Vague à l’âme

Earlier that Saturday, while his husband was peacefully shopping with Yohan and Charlotte, Adrien received an email he wished he'd never opened. The news it contained was enough to mess up his entire morning and force him to text his therapist while trying hard to breathe in spite of his chest crushing his lungs.

ADRIEN: Can we talk now? Please!

PATRICK: Salut, ?a va ? Is it an emergency?

ADRIEN: No, it can wait. Can you text me back ASAP, though? I'm sorry for bugging you.

It couldn't wait, actually. Adrien was freaking out and could barely breathe, but he wasn't going to force himself on Patrick on a weekend. It was nice enough of him to reply at all.

PATRICK: Don't apologize. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I have a situation here. Are you safe?

ADRIEN: Yeah, I'm good. TTYL.

That was a complete lie. Adrien fidgeted, his hands shaking as he paced the room, barely able to hold the phone. His mind kept twirling, his spirit drowning. He was sinking fast. All it took was one fucking email and his little sister not answering her phone.

Adrien dropped the cellular on the coffee table and grabbed his hair in his hands. Standing there in the middle of the living room, closing his eyes tight, he told the voices in his head to shut the fuck up as they kept repeating how worthless he was. The desire to cut was strong. He'd never done it, even at his lowest, but the need was often there. He just had to fight the urge, but the desire to end the pain and disappear was growing a bit more each day.

He'd lied many times to Rapha?l about the shit filling his mind. He couldn't bear the idea of hurting his husband emotionally again, but the agony was there, and the morbid need to evaporate was too much to hide sometimes.

Adrien sat on the ground between his black leather couch and the glass coffee table. His hands were still shaking. His brain resisted his impulse to hurt himself. He hated how his heart raced whenever he thought of ending his life. He could barely handle the fight in his brain, the way his body shivered, the adrenaline shooting high as if his entire body was conspiring against him, working hard on keeping him alive in spite of himself.

He squeezed his lids shut again and tried to follow Patrick's instructions: breathe in, breathe out. Over and over until his body relaxed. Stay grounded. Touch the floor. Stay grounded in the present. His eyes prickled with tears he could no longer restrain. He was trying so hard not to hyperventilate, but the tremors wouldn't stop. It was as if he was losing his sanity .

He was thankful Rapha?l wasn't here to see the shitshow this time. He hated the worry in his husband's eyes. He hated knowing he was the one who'd put the fear there—the dread that he might hurt himself irrevocably.

Adrien took three more deep breaths that barely helped.

The part of him seeking comfort was looking for his cat, to pet her and hold her. But Ila had died the previous year. Right in the middle of that goddamn pandemic.

Adrien hadn't recovered from that either.

Their French bulldog was in the bedroom sleeping, but the animal would not soothe him. He preferred pets who had to be tamed into trust. He couldn't understand the concept of love at first sight. He always needed to test the waters first. Doing otherwise felt dangerous and counterintuitive. So to say he couldn't empathize with dogs and their friendly nature was quite the understatement.

It was taking forever for Patrick to get back to him. His breathing caught in his throat with rising sobs as he tried to calm the fuck down. His chest clenched while he struggled to find a way out of his own suffocating psyche. He tried counting. He tried feeling the cold tiles under his fingertips. Nothing fucking worked. He was engulfed in dark thoughts like a fly in a damn fucking web.

When Patrick had him fill out the Safety Plan months ago, he'd asked Adrien to name three people he could reach out to in case of a mental crisis. Noah was one of them. But Adrien couldn't text Noah right now because he was in Angoulème touring the comic book festival the city hosted every year in January.

Besides, his feelings for Noah were still complicated. Though the two of them never talked about the past, Adrien missed his best friend, and not just for conversation. Not being able to see him in person during the pandemic had been really hard, and that was when Adrien started missing what he could no longer have: sex with sweet, caring Noah.

He missed cuddling against Noah's thin frame. He missed Noah's jasmine and spice perfume, the soft touch of his warm, freckled skin, and other things he preferred not to dwell on for fear of losing his mind. Thinking about Noah cut deeply sometimes, like a bad breakup that never healed.

