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It’s not like Jeff’s never had this problem before. He definitely has, and he’s never told any of his therapists or doctors about it, never mentioned it when they were going through his extensive history during his first hospitalization or updating his charts during his second.
He’s never even really talked to his own husband about it, although he’s pretty sure Abed knows, because Abed just has this way of knowing things. They probably should talk about it sometime, especially now that it’s becoming an issue again, and now that they’re starting to talk about their future, about kids. Somehow keeping this secret from the father of his children seems much, much worse than keeping it from his husband.
The problem stems from his medication. That’s why this is happening, that’s why these thoughts that he’d buried so well are now sprouting, growing like vines, winding around his mind and his body, pulling tight, threatening to strangle, to cut through. The medication that keeps him from relapsing, from hurting himself and hurting others, the medication that keeps him from killing himself, that’s the culprit.
Some part of his mind has always known that there would be a trade-off, that he could take the pills that even him out, but there would be consequences.
Side effects.
For years he’s put up with fatigue and grogginess, dry mouth and agitation, tremors and tics, and he’s learned to deal with these. Not always well, not always with grace or aplomb or dignity, but he’s at least managed to stay on his medication, to recognize that this is what he needs to keep himself healthy.
He puts the side effects in a box with the alcohol cravings and other dangerous thoughts, the things that occasionally jump out and cause him trouble, but that he can manage, that he’s been managing, especially with Abed’s help. He knows that he can handle those.
This, though, this has been his nightmare since the first time he tried medication, the first time he saw it lurking in bold text on a prescription information sheet, taunting him, and until now, it hasn’t been a problem. Until now, he’s been lucky, which is why he never felt the need to bring it up with Abed at all, to say, I’m worried about this potential thing that might happen to me, I’m worried that I won’t be able to handle it. Because why would he instigate that conversation if he didn’t have to?
As it happens, Jeff doesn’t instigate the conversation at all.
When Abed comes home from getting groceries, Jeff is nowhere to be found. He checks the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the guest rooms, and their own bedroom with no luck. Finally he opens the door to their walk-in closet, and there he finds Jeff huddled on the floor in tears, surrounded by a dozen pairs of dress pants and jeans and maybe half as many belts. They’re still under quarantine, and it’s been months since Jeff wore any of these — since he’s worn anything other than sweats. Abed notices a few marks on the walls, and he can easily picture Jeff throwing the belts, their buckles chipping at the white paint.
Jeff doesn’t react when Abed opens the door, so he pulls it shut behind him and sinks to the floor, legs crossed, facing Jeff. The light is on in the closet and Abed can see that Jeff’s hands are covering his face, and his hair is all fluffed out like he’s been pulling it, and he’s wrapped in what Abed is pretty sure is their winter comforter, pulled down from one of the shelves even though it’s April.
Abed waits until Jeff stops crying, until his breaths even out and he moves his hands away from his face and he lifts his head. Abed feels pretty proficient at reading Jeff’s facial expressions after all these years, but he can’t quite tell if the one he’s wearing now is fear or guilt or both or something else. He waits for Jeff to look at him before he speaks.
“Hey,” Abed says, and gives Jeff a half-smile.
“Hey,” Jeff replies, his voice hoarse.
“What’s up?” Abed’s voice is calm and even. He’s trying to be as gentle as possible.
Jeff closes his eyes and takes a breath, then pulls the comforter tighter around his shoulders and leans against the back wall of the closet.
“I don’t know if I can say.” He looks ready to cry again.
“That’s okay,” Abed says softly. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”
Jeff shakes his head hesitantly, then scoots over so he’s in the corner of the closet with space on one side.
“Will you come sit next to me please? And turn off the light?”
Abed stands up to pull the string hanging from the ceiling, then sits down next to Jeff and leans up close against him, putting his arms around him, comforter and all. The closet is pitch dark and silent, and Abed can hear Jeff’s ragged breathing and the rustling of the blanket every time he moves and adjusts, like he can’t quite get comfortable. Like maybe the comforter isn’t the problem, it’s his own skin. His own body.
