33. Luca

33 /

luca

"Don't forget art therapy is at two this afternoon. Are you planning to go?"

"Fuck no. I can't even draw stick figures, so why should I sit around with crayons while some art teacher who took psych 101 tries to analyze why I can't draw circles?"

"That isn't fair, and you know it doesn't work that way. Guided creative effort could help you see things differently." How did she stay so calm even when I barked at her? Dr. Putnam was a redheaded woman who reminded me of my favorite aunt in Italy—friendly, kind, and willing to say what I needed to hear, whether I wanted her to tell me or not.

"Can art therapy fix me so I don't drive away the men I care about?" Just forming the thought made me a wreck, and I practically spat the words at her. "Can it make Harper come back to me?"

"Unless I've misunderstood something, you never gave him a chance to say he wanted to leave you. As for ‘fixing' you, you're not broken. You're a man who's been hurt and now expects the worst."

"I'm—"

She shushed me by holding up a finger. "Whatever happens with Harper, it's important to focus on yourself. No one will ever make you happy if you aren't happy with who you are, and you'll never be what someone else needs until you can be what you need."

Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes, and I wanted to hit something. "Why am I not good enough the way I am?"

"You are , Luca." She smoothed one of her jacket sleeves and smiled at me. "You just don't believe it."

I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling while an uneasy silence settled between us. We had an hour to fill every day, and I was in no hurry to talk more. I was lucky to be in a hospital that made such intense therapy possible, but what did Putnam fucking know, anyway? The quiet became unnerving after a while, so I broke it. "There's a crack in the light."

"What?"

"The light fixture. It's cracked." I lowered my head and looked at her. "Can I please have my phone? I've been here for four days, and I want to see if I have any messages."

"From Harper, you mean?"

"From anybody." I gave an exasperated huff. "Yes, of course I want to see if there are messages from him. The last thing I remember before they brought me here is seeing his name. If I wasn't hallucinating, there's at least one message there."

"You're lucky the paramedics brought the phone in with you. It was how they found your emergency contact. It was good of him to come, by the way."

My college friend Adam had always been my in-case-of-emergency person because he was so level-headed. He'd come from New York to see me the day after I was admitted, but he had to leave for a business trip later the same afternoon. "I guess. We hadn't talked for a while."

"Has he told your parents you're here?"

"I asked him not to. I'm embarrassed, and they'd only worry."

Her hair, cut in a longish bob, moved when she nodded her head. It looked like it was on fire, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the window behind her desk. "If I give you the phone, will you please call someone else and tell them where you are? Visitors would be good for you. Harper might be glad to hear from you, too, and if he?—"

"Absolutely not. I'd die if he knew I was in a psych ward. Any chance I have with him would be gone if he thought I was nuts."

"You're depressed, Luca, and what you just said is unfair to Harper. You don't know what he would think."

"Didn't you say I need to focus on me?"

"You do, but talking to Harper might settle some things. You already think about him all day, and the truth about what he has on his mind can't be worse than your parade of horribles." An alarm chimed on her phone, and she tapped the screen to silence it. "Honestly, if he plans to end things, it might be best to do it while you're here. You'd have support."

I leaned back in the chair to get another look at the cracked light fixture. It reminded me of myself. This was a place for broken things. "I'll think about it."

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out my phone. "Promise you'll go to art therapy?"

She looked so pleased with herself as I held out a hand, and I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "You drive a hard bargain."

I powered on the phone as I hurried back to my room. The rules said I had to keep the door open, but before I looked for messages, I wedged myself in the corner behind my bed so no one could see my face. I swiped away the lock screen and… shit—no notifications. Had I imagined the texts that were there before I passed out? I opened the messaging app and covered the screen with my hand, peeling it back millimeter by millimeter until I saw Harper's name at the top of the list. My heart hammered in my chest.

Since the day he didn't message me at all, Harper had sent seven texts. The first one brought tears to my eyes.

HARPER: I'm sorry, Luca. I typed out a reply yesterday but never hit send. I don't think I've ever done that before, so please forgive me. Here's what I typed, so you'll know I was thinking of you.

The missed text had been one of his typical "hard day, how are you, hope you're doing okay" greetings. Fuck. Why did he forget? If he'd sent the message, I may not have spiraled the way I did. Or at least it wouldn't have been so bad. I'd already been spiraling, but it was the day he didn't get in touch—when I'd thought he was moving on—that hurt so much worse than the others.

He'd sent more messages over the following days. Several mentioned needing to talk, and they all sounded positive. The texts also revealed his growing confusion about my lack of response. Two days ago, he asked if my silence meant I'd decided to let things go between us.

The last message had arrived yesterday.

