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”Had a nice vacation, John?”
”Fantastic.”
”And you and James didn’t end up murdering each other?”
”As you see I’m alive and well, but you’re not seeing James here…”
”Oh, so you left your husband in Tortuga?”
”Unless you call him, you’ll never know for sure…”
John Silver smiles widely as he attaches his nameplate to the shirt. Miranda Barlow, the other psychologist at the ward, hands him a cup of newly made coffee and sinks down in the couch with the journals in a thick pile beside her. John sighs.
”I’ve dreaded this day, Mandy.”
”The usual back to business angst.”
”No shit. Yesterday I was half ready to take the next plane back to Tortuga and hide, with or without James. But enough whining for now. How has things been around here the last weeks?”
”Mostly calm and fewer patients last week, so Liz could manage well on her own.”
”Good. No particularly difficult cases?”
”Three new patient, but non of them more difficult than usual. We have Jennie Richards, a twentythree years old single mom with a quite severe depression and Burt Olsen, an older, recently widower who made a suicide attempt swallowing thirty tranquilizers with a bottle of scotch.”
”Poor sod. How is he responding?”
”Quite well, I should say. I want you to have a session with him as soon as possible.”
”Of course. And Jennie Richards?”
”I’ve put her on twenty milligram Fetzima and her parents have been visiting on daily bases, with her three year old daughter. From what the rest of the staff and I have seen, they seem to have a good relationship and Jennie has good self-awareness and is cooperative.”
”Good.”
”And then we have a William Manderly, or Billy, as he’s called.”
”In for?”
”Panic attacks, signs of depression and, the best of all, social anxiety, selective mutism and possibly alexithymia.”
Miranda has her usual crooked smile she showed whenever they got a patient who happened to suffer from John’s field. John takes a sip of his coffee.
”I take it that he’s mine. How old?”
”Just turned thirtytwo.”
”Family?”
”A boyfriend who’s visiting as often as he can, but there’s been a week since the last visit now. Thirtyfive. It’s a new relationship so they don’t live together.”
”No parents, siblings or other relatives?”
”None. There is an old neighbour his boyfriend called, Hal Gates, who seems to have been close to Billy in his teens, but other than that, he has no family or social life at all.”
”Great… How’s he feeling?”
”According to Liz and Morley, he’s responding well to the meds, but he’s very closed off. He’s confused, frightened and tired, but doesn’t seem to understand why.”
”And the talking?”
”He really tries, no question about it, but the self-esteem and self-confidence aren’t the best.”
”I see. Put him up for a session after lunch. How about Ned Low?”
”He’s stopped cutting himself.”
”Progress.”
Miranda shakes her head.
”He’s moved on to biting himself instead. Poor man, loosing wife and newborn…”
”Still refusing medication?”
”Spits it out, Liz told me. He’s very defiant.”
”Maybe we shoud put Morley on him, see if he’s responding better to male staff. Morley is the one here, reminding the least about his wife I would say. Put him up for a session as soon as possible.”
***
He moves to the day room. Somehow he can’t stand ”his” room right now. It still has some of Charles’ sent. The big couch in front of the tv, is occupied. At least a corner of it. A rugged man in his thirties, possibly closer to forty than twenty, sits with knees to his chest, following a tv show with uninterest. Every now and then, he scratches his wrists. When Billy comes closer, he turns around and Billy jumps a little. The man seems unaffected.
”T’was an accident. The glass eye. I’m used to people staring.”
He has a very distinct Irish accent. When Billy doesn’t answer or move, the man smiles, but it’s the sadest smile Billy has ever seen. It’s even harder to look at, than the glass eye and the scar beneath it.
”Take the other corner. Not gonna bite ya.”
Billy sits down. The tv show is about food. An obese and an underweight person swop diets. They show a whole tray of chocolate and the other patient laughs.
”She loved chocolate, y’know. Ella loved chocolate. She always asked me to buy her some before I came from work. She always said the baby would come out covered in it...”