They sit in silence until Jeff is ready to talk. It feels like ages to Abed, but he can’t imagine it’s actually too long, or the dog would come looking for them, scratching at the door.
“Please tell me you can read my mind,” Jeff finally says. “Please don’t make me say it.”
“I mean, I have an idea, based on, you know, the...state of the closet,” Abed replies. “But it’s the kind of thing that’ll end up being really, really bad if I’m wrong.”
“You’re never wrong.” Jeff bumps Abed gently with his shoulder.
“You’ve never talked about it before,” Abed argues. “I could have imagined it.”
“That’s ridiculous. You know me better than that.” Jeff bumps him again. “I always figured you knew.”
“I didn’t want to make assumptions. I figured I’d wait for you to tell me. Or for it to get worse.” Abed says the last part under his breath as he runs a hand through Jeff’s hair. It’s soft and silky.
“Like now,” Jeff says, so quietly Abed almost doesn’t hear him.
“Is that what’s happening?” he asks. He puts a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and squeezes, hoping to help ground him a little.
“I think so,” Jeff whispers. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to end up like this. Didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Abed pauses and reaches for Jeff’s hand. When he finds it, he laces their fingers together and then squeezes.
“Did you try all of these on?” Abed asks. It’s too dark to see all the pairs of pants, but they both know they’re there.
“Yeah,” Jeff says. “Because sometimes it’s just the fabric, you know? Or the cut. Every brand is different.”
“But they were all the same? I mean, they all…” Abed trails off, unsure how to continue.
“Yeah.”
“Are they too— I mean—” Abed swallows and tries again. “Are you able to wear them? Fasten them?”
“Yes,” Jeff admits. “But I can tell the difference. You know? And it’s not— they’re not comfortable.”
“And the belts?”
“I had to—” Jeff says haltingly. “It was a different— I couldn’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Abed soothes. “Do you...remember the last time you had to loosen them?” he asks very carefully.
“I’m not— Greendale, maybe?” Jeff’s voice catches and he takes a ragged breath. Abed pulls him even closer, rubs a hand over his back, and he shudders, like he’s trying not to start crying again.
“You know it’s okay, right?” Abed asks softly.
“No,” Jeff mutters, his breath speeding up.
“Shh, shh,” Abed says, and he rocks Jeff gently in his arms. “It is okay. I promise. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He keeps rocking and whispering until Jeff’s breath slows down again.
“I feel like a fucking idiot,” he spits, once the panic seems to have tapered off a bit, or maybe just morphed into frustration and anger. “This is humiliating. I can’t believe I dragged you in here with me. I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you right now. Fuck!” There’s a loud thump as Jeff bangs his fist against the wall.
“Hey,” Abed says sharply, hoping to snap him out of the spiral he’s in, but Jeff punches the wall again, and again, until finally Abed throws himself across Jeff’s lap and grabs hold of both of his arms. “Hey!”
He feels the tension leave Jeff’s body as he leans into Abed’s arms and lets himself be held.
“I love you,” Abed says, softly, but with feeling. “I love you so much, so fucking much, okay? You can drag me anywhere. You can tell me anything. I’m not leaving, and nothing you do or say will make me. Ever. No matter what you’re going through or struggling with, I’m right here with you.”
Jeff starts sobbing before Abed even finishes speaking, and he has to force himself to focus so he can hear everything Abed is saying. All the anger has drained out of him and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude and fear and worry and love and a hundred more emotions he can’t even identify.
He lets Abed hold him and he cries loudly, messily, gulping and screaming and coughing, until he can’t anymore. Then he just sort of curls up against Abed, putting his ear to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Using it as an anchor so he doesn’t float away.
