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Erik's anger was a mystery. It rose and fell in cycles. Sometimes he was so afraid that he refused to leave the cell, and other times, he was livid, furious, his skin red as he screamed at Andy.
“Erik, please stop. I'm not your enemy,” Andy said, exhausted, tears welling in his eyes.
In his therapy sessions, Dr. Connors was firm and gentle at the same time. “Erik, are you having problems with your cellmate? Do you want me to recommend his reassignment?”
“No,” Erik answered, frowning.
“So then, what is it that sets you off? You can tell me. I'm here to help you.”
“I don't know,” Erik said, and he didn't know. Maybe it had started when he was a child, when he was held down and forced to endure what no one should.
Maybe it had started when he held a Mossberg shotgun and blew his parents to kingdom come.
Maybe it had started at their funeral in New Jersey, when he had stood at their graves, one hand clenched into a fist, the other holding the handkerchief that he sobbed into as his brother and aunt held him.
“So, you do not want to go to UCLA. I am sorry to hear that, son, but you do not have a choice in the matter.” They hadn't been his father's last words to him, but they might as well have been.
A polite but cruel way to express his disappointment. It had hurt worse than when José had yelled and thrown things.
“What causes it?” Dr. Connors asked again. “What in particular sets you off?”
Lyle, he wanted to say, but he hesitated to admit it. He just wanted – no, needed – to be with his brother. Since their separation, Erik had basically shut down.
He had become slow to eat, and slow to speak. He didn't want to waste words, and didn't want to say anything unless he was absolutely sure it was true.
Once upon a time, the bigger inmates would grin and pinch Erik's arm or slap his butt when he walked by them. He had been sort of soft then, and fragile.
Now, Andy would grab anyone who antagonized Erik and slam them up against the wall, his face calm and steady, nearly bored, while they pissed their pants with fear.
It wasn't just being away from Lyle, though. There were the little daily annoyances, like the fact that he was only allowed two hours of visitation a week, split between his family members and Leslie.
It was never wanting to eat what the cafeteria served - not really wanting to eat at all. Erik only ate at Andy's insistence, a candy bar or a bag of potato chips from the vending machine.
It was only having about $20 in his commissary account, and not being able to buy the things that he wanted or needed – not that he could even decide what those things were.
It was not knowing who to trust, having been literally and figuratively fucked over by everyone he had ever trusted, except for Lyle, and Leslie.
Leslie was virtually the only person who showed him any affection. On her last visit, she leaned forward across the table and caressed his cheek with her thumb.
Erik loved her, and appreciated her, but he didn't know how to express it. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.
How did you tell someone how grateful you were, how surprised, that they had stood by you for so long?
In the second trial, Leslie had represented him, even after all the money had dried up. She had fought for him tooth and nail, with everything she had. She didn’t say it, but Erik knew that she loved him, like he was her own son.
“Alright, I'm going to increase the dosage of your Xanax to 1mg. I'm also going to write you a short-term prescription for some lithium, to try to help you get your mood stabilized. You let me know if you start having any side effects, okay?” Dr. Connors sighed and wrote something down on her clipboard.
Erik wondered what the other inmates thought of him. He had gone from being a spoiled, coddled little rich kid into a pauper. Did they know that? They had to, somehow.
Maybe, and most likely, they didn't think about him at all, like he generally didn't think about them.
Erik grunted and ran his tongue over his teeth. “What sort of side effects could I have?”
“Nausea, fatigue, diarrhea. Hopefully you won't have any, but if you do, let me know, so we can try something else.”
Dr. Connors looked at Erik closely and frowned. "You look like you've lost more weight. How much do you weigh?”
“Um, I was 127 lbs at the last weigh in.” Erik murmured and ducked his head, as if he was ashamed. Dr. Connors made a low, mournful moan and shook her head.
“You have got to start eating, Erik. If I have a cupcake sent to your cell later, will you please at least eat that?” She reached out toward him and put her hand on his shoulder.
It was the first time she had touched him. He wasn't sure she was even supposed to. Erik sniffed and inclined his head. It was funny, in a way, how attentive Dr. Connors was being.
She was one of three psychiatrists for the whole prison. She was supposed to be neutral, impartial. She was supposed to treat all of the prisoners equally, with the same sort of professional detachment.
“Um, okay, sure. But…why would you have a cupcake sent to my cell, of all things?”
Dr. Connors’ eyes grew misty. She sobbed suddenly, her shoulders shaking, making no noise as she brushed tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Why? Because today is your birthday, Erik."