When Billy doesn’t answer, the man frowns.
”Sorry for rambling. Name’s Ned, by the way. Why are you here?”
”Social anxiety, they say. You?”
”Pregnancy that went wrong.”
”Pregnancy?”
”They died. Ella and our girl.”
”God… I’m so sorry.”
Billy’s horrified. The man just nods.
”Thanks. What about you? You have wife and kids?”
”No.”
”Girlfriend?”
”Boyfriend. Or at least I had. Not sure now.”
”You had a fight, or what?”
Billy shrugs. His problems seem so small, so pathetic compared to loosing a spouse and child. Ned strokes a strain of hair from his face.
”You don’t have to answer that. I’ve been here so much this year I hardly ever meet new people. It gets boring after a while, so I tend to talk too much whenever there’s a new face here.”
”I had a breakdown of some sort. Social anxiety and selective mutism, they say. Panic attacks.”
”Huh. On meds?”
”Yeah.”
”Are they working?”
”I’m talking, so I’d say they do.”
”Good for you.”
Ned digs in his cardigan pockets and takes out a chocolate bar, handing it to Billy.
”Take it.”
”No, thanks.”
Billy likes chocolate, but he can’t take it. Not only isn’t he up for sweets right now, but the mention of Ned’s apparently chocolate lover of a diseased wife doesn’t make the bar more appealing, to put it mildly. Ned is persistant, though.
”Please, take it. Can’t eat it by myself and I hate to waste food. It’s nothing wrong with it.”
The good eye is pleading. He breaks the bar in two equally sized pieces and hands one of them to Billy. It’s impossible to say no, not because of the chocolate, but because of the sad man. Billy takes it and smiles a little.
”Thanks.”
They eat it in silence. Billy takes small pieces. It tastes good, but the situation is so wholly strange to him, the naked grief in the Neds real eye is piercing through him.
”What’s his name? The guy who may or may not be your boyfriend?”
”Charles.”
”He knows you’re here?”
Billy nods. The chocolate reminds him of the coffee shop. The two small pieces of chocolate coffee beans Charles used to serve with his latte. A special treat, only for him. Suddenly, his eyes are brimming again and he puts the chocolate bar down. Ned digs in his pocket, he wears an old grey cardigan over a white longsleeve, and hands over a pack of tissues. When the sleeve goes up a bit, bandages can be seen. Billy takes the offered tissue and nods at the arm.
”You’ve hurt yourself?”
”Yeah…”
It’s not bandages. When Billy takes another look, he realises it’s plaster. Ned sees his confusion.
”Couldn’t stop ripping up the stitches, so they had to plaster me. Should think they’re healed now.”
Billy doesn’t answer. They sit in silence for a while, and for some reason it gives a little comfort. Ned holds his plastered arms around his knees.
”Do you know what the worst part is?”
Billy turns his head to Ned, waiting. The man bites his lip.
”It’s like you’re contagious. Like the grief is an infection. They all say they’ll be there for you and you know they want to help, but you can see it in their eyes, you know… How uncomfortable it is to have a mourning person in the room. It’s like walking on embers…”
”Everyone is on the edge, watching you like a work in progress…”
He doesn’t know why he says that. He doesn’t know anything about Ned or his grief, or about loosing someone dear to you. Billy’s never had anyone dear before Charles. But Ned looks at him with an expression of, not relief but something very close to it.
”You have any experience of this?”
Billy shakes his head.
”It’s not comparable to your loss. It’s nothing like that, but I know how it can be when people are like… hoovering over you, almost, to watch you. Like they’re holding their breath, waiting for some kind of breakthrough. How normal is he today…”
”I can relate to that.”
The sad smile again.
”Could you tell me about him?”
”Who?”
”Charles.”
Billy shrugs.
”Don’t know what to tell…”
”Does he like chocolate?”
”What?”
Ned scratches his knees.
”Your boyfriend or whatever he is. Does he like chocolate?”
”Um… yeah, he does.”