He can tell Abed is content to follow his lead, sitting still and holding Jeff as he falls to pieces and then tries to build himself back up again, and Jeff is grateful, and they spend some time in silence, and it’s okay, maybe it’s going to be okay.
“I’m scared,” Jeff says quietly when he’s ready, and Abed hugs him a little tighter. “I’m scared that I don’t have control. I’m scared of how upsetting this is to me. I’m scared to talk to you about this, or to talk to anyone about this. I don’t even know how to find the words, and even when I think I know what they are, I still can’t say them.”
His voice gets a little bit quieter.
“I’m scared of how I look and I’m scared of how self conscious I am. I’m scared of every bite of food I put in my mouth, and how badly I want to spit each one out. I’m scared of the way I feel when I finish a meal, when all I want to do is get rid of it as soon as possible. I’m scared of being sick, and I’m scared of being healthy.”
He lowers his voice again, almost to a whisper.
“I’m scared of the fact that I can’t stop thinking about any of this, and it’s destroying me, and I don’t know how to handle it, I don’t know how to cope, I don’t know how to ask for help. I just don’t know.”
He glances at Abed, but before he can speak Jeff starts up again, his speech fast and loose.
“It’s the medication. That’s what’s doing this, I know it is. It’s giving me a body I can’t handle, and it makes me want to scream, or cut off the bad parts, or just— or just die.” He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t stop talking. “It’s supposed to make me better, and it does, I haven’t had an episode in such a long time, but I don’t know how to deal with this as the tradeoff. Losing control of my body and getting all fucked up in the head and imagining things I haven’t done for decades.”
“What kind of things?” Abed asks, even though Jeff is sure he must already know, because he really does think Abed might be able to read his mind.
Jeff shrugs, and then realizes that Abed can’t see him in the dark.
“Skipping meals,” he mumbles, feeling like he’s drowning in shame. “Binge eating.” He swallows, his throat sore just from forcing the words out. “Making myself throw up. Exercising too much. Weird diets. Obsessively keeping track of every single thing that went in my body.”
“When?”
The single syllable hangs in the air while Jeff tries his best.
“Started as a teenager, I guess,” he finally says, trying to zone himself out, to talk without thinking. To tell Abed without having to hear himself tell it. It doesn’t work. “It was always kind of cyclical, though. It was the worst when I was a lawyer. And it got better at Greendale. By the time we moved out here it wasn’t so much of a problem. Like, it’s always there, but I could ignore it for the most part. I never...got therapy for it or anything.”
“Did you tell your doctors in the hospital?” Abed asks curiously.
Jeff thinks of the endless therapy sessions, the meetings with his psychiatrists, all the times they asked him about his problems, his behaviors.
“No.” He expects Abed to ask why, to challenge him, but he doesn’t.
“Would you consider telling your doctor now?” Abed asks, his voice still soft and even. Soothing.
“I don’t know,” Jeff says. “I don’t know if I can say it.” He can barely say it to Abed.
“You could write it,” Abed suggests. “Or you could bring me with you, and I could say it.”
Jeff thinks about that. They’re ideas he never considered, so he’s not sure how he feels about them. Right now, everything feels overwhelming.
“Maybe,” he says uncertainly, and Abed kisses him on the head.
“I just love you,” he whispers, his mouth next to Jeff’s ear.
“I know.”
Jeff closes his eyes as Abed holds him close, kissing him again on the head, then his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. He lingers there, and Jeff kisses back, sweet and desperate.
When they break apart to breathe, Abed stands up and pulls the string to turn the light back on. Jeff stands up after him and lets the comforter fall to the floor. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear, and Abed gets distracted by how good he looks, has to stop himself from staring at his husband — this man is his husband, this man is his — when Abed wants nothing more than to take him to bed. He opens the closet door, and they step out into the bedroom, and Abed wraps his arms around Jeff’s neck and stands on his tiptoes and begins to kiss him again.
It’s short-lived.
