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Grounding techniques feel like going to war with yourself. One simple act signals to every nerve of your body that ‘I refuse to feel like this. I refuse to stay like this. I am going to put an end to this.’ And unfortunately, every nerve in your body decides it enjoys the rush of discomfort and doesn’t want to feel better.
Hands are rubbing against legs, a feeble attempt by Basil to ground himself to this moment. Because his mouth is moving and Basil is pretty sure he’s rambling, but it’s hard to tune in. Like his mouth is a disconnected part of his body, disjointed from the other nerves screaming out.
It takes effort for him to return from the war. It takes effort for his body to stop its needless quivering, for his mind to stop feeling out of body, and for his mouth to once again be under his command. “Sunny is just…”
Every single inch of his body screams out now, in the way it does whenever he thinks of Sunny. But in that screaming comes a symphony, one that he can control. Or at least, one that he can wade through and stop feeling like his body is trying to destroy him.
He has the chance to choose his words now, so he pauses. Still rubbing against his legs, Basil looks around the office. It’s bright and white, sunshine coloring the shelves and the couch he’s sitting on. He never expected to go to a therapist’s office enough times that he could recite it from memory, and yet here he is.
Here he is.
I refuse to feel like this. I refuse to stay like this. I am going to put an end to this.
Basil returns to his doctor, continuing. “Sunny is amazing,” because that’s what the issue always is. That he sanctifies Sunny, but how could he not? “And of course I would do that for him. No one understands and sometimes, I don’t either, but…usually, it just makes sense.”
He and his therapist have been trying to work it out. Basil has an unhealthy relationship with that night, where all that remains in his mind are snapshots of what led him to tying the knot. Like a photo album with most of the photos scattered outside.
He doesn’t want to feel so secure in his choice. Guilt is healthy, and Basil drowns in it. But when he tried EMDR a couple of times and revisited those memories, he kept making the same choice. Just like how you pass salt to someone else at the table, Basil hangs Mari for Sunny.
In a sound state of mind, Basil doesn’t know if he would do it again. But has he ever been of sound mind?
Does he want to be, if it means not helping Sunny? Even if that help led to years of hell?
It’s simple, usually. One either passes the salt or eats tasteless food. Basil either hangs Mari or watches Sunny get arrested.
His therapist calls this a cognitive distortion. Black and white, all-or-nothing, splitting from reality. Basil wishes he could agree.
“But sometimes,” Basil continues, “I just…I wish he were here. I did all this so he could stay in my life. I guess I’m still a little bitter after all that, that he didn’t stick by my side. That he went inside. That he chose his delusions over me and…I know it’s selfish, but.”
Basil shrugs, anticlimatically. There’s no way to finish that thought, and no way he can justify focusing on Sunny rather than the lives he ruined. Even if putting all that pressure on his past self is unhealthy, Basil knows he fucked up.
Still. It’s salt or no salt on a relatively shitty meal. And then it’s that shitty meal with someone or without someone. Either way, Basil eats the shit. That’s just what he does for Sunny.
“Perhaps it is selfish,” his therapist says, because therapists are paid to say things smarter than salt metaphors. “But it also sounds like you’re very devoted to him, healthy or not. That kind of attachment can lead to disillusion when it’s not reciprocated.”
“Devotion?” Basil stops rubbing his hands to pick at his nails. “Yeah, I guess. I’m devoted to him, and it’s hard not to be. Even when he didn’t act the same. I would do anything for him, because…he made me feel like I could do anything.”
“He made me feel like I could do anything.”
Sunny’s lounging on the side of the couch, back propped up by the arms. A notebook is balanced precariously on bent legs, and Sunny doodles instead of taking notes. Light pours over the notebook, natural light because the ceiling lights make him feel unreal.
His therapist would say that’s something they need to work on, but that’s not what Sunny is working on today. So he happily takes his natural lighting, thank you very much.
The pages today are littered with cats. Sunny can’t explain why. They always come in pairs, as if they were to be separated for too long, bad things would happen. Sunny doesn’t like those kinds of thoughts, the bad things thoughts. He doesn’t like thinking his thoughts have power.
That’s something they also need to work on. Sunny knows.
“Basil saved me,” Sunny reiterates. He adds whiskers. Cats need whiskers, just like they need each other. “He made me feel like more than just Mari’s weird little brother. Made me feel important and…I liked that. I liked feeling important when it wasn’t important. When it was just who we were going to play with at recess, and he would pick me every time.”
