Chapter Seven

Meds, sleep, and lunch did not bring me back to normal. I pushed myself through the entire weekend, powering through my classes and performances.

And now on Monday, I've spiraled into a deep low. It takes a miraculous effort to take my pills while I'm standing to microwave a frozen pizza. And the whole time I stare at the sink as if the wet metal could provide an answer to the numbness of existence.

Paul comes before his shift and puts my pills and a glass of water on my nightstand. He notices, "You missed a day."

"Yup." I force myself to sit up and take the pills.

"Did you talk to Dr.—"

"Nope."

He looks at me like he expects me to dive headfirst out the window right then.

I try to help. "But I have before. The best thing is to resume the right schedule."

"Call out of work tomorrow."

Teaser Tuesday. "No."

"Jeremy."

"I like working," I protest.

"Okay, if you're up to it. Let's go for a run together then."

I see his tactic, his challenge, and I try to rise to it. Running would make me feel better, especially with Paul who is not an athlete. I'll just put on my sneakers. Just get out of bed and put on my socks and… The endless to-do list utterly defeats me.

"The gym will fire you if you ghost them again." Paul puts my phone in my hand.

He sits there coaching me through each step. The gym manager knows about my condition, is very warm and accommodating, but I fully expect to be fired anyway.

"I'll let Jude know. Dex or Tony will cover for you."

"Thanks." I drop back into bed.

He leaves my pillbox on the nightstand.

What happens if you take them all at once?

I open my bedside drawer and slap the box out of my line of sight.

Oh, come on. Just a thought experiment.

****

Tonight, the sound of the club is particularly galling. I should be down there. That's my crowd.

I'm impossibly lonely. But I also hate every single person I have ever met.

So? Leave it all. Bet they'll blame that ugly asshole. Maybe that will teach him not to be so mean.

"Oh, fucking hell." I hate my own thoughts and know it's hopeless to try to escape them.

Maybe I could put on a DVD to drown them out.

Don't lie to yourself. You're not leaving this bed. No matter how sad and disgusting you get, you're stuck here.

At the deep low of the cycle. I had to keep telling myself that. Cycle. I'd come round again soon. Feel better for a while.

Then swing right the fuck back here again.

Endless and fucking awful. Angry, lonely, and pathetic. I'm the worst kind of douche and no one wants me. I'm lucky I'd fooled the ones I had. It'd be a blessing to every single one of them if I walked into oncoming traffic—

Or had the determination to drop onto the mesh and execute my jump from there.

"Fuck!" I roll off the bed and sprawl on the bare floor.

You do you, boo. Sometimes a change of scenery helps.

I thought about the only man who'd ever told me no. About gas on bonfires. And his conversation with the refugee orphans, and his sex dungeon, and the morning after, which might have been the start of something good, if I wasn't a moron.

I spiral into helplessness, hopelessness, and that sick loneliness that comes when you are desired for the night, but not for longer, worthy of fucking, but never love.

Then my door rattles. It's a jarring sound and I turn my head to look under the bed, through the bookshelf, and to the door. It doesn't help. All my lights are out. No one is home. Certainly not Chard. Probably drunks from the club looking for a place to bone.

There's a scraping sound. Someone moving my fake plant. Jude and Paul had keys, but they're both working. Maybe it's one of the Cuties sent up to check on me. Probably Teddy.

I call, trying to sound cheerful, which makes for a desperately dry and unpleasant sound. "I'm fine, thanks. I took my medicine and I don't want to go anywhere quiet."

"It's, uh … me."

Laur.

I lift my head and catch a whiff of myself. Jude would have told him I wasn't home, or was unavailable. And he'd probably scoffed and said something about owning this ass and having it when he wanted.

Yeah. I can't navigate this asshole. How could I have a future with him? He needs someone to tend his inner fire and keep life bearable. He needs someone like Teddy.

Fuck. I drop my head back to the floor and don't answer.

"It's Larry Trockel."

Ignoring him won't work. "I'm not in good shape right now. Can we meet next week?"

Too soon. You can't crawl out of this pit —

"Yeah, Jude mentioned you'd been off since … uh, last time I saw you. Can I come in?"

No. I really need a shower. "I don't think you'll like me this way." I know he won't.

"Down?"

It's a simple word, but it speaks volumes to his understanding. Had he researched bipolar and learned it like a new language?

"Well, I know, Sunshine Boy. Let's meet the rest of you."

Don't let him fool you. No one can stand you like this, Jeremy. No matter how beautiful you are the rest of the time. This is the real you and everyone hates it.

Yeah. He'd been gone a half hour, tops. But it is actually very sweet.

Let him in at least.

I say nothing.

After another minute passes in silence, he says, "I got your keys and I'm coming in."

I get off the floor and flop onto the bed— pointless exercise in failure. My hair is greasy and it hurts my scalp to run my hands through it.

"Don't get up on my account." Laur doesn't turn on the lights. "I found your spare key under the fake plant."

