Chapter 23. Liam
A week passes. Then two.
Ethan and I don't speak. Not once. Not a single word, not a syllable, not even the accidental kind that happens when two people share a room the size of a parking space. It's impressive, really. Someone should give us a fucking award.
At meals, I sit at my designated corner table with Santos or whoever drew the short straw that day, and I eat my monitored portions like a good little boy while Ethan sits with Jack and Miles on the other side of the cafeteria, having oh so much fun.
In the dorm, we pretend each other isn’t there.
He reads his nursing textbook. I stare at the wall.
Jack tries to crack jokes that land in the dead air between us and die slow, painful deaths.
Miles, to his credit, doesn't try at all. Harry is always trying to convince us to play poker with him, but no one is in the mood. We’re all just quiet.
At night, we lie in our bunks, three feet apart, and the silence hurts. I can hear him breathing.
I'm still angry. I am. The anger lives in my chest like a hot coal, flaring every time I see Santos pull out her chair at my table, every time I sit across from Dr. Herrera and she asks me how I'm feeling about my relationship with food, every time some kid glances at my corner table and then quickly looks away in secondhand embarrassment.
Ethan did this to me. He took the one thing I had, the one mechanism, the one release valve, and he handed it over to the system.
But here's the thing about anger: it burns hot, and then it burns out, and what's left underneath is so much worse.
Because more than angry, I'm hurt. The hurt is a different animal entirely.
It's the hurt of being betrayed by the person you trusted most. It's the hurt of hearing I love you.
It's the hurt of knowing he saw me at my ugliest, my most desperate, and instead of holding me through it, he reported me. I know he’s right to worry.
But he had no fucking right. And I'm so hurt that he did it with my best interest in mind. Not to hurt me, not even a little bit.
I miss him.
I miss him like crazy. Like a physical ache.
I miss the weight of his arm around my waist during Quiet Time.
I miss his fingers. I miss the smell of him.
I miss his voice in the dark. I miss listening to music with him.
Now I can’t even use my radio, it hurts too much.
I miss being called baby in that way he had.
I miss him, and I hate that I miss him, and I hate that hating it doesn't make it stop.
The counseling sessions with Dr. Herrera are twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means they pulled me out of kitchen duty as well, so now I don’t even have Lu, Margarete, and Dora.
Therapy is in a small office that smells like carpet cleaner.
She's okay, I guess. Mid-forties, dark hair streaked with gray, glasses that she pushes up her nose every thirty seconds.
She doesn't talk to me like I'm broken, which I appreciate, but she also doesn't let me bullshit her, which I definitely don't appreciate.
"How are things with Ethan?" she asks on Thursday of the second week, and I want to laugh.
"There are no things with Ethan," I say. "Things with Ethan have ceased to exist."
She waits. She's good at waiting. Therapists and prison guards have that in common, and she’s sort of both?
"We don't talk," I add, because the silence is worse than admitting it. "Haven't spoken in two weeks. Not a word."
"How does that feel?"
I stare at the ceiling. There's a water stain shaped like Florida. "Like shit. It feels like shit. Is that clinical enough for you?"
She doesn't react to the bite in my tone. "Can you be more specific?"
I can. I don't want to be. But my mouth has always been faster than my judgment.
"It feels like someone cut off my arm and I keep reaching for things with the stump.
Like I'll turn around to tell him something funny, and then I remember, and the remembering is worse than the original loss because it happens fifty times a day.
Every single time, it's fresh. He's right there.
Three feet away, every night. And I can't… " My voice catches.
I don't say anything anymore. It hurts too much. She says that, in fact, I can forgive him. But she doesn’t understand.
I want to hurt him back. So, when Harry sees me with Jack in the courtyard, on a Saturday, obviously without Ethan, he sees his chance, and I see mine.
Harry has been trying to turn me into his client since my first day here.
He just stops when Ethan’s around because he’s very scared of Ethan, even if he doesn’t admit it.
But now, he looks thrilled with the new situation.
He pushes up his round glasses that slip down his nose and runs a hand through his slick black hair.
