CHAPTER 31

"Are you sure?" Terri asks. The sound of her voice mildly irritates my ear. I shouldn't have answered her call.

"Yeah. I'll come by next time," I say, followed by, "I promise." My eyes move to my cup of tea on the kitchen counter. I made it an hour ago but haven't had the desire to actually drink it. Sherlock Holmes lies face-down next to me on the couch. I haven't been able to get through more than three pages. Gotham is currently muted on the TV.

Nothing appeals to me this morning and I don't feel like going into work.

"Okay, cool. See you soon, babe."

I end the call, promising myself that I'll attend a meeting at the support group soon. Then, worried that I may have been short with Terri, I text her:

Me: Sorry if I was rude

Terri: Lol, no. You weren't rude

Me: You sure?

Terri: Yep. You okay?

Me: Yeah. Sorry.

Terri sends me a thumbs up emoji.

Ignoring my tea, I head for the shower. I can't stand the feel of the spray against my skin, but it still takes me thirty minutes to get out of the shower, long after the water has run cold.

I leave the house without making my bed. Did I forget or did I not feel like it? I can't be sure. The thought nags me all the way to work.

Shawn is in the back, exiting a Gallery 180 car when I arrive. "Hey," he says.

I lift my hand to greet him.

"I got your nine o'clock sorted," Shawn says.

I frown.

Shawn grins. "Professor Sutton? Clifton Sutton?"

Oh fuck. My recently un-closeted gay friend who thought I was interesting and insightful. He bought a new painting recently.

"Shit, Shawn. I'm sorry." I slip my phone out of my pocket to check the time. What the fuck? How the fuck am I two hours late for work?

"It's all good, bro. He wasn't far out."

I feel like total garbage. "I'm really sorry, man. I don't know how—"

Shawn pats my shoulder on his way back inside. "It's cool."

I nod, but as I watch him take the steps into the building, the guilt of not being able to do my own delivery eats at me. How did I forget about a whole delivery? Am I losing my memory? Is it Alzheimer's? No. I'm too young for that shit. But what if I'm the one who ends up being the youngest person in the world to get Alzheimer's? No, shut the fuck up. That's impossible.

Reluctantly, I enter the building. Daniel comes around the corner. "You want to join me for breakfast, Levi?"

I shake my head. "Not hungry."

He gives me a thumbs up and makes his way to the eating area.

By the end of the day, I haven"t gotten half of my work done. I'm moving slowly and Daniel offers to send me home early.

By the next morning, I haven't eaten for twenty-four hours, and a sudden sadness engulfs me. I go through the day hardly processing anything. Hayden texts to ask me how I'm doing. I tell him I'm okay, but I don't really know.

By the end of the week, I can't hide it from myself anymore. I fall from nearly five months of stability. Like invisible claws, prying my fingers off the edge of the cliff, I slip.

I drop to the lowest part of my psyche. Inside my head, I scream and scream and beg whatever is out there to just give me back my normal. My desperation to not let Hayden down is all that keeps me in contact with him. I'm lying to him, telling him I'm okay and I'll see him soon.

Dr. Emily is sympathetic at our session.

"There's no end game with Bipolar Disorder, Levi. We know that, right?"

I nod.

"You're still on your meds, right?"

"Yes. Why have they stopped working?" I ask, as if I haven't asked the same question every single time I've had to change medication since I was twenty years old.

"It isn't so much about them not working. It's more about giving each combination of medication a chance and finding that it's not the right combination. It can be a very retrospective process."

"So, there's no answer. No end in sight. Nothing. This is my life. Forever."

"Bipolar Disorder is not something you try to survive. It's something you learn to live with, with support and the right combination of medication. And finding the right combination of meds can be a lifelong commitment. Your dedication to your wellbeing is admirable, Levi. When the meds don't give us the outcomes we're looking for, it isn't because you've done something wrong. Just don't ever give up."

I don't have anything to say.

"Let's talk about Hayden a little. Laura told me that things are progressing with him."

"Yeah. I don't know how or why, but he sticks around. He's . . . perfect."

"Does he know you're low at the moment?"

"I haven't told him anything yet."

And when she waits for me to continue, I give it all up. "He's all that's keeping me together right now. He's not like Lukas. He's very . . ." I don't even know how to say it. "Sensitive."

"Sensitive? How?"

"He gets it. Me. He gets me. He knows someone who has Bipolar Disorder. I didn't ask who. I don't think I want to know. The first time, when I told him I was bipolar, he asked me if I was manic. So, he understands and he—"

Dr. Emily lets me grapple to find the words. "He lets me be. He's present, but he's quiet when I need the quiet. There's no pressure to be or do anything when he's around. He feels . . ."

"Safe?" Dr. Emily says when I can't come up with the right word. And when she does, it immediately becomes exactly the right word. I feel it out. "Safe. Yes. He feels safe."

"Can you tell me how he feels safe? What does that look like?"

"Uh, well. Remember, a couple months ago, we went to that park? I was low. He asked me if I was making it through. And he told me that he doesn't mind sitting with me in the silence."

"I remember. That was a beautiful way to put it. Why did that feel safe?"

"He wasn't waiting for it to be over, I think. He acted like it was just one more thing about me he'd learned and – and like, it was okay, and I was making it through, and he would just stay with me until it passed."

"What else?"

"When I'm with him I don't have to worry about social cues. I don't have to worry if I'm talking too much or not enough. If I'm smiling too much or not enough. I can just be in whatever state I am and he's okay with it. We must've sat in that park for two hours. And he just stayed with me. He didn't ask any questions. Didn't try to fix anything. He was just there, watching me sketch."

"Do you think something more permanent can come out of this relationship?"