I thought of his house, so full of life and light and plants. "I have enough trouble keeping myself alive, I can't bother with a living plant."

"Ooh, dark." He takes off his coat and throws it over a chair. He has a brown bag from the bar and the whiskey sour. "Eat anything today?"

Pathetic. "No."

"Mind if I do?"

I consider sinking to the floor where a worm like me belongs. Instead I stand up and walk over to him.

"Sorry. I won't be good company. Can I get you any—"

"Nope. Don't apologize." Laur chugs his whiskey by the sink then fills the tumbler with water. "Just sit with me for a bit."

I sit at the kitchen table. I know what he's doing as soon as he opens the bag. The cheesesteak smells so good. He puts half in front of me and I pick it up.

"If you can stand it, drink some water, too." Laur pushes the tumbler nearer to me.

So stupid.

Of course I can stand it. Water is probably what I need more than food. Hadn't I been thirsty while I sprawled there on the floor and just too damn… "Thanks."

I drain the little glass in one go and it feels so good in my parched throat that I look at the sink. A million years ago, while waiting for pizza to heat—was that yesterday?—I had stared at the wet metal. Maybe hydration had been the answer to the numbness of existence.

What are the steps to get another glass? Stand. Walk to the sink. Pour the water.

"Want more?" Laur takes the empty glass.

"Yes," I answer belatedly, then drop my head on the table.

"Can I be a hundred percent honest with you?"

I mumble affirmatively.

"You mind looking at me while I'm a hundred percent honest with you?"

I lift my head to see he's filled my huge water bottle. I drag it over and suck on the straw.

"Jude said you were out of town. I came up here to break in."

"You did?" It wasn't the first time.

"Yeah. My big idea was to get your key, plant some of my nasty toys under your bed, and go through your mail and figure out what the hell your real name is."

That amuses me. "Jeremy Sowenberger."

"Sowenberger?" He made a face of exaggerated horror. "Oh, no! We're cousins."

He went on gamely when I only gave him a weak smile. "Jamie renamed you?"

I nod. "It sounds like broken glass and burnt things, but was actually salad."

There was a joke in that and I totally botched it.

"Jamie likes their nicknames." He goes on, "Never thought I'd get one shorter than Larry, but hey."

"It suits you." Just like broken and burned things suit me. I swallow most of my cheesesteak in a few bites.

Before the silence quite solidifies, Laur said, "I introduced Jamie to Jude, you know?"

"Wow." He must have known them both a long time. That put things into perspective with Jamie and I suddenly realized why Jamie "forgot' how they met."

"You helped them find housing, didn't you?"

Laur nods and drinks water from this tumbler and makes a face when he realizes it's not booze. "Then we sued the homeless shelter for gender discrimination."

"And Jude? Was she in your army group thing?"

"My unit? Dude, we didn't even serve in the same branch." He chuckles. "We met after our final tours. In rehab."

I stare at him blankly.

Laur carries the conversation. "She likes to say we learned to walk at the same time. But she only had a broken leg."

"Right. Driving a supply truck that crashed. Her knee bothers her sometimes and she lets me massage it." It's taking advantage, but I can't stop myself. "What happened to you?"

Something deeper than rage flashes across his face, but he sucks in his lip to keep control. "Two shattered tibia, multiple severe muscle lacerations, left fractured femur."

"I bet you make jokes the whole time about how it would be less painful if they just cut them off."

Laur sits straighter. "How—"

"I was going to school to be a physical therapist. I did great in the practicals, but I flunked out."

"Pity, you'd be really good at it. Encouraging. Fun to be around. Just like the gym."

He means it as a compliment, but it rings hollow. I don't feel encouraging, fun to be around, or—

"I need to take a shower." I shoot up to act on the impulse.

"Sure." Laur flounders. "Uh, should I stay?"

He's desperate to leave. But I don't want to be alone.

So you'll take advantage of this poor bastard? He doesn't even like you. He wouldn't be here if he didn't like me. You're right. He likes fucking you.

"Jeremy? Do you want me to leave?"

I want to feel normal, I want him to be mean. I don't have the mental capacity to deal with this nice version.

"You don't have to stay and you don't have to leave."

"Can't say I love that ambiguity."

"Well, that's what I got for you right now." I went into the bathroom.

"How about after your shower, we watch one of your films?"

I smirk at the idea, pulling off my stuck-on clothes. "I only have kids' films."

A man who'd been blown-up and had his legs nearly demolished, probably did not appreciate Disney and Dreamworks.

"Great. I'm a huge fan of Studio G."

No fan of Studio Ghibli would call it that. "What's your favorite?"

His voice is farther away as he investigates the stack. "Um … Pony-o ."

I laugh out loud, wondering if he got it wrong on purpose, melted either way by his lie. I step into the shower. I stay in there until the water is nearly cold then wrap up in my towel and not my dirty shorts.

He has Ponyo cued up and a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

Maybe he likes you after all.

****

I jolt awake when his leg spasms.

