Chapter 23. Liam
I knew the happiness I felt at Harry's house wasn't going to last. That's just how it goes in real life.
Good things have an expiration date. I know this sounds depressing, but God, it hits different when you're locked up.
You get a taste of what your life could be, and then you come back to your life on the inside.
And the thing is, even on the outside, my life was never going to look anything like Harry's.
Simple math. He was rich and I wasn't, and that gap wasn't closing anytime soon.
But maybe someday I could have that ordinary life I kept dreaming about.
A small taste, at least a little of what I got to try at his place.
Except right now I'm as far from that as it's possible to be.
Ethan is back at his clinicals, which means he’s gone two days and two nights a week. I don't want to be a selfish idiot about it. He's doing something important. I know that. I keep telling myself that. Also, Tyler isn't doing well, and Ethan needs to take care of his brother.
But when he comes back Thursday after being gone all Wednesday, day and night, I just want a little time with him.
I don't get any. Zero. He gives me a quick kiss, looks at me with that apologetic face, and goes straight to the infirmary because Tyler is there.
He tries to explain but doesn't stop long enough for that. He's already gone.
I don't get to say anything. Not even "I hope he's okay," which is what I actually feel. Tyler is Ethan's little brother. I genuinely want him to be okay. But I also want my boyfriend to give me five minutes of attention. That isn’t asking for too much. It isn’t.
I'm already feeling like a stray dog with no owner, and on top of everything, I get word that my dad is going to call, and I should go to the phone room and wait. He'd told Griff he'd call at two on the dot. By two-thirty, nothing.
I'm standing there like an idiot while everyone else around me makes their calls. The guard on duty keeps looking at me like I'm making the whole thing up. I want to tell him to go verify with Griff, but arguing with guards never ends well for anyone except the guard.
I'm not mad at the guard. I'm mad at my dad.
He'd promised he would visit more. That never happened.
I shouldn't have expected anything from him, but because he'd actually shown up last time, I'd built this stupid fantasy that he was going to keep his word going forward.
And now here I am, standing in the phone room like an idiot waiting for a late call.
I walk over to the guard to tell him I'm done waiting. Same as the day my dad took forever to show up for the visit. If he calls, he can tell him to try next week.
That's the exact moment the phone rings.
"Marsal," the guard says. "It's for you."
I go over with my heart pounding, even after all that waiting. Honestly I want to pick it up and start fighting with him for being late. But I don't say anything.
"Hey, son," he says. "Sorry I'm a little late."
"It's fine," I say. It's what I always say.
"Listen, I know I owe you some visits. I haven't forgotten. It's just that Marianne's been keeping me really busy. We're planting a vegetable garden together. As soon as I get a little time again I'll come by. I promise."
"Okay, Dad," I say, feeling my chest tighten. Because he's clearly noticed that I've noticed he isn't coming anymore. And he called anyway, just to make sure I remember I have nobody.
"I love you, son," he says.
"I love you too," I tell him, and it's true. The worst part is that it is true. But right then I don't have a lot of energy to tell him that.
"Take care of yourself. If you need anything, call me. I promise that if I'm home I'll pick up."
"Okay," I say. But I already know I'm not going to call. Every time I've ever tried, it's a disappointment: he's working, or busy with something, and he never picks up. So I've always ended up waiting for him to call me. Which is also rare and always short.
I hang up.
I can't believe I waited over half an hour for that.
My eyes start doing that thing again. I swallow it.
Ethan isn't there to comfort me, he's busy with his brother, and I need to stop depending on him.
I've never depended on anyone for anything.
I grew up alone. It's just harder once you've had a taste of something good.
When you don't know what it feels like, you don't miss it as much.
But Ethan had given me a taste of what it meant to have someone to lean on, and now I feel like he, or life, is taking that away again, the same way life had taken my mom, the same way my dad had chosen to leave.
I sniffle. Pull myself together. I'm going to blame allergies if anyone looks at me.
I leave the phone room and go back into the hallway.
I walk slowly, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum, thinking.
I have a pretty stupid idea. I figure I'm going to do it anyway.
