Clear Conscious

Justine chuckled slightly as Chase walked down the sidewalk alongside her.

"That was terrible!" she said again, laughing at the movie they'd just seen. "And so corny, seriously."

"Yet again, you're the one that picked that mess," said Chase, wearily. "Besides I thought it was quite sweet."

"Oh really?" she asked joking, before mockingly reciting a line from the male lead. "You complete me. I would be worse than dead without you."

Chase chuckled slightly, reaching for this keys as they neared where he'd parked. He opened Justine's door before moving around to get in his side of the vehicle. The past two months had been good for their friendship. Justine had continued her treatment, and for the first time in a while, things had finally slowed down a bit.

While they hadn't had anymore unpleasant visits since Big Charlie, Chase couldn't deny the encounter had left him more than a little shaken. He'd already gotten a better lock and had made a quick habit out of using it every time they were in the apartment. All of that, Chase and Justine had agreed on, no issue. However, there was a bit of a snag when Chase had brought up the idea of purchasing a handgun. Justine had been throughly against it, arguing it would only escalate things if another confrontation did break out. So, Chase had agreed with her… at least he'd pretended to. Maybe he'd meant it at the time, but when he went to go to sleep at the end of the day, he would often stare at the ceiling, and think about that shining gun that Big Charlie had held. Even now, weeks later, he was still afraid.

So, Chase decided to get the handgun. The guilt he felt over deceiving Justine constantly battled his own fear and insecurities. He'd told himself that it wasn't like he wanted to hurt anyone. He never even intended to use the gun outside of target practice, but he also never wanted to be scared and helpless like he had been again. His chosen gun–a Beretta M9–was stashed beneath his mattress, along with two magazines that were always loaded.

What was somewhat worse was Chase had begun to become more anxious. Several times in the middle of the night he awoke due to the sound of some bump or click and instantly rolled out of bed to prowl through his own apartment gun in hand. Twice, Justine had woken to see him like this, and he'd managed to give some lie that had satisfied her. So, his anxiety continued to spike and the knot of guilt in his gut grew tighter. He knew it was stupid to assume someone had broken in the house. After all, they would've been far louder if it was a forced entry, and there was no reason to break in anyway. That didn't stop his mind from spinning faster and faster everytime he heard the floorboards creek.

Maybe twice a week, Chase went without sleep altogether, unable to stop watching the streets for the intruder he couldn't see but could feel. He even felt the fear begin to interfere with his daily actions. Every piece of mail might contain a drug, or maybe a tracking system. Why not? A man had already nearly banged down his door on some piece of intel, so someone knew something! Justine had begun to notice he was unwell too, even if he made his best effort to hide it from her, making the guilt worse again.

As Chase waited to turn onto the main road, he felt his eyelids droop slightly, and shook his head to try and help stave off the exhaustion. He hadn't slept last night, and twice he'd thought he'd heard someone in the apartment. He wasn't eating much either, his stomach was constantly upset and he often felt like he might be sick if he did eat anything. He'd started to lose weight because of it, he knew. The shirts that had fit properly now were a little too large. His old hoodie seemed to have grown too. Still, there was nothing for it, he was too vulnerable, too nervous to do anything else.

The cars kept criss-crossing, preventing him from turning left onto the road. Everytime one of the streams of cars had a gap, a new line of them seemed to approach from the other direction. Chase kept glancing in the rear-view mirror at the line of cars behind him, and he could feel their impatience. He could sense their eyes drilling a hole in his rear bumper. Sighing, Chase began to drum his fingers on the steering wheel glancing left and right over and over again.

"You alright?" asked Justine, softly.

"Yeah," he said, gritting his teeth slightly. "Just need a break in the flow here where I can go."

She nodded, but he could tell she didn't mean it.

"Why do you ask?" he asked, still trying to find an open spot.

"Because you're bleeding onto the steering wheel."

Chase glanced down and saw she was right. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been clenching his hands so tight that the nails on his right hand had broken the skin just above his palm, and begun to bleed.

"Shit!" he swore, reaching for a napkin from the glove compartment.

As he managed to wipe up the blood, a gap appeared in the flow of cars and Chase took the turn, trying to now ignore the headlights of the moron behind them who didn't realize their brights were on.

"Chase," Justine said, after a minute or two. "What's wrong? I'm worried about you. You don't eat and you're always out of it."

"I'm just tired," he said. "Not sleeping well."