I remember when the popcorn was done, I took advantage of his compassion to inflict intimacy on him and cuddled up with my head in his lap.

Now he massages his thigh and knee and grits his teeth against the pain. "Sorry."

The whole room is dark. The nightclub pounds only faintly below, a sure sign it was past two in the morning. I might have stayed sleeping on his lap all night. And he might have let me.

He flexes his legs gingerly, stretching the hamstrings and ankles. But he smiles at me. "Wanna lie down for a bit?"

"Are you going to leave?"

"I mean … I ought to. Work in the morning. But I'll come by tomorrow, maybe."

"I'd like that."

He stands when I do and crumples as his knee buckles. Then takes the popcorn bowl to the sink.

"I can do that."

"I'll leave it in the sink. You go to sleep."

I obediently go to bed. The towel slipped off long ago and I don't bother to put anything else. There's something so strange in being stark naked with your lover in the room doing dishes.

I zone out, thinking about this level of connection … is it real? Or just polite? I only realize I've posed when he finishes the dish, sees me, and his mouth falls open.

Well, you're a hot mess, but at least you're hot.

The sight of me radiates through him and I know he's not going anywhere. And maybe that's exactly what I need. A little bout of wildly passionate, totally protected sex.

"You sure you have to go?"

"I…" Then something twists in him. "Yes. I have to go. But I'll be back tomorrow."

"Okay."

Laur smiles on his way out. "Good night, Jeremy."

****

I wake again from a light doze when I hear the trash cans banging in the alley. It feels like mere seconds have passed, and the sky is still dark. But it's too late for a drunken fight in the alley. When someone shouts, I yawn and drag myself to the window to decide if the police need to get involved.

All I see is Jude, holding her head with frustration, getting behind the wheel of a little sedan to drive one of her drunks home.

Nothing unusual.

****

"How you doing, big guy?" Jude greets me nervously at the beginning of my shift as bartender.

I got to my classes, went for a run, ate, drank, and medicated at the proper times with only the mildest sense of the yawning darkness crippling my every movement.

"Better today." And I'm going to make Laur his whiskey sour today. Won't he be surprised? "Gonna be better tomorrow."

Jude nods solemnly and sits on the other side of the bar as if she were a patron. There's a tension in her shoulders that I don't love.

She's gonna fire you.

I smile, obviously false. "What'll it be, Boss?"

"My friend isn't going to bother you anymore." She can't lift her eyes.

"Huh?" Who?

"Paul mentioned…" She shakes her head and I realize her cheek is bruised. Someone had hit her. "I saw him leaving last night and we had words. He should not have taken advantage of you in that state."

"Advantage?" Did she mean Laur? Laur wasn't going to bother me? Laur had taken advantage? What did she think? Had Laur hit her? "No, no. It's not like that. He comes up every Tuesday."

"Yeah. He told me. It's not healthy, Chard. I told him last night you were out of town and he went up there to break in."

"Well, yeah, he does that."

That doesn't placate her.

"If I'd seen his car earlier, I would have gone up there myself and … listen." Jude puts her hands on the bar and can't raise her eyes. "Most of us who went over there made things better. Dig wells and pave roads and shit, but his unit—"

"I don't want to hear this from you."

"Well, you won't hear it from him," Jude says. "His people did some real fucked-up shit over there. Especially the good commanders like Larry. It's hard for the best of us to adjust to civilian—"

She stops herself and shakes her head. "That doesn't excuse or justify anything. He has no right playing mind games with you."

"Mind games?" We'd watched a movie and I fell asleep on him.

"I know you tanked after you ran into him Thursday. I run after the VA meeting too, and when you didn't come home that night and wouldn't answer your phone, I put together where you were. Then he comes here on Tuesday and goes up there to break into your apartment."

"I invited—"

"I told him you weren't there," Jude protests and the bruise gleams in the bar lights. "What the fuck was he doing even going to the door?"

I can't deny it or defend him. "I … so, he's not coming tonight?"

"He's not coming back at all, Chard." She sighs. "You're a match made in Hell, dude. You see that, right? He spends every second with you thinking about how ugly and broken he is and that makes him meaner than spit. You spend every second you're with him trying to earn the approval or affection that he does not have the capacity to give, and it's going to make you hurt yourself. You've been off-kilter for months."

"So, you forbade him from coming to your bar?"

"No, Chard," Jude's voice softens. "I took him for coffee. Talked about what I've seen in him and what Paul's seen in you. He decided he wasn't coming back."

"Oh…"

Well. That's a different kettle of fish.

Jude says after a moment, "Sean's here. Take the night off."

"I don't…" I look back at her solemn eyes and think about the last time she'd offered me the chance to not work—the first time I'd been really off-kilter for the man.

"Yeah, that's probably for the best." I nod. "Probably all of it … for the best. Thanks, Jude."

That's it? Aren't you going to fight for this shit? Just…

I didn't deserve a goodbye.

But I fucking want a goodbye.