The worst part: Adrien was the one who'd put himself in this situation, telling Noah they couldn't be physical anymore once he got married. Noah had moved on, as he should—not that he wasn't open to playing if Adrien truly expressed interest. It was Adrien who had chosen to stop, after all.

He didn't care to unleash his own demons on his best friend again anyway. Knowing he wasn't the best husband to Rapha?l was bad enough. It hurt like a motherfucker to think he couldn't offer his husband the peaceful existence he deserved. All that because his goddamn brain had decided living an easy, stable life was too comfortable compared to the chaos he'd grown used to.

A ting from the phone caught his attention and released a bit of the vise clutching his lungs. He grabbed the cellular, his hands still trembling .

PATRICK: What's up?

Typing was hard, damn it. He nearly dropped the phone twice.

ADRIEN: I'm freaking out.

His chest ached so much, he thought he might have a panic attack. Or maybe he was already there. It was hard to tell sometimes.

PATRICK: Okay, okay. Remember what we discussed. Are you safe now?

Adrien knew the words too well. Patrick wanted to know if he was around anything he could use to hurt himself.

He was safe indeed. Rapha?l had grabbed the knives and hidden them God only knew where. All they had left were the useless butter knives—real convenient to cut through a coq au vin , by the way. Not that Adrien ever felt well enough to cook said rooster.

They'd set that Safety Plan when Adrien had an emotional crisis so bad, Rapha?l found him crying in the bathtub. That was when Rapha?l forced Adrien to tell him if he had a specific intent to end his life, what the plan was exactly, before he took all the measures necessary to keep Adrien safe from himself .

Adrien hired Patrick as a therapist around that time as well, back when he was still confined at home. His previous therapist was so overwhelmed with her own kids during the lockdown, she'd dropped the practice. Rapha?l's best friend, Florian, recommended Patrick when Ila died and Adrien couldn't handle the grief. Patrick lived in Lorraine, four hours away by car, but since everyone was online now, it didn't matter where he was located. Patrick was the best therapist Adrien had ever had. Mostly because he called people out on their bullshit and didn't mind cursing, yet none of that affected how professional he was.

Rapha?l had hidden Adrien's anti-depressants and other meds upon Patrick's advice too. His husband had put himself in charge of giving any needed medication to Adrien each day. That made Adrien feel like a fucking child. But if controlling the pills helped Rapha?l feel better, it was the least Adrien could do to reassure him that he wasn't going to off himself.

Another message popped on the screen, asking again if he was safe.

ADRIEN: Yes, I'm safe.

PATRICK: Breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. Can I call you?

ADRIEN: No, I can't talk. Not right now.

PATRICK: Okay, keep texting. What's going on?

ADRIEN: She emailed me again.

PATRICK: Your mom?

ADRIEN: Yes.

PATRICK: Can you tell me what she said ?

ADRIEN: She knows about Céleste being queer. She said my dad's got terminal cancer. She said he wants to see me. I dunno. I don't care to read the email again. I can't.

Just thinking about the nasty words made him shiver. He wanted to jump out the damn window. He had to clench the phone and close his eyes to remain where he was. If only his brain would listen and tell his lungs to fucking breathe. He was feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and so nauseated, he might puke.

PATRICK: Okay. Can you forward it to me?

ADRIEN: I can't read it again.

PATRICK: You don't have to. Just forward it to my email address.

His hands still trembling, Adrien grabbed his computer from the glass coffee table and opened it on his lap. He looked for the email, feeling sick to his stomach upon seeing his mother's name. He did his best not to read a single poisonous sentence she'd written and typed Patrick's email to forward the whole damn thing before shutting down his laptop and throwing it back on the table.

PATRICK: Is anything else going on? Where's Rapha?l?

ADRIEN: He's out shopping with Charlotte and Yohan for the baby. He's the godfather.

PATRICK: Ah, right. Are you still breathing?

ADRIEN: Trying, man .

PATRICK: Did you text Rapha?l?

ADRIEN: No, I didn't want to ruin his day. He would have run here. We've had it rough, as you know. I can't put more on his plate.

