Episode 1 #2
Collin tensed. He could see himself as a puppy.
Something like a golden retriever. Like he’d seen once at a humane society where he’d worked in high school.
The puppy had had a hurt paw and separation anxiety from losing its mother.
It had limped over to every nice person around, tail wagging, begging for pets and a lap to rest in.
That was exactly what he would do. But he couldn’t, not to Mr. Reevesworth. It went beyond boundaries. The man was married .
The door opened. “Richard, I was…”
“A moment, émeric, if you can. I’m hoping Collin will tell me something or maybe show me something.”
Collin shook his head. It immediately hurt, and he grasped it in both hands, groaning.
Mr. Moreau’s footsteps approached Mr. Reevesworth’s chair.
“Show you what, Richard?”
Mr. Reevesworth sighed. “Collin is distressed, émeric. Somehow, I have distressed him, and yet he cannot seem to tell me why.”
“What were you doing last?”
“I asked permission to touch him and then applied a simple massage technique to his back to release the tension. The doctor recommended it.”
“Did it work?”
“At first, and then he curled up, tensed twice as much, and requested to be left alone.”
Mr. Moreau sighed. “Richard, we have to accept Collin’s boundaries. That is the first rule.”
Mr. Reevesworth stood. “I know, émeric. I know. But I don’t believe him that he wants to be left alone.”
“We can’t force someone to ask for what they’re not ready for. Even if they want it. You taught me this. Come. We’ll check back on the schedule the doctor left us.”
Mr. Reevesworth sighed and stood.
Collin curled up tighter on the bed.
Being left alone was miserable. Collin tossed and turned on the mattress even though each move shot bits of pain into his head and blurred his vision even with his eyes closed. Which should have been impossible.
Everything he used to quiet the pounding in his head was gone.
No screens. No studying. No work. And he’d already slept more than his body was used to.
Even though he was in pain and tired, it refused to go back to senselessness.
How was he going to pay the bills? Would his sister be able to stay in school if he didn’t send money back this month?
His breath came quicker, and his muscles tightened. His fists came up and pressed into his eyes. Cold shuddered through his limbs.
Just breathe.
But what good was breathing when everything was coming down like a house of cards? He was never going to make it. The world wasn’t designed for people like him to make it. Someone had to win, and someone had to lose, and by the lottery of birth…
…he was going to lose.
Had already lost.
His chest ached worse than his head. If he couldn’t make it, if he couldn’t have a good life, his mother was going to blame herself.
She’d say things like she should have died of the cancer instead of letting them go into debt to pay for treatment.
Things like he would have been better off without her.
He couldn’t let her think that. He had to make everything okay. Somehow. If he could just get up, go to work, put his head down, just do everything he was doing, he’d be okay. He could hold on just a little longer.
He needed to do something. If he lay here with his thoughts much longer, he was going to do something drastic.
Collin pushed himself up out of the bed. The room swam but that was nothing. Low blood sugar did that all the time. He could walk through dizziness as long as he didn’t try to fight it. Now where were his clothes?
There weren’t any. He was going to have to ask for them.
He looked down at what he was wearing. Honestly, it wasn’t bad.
He could get home in these. Plenty of kids went to class in flannel pajama bottoms. Wasn’t cool, wasn’t something he approved of, but it wouldn’t get him thrown off the CTA. Shoes.
He stumbled around the room. No shoes. Nothing. It was going to suck if he had to walk back to his place barefoot. Maybe Ellisandre had his shoes. He should call them.
But no phone. The world spun a little harder and his stomach lurched into his throat.
Collin caught himself against the wall and closed his eyes, willing the spinning sick feeling to somewhere below his collarbone.
Sick he could do but not if it was spinning him around from the top down.
It was simple really. He was such a loser.
All he had to do was get his coat, say thank you, find his shoes, go home, put on clothes, and go to his shift at the bar.
If he just focused on drinks, he could mostly lean on the counter and get through it.
Like that month he’d worked with a sprained ankle.
If he could just breathe. The tightness in his throat joined the roaring in his head. Come on, breathe. Not so fast. Measured. Come on. You can do this.
His knees buckled. He was lower somehow, forehead to the wall.
Loser. It’s over. She’s going to think it’s her fault.
But it’s all yours. She was the one who nearly died.
You’re healthy. You know what this is going to do to her.
Couldn’t even be smart and just go home after your shift, could you?