”What else does he like?”
”Well… he’s into sports. Movies. He works at a coffee shop. Used to serve my coffee with a small piece of chocolate.”
Billy smiles from the memory. Ned smiles too, gives an encouraging nod. Billy continues.
”I didn’t talk at all at first, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He never… waited for me to speak, like others do. When Charles waits, he really waits…”
”Sounds like a keeper.”
”Maybe. Haven’t talked to him for a couple of days.”
”So? Sometimes the first year, Ella and I didn’t talk to each other for weeks.”
Ned almost laughs a little.
”She could be such an asshole and me too. We literally sent insulting letters to each other.”
”You mean, real letters? Not texts?”
”No, real fucking letters! Handwritten in envelopes with stamps and all. And we lived like two blocks apart.”
”Sorry, but that’s insane for real.”
A real laughter now. They both laugh and Ned shakes his head.
”It absolutely was. We fought over everything. One time she, by accident, revealed what was gonna happen in the next Game Of Thrones episode and I got so mad that I binge watched Oz and then told her how it ended.”
”That’s some dedicated revenge… And cruel.”
”You know the most evil part? I didn’t even like the damn show. I watched through six seasons only to piss her off.”
Laughs. Billy hasn’t laughed since his birthday a week ago. He’s not as tired as he was then. Still quite jaded and the emotional turmoil he’s currently going through in every waking moment makes him tired, but the meds and the temporary safety from too much impressions the ward constitutes, makes it possible to feel things without being overwhelmed every time. Sitting in the couch with this stranger, for the first time meeting someone who it’s no point in putting on a mask for, helps more than he knows. Helps Ned more than Billy knows.
”What are you doing? I mean, for a living.”
”I’m supposed to finish my last term in English literature. Was hoping to work with translation and maybe edidting on a publishing house. I speak fluent French, Spanish and German.”
”Shit…”
Billy smiles at Neds surprise.
”I’ve not even told Charles about it.”
”Why?”
”Well… It seems weird that someone who can’t talk to people, studies languages without using them.”
”He hasn’t asked?”
”No. He’s not interested in… talking about carreers and stuff like that. And to be honest, I was afraid he’d see me as a snob. He works at the university cafeteria and the students and teachers often doesn’t even bother to look at him. Didn’t want to… I don’t know…”
”Scare him off?”
”Something like that. Fuck, now when I say it, it sounds fucking stupid…”
”No shit?”
Ned just shakes his head, his good eye rolling.
”Man, this is… I get it, I think. Scary and fucked up and all that, but seriously… What’s your name, by the way?”
”Billy.”
”Billy. Seriously, don’t toss this away. Whatever he’s done to piss you off, don’t be stupid. I mean, if he didn’t mind you not talking and wants to visit you here… I mean, my mum’s visiting if I’m here for longer than a week at a time, but other than that, I’m alone in here. I have friends, but they’re working, they have families and... you know…”
”Grief is contagious.”
Suddenly, Ned moves closer and takes his hand. Billy is surprised, but he lets it happen. Ned’s hand is cold. He squeezes Billys’ bigger, warmer hand, looking straight into Billy’s eyes.
”Don’t shut him out. I’ll never see Ella or Annie again, but your Charles… He’s still here. And if you’d scare him, so what? If he’s a keeper, he won’t run and if he should dump you, then he wasn’t a keeper anyway.”
Billy doesn’t answer. He’s tired. Everything, especially talking, makes him tired. But for once he’s not overwhelmed, despite the intrusion. He squeezes Ned’s hand back.
”It’s a nice name. Annie.”
”I have a picture.”
Ned suddenly sounds insecure. You shouldn’t speak of the dead, the ones who died young. Grief is contagious. He searches through his back pocket and takes up a black wallet. He takes out a photo, hands it over. Billy takes it. It’s Ned sitting on a hospital bed, smiling. His Ella looks tired but happy, with her dark hair in a mess and a little dumpling in baby grow and a white cotton hat is sleeping on her naked chest. A box of chocolate on the table beside the bed. Billy swallows hard.