HARPER: I hope everything is okay with you. I'm so sad you haven't replied, but maybe it's the easiest way. If I don't hear anything else from you, I'll assume you've decided to break up. I won't think badly of you. I couldn't. And I don't blame you after what I've put you through. Thank you for this summer. I miss you very much.

I wanted to message him so badly my fingers twitched, but what should I say? Panic ate at me as I hesitated, wondering how I could explain the radio silence. I was terrified that admitting I was hospitalized would scare him away permanently. Surely there was something else I could tell him, but would anything other than the truth justify the suspense and worry I'd put him through? I sank to the floor as a wave of anxiety knocked the breath out of me. Had my unintentional silence already pushed him away?

His last several texts had implied he wanted to stay together. He hadn't explicitly said so, but he'd seemed sad when he asked if I wanted to break up. If he didn't want to work things out, why would he have written about how much he missed me and wanted to talk? Still, if he had something good to tell me, why had he not just said it? He couldn't have believed there was anything to gain by keeping me in suspense.

I needed advice before messaging Harper, and Adam—one of the smartest people I'd ever known—would be the best person to ask. Since he was still in Atlanta on business, I'd message him after dinner. I leaned my head back for a deep breath before art therapy. For once, I was glad to go because when it was over, I'd only have a few hours to wait before I could talk to my friend and decide what to do.

It was watercolor day, and I was in hell. First, I'd tried to paint mountains that came out looking more like lumpy mashed potatoes, and now I was supposed to coax murky puddles of green paint into something resembling a goddamn forest. Every stroke of the brush was worse than the one before, and the entire exercise was frustrating as fuck. Who cared about mountains and forests when my world was crumbling? Instead of a stupid brush, I wanted my lacrosse stick. I'd have beaten the fucking watercolors until the entire room was green.

I was experimenting with a different grip on the brush when someone tapped me on the shoulder. The contact made me jump so hard I nearly knocked the little bowls of paint over. I turned my head, surprised to find the offender was one of the nurses.

"Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor who says he just flew in from Chicago. Do you want me to ask him to wait while you finish this class?"

Chicago? It must have been Caleb. Excitement shot through me, then immediately transformed into dread. After the trouble he'd caused, I considered telling the nurse I didn't want to see him, but I stalled for time instead. "Did he tell you his name?"

"Caleb. He says you're close friends, and he seems concerned."

Shit. I was nowhere near ready to talk to him, but it would be nice to see a familiar face. After all the years we'd been friends, I'd be the worst kind of asshole to refuse to see him. I put down the brush, shot the therapist an apologetic glance, and left the class.

As I walked into the common room, I spotted his golden hair first. He turned when I called his name, and I was startled to see how worried he looked.

"Luca!" He hurried over and hugged me. My hesitation vanished, and I relaxed into his warmth. We held each other in silence, and when he drew away, he placed a hand against my cheek. "You're skinny. Are you eating at all?"

It seemed like an odd opening, but I went with it. "A little. Not at first, but after they moved me up here to the nuthouse, I've tried to eat. The food's terrible, though."

He snickered, then looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, but you said the same thing when you were hospitalized before. This isn't a nuthouse, Luca. It's a psych ward."

"I'm the one who's an inmate here, so I can call it whatever I want."

He snorted, making me laugh for the first time in days, and it didn't take long for him to join in. With the tension broken, I led him into one of the alcoves off the common room. They offered more privacy than sitting out in the main area. We shared the small sofa, holding hands.

After a few moments of silence, he said, "I'd have been here sooner, but Adam didn't call until last night, the bastard. I took the first plane I could get on this morning, but I had to fly through Detroit and Philadelphia to get here."

"That doesn't sound right."

"Leave it to me. I guess it was a bad day to fly to Buffalo. At least I didn't have any trouble getting a rental car." He showed me a sympathetic smile. "Are you okay, Luki?"

He knew damn well I wasn't all right, but what was he supposed to say? I shook my head. "How much do you know about what happened?"

"That your system was breaking down because you were so stressed and stopped eating. The ER doctors realized you were depressed, so they stabilized you and sent you up here."

"That's about the size of it."

"I'm sorry. How did that even happen? You've always eaten like a horse."

"I didn't eat much when I was depressed before. But this time, I was so fucked up I had no appetite at all. Even if I had, it was too much trouble to go down to the kitchen."

He sighed. "Why didn't you call me when you started feeling so bad?"

"Why the fuck do you think?" We both jumped, and I brought my voice down. "You're the one who caused all this."

His face fell, and he seemed about to cry. Instead, he rallied and spoke in a soft, compassionate voice. "Please tell me what happened with Harper that got you so much more upset."

I let Caleb's hand go and told the story as simply as I could. He didn't interrupt, then remained quiet after I finished. After a while, he patted my leg. "It hurts my heart to hear that and see how it's affected you. Why don't you call him now?"

"I can't. He's at training camp, and I'm sure they don't have their phones with them on the ice."