It took a few minutes for Patrick to respond. Adrien assumed he was reading the email. He closed his eyes, telling himself he was safe and his parents couldn't hurt him anymore. Of course, that did shit, as always. All the negative things they'd ever said about him had turned into nasty little voices whispering to him. "Useless, useless, you're useless," they repeated in a sadistic litany.

His phone beeped again.

PATRICK: Okay, I'm done reading. That's some serious bullshit right there.

ADRIEN: It's my life all over again. And Céleste isn't answering her phone.

PATRICK: You're safe. Just remember that.

ADRIEN: But she isn't.

PATRICK: She is. Adrien, she is safe. She has you. Céleste is safe with you as her brother. You are safe too. You are not on the streets. You're safe at home. You're married. You have a husband who loves you. You're safe with him. Your parents cannot hurt you now.

ADRIEN: She just did! Again!

PATRICK: Your mother can only hurt you if you let her.

ADRIEN: That's bullshit, and you know it !

PATRICK: Adrien, that email, it's her trying to get back at you. She's grieving her husband who's dying. And she needs a scapegoat. You have done nothing wrong. Him dying does not erase or excuse what they did to you. They can't come to you now acting as if they didn't try to destroy your entire life.

Another ting caught Adrien's attention.

CELESTE: I'm okay. What's wrong?

"Thank fuck!" Adrien exhaled. His chest hurt a bit less upon his seeing the message.

ADRIEN TO CELESTE: Where are you?!

CELESTE: With Inès. At Nature you still have personal work to do before you involve others," Patrick said before shifting subjects. "So, we were talking about Ila. Have you considered getting another pet?"

Adrien didn't want to talk about Ila again. "So, who's Chase?"

Patrick sighed. "Are you going to avoid the subject, then? Fine, Chase is a friend of Brandon's. He comes from the Bronx."

"In New York?"

"Where else?" Patrick didn't seem too happy that Adrien was asking about Brandon's friend, but he gave more info anyway. "He's in transition between jobs, so he's taken the time to visit. Brandon's mom's here too. They came together. Americans don't get a lot of vacations. Brandon offered to lodge his mom and Chase to help cut the cost of visiting France."

Adrien cocked an eyebrow. "But he doesn't speak French?"

"No, he speaks English and Spanish only. Okay, enough of Chase already… I was asking about Ila… "

"I can't replace her like that." Adrien sighed. "I get so tired, you know…"

"I know depression is exhausting. Are you tired of anything else specifically?"

"I'm tired of trying so hard to feel better for other people's sake. Sometimes, I just want to let it go and let myself drown. It's just so hard."

"You're doing it for Rapha?l and Céleste."

"Yes. But I'm…" Adrien heard a sound at the door like a knock. He paused and listened, then looked at Patrick on the screen. "I think Rapha?l's home. I am so sorry. D'you mind if I hang up? I don't want him to know I had another episode."

There was another knock. Rapha?l had forgotten his keys again. Adrien had never met anyone so forgetful.

"Honesty is essential," Patrick reminded him. "He needs to know what's going on in your head."

"It hurts him every time. I'm sick of hurting him."

"Okay for now. As long as you're safe."

"I am. Thank you. I am so sorry for reaching out on a weekend. And for leaving quickly like this."

"Never apologize for trying to survive, Adrien. Call again if you need to. Anytime. And remember we have a session in two days."

Adrien nodded, thanked him again, and turned off the video. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and gathered the will to smile upon hearing another knock. He headed toward the hallway and opened the door without looking through the peephole .

His smile dropped when he saw the person standing there. His heart jumped in his throat, beating out of control, making it hard to breathe again. He felt trapped on the spot, his body gearing straight to survival mode. Freeze, fight, fawn. He was stuck on freeze.

"May I come in?" she asked.

The woman who had wrecked him all those years ago was right in front of him. His every instinct screamed for him to run, but he could not move.

He didn't respond, so she forced her way in. "Is Céleste here?"