”She’s beautiful. They both are.”
Ned’s smile. The smile of someone who’s loss is so huge, there’s no point in even trying to find an end to it. Billy’s never let anyone close enough to risk that kind of wound. He breathes heavily.
”When something like that happens… Do you even know how you’re going on…?”
He’s not sure if it’s too personal to ask. Ned looks him straight in the eyes and smiles.
”Honestly? I have no fucking clue.”
***
A part of him is angry. Hurt, disappointed and fucking angry. He’s been patient, really tried to understand. He’s tried to be the boyfriend he should’ve been for Eleanor. Listening, caring, open. He’s given Billy time, space and tried his best not to scare him. He has, for the first time in his life, opened up about things he prefers not to remember. He’s made himself vulnerable. And for what?
Charles can’t get Billy off his mind even for a moment. Whatever he’s doing, the thoughts are present, like a second pulse beating out of sync. He’s never experienced this before. Not with anything or anyone. The thoughts and feelings are overwhelming and swinging irregularly between sadness, anger, frustration and worry. For Billy, for himself. For all the things he’s let in and given away since the man became a part of his life. Not just a part among others, but the central. It feels as if he’s been robbed. Tricked into something and been left broke.
He’s been in love before. He’s had relationships before, with both men and women. Most of them have ended more badley than they should’ve, simply because Charles lack of patience has pushed the other person to the limit. Often without any of them, least of all Charles, knows it. At least not before it’s too late. Now it seems as if he’s done exactly that with Billy, but in a way it’s nothing like the others. Everything with Billy, even the way their relationship is destroyed, feels different.
It would’ve been so much easier if he could regret what he’s done. But Charles can’t. Not in full. Being in love with someone who’s feeling as bad as this, without being able to help, is new to him. He doesn’t have the tools to cope with it alone and his patience only reaches so far. If Charles is to be the only one in the world for Billy, sooner or later, he will loose footing and that will be the end for their relationship anyway. That’s why Charles can’t regret talking to Hal Gates.
The man has actually called back once. It was only to tell Charles that he’d tried to contact Billy, but the skittish idiot refused to talk to him. The only good thing was that Billy didn’t specifically forbid him from calling again. As small as it is, Charles decides to think of it as some kind of sign of progress. Strangely, it only increases his anger.
He wakes up in anger, takes his shower in anger, has his breakfast in anger. He’s angry at work, while running or going to the gym. Every fucking waking moment is pierced with it. He has endless dialogues in his head, where he’s scolding and yelling at Billy, calling him names and telling him what a selfish, fucking coward he is. But Billy’s not there to answer, no one is, and Charles is left alone in his chaos, raging over how impossible it is to understand Billy or make any fucking sense of what he feels, unaware of the fact that this sense of lost control and too intense feelings, is the closest he’s been to understand the man.
***
”Billy Manderly?”
”Yes?”
”Good afternoon. My name is John Silver and I’m a psychologist. We have an appointment now, so if you would please follow me to the chat room.”
He looks too young to be a psychologist. In fact, he looks more like… On second thought, Billy can’t decide what this man looks like. He has thick, brown and curly hair in a ponytail, a short beard and is dressed in jeans, black t-shirt and a hoodie. When Billy follows him to the room, he notice that his left leg is different. If he’s not mistaken, it’s a prosthesis. From the way the man walks, he’s had it for a long time. He enters a room and points at a chair before closing the door.
”Please, sit down.”
John Silver, as his name apparently is, takes a notebook and a pencil, before sitting down in the other chair. There’s a table between them, with the obligatory box with tissues, a jug with water and a disposable cup.
”So, Billy… As I said, my name is John, and I’m a psychologist. I’ve read your journal and from what I see, you’ve never been in contact with a psychologist or a psychiatrist before. Am I correct?”
”Yes.”
”You’ve been here for about four weeks now.”