Jack did it. I can too. I keep repeating that while I walk, and my feet carry me to Griff's office without me entirely planning to go there.
I knock.
I'm not sure he's in. Sometimes he is, sometimes not, the man needs rest too. But this time he says "come in," and I push the door open slowly.
He looks up from his tablet, looks me up and down without smiling, holds that slightly uncomfortable silence he uses on all of us. Just his way of making clear he isn't going to tolerate nonsense. Then:
"Liam. Something wrong?"
I like that he uses my first name. Good sign. When he's in a bad mood it's just a bark, "What is it, Marsal?" Not this time.
"Come in. Sit down. Talk to me."
"My dad called today," I say.
"I know," he says. I nod. I'm always surprised when he remembers something specific about me.
First because I'm always surprised not to be invisible, that people can notice me, have opinions about what I do — I find that genuinely shocking sometimes, even now.
Second because there are so many kids here, so many different problems, files, parents, staff, and he still remembers small things about each of us. It's impressive.
"It didn't go well?" he asks.
"No, sir," I say. I try not to look sad, but my lost-puppy face is probably doing the talking for me.
"Tell me."
I take a deep breath.
"You know how Jack came to talk to you because he wasn't doing well?"
He nods, giving me space to keep going.
"I don't think I'm doing well either."
He doesn't say anything. Just waits.
"I haven't vomited!" I add, quickly, because I know that's the first thing he'll ask.
And it's true. I haven't relapsed since I started with Dr. Herrera and the meds.
I'm proud of that. Every day that I don't vomit is one more day added to my streak, and I think that's what getting better for real actually means.
"But with Ethan being away so much…" I hesitate.
He knows about Ethan, it's impossible not to, and dating isn't forbidden, only doing it in secret is.
I take another breath. "I know he's almost ready to get out.
Maybe not super soon, but he's getting out before me.
And those thoughts have been making me really sad.
I've been feeling really alone. I never asked for help before, but since Jack did and I saw that it worked…
I don't know exactly what I'm asking for. I just know I'm not doing so well."
I stop. The fucking tears run down my face. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant on my part. But it's already out, I can't stop it.
Griff is quiet for a second.
And I swear his eyes get a little wet.
Am I so pathetic that I'm going to make Griff cry? I genuinely don't know if that's a win or the worst thing ever. The horrors.
"You have no idea how proud I am that you were brave enough to come tell me this," he says. "This is exactly why everything I do here is worth it."
That one I wasn't expecting. I feel my face go red and don't know what to say.
"Of course we're going to help you," he says, in fuller dad mode than I've ever seen him, and I know he loves that role. "I'm going to sign you up for weekly therapy sessions and arrange an extra appointment with Dr. Herrera. How does that sound?"
"Good," I say.
He looks at me for a second. "Whatever happens with Ethan, I don't know what things are like between you two, and it's not my place to assume. But I've known him for a long time. If there's one thing he is, it's loyal."
I think I'm going to die of embarrassment. Griff is giving me relationship advice. But for some reason I actually appreciate it.
"Thank you, sir," I say, and let out a small laugh.
"It's going to be okay," he says.
I don't know if it will be. But I already feel a lot better just from talking to him. Who would've thought that whole talking-about-it thing actually worked.
When I get back to the room, I don't even mind that much that Ethan isn't there.
Or so I tell myself.
He comes in around eleven. I know because I'm half-awake when the door opens, that light sleep I get when he's not next to me, the kind where every sound pulls me up a little.
I hear him move through the room in the dark, careful not to wake anyone.
The soft drag of the drawer. The creak of his mattress settling under his weight.
I don't say anything. He doesn't either. I'm not sure if he knows I'm awake. But the worst part is that I think he knows I am, but he doesn’t come to me.
I stay in my own bunk. I don't ask. He's tired and I'm tired and some nights that's just how it goes. But I pull my blanket up a little higher, and I close my eyes, and I can hear him breathing across the room. I feel my stupid eyes burning with tears, but I tell myself: I have no choice.
He’s going to leave me. And there’s nothing I can do.