Like how could you forget to eat and then slip and fall.
No, you had to make it all about you. Had to get really hurt, make everyone worry.
How the fuck do you think you’re going to pay for that ambulance?
And the ER bills? You’re fucked, Collin.
You’re fucked, and it’s all your fault. You’re never going to recover from this.
The world was so cold. So blurred. His hand trembled. Something scraped on the floor and crashed. He went down hard, but he couldn’t feel it.
The light changed, brighter, then lower. The roaring went on and on. The floor was making sounds. There were voices.
“Breathe, Collin.” Mr. Reevesworth.
More shame flooded into Collin’s body. He flinched away. His head hit something. A bright sharp pain. And for an instant, it was quiet.
More. He wanted more of that. He slammed his head back down onto the floor.
“Collin, no.”
There were arms around him. And a body. A heavy warm one. The arms were tightening around him. There were hands wrapped around his head.
“Collin.”
Collin shook his head. “Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.”
“Make what stop?”
“My head. Make it stop.”
“Maybe the concussion is more serious.” Mr. Moreau’s voice came from nearby.
“No. This is a panic attack. Call the doctor anyway.”
Collin twisted under Mr. Reevesworth. Did he want to get away? No. But he needed something. He tried to slam his head into the floor again.
Mr. Reevesworth caught the back of his head and hauled Collin up off the floor and pinned him.
“Make it stop.”
“Make what stop, Collin?”
“My head.”
“What is your head doing?”
“Thoughts. So many thoughts.”
“Collin. Collin, Collin.”
Mr. Reevesworth’s arms tightened. Collin twisted in his grip, and it tightened. He shivered, and Mr. Reevesworth held on harder.
And then just a little harder.
Collin went limp. His head rolled on Mr. Reevesworth’s shoulder. He gasped for air. Mr. Reevesworth’s hands were so tight. His fingers were probably leaving bruises on Collin’s wrists, and his legs were crushing his shins.
It felt good.
Everything was still there, but this, the warmth, the weight, the restriction. The pulse of another heartbeat against his skin.
Someone, it smelled like Mr. Moreau, crouched down beside him. “Panic attack. You’re right.”
“Collin, do you know why you’re scared?”
Collin shuddered. “I told Damian. I told him. I told him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“He told me he couldn’t stop. That if he stopped he wasn’t strong enough to get back up again and start over.”
Collin lifted his head. Damian stood in the doorway, dressed in a suit, briefcase in one hand. All the fear came rushing back, up to Collin’s head, but it stopped, right below the base of his neck and rolled through him, as if Mr. Reevesworth’s crushing embrace wouldn’t let it fly loose.
Why can’t I be like Damian?
Cool. Collected. Successful Damian.
Tears burned in Collin’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
“Collin, do you want Richard to let you go?”
Collin shook his head. Inside Mr. Reevesworth’s crushing embrace, he wasn’t anything. But the minute the man let go, Collin would have to be Collin again.
“Collin, we’re going to move you to the bed, okay?” Mr. Moreau placed his palm on the side of Collin’s face. “Richard will still hold you, but we need to check you, and if Richard’s going to hold you like that, the bed is a better place. Understand?”
He didn’t, really. But he also didn’t want to use words. So he nodded.
Collin floated for a long time, his head on Mr. Reevesworth’s thigh, the man’s other leg pressed against his back. At some point, he’d been so tired, as if his heart had beat itself into exhaustion, he’d slumped down and rested there with at least five heavy blankets over his shoulders.
Maybe he’d even slept. He wasn’t sure. All he’d known was that the world had gone quiet. Just the sound of Mr. Reevesworth’s heartbeat under his ear.
“Collin.”
“Sir?” He blinked his eyes open.
“Drink, Collin.”
A straw appeared in front of Collin’s face. He wrapped his lips around it and drank. It tasted like juice and salt.
“Enough, Collin. Head down.”
“I—”
“Are you trying to worry again, Collin?”
“I—” Collin dropped his head on Mr. Reevesworth’s thigh. “I’m an adult, sir. This is—I shouldn’t?—”
“Collin, do you require additional assistance to lay aside your worries?”
Yes. The word hung in the air between them.
Collin pressed his face into Mr. Reevesworth’s leg.
If he closed his eyes hard enough, if he could hang in this moment of no sound, if he could just hold on to this warmth and the press of another body against his but not have to acknowledge it, not have to deal with the complications and implications.