Page 39 of His Other Half

"Yes." She held on to him, worried about his lack of attention.

"You should be at home." He refused to let her go. "It's not safe here."

"You need me."

He looked over her head into the other room and frowned. "I..."

"It's okay." She kissed his chest, wishing there was something that would ease him back to the present.

He was having a walking dream. She'd heard of it happening to others. Usually, something traumatic set off an episode, or fear took hold of a person, and they'd lose touch with reality.

She studied him. His eyes. There was something different about them. It was the alcohol she smelled rolling off him or drugs. She couldn't be sure.

"I, uh, took too much shit," he muttered, stepping away from her and taking in the mess around him.

He must have searched for the paper he needed for a long time before she'd arrived. It wasn't only his kitchen that he'd trashed. The living room was in disarray, and the chairs at the table were tipped over.

"I need a beer or something." He ran his hands through his hair, brushing it off his face. "Jesus..."

She stood back, letting him do what he needed to get control of himself. When he was ready, she'd be there to listen.