CHAPTER 41

My mother called a hundred million times to ask if I'll be coming over for Christmas. David and Mary's baby just turned two months old, and they'll be in New York Christmas morning. Can I pull it together enough for everyone to have a good Christmas?

Yes, Mom, I told her during the early hours of this morning while I cleaned out the kitchen and rearranged the Christmas decorations. "I've got it together," I said. "You won't believe it. I think I'm finally getting better."

She sounded happy to hear that, and I wanted to tell my own mother to fuck off because, as my mother, she should know that there are no miracles with Bipolar Disorder.

Hopping on energy, I beg Daniel to let me work through the holiday. Since the contract with Hayden has officially been terminated, I need any and every distraction from the fact that whatever was happening between me and Hayden will no longer be happening, and it's all my fault. And if I ever thought there was a small chance we could've moved past my disgusting behavior, the fact that Hayden terminated his agreement with the gallery means that he hates me now. Everyone hates me, but Hayden hates me the most. I'm the most hated asshole on the planet. I don't blame Hayden. Not him, not my family, not Daniel.

Maybe we'll get visitors on Christmas day, I told Daniel while I was begging for more work. He said no, people should be with their family at Christmas time, and did you speak to your psychiatrist yet.

"Yes, Daniel," I said even though I absolutely did not call Dr. Emily. And fuck this shit about family. My family is capable of giving me enough anxiety to land me in the psychiatric ward.

I'm also lying to Laura with the ease and smoothness of a snake basking on a rock in the hot sun:

Yes, Laura. I'm coping well.

No, I haven't seen or talked to Hayden since I put on his tuxedo and propositioned a stranger for morning sex just a few days ago. And he's terminated his contract with the gallery, so there's that.

Yes, I'll let everyone know as soon as I feel like I want to die.

Yes, I'm manic but I'm honestly coping well. Surprising, I know, but there it is.

When I finally call Dr. Emily, she"s harder to fool. She told me, as a person diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, I have one hundred percent responsibility to manage my disorder well, and this kind of reckless behavior is harmful to me and to those who care about me. Don't be cruel to yourself, Levi, she said. Except, better me than others. My own cruelty toward myself I can handle. The cruelty of others, not so much. It's hypocritical, yes, because I deserve cruelty from others for the way I am when I'm manic. Even when I'm low sometimes. And nothing is worse than knowing that you deserve every terrible thing that happens to you. And I knew Hayden would cut himself off from me. There was never going to be any other way it would end.

Anyway, I told Dr. Emily I was just fine. She told me to take better care of myself. "You have a responsibility to yourself to live a full and happy life, Levi. And you can. You need to stay committed to your wellbeing. Allow yourself to feel the feelings of failure but know that it is all part of the journey."

"Yes, Dr. Emily. I'll be responsible."

"You won't let a wound fester on your leg or your arm, would you? You'd treat it and take care of it, right?"

"Right."

"So, don't do that to your brain. Treat it and take care of it the way you would any other part of your body that doesn't always work the way you need it to."

"My brain has a festering wound?" My levels of agitation, at that point, had become beyond unreasonable.

Dr. Emily watched my knees knock against each other while my hands moved all over the place, emphasizing my question. My fucking legs just couldn't stay still when I needed them to.

"Your brain works in a way that needs help in order for it to do for you what you need it to do. And you shouldn't feel ashamed of needing to help your brain function well, Levi. We all need something. This is yours. It's hard, harder than what most people get, and you did nothing to deserve it, but you must still choose to be responsible."

I gave her the thumbs up and said, "Nice speech."

"Help yourself, Levi. Stay on your meds. That's all I'm asking."

"Sure."

Now, I sit in my bedroom, unmedicated, on my third day of no sleep, starving but unable to eat, and hating myself more than I ever have before. My lips have been bleeding all day, and I've cut the inside of my mouth raw with my teeth. Running my tongue along the inside of my cheeks, I feel the lines and bumps, the raw skin, and the accompanying burn. It's comforting.

I can't come down off this high. My apartment is spotless, yet I still clean. I cook enough food to feed a small army and yet I cannot eat. My bed is made and remade every morning and every evening and yet sleep is elusive.