"I've got something special, just for you, Liam. I know how sad you’ve been, sitting all by yourself during mealtime. "
I look at him, knowing he said that specifically just to burn me, but I ignore it, and he shows me a small packet of weed from his pocket, hidden away.
My eyes widen. Jack looks serious now. It’s very rare for us to see Jack being serious.
He’s just like me. Ethan often calls us dumb and dumber.
Thinking of Ethan makes me remember how angry I am.
"Man, stay out of Harry’s shit," Jack warns me, not even caring that Harry is there. "If Ethan finds out, he’ll kill you."
"Who cares about Ethan?" Harry says. "Liam deserves some fun. You want some, don’t you, Liam?"
He’s right. I really want it. Before this shit hole, I used to smoke every damn day, several times a day. I could use some to de-stress.
Harry taunts, "You're not gonna tattle, are you?"
"Of course not, I’m no fucking snitch," Jack replies, and he’s clearly ticked off. "But still, you know I'm against it. I started with weed, and then I couldn't stop doing acid and cocaine."
"Weed’s nothing," Harry says. "I smoke every weekend, and nothing’s happened so far. No one’s going to find out, you fucking normie."
"Okay, fine, but don’t count me in. I’m not covering for you guys in this," Jack says. Harry rolls his eyes.
"You're such a prude. I don’t even know why I hang out with you. You’re just like that jerk Ethan. Always preaching and stuff."
"Shut up," Jack snaps, getting really annoyed, and I've never seen him like that before. He gets up and storms off, and Harry just shrugs, flashing a grin as he stands up. I get up too, my heart racing a million miles an hour. I really want to smoke. But more than that, I want to make Ethan hurt.
Maybe I am an addict after all.
■
On Saturdays, we have a bit more freedom, but not enough to roam around as we please.
Yet, Harry seems to have it all figured out.
He walks up to the guard standing by the entrance of the admin building, fishes something out of his pocket, another little packet, and hands it to the guard.
I’m shocked at how easily the guard seems to be bought off, but he is, because he smiles and steps aside to let us through.
Harry and I race through the empty hallways, my heart thumping so hard I think I might be sick.
We sprint up the stairs as fast as our legs will carry us.
The admin building is always the emptiest, especially on weekends when there is almost no admin staff around.
Just us and the guards, and of course, Griff and other bosses, since they never seem to rest. We make it to the top floor, which is basically a hallway lined with closed doors leading to meeting rooms and such, and head straight for one marked “Storage.” It’s good to think of something else besides vomiting and Ethan.
It’s unlocked, and Harry and I slip inside. It’s a small room, stuffed with cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous items, but it’s just the right size for us.
"That was too easy," I say as we sit down and Harry pulls out a lighter. I have no idea how he manages to keep one on him. He takes a pre-rolled joint from the little bag, strikes the lighter, and lights up, inhaling deeply, his eyes closing in bliss.
"Pass it here, my turn," I say. He hands me the joint with a chuckle, amused at how desperate I sound. Just the smell is making my mouth water like it’s some kind of delicious meal, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time, either.
When I finally take a drag, I can hardly believe it.
I close my eyes, feeling it hit. I almost want to cough, but that is newbie stuff, lame, so I hold it back as best as I can, feeling my eyes watering.
We just sit there grinning at each other like two idiots.
We hit it again, and again. My mind goes quiet after a few hits.
No more Ethan! Bliss, absolute, pure bliss.
“Man, you’re a lightweight,” Harry says, nudging my knee with his, and I realize I’ve been staring at the cleaning supplies like they’re an ocean.
I just laugh, and the laugh comes out strange.
Everything is a bit strange, but also a bit good for the first time in weeks.
We’re both giggling like idiots now, slumped against the wall.
Everything outside this closet feels like a distant planet and I feel that I’m safe in orbit with him.
It’s a very good change from how I was feeling just before coming here.
Harry keeps running his fingers through his hair, which is always straight and perfect, except now it’s starting to flop loose.
He pulls at the collar of his shirt, and looks at me sideways but he smiles.
He doesn’t say anything but he’s enjoying that a lot.
I am too. I wish Ethan was here, and then I remember that’s the worst idea I ever had.
I hate that fucker, I couldn’t forget that.
But the only truth is that I actually love him.