Getting better, he thought, irritated with himself. That was at least half-a-truth.

"You really should talk to your doctor."

"I'm fine. If it's still bad in a few days, I'll make an appointment."

"That's what you said two weeks ago," she said, so quietly he barely heard her.

She was right, of course. She'd urged him to go the doctor for almost a full month now, and he'd always managed to stave off the issue by agreeing to go in a few days. The truth was that he didn't want to go to a doctor, because he already knew how that exchange would go.

"Hey doc, I can't seem to sleep at night."

"Really? What's keeping you up?"

"Someone forced their way into my house a few months ago and now I'm always afraid."

"Well, that's a psych issue. You need to talk to a psychologist."

Then the psychologist would tell him he was sick and if he couldn't even trust that his own home was safe how was he supposed to accept some stupid pills from a strange doctor he didn't even know? That doctor could be anyone. What if that doctor began to drug him up? What if they wanted him to be sick and ill? Then, he wouldn't be able to look after Justine anymore. He would lose everything. No, he wouldn't go. He didn't need that.

Still, it didn't help the immense guilt that was building up in his gut everytime he looked at Justine. He also saw the conversation she couldn't have, however much she wanted to. She was hardly in a place to throw stones over not receiving proper treatment for a problem, and she knew it. She also knew that Chase knew it, and he always felt that she resented him just the slightest bit for it.

Chase angled the rear-view mirror slightly so he wasn't blinded by the lights behind him and focused on the road, even as he head nodded rhythmically. He knew he was tired. In fact, he shouldn't be driving at all, but his apartment wasn't far and he certainly wasn't going to pull off to the side of a dark road in the middle of the night. Anything could happen in the middle of the night, no reason to give them a chance.

He reached down and took a swig of water from the bottle he kept there and it did help clear his head a little. He looked over at Justine, who was still pouting slightly in her seat. He let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "I know things have been difficult ever since… that night. But things are going to get better, alright?"

"I know that," she said. "It's you I'm worried about, Chase. You've been taking so much of this yourself. You took care of me when I needed you, and you continue to help me now. Why won't you let me help you?"

"I'm ok," he said, his voice cracking as he said it. "I'm fine, really."

"Chase," she said, sternly. "If there's anyone who knows when fine isn't fine, it's me. I'm an addict, right? I know the signs of struggle and pain and you're shutting me out. You need to let me help you out."

"Well I'm not you!" he snapped, so loud that he shocked himself into silence.

Neither of them said a word for several minutes, and Chase's guilt consumed him more. That was a stupid thing to say and he knew it. She was just trying to help, wasn't she? Why was he punishing the woman he cared about so much? Something really was wrong with him. He needed… he didn't even know what he wanted. He just wanted things to go back to being simple, like they used to be. But nothing was easy anymore.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," he said. "I don't know what's happening to me right now."

"Yeah," she said, still more than a little frosty. "I do. That's why I want to help you. Chase, do you think I want to hurt you?"

Chase glanced at her. She obviously didn't want to hurt him…

Right?

After all, what if she did. She rarely insisted on anything as strongly as she was right now. Was that because he really was sick, or because she really did want to do something to him? After all, if she did mean to hurt him she was in the best position to do it? What if that was always her plan? What if she did want to trick him, have him take her in and then control him? She had been a drug addict and a user. Was she still a user? He'd never exactly been able to see things clearly where she was concerned.

He shook his head again. This was so stupid. Justine cared for him deeply. They both cared for each other. Still… he couldn't know that she cared about him… not really. She sure said it, but did he really know?

No, obviously she didn't want to hurt him… so he believed.

Believed.

But there was still that nagging annoying sense of doubt in the back of his mind. However hard he shook himself he couldn't get rid of that little nagging doubt. He knew it wasn't a logical fear. It wasn't a sensible thing or one that fit well. It was just a stupid, stupid doubt… and he couldn't stop that feeling deep in his spirit.

"No," he said, as the guilt in his gut grew worse. "I know you don't want to hurt me."

"Then listen to me, please," she said, and he could hear the hurt in her tone.

"Ok," he said, half exasperated. "Let's make an appointment tomorrow."

She seemed content and Chase nodded slightly to himself. Maybe she'd forget, and even if she didn't, it wasn't like he had to take whatever they prescribed. He could decide for himself. After all, he had to make tough choices like that sometimes to keep them safe. Just like the gun.

Yeah… that was best.