As I get my paints ready, my agitation increases as the burning sensation in my mouth decreases. There is a numbness crouching in the corners of my mind. I hate that feeling and I consider taking my meds.

No. I"m not taking my meds. I fucking hate them. I'm not going to spend Christmas in some zombie cloud.

Seven hours later, I lay down my paint brush and step back. I have produced three paintings of a man I've never met.

The freshly painted eyes of Nicholas Harrington stare back at me. Haunting – haunted – eyes, but even I cannot deny his stunning beauty. Still, my contempt for this beautiful man who still owns Hayden from beyond the grave is astonishing. I hate him. I hate how perfect he was. I hate how Hayden loved him. I hate how he loved Hayden. I fucking hate this dead motherfucker.

Sleep is useless to me. I leave my bedroom in search of something to eat. I ignore all the food I've been cooking and settle for a raspberry chocolate bar, then I get ready for work.

The gallery is busy. Out of towners looking for something poetic to do with their partners. Some come willingly, marveling at the artwork. Others look like they've been dragged out of bed kicking and screaming. Either way, they're out in the world, enjoying – or, at least, observing – the magic of the holidays.

If only life was as simple as that for people like me.

Daniel sticks his head into his office. "I told you not to come in," he says.

"You also said we won't have visitors, but you were wrong, as you can see," I reply, pointing behind him.

Daniel sighs. "I'm going to keep my eye on you, even if it annoys you. I don't want anything bad happening to you."

I roll my eyes.

He steps into the office. "Since you're here, let's talk."

Another eye roll. Here it comes. The Big Manic-Me talk.

I'm so fucking lost in mania-land and I'm working sixteen-hour shifts like my life depends on it. I'm surprised I haven't come unhinged yet.

Daniel puts his hands on his hips. "I know you're manic, and I know you'll be okay in the end. But is there something else going on that's making it worse?"

I look up at Daniel, shaking my head. I'm agitated enough that if I speak, I might say something that hurts him.

My depression is highlighted in neon colors through this mania, and I might happily begin a landslide of self-deprecation. I might cry and never stop because I have never hated myself so much as I do right now.

"No, it's nothing, Daniel. Thanks for checking up on me."

"It's Hayden, isn't it?"

I lower my eyes, my shame instinctive. Daniel sees it immediately. "Look, Levi. You and I, we've always been honest with each other, right?"

"Yeah."

"And we've talked about some pretty deep things."

"Yeah." Much of which was a case of over-sharing, but whatever.

He perches on the edge of the desk. "And I know you made me promise to help you stay on track when it comes to relationships because of what happened with Lukas, but . . ."

My face burns with the memories of the verbal diarrhea I had when I told Daniel about that scumbag.

Daniel sighs. "But, you know, maybe, sometimes, it's worth the risk."

My head jerks up. "We don't have to get all serious, Daniel. Like you said, I'll be okay."

"I think Hayden likes you."

My agitation increases. "Yeah, I don"t think so. I'm pretty sure he hates me."

"He seems solid, Levi. Maybe you want to see if there's anything there. He's nothing like Lukas, you know."

I utter a snickering laugh. "Solid? Don't you mean stable? Someone to balance out my crazy?"

"I meant someone you can feel safe with, especially after Lukas."

Something in my head snaps. "Yeah, look, Daniel. Since we're being all honest about it. I've been sleeping with Hayden for, like, six months."

He's not surprised and I fucking hate him for it. "What happened, Levi?"

I hate, hate, the concern in his voice.

I lean back in my chair. My head buzzes and my knee jerks uncontrollably. Why did I have to be born with this fucking mental disorder? "We fucked. I wanted him to fuck me more. He refused, so I told him I'd find someone else to get the job done. And that was that." How's that for oversharing? Daniel doesn't let me off the hook.

"Being bipolar and being an asshole are two very different things, Levi. You know that."

I shrug carelessly but inside, my silent screams tear through my ears. "I know."