"I don't know. He said he wants to be with me as long as I let him. I never really expected to be in a relationship like this. It feels good but it also scares me because I just know I'll find a way to ruin it. Especially when I'm manic."

"Okay. I want us to talk more about this next time."

"Okay."

"We're in this together, Levi," Dr. Emily says, as I get ready to leave.

"Right." Although, if I'd had the energy, I would've told her that there is no we in this whole thing. There is only me. I'm the one that has to live with this fucking – this fucking disease. I'm the one people roll their eyes at when I'm manic, and I can't stop talking. Or call me names when I can't stop moving. Or tell me to snap out of it at the first sign of my approaching low.

I want to tell Dr. Emily that she could go and sit on her high tower and write out new prescriptions every month and charge my insurance thousands of dollars for her fucking services, but I'll still be the one rocketing to the fucking heavens and then plummeting right into the fucking earth with no warning and no way of stopping.

The hateful thoughts carry me right through work and they persist all week. I can't be bothered to eat when I get home every night and sleep becomes a shitshow.

By the end of the week, my blood is humming and singing inside my body. I go through the next week in a confused fucking daze.

In a nice twist of events, Hayden has some work in Japan. He'll be gone for two weeks. We text daily and I keep my new state of being a secret from him. The truth is I have no idea what the fuck is happening. I'm lazy and lethargic but my head is fucking spinning, and I can't stop the urge to keep moving.

I realize that I hate and love everyone in equal amounts. By week three, my skin is tingling and crawling with an excitement that has me searching for the vacuum because my place needs cleaning because it's a mess even though it isn"t. And who can live in this fucking mess of a place like some slob? "HowTheFuckDoPeopleLiveInSuchFuckingFilth?" I asked Marge, when I went downstairs to the laundromat earlier today to have all my clothes from my closet washed.

"JustBecauseYouHaven'tWornThemInThreeMonthsDoesn'tMeanThey'reStillClean," I said.

Marge laughed and told me to slow down because I was acting crazy. She was right, but she didn"t know that, and she wasn't mean about it. I still wanted to tell her to pluck her fucking eyebrows because that was fucking crazy.

Also, fuck the meds. And I don't need to slow down. I hate it when people tell me to slow down. And Hayden got back home yesterday – almost a week later than he was scheduled to return. Delays with some of the board members from Sweden, he'd said. I'll bet he had a great time with some cute Swedish twink. He's working in his New York office today. I'll bet he's fucking someone at his office.

Back in my apartment, I take a shower. I'm sure he's fucking someone in his office. No. He's not the type. But how can anyone know for sure? He's so hot, who wouldn't want to sleep with him? But he likes me too much. I can tell. We've been together for months now and he's been perfect. But aren't those the worst ones? The ones who seem so perfect?

I take another shower ten minutes later because I can't remember if I scrubbed my armpits. And then, after that I take thirty nude pictures on my phone and send them to Hayden. I make sure to send him great side angles too, so he can check out my average-size dick with his favorite tattoo in view. And just to fuck with his head, I also send him a few pictures of my dick with the wolves in view.

By the time I realize I'm fully manic, I'm already at the access-controlled entrance of Hayden's home.

By then it's too late.

We have plans to meet tomorrow but, well, fuck that. I'm fuckin' buzzing and I need to see this hot motherfucker now.

Evaline notices immediately. "You're awfully energetic today. Why don't you go into the garden? Give your mind a rest. Hayden will be home late tonight."

"Working, right?" I ask with a God-like authority, like I didn't already know that.

"Yes."

"Maybe he's banging one of his employees."

"You're the only one he's banging," she says with a dead-straight face. "I'll let him know you're here when he gets in. Unless he already knows?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll text him in a minute." The banging only me comment bounces off my skin. I'm sure he's banging someone at work. There's no way someone like Hayden Ashford isn't having his cake and eating it too, whatever that means. And if he is banging someone at work then WhoTheFuckDoesHeThinkHeIs, cheating on me?

"Let me keep you company while you wait."

"Oh, no, no, no. I don't want to keep you, Evaline."

She shakes her head. Why is Evaline acting so weird? "I insist."

I place my hands on her shoulders and turn her around. "I'm a big boy. I'll wait for Hayden."

She watches me for a long time. "Okay, then. You know where everything is. I'm heading home. I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah, sure. Have a good night, Evaline. Maybe you'll get lucky tonight ‘cos you're sure lookin' pretty today."

Who is this guy talking to Evaline? So smooth and confident.

Evaline smiles and why the fuck is it such a stuck-up smile and anyway I'm glad when she leaves so I have the house all to myself. I waste no time.

I go searching in Hayden's room for the paintings he hasn't yet hung up.

I have to remind myself to be gentle with them as I move them from his closet to his office. Since Hayden spends all his time in his home office when he's not at his on-site office banging God-knows-who, I'll start there. I remove A Place Not Found from the wall because fuck that. Nothing is impossible. We can have anything we want in life. Nothing is impossible. All this bullshit about not having the things we want? Fuck it. Longing for things that don't exist? Fuck that too.

I replace that garbage with the one I did of Hayden's happy face. Then, I stand back to admire my work. Yes. He says his happiness is a thing not found. Call me stupid, but there it is, right there on the fucking wall.

I need something to drill into the wall for the second painting – my happy face – so, propping the painting carefully on the buffet table, I go hunting through Hayden's desk drawers.

Nothing. Fuck.

But what the fuck is up with all these old phones?

I pick one of them up. Hm. It's fully charged. And no password. And the wallpaper is – guess what? – a happy, laughing Hayden receiving a kiss on his cheek from his perfect dead husband-to-be. Or rather, husband-to-never-be.

Manic me doesn't care for boundaries, and everyone can suck on that.

My fingers slide across the screen, unlocking it.