Abed watches it as it happens. He pulls back and sees Jeff catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror above their dresser, and he sees Jeff’s face turn pale, and the next thing Abed knows, Jeff is back in the closet with the door shut.
He tries to follow Jeff, but this time the handle won’t turn, which can only be because Jeff is holding it, keeping Abed out. Abed lets go and sits down on the floor, leaning against the door. He knocks three times and waits.
Three knocks come back from the other side of the door.
“Can you hear me?” Abed asks, trying not to yell, but to still speak loud enough to be heard through the wood.
There’s a long pause, and Abed is about to try again when he hears Jeff’s voice from inside the closet.
“I can hear you.” Jeff’s voice is ragged, but at least Abed can hear it clearly through the door.
“Are you okay?” he asks, even though he knows the answer already.
“No, not really.”
Abed waits for Jeff to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” Now Jeff’s voice sounds wet and unsteady, like he’s about to cry, or is already crying, or is trying not to cry. Like he’s trying to hide it from Abed.
“Are you safe?” he asks carefully, trying to think about what’s in the closet besides clothes.
“Safer than I would be out there, probably,” Jeff mumbles, and that, that makes Abed’s heart hurt, and he’s sad, and he’s scared for Jeff, and he’s determined not to let Jeff know, or else he’ll just feel guilty.
“H— how long do you think you’ll be in there?” he asks, choking on his words.
“I don’t know.” Jeff is definitely crying now. Abed can hear it.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Jeff gasps.
“Are you sure?” Abed isn’t trying to pry, or to push Jeff’s buttons, but he can’t stand feeling so helpless. “Are you— are you breathing? Can you breathe?”
“I’m trying.” His words are short, clipped.
“Okay,” Abed says. “Okay. Good.”
“I thought of something you can do,” Jeff says suddenly, like it just occurred to him, and Abed’s heart leaps.
“Sure,” Abed says quickly. “Anything. What is it?”
“Can you cover up the mirror?”
It’s not what Abed expected, and it catches him off guard. “The one in the bedroom?”
“Any in the house that can be covered.”
Abed has to think about that. Obviously he wants Jeff to be comfortable, but he also doesn’t want to encourage whatever is happening in Jeff’s brain right now.
“Can we...make a deal?” he asks hesitantly, and he’s not superstitious, but he crosses his fingers anway, and knocks lightly on the wooden dresser.
“What kind of deal?” Jeff doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, but he doesn’t sound mad, either, and Abed takes that as a good sign.
“I’ll cover the mirrors if you’ll agree to either bring this up with your therapist at your appointment tomorrow, or, if you can’t say it, let me come in and tell her, and then I’ll leave.” Abed says it fast, almost in one breath, his eyes closed, head pressed against the door.
Silence.
“Please?” Abed says, when he can’t stand it anymore.
Silence.
“Jeff?” Abed’s voice breaks this time, and he knows Jeff will hear it, but there’s nothing else he can do. He’s trying to figure out what to do next when Jeff finally speaks.
“Fine.”
Jeff knows he needs to rejoin the world, rejoin Abed, even if he doesn't really want to. So when Abed taps on the door and tells Jeff he’s covered as many mirrors as he can, Jeff pulls himself to his feet and opens the door. Abed is waiting with open arms and pulls Jeff straight into a hug.
“I’m too old to be sitting on the floor,” Jeff groans, and Abed laughs, and it feels good to make Abed laugh. Jeff wants to make Abed laugh more often. He wants to be good to Abed, make him happy. He doesn’t want to make him worry or cry or listen to Jeff’s bullshit all the time.
He just wants to be a good husband, and he’s terrified that he’s too broken.
He doesn’t notice he’s shaking until Abed is tucking him into bed, then retrieving his weighted blanket from the other room and laying it over him, and finally changing into sweats and snuggling up next to Jeff.