"I kind of suspected there was more to it than just the paintings. Levi, I saw something about his fiancé online. I think it's important. I read he also had Bipolar Disorder. Did you know about that?"

The screams inside my head die down for one single moment to make space for this bombshell. My knee pauses its sharp jerks. Slowly, I lift my head. "What?"

"Well, I don't know if it's actually true. If not bipolar, then something is what I read. Here, I"ll show you. I thought you'd have figured it out by now, with you working together and all." Daniel takes out his phone, taps on the screen, and turns it to me.

"I tried not to think about it," I murmur, grabbing the phone from Daniel's hand. My eyes scan the article so fast I have to go back and reread everything because nothing got into my head the first time. An ad pops up every fucking second, making it harder to get through reading. It looks like some trashy tabloid online news outlet and probably none of it is true but, what if . . .?

The article was published three days ago. That's why I missed it when I was in my era of crawling the internet for hashtag NicholasAndHayden content.

It makes no sense and complete sense at the same time. In every single video on the internet with Nicholas Harrington you would never ever guess he was bipolar. But then, Hayden is just too well versed in this disorder. It has to be true. And why haven't I considered this possibility before? Maybe because I deliberately kept my brain from thinking about why Hayden knew so much about this fucking disorder.

Right now, not much can get through my clogged brain and fucked-up senses. I know on an intellectual level what this could mean but I can't process it sufficiently right now.

My body, however, feels and understands on a molecular level. My heart rate speeds up. Breathing becomes nearly impossible. The soles of my feet, the back of my thighs, the base of my spine tingle as my body prepares to protect me from this revelation.

"You think it's true?" I ask brokenly.

Daniel shrugs and takes his phone back. "Can't believe everything on the internet, I suppose."

"But have you seen the videos of Nicholas? He doesn't look like he has a mental disorder." My confusion, while my brain tries to catch up with my body, shows.

"Hey, don't judge like that."

My stunned brain gradually begins to respond to this new information. "Can I leave for the day?" I ask suddenly.

Daniel's face breaks out into a smile. "I'd carry you out if I could."

I shut down the computer and jump to my feet. "Thanks, Daniel." Grabbing my satchel, I head for the door.

"Hey, Levi?" Daniel throws me a set of car keys. "Don't take the bus. And keep the car for the holidays."

I grab the keys midair. "Thanks, Daniel."

I head home, carefully avoiding traffic.

My heart rate won't slow down. The noise in my head returns with a vengeance. Nicholas was bipolar? Nicholas was the one with this disorder?

It makes complete sense, even if Daniel said he wasn't sure, and it might be just internet gossip. In hindsight it's not hard to put two and two together. Hayden's superior skills in dealing with mental disorders is all the proof I need. Yes, he hadn't come out and told me who in his family had a mental illness. Now, it's obvious.

Even though there isn't a single picture or video I've seen online that showed a single sign of him having a mental disorder – I would have noticed, no matter how subtle the signs – it has to be him.

I arrive home and head straight for my bedroom.

I have the perfect Christmas gift for Hayden. I have to give it to him. He wouldn't have to pay me for this one. His tuxedo, still crumpled and stuffed into the hamper, catches my eye. Jesus Christ, I'll have to get that cleaned and returned to him. For now, I shove it into my closet and out of sight.

Like a runaway train, my thoughts come crashing through my head. I was going to let someone else fuck me if he didn't, while I wore his suit. I was fully prepared to cheat on him. And now? What? I want to take him a fucking painting of his dead lover? Just show up at his house after what I"d done? How fucked up is that? What kind of fucking idiot am I?

Sinking to the ground, I cry, silent and tearless. When will this ever end?

When will I ever stop hurting myself and the people I care about?

Hayden been through this before. He knew about my disorder right from the beginning. He knew what he was getting himself into, and he did anyway. And I've treated him so carelessly.

The emotional turmoil inside of me drowns me.

I should've known better. For Hayden. I should've been better.

With this new information about Nicholas and the way I treated Hayden, I begin to spiral. I"m sinking and soaring at the same time. I can't stop it, and with this trigger comes one of my worst nightmares.

I am, without doubt, in a mixed episode.