"You can leave a voicemail. Or message him now and call later."

I shook my head. "I don't want him to know where I am."

"I could see how much he cares about you, Luki. He won't judge you for getting help, but if he did, he wouldn't deserve to be in your life."

"It isn't your place to say who gets to be in my life."

I'd spoken more harshly than I intended to, and Caleb shook his head. "I didn't mean that. Only that Harper cares about you, and I'd be very surprised if he didn't support you however he could. I know everything's messed up, but it can take something like this to help people realize what's truly important."

"If he's iffy about wanting to be with me, I don't need him thinking I'm mentally unbalanced."

"You're not unbalanced."

"And how's he supposed to know that from hundreds of miles away?"

"Give him a chance, Luca."

In a flash, I knew what I should do. "I'll give us both a chance. I'll check myself out of here, go home, and call him from there."

Caleb scoffed. "And conveniently omit telling him you became seriously ill while you were waiting for him to come back? That you've been in the hospital for depression? You can't lie to him about this without chasing him away for sure."

"I'll tell him once we get back on an even keel."

A nurse appeared in the alcove's entrance holding a stack of folders. "Is everything okay? I heard raised voices."

"It's fine," I said. "We're discussing alternatives. Since you're here, how do I check myself out?"

She furrowed her brow. "Did Dr. Putnam say you're ready to leave?"

"I didn't ask. I'll leave without her okay."

The nurse shook her head. "You can't. Two doctors in the ER ordered you moved up here."

"That's not true. They suggested I come up here, and I agreed. I couldn't possibly have misunderstood that."

"I'm afraid you'll have to sort it out with Dr. Putnam."

"I'm here voluntarily, so I can leave whenever I want."

The nurse set the folders down on a table, pulled one out, and opened it. "This is your chart. I was just reviewing it, and it plainly says you were placed here by two of the doctors in the ER. See?" She held it out, pointing to a line that said I was here under doctor's orders.

Anger erupted inside me, and I had to work hard to push it down. "That's wrong. Dr. Putnam knows."

"If you're right, she's the only one who can fix it. Until then, under state law, you can't leave until you're cleared by either her or a judge. And whether you're here voluntarily or not, you only leave between ten a.m. and three p.m. Talk to Dr. Putnam in the morning, and if she agrees you can go, you'll be able to do it then."

"Fine." Fighting with the hospital would use the energy I'd need to convince Harper to see things my way. If I had to stay here one more night, so be it. I turned back to Caleb. "I'll leave in the morning."

"You ass. I swear, you are your own worst enemy. Please don't do this. Stay here until you're better, and don't lie to Harper. If you've ever believed anything I said, believe me now. Your relationship will not survive if you lie to him about this, even by omission."

Caleb's serious expression gave me pause. If something like this happened to Harp and he delayed telling me, it would be hard to take. I ran a nervous hand through my hair and tried to keep my voice even. "Why do you think you know everything? If it weren't for you, Harp and I would be fine. You had to force your way in and ruin everything."

Caleb's eyes brimmed with tears, but I could tell he was trying to hold them back. "I'm sorry."

"Being sorry doesn't make this shitshow any better, does it? Stop trying to run my life. You checked out of it a long time ago, so mind your own business."

His jaw dropped, and it took a few tries before he said, "I didn't. You know I love you."

"Bullshit! You haven't…"

The tears trailing down his cheeks stopped me, but not for the same reason they always had. While I didn't want to hug him and make everything okay, I needed to be careful not to say things I didn't mean. If we were to remain friends, we had a lot to work out.

It might be better to separate my connection to Caleb from my relationship with Harp. As tempting as it was to believe he did, I wondered if Caleb had actually caused the problems between Harper and me. Harp and I each had our own wounds, so it was possible Caleb only precipitated a crisis that would have happened in time, even without him in the picture.

The deep gashes from our pasts left Harp and me paranoid, ready to believe the worst. I expected to be hurt, and I was pretty sure Harper did, too. Perhaps unknowingly, Caleb had played into that. He'd been tired from travel, emotionally exhausted from fighting with Daniel, and wary of what I had with Harper. He'd acted thoughtlessly, especially when Harp came upstairs that morning, and although Caleb may have lit the spark, Harp and I had brought the dynamite.

After the explosion, Harp and I overreacted. Because of our past hurts, we didn't know how to deal with the trauma, so we followed our instincts. Harp, feeling rejected, had run away to hide from the pain. I'd wanted to talk things out and move on, but after Harper left, I felt like he was so wrapped up in his own life I didn't matter.

Harp and I had to discuss this, but we could do that when I called him tomorrow. Right now, I needed to do something else that was long overdue. It might mean the end of a friendship, but it could also be the beginning of healing it. Resolving to remain calm, I looked at Caleb. "We need to talk."