”That long, huh…”
The time is strange in this place. It never seems to go as usual. Always too fast or too slow.
”How long does it feels like you’ve been here?”
”Don’t know. It’s all kind of… blurry.”
”Do you remember how you came here?”
”Think so.”
”Would you like to tell me about it? It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember everything, just tell me what you can think of right now.”
”Don’t know how to start.”
”Start with the location. Where were you right before you came here?”
Billy swallows.
”The emergency room.”
”And why were you at the emergency room?”
”Had a fit.”
”Where did you have the fit?”
”At the gym. No, not at the gym. Outside.”
”You’d been working out?”
”Uh-huh.”
”Is it something you do regularly?”
”Four times a week.”
John Silver nods and gives a little smile.
”That’s good. How did you feel during the workout?”
”As usual.”
”And how’s usual?”
Billy bites his lip. This is the kind of questions he fears the most. To describe something he has little or no words for.
”I… I’m not sure. Can’t answer. Sorry, but I don’t know.”
”Not knowing is also an answer. It’s perfectly okay not to know.”
Since when? That’s a question Billy would like to make, but not to John Silver. He feels how his body, despite the meds, begins to make him appear smaller.
”Does it bothers you, that you don’t know?”
He can only nod now.
”You know that doctors have different areas they specialize at?”
Nod. John Silver doesn’t seem the least suprised or annoyed with his sudden lack of words.
”Psychologist also have different special areas and I chose to specialize in social anxiety, selective mutism and alexithymia among adults. Three different diagnozes that can appear all at once. I know that the doctor have talked to you a little about theses conditions. Right?”
Yes. A mute answer, but he opens his mouth this time.
”The patients I’ve worked with who’ve been diagnozed with these conditions are all different, of course, but they all have one thing, one specific feeling in common. Would you like to guess wich one?”
”Fear.”
For once, there’s a question that’s easy to answer. Separating and identifying feelings is often a nightmare to Billy, but at least he’s been able to figure out that one. John Silver nods.
”Yes, fear. Now, fear is actually not necessairily a bad thing. Many times, it’s useful. Fear makes us handle things carefully. Fire is a good example of that. You know why?”
”Because it can destroy things?”
”Yes. It can be literally deadly to us, but we’re still using it. Why?”
”Why?”
”Why do we use something that could be dangerous to us?”
”Uhm… Because it’s helpful?”
”Exactly. Fear keeps us from handling things in a way that could be dangerous to us. The problem with our mind, is that many of our fears aren’t always as logical as the fear of uncontrolled fire. Sometimes it’s difficult, maybe even impossible, to figure out why something scares us and that makes the fear much harder to deal with. You’re following?”
”Think so. It’s… worse to be afraid of something you don’t know what it is…?”
”Why do think it’s like that?”
Too hard again. His mouth is locked, lips pressed together. He has no answers, no words for why or how something that others seem to not only do with ease, but with pleasure, makes him feel like he’s about to fall into chaos.
”Take your time. You’re doing very good, Billy.”
The man has a kind voice. Calm, patient and stable. He’s nice to him, talks like there’s nothing to be afraid of and yet, Billy’s shaking on the inside and he can’t seem to utter another word. Sweat breaks through, the inner turmoil is pushing through his skin and makes his hands shake.
”Do you reckognize the feelings you have right now?”
Please, stop asking.
”I think we should stop here for now, Billy. You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to, or don’t think you can. If it’s too much for you, we will stop so you can calm down again. Alright?”
Billy nods. He’s all sweaty, his mouth is dry and John Silver nods at the jug.
”Would you like some water?”
”Yes, please…”
It’s not even a whisper, but he’s trying. This John Silver seems to get that and he hands over the disposable cup. Billy can’t remember when was the last time water tasted so good.
***
Anne’s working, Jack’s working. Billy is… well, where he is. Charles sighs in his food.
”Is this seat taken?”
Charles looks up from his half eaten pizza to the girl with a lonely coke in her hand. The place isn’t exactly crowded, but he shrugs.
