you might be cold. They have heated blankets that might help. I can get a couple for you."

"Okay, I'll just keep calling you JD. But I'm not going anywhere. I can leave the room, but I'll still be outside," he resolved. He would be fucked if he wasn't going to at least try to get some help for this guy. He didn't want it. He was obviously at rock bottom. Either he didn't think he could be helped, or didn't think he was worth the help. It didn't matter what one it was. But Luka wasn't just walking on this.

"You wouldn't sell any fucking books with a character like me in them. Good idea not to touch that with a ten foot pole," Cole mumbled. He was trying to see what he was connected to, analysing whether he could get it all off him unnoticed and leave. He knew from how bare the room was, and the way the tubes and wires attached to him were held with locking devices to a pole bolted to the bed that he was on suicide watch. There were no curtains, and therefore no curtain rails. A few more moments passed and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm cold," he admitted. Or fucking freezing, to be more accurate, from deep down inside the parts of him he hated.

He was just looking at Luka. What else could he do? This wasn't really a stubbornness, he didn't think. Luka just seemed to want to help, and he was reminded Cole of Emilio a lot. It would be just his luck to try to do this and get rescued by the same sort of person as Emilio. He was either a fucking cat or he was invincible. He was also in way too much pain to be angry and fight this. There was a drained bewilderment as he looked at Luka. "JD?"

"I might be a writer, but your story isn't mine to tell," Luka told him. He got up and went just far enough into the hall to flag a nurse and ask him for some heated blankets for this guy... JD. Luka really wanted to know his name, if only to be able to address him on a more compassionate level. He would work with the little he had, though. The blankets were brought back, and the nurse asked if Luka needed him to assist with them. Luka thanked him, but said he was okay and asked if he could just have a bit longer to talk. The nurse confirmed he would come and check on the patient's progress in a little while.

Luka brought the blankets back and pulled them carefully over the guy's legs and up to his chest, making sure his arms were tucked in underneath them too. "John Doe. That's what they had to list you as. You had no wallet, no phone, no identifying anything on you. Unless someone files a missing person's report on you, no one will know this is where you are. I could take a photo of you and spread it on my multi-million followers on Twitter, but I'm not a cunt."

"Why are you here? Why won't you go?" Cole soon asked. He was tired and weak. He was feeling sick and sore. All of this was what he didn't want to have to go through again. Granted, he didn't exactly remember what he ultimately did, but he knew he had gotten completely trashed and drunk, and then he armed himself with a whole three month's worth of antidepressants he had been saving up and took a razor blade with him when he walked out of his apartment. After that, he had no idea. Apparently decided the best way to top himself was drowning.

He closed his eyes when it hit him then that not only was he a failure in life, he was a failure in trying to end his life. "A hardass Irish cop will turn up at any moment as soon as he gets information that I'm here. I appreciate you not doing that. Wouldn't want to traumatise your fans."

Luka knew they were fair questions, and ones that deserved honesty. "I don't want to leave you alone. Alone isn't nice. I've had people help me out in tough situations, and ultimately, just having them there to help me was something that stuck with me. I'll go when someone comes for you. I don't have anywhere else to be."

"Is he your partner? I can call him, talk to him directly," he offered. He could only imagine how sick you would feel if the person you loved went missing without a trace. Luka's last relationship didn't end well. They were the victim of paparazzi gossip about a cheating scandal and it was too much pressure keep things on track. He had put finding love on the back-burner since then, focusing on getting his latest book finished and was actually two-thirds into his next one.

"What tough situations?" Cole asked. If Luka was going to stay, he may as well have something to talk about. "You don't have to tell me anything. I don't buy for a second you don't have anywhere else to be. All celebrities have somewhere else to be."

Any other time and place, he might have seen the humour in that error. He couldn't see the humour in any of this. Everything was dark, weighing on him as if it was a physical pressure that had him by the throat but wouldn't relieve him by snapping his neck and putting him out of his misery. Now another poor innocent person had been pulled into it. He felt rotten. "No, he's my sponsor. He's married. I don't have a partner."

"I nearly died three times in my life. Three very close brushes with death, and the only reason I'm still here is I had people fighting for me. Those experiences are why I started to write. It was how I dealt with the stuff going on in my head, I guess you could say," Luka admitted with a small shrug. "I don't want you to think I'm some do-gooder trying to stick my nose in on your pain. I just know what it's like to feel a lot of pain. That's why I just want to stay near until I know you're going to be okay. I value being honest. If I had to be somewhere else, I would tell you."

He listened, feeling guilty about the assumption he had made. "I'm sorry, that was an awkward assumption for me to make. Forgive me? Your sponsor? For AA or something? Does that mean he's there to support you? He would be worried."

Cole's eyes didn't leave Luka when he replied. Maybe there was something he wanted to try to hold onto here, but the reason Cole was in so much mess today was how close he brushed to losing his life at war. "What happened? I take it none of those were suicide attempts," he guessed, extremely quietly as he broke the eye contact again to close his eyes tiredly, but briefly. "Are you okay? You look like you're burning up."