The only thing Jeff can think about is the way Abed looks without clothes on, and this is how he knows there is something very, very wrong with him. Because instead of seeing Abed through a lens of sex or desire or admiration, everything is tinted with jealousy. Instead of seeing the strong muscles and smooth skin that normally mesmerize him, he sees Abed’s skinny legs and tiny waist and protruding bones.
He wants that, but not the way he usually wants Abed.
He wants to be like Abed, now, to have his body, and it’s not fair.
He’s disgusted with himself, he can’t believe he’s thinking these things, and now he’s glad Abed can’t actually read his mind, or he’d probably just have to go jump off a bridge.
Maybe that’s what you ought to be doing anyway, says the voice in his mind. You’re disgusting. You’re a monster. You’ve done this to yourself, and now you’re spreading your sickness, you’re drawing Abed into it, and that’s not fair. You’re objectifying him. You are nothing. You are a failure. You ruin everything around you, you make things worse for everybody, not just yourself. You are a burden. You deserve none of the beautiful things that surround you, not your friends, not your dog, not your home. Not your husband. You. Deserve. Nothing.
Before he even knows what’s happening he’s in the bathroom, and Abed spread soap all over the mirror so Jeff can’t see himself in it, and he doesn’t even think to lock the door.
He sits down in the tub and he’s still shaking and his hands are frantic, and they’re pinching at his face, his cheeks, his chin, pinching and pulling and then moving to his arms and his legs, he can’t stop touching, can’t stop yanking, he’s touching his stomach, his hips, and it’s too much, it’s too fucking much and he just wants it off, he wants all of it off, and he starts to wonder if he can just cut it off, is that a thing he can do, does it work like that?
And he thinks it probably doesn’t, but now that the thought is in his mind he can’t get it out again, it’s all he can think of, all he can picture, because he can’t stand this, he can’t stand what’s happening right now, can’t stand what his hands are doing, what they’re touching, it’s too much, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this—
“Jeff,” comes Abed’s voice from the doorway, and he looks scared, of course he looks scared, he’s married to a monster, except he also looks kind, he looks worried but there’s love in his face, too, Jeff could swear it’s there, and Abed is here, and Jeff is the one who’s really scared, he’s so, so scared.
“Help me,” he says, and it hurts, his throat hurts, but Abed hears him, steps into the bathroom. Hesitates.
Jeff stares at him, willing himself to speak, trying, trying, trying.
“Please.”
Abed walks to the tub.
“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks quietly. “Or would you like to come back to the bedroom? Or— or something else?”
He doesn’t touch Jeff, doesn’t even really look directly at Jeff, and Jeff realizes that he’s still clawing at his skin, leaving red blotches and scratches. He pulls his hands away, makes fists so he can’t grab or scratch, crosses his arms in front of himself.
“Back to the bedroom,” he says, and slowly stands up. He really is too old to be sitting on the floor, or the tub, or whatever.
Everything hurts.
He steps out of the tub and Abed picks him up, and Jeff’s not sure why it surprises him, because Abed’s always been weirdly strong, and he carries Jeff to bed all the time. Just not when Jeff is in crisis, when Jeff is crazy, when Jeff is scaring himself and Abed and probably ruining his whole relationship. But he does, he picks Jeff right up and carries him back to bed.
“Do you want some clothes before I tuck you in?” Abed asks, and Jeff nods.
Abed brings him a pair of pajama pants and a worn-out t-shirt. Jeff wonders if it’s anywhere close to bedtime. He has absolutely no grip on time right now, and the drapes are all closed. He holds the clothes in his hands, and then he freezes, and he doesn’t know what to do.
Abed does.
“I’m going to go feed the dog,” he says, and leaves the room.
And he’s leaving because Jeff can’t change in front of him, and he knows that, he knows that Jeff can’t change into pajamas in front of his own husband, and he’s still being nice, why is he still being so nice? He changes quickly and dives back under the covers, under his heavy blanket, and after a few minutes their dog Feeny comes in and lays down on Jeff’s chest, and that helps, it helps a lot, and it’s like he can breathe for the first time all day.