”Doesn’t seem to be.”
Apparently, that’s enough to take as an invitation and the girls sits down in front of him. She’s young. Somewhere in her teens with enough childlike features left to be overly eager to appear as an adult.
”My name’s Abigail.”
”Charles.”
”Do you come here often?”
He smiles. He knows this game all too well. He’s played it himself in his teens and early adulthood, a number of times. Sometimes to get a place to sleep at, and sometimes just out of loneliness. To get rid of that ache in the stomach, the chest, for a little while. He wont play along.
”No, I don’t. And I’m too old for you, Abigail.”
”I’m eighteen.”
She blushes, but Charles smiles friendly.
”Look, you can sit with me if you like, it’s boring to eat alone.”
”How do you know you’re too old?”
For fucks sake. Poor girl…
”Because I’m thirtyfive and you’re not eighteen, not even sixteen.”
”How do you know that?”
”You’re having a coke.”
”That doesn’t make me fifteen.”
She blushes again. Her frame is tiny with girlish breasts she’s trying to make bigger with a push-up. Her arms still have some childlike roundness and the satchel is full with pins. She’s throwing a hungry look at Charles’ plate.
”Are you hungry?”
Without waiting for an answer, Charles shoves the plate to her and after a brief moment of hesitation, she digs in with the appetite of a growing teenager who probably skipped lunch and isn’t counting on a homecooked meal later.
”Do you have a girlfriend?”
”No.”
”Why?”
”Because I have a boyfriend.”
”You’re a fag?”
”Bi.”
”You don’t look like you’re bi.”
”No? And you most certainly don’t look like you’re eighteen.”
”Alright, I’m fifteen. But you still don’t look like you’re taking it up the ass.”
Charles laughs. This kid is so blunt it’s almost like meeting a female version of himself in his teens. She pouts at him.
”What’s so funny?”
”You.”
”Didn’t mean to be.”
”And that’s why you are. Sorry, kiddo, I’m not making fun of you, but how can you tell if someone is, as you put it, taking it up the ass?”
She just shrugs.
”Don’t know. You don’t look like a poofter.”
”And you don’t look like you’re straight.”
”What do you mean?”
”Only that you can’t tell someones sexual orintation simply by looking at them, Abigail. You’re not looking straight or gay or bi. It doesn’t show.”
”Sometimes it does.”
”True, but you can never be certain. I met drag queens who’re straight.”
”No way.”
”I have.”
”How does your boyfriend look? You have a pic?”
”Sure.”
He takes up his phone and opens a photo of Billy. It’s from the morning he woke up in Billy’s bed. They’ve just finished breakfast and Billy’s caught in one thought or another, starring out the window. Charles couldn’t resist it. Billy was so beautiful, so relaxed… Billy let him keep the picture and now he’s showing it to this Abigail girl. From her reaction, she’s not unaffected by a sleepy Billy either.
”Fuck, he’s really hot! Look at those arms!”
Charles snickers.
”I know, they’re almost ridiculous.”
”He doesn’t look bi either.”
”Oh, he’s not bi. He’s gay.”
Her skeptical look is priceless.
”It’s not fair!”
”What’s not fair?”
”All the hot guys being queers.”
”Funny. When I was in your age, all the hot guys were straight.”
”I have gay friends, you know. It’s easier to be gay now.”
She says it as a matter of fact, and Charles can’t fault her for that. She’s right, of course, but also blissfully unaware of that not all people are as open-minded as she.
”It is.”
”How long have you been together?”
”A couple of months. But he’s sick.”
Why does he say that? It’s non of her business.
”He’s in hospital or what?”
”Yeah.”
”Cancer?”
”God no!”
The very mention of it makes Charles’ stomach turn.
”He has angst. Panic attacks and shit.”
”Oh. That sucks!”
Two little words. But they’re spoken in earnest.
”Are you crying?”
”Doesn’t look any better…”
”You want me to leave?”
