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After therapy, Buck knew he shouldn’t be in the bar. He shouldn’t be in a badge and ladder joint letting whiskey burn his throat, cursing the idea of therapy and listening to a couple of old retired firemen talk, questioning all of his life choices, including becoming a firefighter instead of…something. He didn’t know what he would be if ‘firefighter’ wasn’t an option. The idea of ‘Buck Buckley’ ceased to exist to him if he didn’t put on the turnouts every day, if he didn’t push it through training. And hell if he did not love this job. If he was honest, for years, this was the only part of his life he loved.
Not himself, not his family- just his job. This isn’t me, he thought. I don’t have some sort of alcohol problem. I’m not someone who drowns my problems in alcohol. So what did he do when problems came his way? When therapy really didn’t go well, when his mom quit therapy because he was being too difficult, and when he didn’t feel like he could talk to anyone about it. Not on Christmas. He looked at his phone – Eddie had sent him a funny video of a cat ruining a Christmas tree, and all he could feel was sad. Something about ruining. He had already put his and Chris’s gifts under Eddie’s tree, so they’d wake up to it as a surprise, and he left an additional gift at the base of Eddie’s bed. He checked the Fire Department’s staffing page to see if overtime was available the next day- it wasn’t. He was stuck with himself until lunch at Maddie’s and dinner at Eddie’s house.
He wasn’t sure how, exactly, he ended up on the bathroom floor. He was not drunk. He did not even finish the whiskey he’d ordered. It had lowered his inhibitions just the slightest amount, though, and there it was, his bedroom, through the corner of his eye - a razor. A boxcutter razor, that had been stray but put on his cabinet for safekeeping. He was able to get up, go get it, and then he ended up on his floor, hard and uncomfortable under him.
There was too much blood when Eddie knocked. Plus, he did not have his pants on. The ladder of which was genuinely a reason to not let his friend come upstairs. Of course, Eddie came in after he knocked, so Buck scrambled, getting up and rushing into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, forgetting the lock.
“Hey, uh, Buck, I brought…uh…Buck, you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. Please don’t come in, though.”
“Why’s there blood on your floor? There’s …a lot of blood on your floor. What’s going on?”
“I’m not wearing pants,” he said. “Don’t come in!”
“That’s not an answer,” he said, opening the door, present in his hand, which he immediately put down, coming to kneel beside him. “Hey, Buck. Give me this. Give me this, okay? It’s okay, but let it go.” He gently took the razor from him and started assessing him. “Hey Buck. Hey. Can you look at me? You don’t have to talk.” He gently tipped his face up a bit by his chin.
Buck did not know how to explain how he was feeling, that everything was unraveling, that he was not This Guy, a guy who self harmed in his bedroom on Christmas eve. He wasn’t entirely sure he was the one in there, anyway. There was something dark and inhuman instead, like it was trying to tear his flesh off. He wasn’t listening as Eddie was trying to stem bleeding on his arm. “Buck – hey, Buck. Do you have a med kit? I have one in my truck.”
“Just a first aid kit. Kitchen, I think.”
“Okay. I’m going to get my med kit – it’ll be so fast, okay? So fast.” Eddie looked hesitant to leave him there, but he did, and when he came back, Buck hadn’t moved.
“Okay. Alright. You’re okay, Buck.” He took his arm again, starting to methodically clean up the wounds. Buck wasn’t responding, even when the wounds were cleaned, which concerned Eddie, but also allowed him to finish bandaging up his arm.
“Alright, Bud. I’ve got to do your legs. I just want to make sure nothing’s cut bad, that’s all. We don’t want any infections. These aren’t as bad, Buck. It’s okay.”
Buck didn’t talk, just watched him. “What if when I was born,” he said, and Eddie was listening, just finding any cuts he had missed, and then looking at him. “The wrong person, like, entered my body?”
“What do you mean?” Eddie said. “Come on. Let’s get you off the ground.” He gently pulled him up, helping him into bed.
“Why are you coming to take care of me on Christmas Eve, by the way?”
“I saw your gift, and I came to give you one. You still have gifts under my tree for tomorrow. Buck, you should come stay with us.”
Buck shook his head. “Nope. I’m a mess.”
“Well I’m not going to leave you alone right now,” he said. “Come on, Buck. Let’s get some pants on you and go to my house. Then you can have Christmas with me and Chris, okay?”
Buck looked down at him, soft. “Wait, you got me a Christmas gift?”
“Of course I did. There’s more under my tree. You can open it in the car.”
Slowly, Buck got dressed, then followed Eddie out, trying not to look at the spot by his bed, or his bathroom. I’m not this guy, he wanted to say. The guy you know is still here. I don’t do this. I’m not this guy. But Eddie wasn’t asking. He wasn’t judging.
“How does hot cocoa sound?” He asked, when they were in the truck. He handed him his gift, then. Wrapped in wrapping paper, not in a bag. It was an anatomical model of a great white shark, accurate, a book about bears, and shark gummies. He smiled as he looked through them.
“This is awesome, Eddie. Thank you. I got you socks.”
Eddie laughed a bit. “I’m sure I’m going to love the socks.”
Once they got inside, Eddie started making hot cocoa, supplies already out from when he had some with Chris earlier. “Why did you really come over?” asked Buck.
“I knew your birthday this summer was hard,” Eddie said, honestly. “And I know something happened with your family this week. I know you’re not seeing them. I don’t know. It’s a hard day. So I thought I’d come see if you were okay. Kinda glad I did.”
“I’m not usually…I don’t do…I’m not this type of guy.”
“Yeah? So what happened?” asked Eddie.
“I think the wrong person was born,” said Buck, accepting the cocoa. “Not like that. Not like…suicidal. I just…it’s really hard to explain.”
“I’m listening, Buck.”
“I haven’t hurt myself since I was sixteen. Not like that anyway. Everything just kind of exploded all at once, and I left myself, if that makes sense.”
“It does. You know what I’m going to say, though,” he said, settling in, sipping his own cocoa.
“That I need therapy?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty serious, Buck. This could be something. You’re describing leaving your body, maybe the wrong person being born. This was a lot of cutting to just randomly do to yourself. So tonight, you’re going to sleep on my couch. Tomorrow, we’re going to enjoy Christmas. The three of us. Chris is going to lose his shit, seeing you. He’s going to be so excited. And then, we’re getting you help, no matter what looks like, okay?”
Buck did not love the idea of ‘no matter what that looks like.’ Still, he finished his cocoa. “You didn’t open your present?”
“No, not yet. I can, though.” He got up and went to his room, returning with the badly wrapped gift. Eddie sat beside him.
“Good job hiding this, by the way. Expecting me to find it on Christmas morning?”
“Maybe,” he said.
He crossed his arms, and Eddie unwrapped, finding an expensive, fluffy soft towel, as well as a 6 pack of expensive, Bombas socks, the really fancy ones. Eddie definitely would never buy the special, extra plush towel that Buck had gotten him or the fancy socks. He looked up at him. “This is amazing. Thank you. You really didn’t have to, Buck.”
“Always,” he said. “Thank you for the shark. And the bear book.”
“There’s more tomorrow. I’m going to go get you some sheets and stuff, okay?”
Buck did try not to fall asleep, but by the time Eddie came back he had. Eddie got him arranged into a comfortable spot and covered him up, tucking him in securely. Buck would wake up tomorrow, Chris nestling up next to him on the couch, and they would open presents together. It was kind of a hard day for both of them, so they’d sit close, understanding each other for a few minutes while Eddie got breakfast ready. They’d get through the day like it wasn’t hell to get to it, and then they’ d plan the next.