Abed comes back into the room.
“Do you, um. Want dinner or anything?” he asks carefully.
Jeff just shakes his head.
“Okay. I’m going to eat something. I’ll be right back.”
Jeff nods, and Abed leaves the room. Jeff brings his focus back to Feeny, a perfect weight on his chest with the softest fur. He scratches behind his ears and gets lost in the sensation, so that when Abed gets back to the bedroom it feels like barely any time has passed at all. He ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then sits down next to Jeff.
Feeny moves from Jeff’s chest to the foot of the bed.
Abed motions for Jeff to sit up, then passes him a glass of water and drops a few pills in his hand. Jeff tenses, and it’s amazing how fast the panic comes rushing in, because this is how this whole thing started, isn’t it? It’s the biggest white pill in his hand, that’s the culprit, and what if he just didn’t take it, what if he—
“Please,” Abed says, and his voice trembles.
Jeff stares at Abed, then down at the pills, and up at Abed again. His eyes are red, and Jeff wonders if he’s tired or if he’s been crying. He knows it’s his fault, either way, and thinking about it makes his stomach hurt, makes all of him hurt. He squeezes his eyes shut and tosses the pills in his mouth and sips the water as fast as he can, before he can change his mind.
“Cool cool cool,” Abed breathes, and Jeff can hear the relief in his voice. He tries to focus on Abed. Tries to do it without drowning in shame.
He tries to smile. Abed smiles back, and it’s real, Jeff can see it in his eyes.
“Are you tired?” he asks, and Jeff nods. “Would you rather I slept in the other room tonight?”
They keep the bed in the guest room made up, because sometimes Abed doesn’t want to be touched or Jeff gets too hot, and they have a rule that they can use that bed for any reason and the other one won’t take it personally.
Jeff thinks about what Abed is offering. He thinks about how Abed has been so kind and patient with him, and about how much he flipped out from seeing Abed’s body, and how nothing makes sense and everything is terrible but he feels safer here in this bed with Abed than he did in the closet or the tub without him.
“Sleep in here,” he says. “Please.”
“Okay,” Abed says, and he gets under the covers. “Do you...want to talk about anything?”
“Not really,” Jeff admits. “I’m embarrassed. And I don’t have words for anything. And I don’t have enough water left in me to cry again, so…” He shrugs.
“Can I hold you?” Abed asks.
“Please.”
Abed scoots closer, puts his arms around Jeff and holds him tight.
“Your appointment’s in the morning,” he murmurs. “Are you gonna be safe until then? Do you need me to— to stay up, or something? Just in case?”
Jeff breathes in deeply and lets it out, relaxing into Abed’s embrace.
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t— This has never happened before. Not like this. I mean, obviously you’ve seen me freak out before, but...not about this. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I’m no therapist,” Abed replies. “But my guess is, this is what happens when you bottle something up your whole life and never talk to anyone about it. And then one thing happens that breaks the dam, and…” He pulls Jeff close. “And we’ll get through this, okay? Just like we’ve gotten through everything up until now. Right now, we just have to make it until morning. And then we’ll have help. Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jeff closes his eyes, and Abed turns out the light.
“I love you,” he whispers in Jeff’s ear. “So much.”
“I love you too.
“It’s going to be okay,” Abed says. “I promise. ‘Cause you’re not alone with this anymore. And that’s good, and I’m so proud of you.”
Jeff doesn’t know how to respond to that, he can’t respond to that, so he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches up and runs a hand through Abed’s hair.
“Can I kiss you?” Abed asks.
And he always seems to be able to tell when Jeff needs him to ask for explicit consent. It’s kind of like a superpower. Jeff thinks about how lucky he is, and tries to fill his brain with that one thought, blocking out all the others.
“Yeah,” he says, and leans in, and lets Abed love him, care for him, kiss him to sleep.