"No, you can't be here," he said. "You need to leave." He didn't have time to stop her before she stepped down his hallway without permission and entered his spotless living room, her presence invading his personal safe space. He wasn't sure how she'd made it past the entrance of the building. The guard there wasn't to let people in without paging.

"Céleste!" she called out.

"She's not here. You need to leave," he repeated, his voice cracking on his despair as he followed her in.

Her eyes perused his art—the crafted sanguine pictures of threesomes, penetrations, and tonguing covering his walls. His entire body recoiled on impact. The fear of rejection made him shudder. He couldn't stop the dread that always seized him that she might unleash her hateful words upon him.

"You have no right to be here," he reiterated, hating how his voice betrayed the fear flooding his core. How could she still get under his skin after all those years? By merely showing up. He had no problem telling off bigots in general, but she still terrified him. That made him feel like a damn coward.

After glowering at his charcoals, she finally deigned turn to him. "Adrien, I am still your mother. Do you really think this is a decent way to welcome me into your home?"

He couldn't tell if she was referring to him asking her to leave or to his art.

"I don't have a mother." He had no idea how the words even came out. It was beyond his strength to face her. And yet, there he was standing up to her, somehow. He'd be proud of himself if he wasn't petrified on the inside.

Her face contorted with pain as she gestured toward his art. "Is that the real you, Adrien? Truly? The son you want me to love so desperately? I don't remember my sweet boy being so depraved."

Adrien tightened his fists by his sides. "That sweet boy died on the streets of Paris over a decade ago, Mother."

She huffed and pointed at his art. "I'm not responsible for this."

"Leave!" It took all he had to say the words and not scream.

"Not before I see your sister."

"She's not here—" His voice was cut off by the sound of the front door opening.

"Adrien!"

He closed his eyes when his mother trotted to the hallway in her high heels, her long black hair swaying over her shoulders .

"Mother," Céleste exclaimed, stopping in her tracks at the entrance of the living room.

"I knew I'd find you here," their mother snapped. "Why are you here? Of all places."

"I could ask you the same question," Céleste replied with more assurance than Adrien had ever felt. "You have some gall coming here to Adrien's place." She threw him a glance—a glimpse quick enough to assess the situation. She turned back to their matriarch. "Leave, Mother!"

"I will not. I read your journal and found out about that Inès girl you've been seeing. Don't you have any shame at all? At least with him, I can sort of understand," she said, flicking her hand toward Adrien with disdain. "He's a man, and men need sex. But you? Two women together? That's beyond perverted."

Adrien's heart broke upon seeing the hurt look on his sister's face. "Do I need to call the police, or will you leave, Mother?"

Their mother scoffed. "I doubt you really want the police involved here."

Céleste snapped, losing her cool, "I don't see why not. You're trespassing and harassing him. Leave!"

Their mother turned to Adrien. "You haven't told her what job you do?"

He wasn't sure what she meant. "I paint and draw art."

"No, the other job," she spat with disgust .

Adrien's heart raced. He'd never told Céleste what he used to do for a living back on the streets, what he was forced to do all those years ago to survive.

"I've been doing some digging into your business, Adrien. Who your partners are in the shop. I think the police would be interested in your link to Daniel Fortin and his other profession."

Céleste's eyes widened. "What is she talking about, Adrien?"

Adrien ignored the question, raising his chin in spite of his heart verging on a complete meltdown. He tried to hold on to a glimpse of sanity, though his ribcage compressed his lungs.

"You can't do anything against Daniel, Mother. Everything he does is legal."

"I would hardly call prostitution legal," his mother shot back.

He fucking hated her air of superiority and her holier-than-thou attitude. Who the fuck did she think she was?

"Adrien…?" Céleste kept looking at them in turns.

Adrien had never told her the entire truth about his past, mostly to protect her from a reality that could obliterate her relationship with their parents. His mother, though, didn't seem to understand that. She didn't fully grasp how Céleste loved him enough to hate their parents for what they had done to him. If his sister found out the truth, she might never talk to them again. Adrien didn't want that kind of pain for her. He never wanted her to be caught in a bind, forced to make that choice .

Oblivious to all that, their mother turned to Céleste and struck the last blow. "Your brother used to prostitute himself." She glanced at his art with repulsion. "I don't even want to know what all it entailed."