No. I’ll end up with a terribly bad trip if I go down this route.
We smoke a lot, the whole joint, and it isn’t small. I finally say to him, "Man, I need to sleep a bit."
I’m feeling much better now. I’m on cloud nine, riding the highest wave. He laughs.
"Sweet dreams," he says, and I lie down on the floor, closing my eyes, not caring about anything. When you’re high, you forget your problems, forget you’re basically in jail, forget you should be careful, forget vomiting and Ethan.
I’m just riding the best wave of my life, and nothing can touch that.
The room grows warm and then prickly-cold, like my skin can’t decide what it wants.
My limbs go liquid; my mouth tastes weird.
I hear my mom’s laugh, echoing from a thousand years ago, and this breaks my heart a little.
I can’t think about it, can’t think about it, can’t think about it, if I think about it, I’ll have a bad trip, and I can’t.
So, I think about Ethan from before our fight.
I don’t think about how mad I am and how he’ll kill me if he finds out, I just think about how warm inside he makes me, despite how much I want to deny this.
I close my eyes and drift, telling myself I’ll only nap for a second, that I’ll hear Harry if he needs me, that nothing bad can get in through this door.
Except for the chaos that breaks my blissful sleep like a cold splash of water.
"Here you are," I hear someone shouting, and suddenly I’m yanked upright, pulled from my sleep quite literally. I barely have time to think, my eyes snapping open, reality crashing down. I see Griff's face next to a guard, who’s holding me, and with Harry nowhere in sight, I nearly have a heart attack. I look around, snapping back to reality, remembering what is going on. I don’t know if Harry has been caught, too, or if he’s bailed and left me there.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Griff barks as he practically drags me down the stairs.
"I... I am just…" I try to tell him to chill, that I can walk, but everything is happening so fast, I don’t manage to get the words out. The guard is half-carrying me, stumbling towards wherever they decide to take me, which turns out to be Griff’s office.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve been stoned just some time before.
The high has faded enough for me to appear sober, but I’m not sure about the smell.
It must have been some hours because the light outside has shifted, and the buzz died.
To my relief, he doesn’t mention anything about weed.
He just keeps yelling, “Why were you in a restricted area and, on top of that, sleeping there? Do you know what time it is? Do you know what happens to those who miss roll call and Quiet Time? You nearly gave us a heart attack, thinking you had somehow escaped. Thankfully, Harry reported that he saw you sneak into the admin building. Otherwise, we would’ve sent a patrol after you, and that wouldn’t have been fun for you at all. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Damn, Harry. Well, I guess he did me a favor, otherwise they’d have sent the patrol. But, even so, damn, Harry.
“Sorry,” I say, which apparently isn’t the smartest thing to say because the frown he shoots me gets even more intense.
“Sorry? Are you kidding me? Why would you do this?”
“I... I just wanted a place to sleep in peace, where no one could see me. I needed to get away. I wasn’t thinking.
Sorry,” I repeat. I can’t even muster up the proper worry, mainly because he hasn’t brought up the weed.
So, maybe he really doesn’t know about it.
Because if he did, I’d be heading straight to solitary or something, or even real jail.
Just the fact that he doesn’t mention the weed already has me more relieved than I can express.
“Sorry, sir. I just wasn’t thinking,” I try again.
“Not good enough. You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?”
I'd almost forgotten that around here, they'll punish Ethan, too, because of me. And then, to make things worse, Griff says: “I’ll call your leader.”
I should want that. I should. I should hate him. But I don’t. I don’t want this going to his record. I don’t want to ruin things for him, no matter how much I hate that fucking bastard, whom I actually love.
“No, sir, please, it’s not his fault,” I blurt out. “He didn’t know I was going to do this. Please, don’t punish him. Please, please, please,” I beg, not caring at all for any remaining pride I might have.
Griff stares at me with those icy eyes for a long while. “I know you’re mad at him about the food thing. He probably couldn’t have stopped you even if he knew, so I’ll give him some grace.”
“Thanks, sir, it won't happen again, I swear,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me.
“Let’s get this over with, because my shift ends in half an hour, and I don’t want to spend my Saturday here with you.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, unsure of what torture is coming next.