”Not if you don’t want to.”
She shrugs and hands over a tissue from her bag.
”It’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t want to have a blow job. You don’t want that, right?”
Charles coughs.
”No. No, absolutely not. Jesus, kiddo, you need to hang out with better people. Where are you sleeping tonight, by the way?”
”Was kinda hoping you would like to fuck me, so I could stay at your place.”
”Oh, for fucks sake…”
”Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
”You’re not rude, you’re a kid who shouldn’t need to give fucking blow jobs to get a bed. You have no place to stay?”
”There’s always the Beacon. I sleep there sometimes. But it’s like three hours to walk.”
And she has no bus money. Of course. Wait a minute… The Beacon. Charles digs in his memory. Isn’t that where Anne used to… He take up is phone.
”Just a sec, I gotta call a friend.”
She shrugs. Luckily, Anne answers.
”What’s up, Chaz?”
”Hi, Anne. Look, are you that volunteer thing tonight? ”
”No, on my regular work. Why?”
”Um, I’m at a pizza place and there’s a girl here who’s sleeping at your place sometimes.”
”Yeah? Who?”
”Abigail, something.”
”Oh, great…”
”What?”
”Abigail Ashe. She’s hitting on you, right?”
”Yeah…”
”Look, Chaz, do you think you could give her a ride to the Beacon?”
”Sure.”
”Thanks. Fuck… these kids. Could you give her the phone, I’d like to have a word with her.”
He hands her the phone with a dry smile.
”Anne wants a word with you.”
Whatever Anne says, it makes Abigail very meek. She practically sobs when she’s giving the phone back. Charles tries not to sound too amused.
”Anne?”
”Yeah. Look, I’ve told Abby she’s had a damn good luck it was you out of all people she tried to hit on. She’s to get to the Beacon straight away and you’re following her inside, making sure she’s getting there. I’ll call them and tell you’re dropping her off. No detours.”
”No detours.”
”I need to shop.”
Abigail interrupts and Charles raises his eyebrows.
”What do you need? And don’t say cigarettes, ’cause that aint happening.”
”I need tampons.”
Anne, who apparently hears it, sighs.
”There are tampons at the Beacon, Chaz.”
Charles gives a regretful smile.
”Sorry, kiddo. Anne says there are tampons at the Beacon.”
”Whatever. You’re giving me a ride or not?”
***
It’s a very different comfort from the one Charles has provided. Not necessairly better, but right now it’s… easiser. They’ve stuck to each other the whole evening, him and Ned. When Billy came back from the therapy session, Ned still sat in the couch and Billy sat down again.
They were sitting there for hours, only interrupted by supper and whenever Ned went out for a smoke, supervised by someone from the staff. Those minutes, when Ned wasn’t there, Billy’s mind started to wonder off. To Charles. Always Charles. And now, as he’s laying in the narrow bed again, waiting for the sleeping meds to kick in, the absence of Charles is there. The emptiness.
For long hours Billy lays there, wide awake despite the sleeping pill. Ned’s story about his wife and kid is haunting him, the thought of never seeing Charles again, the chaos that threatens to take over… Forcing himself not to think twice, Billy turns his phone on.
***
What a fucking day. Charles is, like almost every night, staying with Anne and Jack. A safe haven in all this fucking turmoil. He dropped Abigail off at the Beacon. She hugged him, not like a teenager trying to appeal sexy, but like the kid she is. The staff seemed genuinly grateful for the assistance. At least he’s doing something right.
He’s laying with his head in Jack’s lap – Anne’s on Jack’s shoulder – watching a movie without actually watching, when his phone beeps. He hauls it out from his pocket. It’s a text message. From Billy. He hesitates half a second before opening it.
I’m an idiot and I’ll most likely fuck things up again, but I’m really sorry for acting like this. Do I get a second chance?/B
Charles smiles through his tears when he sends his answer, before putting down the phone and relaxing a little with Jack’s hand patting his shoulder.
Always/C