Sunny works on the world surrounding these two new cats. It has to be somewhere they can thrive together because the real world is hard for Sunny to thrive in. But here, between his notes of how he should take better care of himself, they don’t have to worry about words like trauma, dissociation, and treatment plans.
They don’t have to worry about words like trauma bond. When Sunny’s therapist gave him its definition, Sunny was furious and adamant about how wrong it was. But now, he says, “I had to survive Basil, too. But without him, I wouldn’t have survived in the first place. Talking to him again is doing the same thing. It’s…”
Sunny flips through his notebook. He wrote it really well a couple of days ago. Finding the page, he recites what he wrote: “‘He saved me and he ruined me. I don’t know how else I could’ve lived but living is also hard now. It’s his fault as much as it’s mine, but that doesn’t help.’” Sunny turns his head to look up at the ceiling. “And now that we’re talking again, it’s amazing, but…I guess I wish we talked more.”
“Have you been maintaining weekly contact?”
“Yes,” Sunny lies. He might have been calling Basil more often. Basil takes the recommended weekly calls thing seriously, but Basil has always been a stickler for the rules. Except for that one time that ruined all their lives. And because he did that, that means he listens to Sunny whenever Sunny says, ‘Fuck the rules and pick up the phone.’
But then again, Sunny thinks as he returns to his doodles and shades one cat as dark as his pencil allows. Sunny is the one who pushed Mari. How much say does he really get?
The rules are there for a reason, to stop Sunny and Basil from spiraling too deeply into their lives that they can’t crawl out. Before they get to the point where they think they don’t need to crawl out.
Sunny knows they need a healthy distance. But god.
“But it’s not enough. Have you thought about increasing contact?”
“Yes.” That’s only a half-lie. “I just think…I can’t really live until Basil’s with me. By my side, I mean. The most important years of my life, he was there. And even when I was inside…he was always with me. The distance isn’t that bad now, but it’s still distance.”
Sunny only has the words now because he’s written it so many times. Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was lying. All it does is make Sunny need a stronger dose of his antipsychotics so he doesn’t see Basil in the shadows. (Now, Sunny debates nightly to stop taking them. He misses seeing even a phantom of Basil.)
“I don’t think I can heal,” Sunny whispers, setting his pencil down. “You keep saying healing isn’t linear and all that, but…I’m just not that strong. Not without him.”
“If you could say one thing to him right now, what would it be?”
“Sunny, Sunny, come here!” Basil nearly trips in the grass. Sunny steadies him and, hand in hand, they go deeper towards the field.
They’re pretty far from Faraway Town. They’re both filled with equal parts adrenaline for breaking the rules and for discovery. Out here, there’s nothing but greenery and them.
“Look.” Basil points, releasing Sunny’s hand. Tall grass brushes against his hand. Sunny follows, and there’s a grove of flowers in the middle. They look at each other and giggle.
When they make it there, Basil brushes his fingers against a sunflower while Sunny picks up a dandelion. “Is it true,” Sunny starts, because Basil always knows these things, “that you get a wish if you blow on these?”
“That’s what people say,” Basil replies. He’s thinking about sunflowers and grass and simple, pretty boys. “I like it. That weeds can make wishes come true.”
Sunny considers that. He thinks about forever. He then picks another dandelion and hands it to Basil. “Let’s both make wishes together. That way, it’ll be stronger.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works, but if you say so.” Basil smiles when his fingers brush against Sunny’s to tenderly pluck the dandelion. Tucking his hair behind his ear, he thinks. “Hm. I think I have a good wish. Do you?”
“I have more wishes than dandelions.”
“You daydream too much,” Basil teases, making Sunny smile again. That’s all he really wants, so maybe his wish already came true. “C’mon, pick your favorite.”
“Fine,” Sunny says with a pout, but he already picked one before they even got here.
It’s a wish that’s going to come true because it’s what they both want. It’s what they’ve wanted as long as they’ve known each other. And if they both keep it near to their hearts, if they both work at it…
They blow on their dandelions. The tufts brush against one another before the wind carries them away. Basil and Sunny watch in silence, wishing, wishing, and—
“You’re the strongest person I know. I love you. I’m sorry. I hope we always stay together.”
—wishing, side by side. Their fingers brush against one another, hoping the other wished for the same thing.
And he means it with all his fractured heart.