Céleste turned to Adrien. "Is that true?"

"That Daniel man is his pimp," their mother spat. "Maybe you should better research the people you hang out with, Céleste."

Céleste stared at Adrien. "Please explain."

Her eyes filled with sadness. Not disappointment. Not judgment. Not revulsion. Just utter heartbreak.

He sighed deeply and ran his hands over his face, then pulled at his hair, trying so hard to breathe through his constricted ribcage. He opened his eyes and stared at her. "When I left the house, I was homeless. I survived on the streets as I could. Daniel saved my life."

Céleste blinked.

"Saved your life?" their mother huffed. "By pimping you out?"

Adrien didn't even bother looking at her. If it was war she wanted, war she would get. He was sick of her twisted games.

"Our parents left me out there to rot. I had to sell myself to get food and shelter. Mother knew. I begged her to help me, only for her to call me names. Daniel found me, gave me a place to stay. He medicated me and gave me a job."

"What job?" Céleste croaked.

"Escort." His heart skipped a beat when she gasped.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked .

"Because he's ashamed, as he should be," their mother retorted for him.

"I am not ashamed," Adrien replied, his face lowered, his fists tightened as he tried hard to fight through his terror of her. "I did what I had to do to survive."

To Adrien's surprise, Céleste didn't seem angry at him, though her dollish face had turned bright red, and her full lips twisted. Her wrath didn't target him. She turned to their mother, barely able to contain her fury as her voice rose sharp as a knife. "You threw my brother out in the cold, in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, to sell himself? To expose himself to whatever hell disease he could catch? To meet perverted freaks preying on kids in the dark?"

She was screaming now. Adrien worried the neighbors might hear, but she didn't stop shouting, even as he tapped her shoulder to calm her down.

"He wasn't even an adult, Mother!" she yelled, her eyes brimming with tears of rage. "What the fuck is wrong with you? People could have raped him, knifed him, left him to die! Do you have no shame? How could you? How could you?!" She rushed to their mother and pushed her back. "Get out of here!"

Far from relieving Adrien from his pain, his sister's explosion hurt with every blast. She hit their mother's chest with her fists until he grabbed her wrists and held her back. Céleste kicked in his arms, screaming, "Get out! Get the fuck out!"

Their mother's face morphed with shock as she held her chest in horror. "Céleste… "

"Rot in hell! You hear me! Get the fuck out of here! I never want to see you again!" Her entire body convulsed in Adrien's arms with violent sobs and wails pouring out of her throat.

"Leave, Mother, please," Adrien asked, feeling so very weary, completely drained.

"Your father has terminal cancer! How dare you? The both of you. How dare you?" A tear rolled down their mother's cheek before she left and slammed the door on her way out.

Adrien closed his eyes as Céleste started crying violently against him. Their mother hadn't told his sister about their father before today. Mentioning his cancer now was one last blow to strike her down.

His anger and hatred rose from deep inside. He'd thought he was over all that now. He'd thought he'd grown to forgive their mother somehow. But he hated her so damn much right now. She had dared hurt his sibling, out of spite, and that was more than he could accept.

He led Céleste to the couch and held her against him, wiping tears that wouldn't stop coming. "It's over now, Céleste. She's gone."

"How could they?" She looked at him with her dark eyes overflowing with tears. Adrien stroked her wavy, auburn hair cut at her chin. "Why did you let me live with them after that? Why didn't you tell me?"

"This right here is why I never told you," he replied.

She blinked. "What do you mean? Did you know he was sick? "

He wiped the last of her tears as she calmed down, her body still rocked by random hiccups. "No, Mother told me today in her email before she torpedoed into my apartment. I haven't seen Father in sixteen years. But the pain and betrayal you're feeling, I didn't want you to ever experience that."

She hugged him tighter. "I love you," she said. "Just as you are. Please do not hide your true self to protect me again."

He caressed her soft hair with a blatant lie, "I won't."

She hiccupped. "What are we going to do about Father?"

He stroked her face and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I don't know. I really don't know."