"Don't apologise. I should be the one apologising. I just wouldn't mean it." It sounded harsh, but it was true. He wasn't angry at the guy. Any normal person would have responded like that. Cole just didn't know how to go on anymore. There was just nothing he could do about it here, and it wouldn't be fair to Luka to lose his shit and get pissed off. He had done that over the years. It cost him many things. It cost him Emilio. He didn't deserve any help. "NA. He's given me far too much unconditional support as it is. He's a success story, I'm the failure. I'm not as strong as he is."

With his attention drawn to it, Luka wiped at his perspiring forehead. He was feeling warm and achy all over. He should be in bed, but he could get to that eventually. "I just got a bit of a flu. I probably already had it coming on when I ran into the water to get you. They've dosed me up on flu pills. I'm just due another dose." He wiped his hand on his jeans. "First time when right after I was born. My mom had an infection and it put her into premature labor, nearly two months early. She died, and I was adopted after I was discharged from hospital. The next time was a high school field trip to Aspen. I was ploughed head-first into a tree by another skier and had a bad head injury that put me into a coma for three months. Then at my senior prom, because I was gay and had a transsexual dad and a bisexual mom, I was kidnapped for a laugh and abused. It all went wrong, and they ended up beating me and leaving me in a ditch on the side of the road."

"Still, he would care about you and be worried about you. If he knows your not there. Is there a chance you doesn't know? Is there anyone that would be worried if you weren't there or went missing?" he had to ask. It was hard to understand much here. The guy wasn't revealing a lot about himself. Nothing identifying anyway. "You don't have to answer this, but is it a drug habit that pushed you do this?"

Cole didn't even know this guy, who was a complete stranger who saved his life (unfortunately), but it was impossible for anyone with a sliver of heart not to be touched by the story he was telling. He was obviously a complex person. Anyone with trauma in their past was. You suffer a trauma, or repeated traumas, it changed who you were. Nothing was ever black and white, and it wasn't even shades of grey. It was getting through periods that were dark, and trying to remember to see the world in colour again. For Cole, he had never been able to regain that ability, which was why he was in all this mess he just wanted to end.

"Cole. My name's Cole," he soon said quietly. He realised that Luka was being completely honest with him, answering his questions. The least he could do was offer something in return. You escaped all that with no lasting damage? Or are you secretly a drug user behind closed doors too? My drag habit. It can't be called a habit anymore. It's been way beyond that for years. My drug habit is what dulls the pain of my own trauma..."

"Cole," Luka repeatedly quietly, and he knew there was no pushing for a surname. He didn't need one either. He wasn't here to stick his nose into Cole's business, or force his hand at anything. All he wanted to do was help, and maybe help him see that someone was there for him. Even if Luka was a stranger, he still cared about the guy he very nearly witnessed kill himself. Cole seemed in so much pain, and Luka's heart went out to him. This had effected him a lot too, and if a few days of his time was something he could offer Cole to help, he was going to damn well commit to that. Everyone needed a friend, even when they were at rock bottom. Especially, even.

He scratched the back of his head. "There was no lasting physical damage. I'm not going to sit here and make out like I dealt with stuff way better, and make you feel even more useless. I just channelled a lot of that into my writing. If it helps, I got hooked on Vicodin for awhile after the bashing when I got really bad headaches and couldn't write. Now my friends call me 'House' as a joke. I think getting hooked on stuff is way easier to do than anyone realises. Can I ask what trauma you faced? It's okay if you don't want to say."

Despite the fact Cole was extremely messed up within himself, he did still value the people around him. It was just measuring up to the amazing people they were that was the tough part. The only time he had come close to figure out how to conquer his pain and the addictions it had caused was when he was with Emilio, and he even messed all that up when the cravings were too hard to fight and he wasn't strong enough to ward them off. He hurt Emilio in the worst way, when Emilio was his most vulnerable, and he would never be able to forgive himself for that. Good people kept wanting to help him, and he didn't deserve it.

"You're sick. You should be home in bed," he told Luka, even if the guy had this insistent kindness to him. It wasn't stubbornness. It was more him not giving up on Cole for some reason. All Cole ever did was give up on himself, so he wasn't understanding this. "How did you kick it? Cold turkey? I was a Sergeant in the Army. Deployed to Afghanistan. There was a bomb and... watched my lover get blown to smithereens. Survived myself, barely. Never been the same since. Didn't even like myself before that anyway."

Luka looked back at Cole quietly for a few passing moments. "And you care that I'm sick, so you're not a lost cause," he pointed out. No, he wasn't a therapist. Not even close. But he had a kind heart and he had empathy here. He recognised that Cole was at rock bottom in his life, and sometimes all that could do anything was being reminded you weren't alone. "Let me just keep you company for awhile. Even if I'm sick, I'm in a hospital. If the flu somehow turns into something drastic, I'm in the right place."

He shook his head. "No, not cold turkey. I had medical help. They gradually weaned me off it. Even still then, it took awhile and I went through a more drawn out detox process. It was awful, but it wasn't severe. I can imagine what you need to go through to kick it, and how easy it would be to quit trying to kick it." Without even giving it much thought, he sat forward and took Cole's hand, just to hold it. "Do you think you never have another chance at having that with someone again?"

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"It might as well rain until September."

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