Chapter 22 Henry
Henry
Ilay on my couch, staring at the ceiling. I’d been in this position long enough for my back to start hurting, but eh. I’d hurt worse before this was all over; I’d read enough of the stories online to know that.
Curie, who was curled on my legs, suddenly lifted her head and dug in her claws. “Ow, fuck.” Shit, was I bleeding? I’d forgotten to ever research whether I could transmit HIV to the cats. I dug my phone out from under my ass and opened a search.
That was when the banging on my door started. Oh, that explained Curie’s reaction. Jamison must have come back again. I sighed.
“Hen!” a voice that wasn’t Jamison’s called. It took me a second to recognize it as Jamal; I hadn’t spoken to him in…god, a really long time. Three weeks? Something like that. “Are you in there?”
I reflexively sat up and leaned my weight toward the door, then stopped myself.
I hadn’t showered in days, my living room was covered in a layer of takeout containers, and the litter boxes stank.
None of that was a good look, and Jamal would guess immediately that something was wrong.
“Yeah,” I finally just called back, my voice croaky, “I’m here, but I’m, uh, sick. Don’t come in.”
There was silence for a long moment, then Jamal responded, “I don’t care if you’re sick, man. I have health insurance. Come on, let me in.” A pause, and then, more threateningly, “I have my key.”
Fuck, I’d forgotten he had a key. Shit. I ran an anxious hand through my hair - ew, gross, it was greasy - and stood up.
“Fine, coming.” I considered the living room for a long moment, wondering if there was any five-second cleanup I could do to make it or me look better, but drew a blank.
Fuck it. I walked to the door and cracked it open to find Jamal standing on the front step. “Jamal, what the -”
“Hen!” Jamison appeared from behind my friend, his eyes wide. “Jesus fuck, I was terrified you were -”
Ah, shit. How had the two of them even gotten in touch?
I guessed that didn’t really matter. I directed a reproachful gaze to Jamal, who winced.
“Look, Hen,” he said weakly, “Jamison was really worried about you, and -” He paused, looking me over.
“- and honestly I can kinda see why. What the fuck, dude?”
With perfect timing, a hunk of my hair fell into my face. I felt like I’d been slimed. I shoved it back. “What do you mean, ‘what the fuck’?” I bluffed.
“Ok, no.” The rest of Jamison popped out from behind Jamal and he strong-armed the door open before I could react.
“We’re not playing that game. You haven’t answered your phone or your door since Friday.
It’s Tuesday, Hen. Five days. Five days you’ve been radio-silent.
I was terrified that you -” His breath hitched as he stepped inside and took in me and the room. “Ew.”
Jamal followed him in, shut the door, then fanned a hand in front of his face. “Seriously, ew. When was the last time you cleaned the cat boxes in here, Hen?”
“I didn’t invite you over,” I grumbled. “Don’t judge me for not being company-ready.”
“There’s company-ready and then there’s functional-human,” he shot back.
“You’re not either at the moment, as best I can tell.
You want to tell me what’s going on? All I know is you scared the shit out of little man over here and he called me in.
” He gestured to Jamison, who scowled, whether at being called little man or with disapproval over my state, I didn’t know.
Did I want to tell him what was going on? No. No, I most decidedly did not. “Nothing’s going on.”
Jamison snorted.
I glared at him. Why the hell was he even here?
He glared right back, then softened his eyes. “You don’t have to tell him the whole story, Hen, but we’re both worried about you now. You don’t look like you’re doing so good, you know?”
I let out a hmph noise. “I’m fine. You guys should go.”
“Why?” Jamal challenged. “We’ve already seen the mess. Let’s clean it up a little and Jamison and I will hang out for a bit.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know, if you’re totally fine and all.”
Goddammit. Couldn’t a man wallow in his despair for a few days without people crashing in to try to socialize with him? I would have pulled myself out of it. Eventually. Probably.
Meanwhile, Jamison didn’t wait for me to ok the idea; he charged into the kitchen and retrieved a trash bag. “Litter boxes first, because yeah, no.”
“Seriously.” Jamal wrinkled his nose. “Cat ownership can get gross.”
I felt like I was the straight man dropped into the middle of a comedy routine. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?
Oblivious to my consternation, Jamison and Jamal continued their back-and-forth while they scooped leftovers and cat litter clumps into the trash bag.
The words didn’t really penetrate; I didn’t think it really mattered that they didn’t, judging by how the two of them kept the conversation going.
Eventually, I wandered back to the couch and sat down while they continued to move around me.
The cushion beside me sank down, startling me out of my thoughts. “You wanna tell me what’s going on now?” Jamal asked softly.
“No,” I said honestly. I really didn’t. Speaking it would make it more real, and fuck that.
He ignored that. “Because Jamison was scared shitless for you, and I know you wouldn’t do that even to someone you didn’t want to see anymore if you knew they were legit worried.”
I snorted. “I’d do it to Ramsey in a heartbeat.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, fuck Ramsey. He doesn’t count.”
Ah, shit, Ramsey. I still hadn’t called to alert him to my diagnosis. I knew I needed to, but goddamn that was going to be a bit much, you know? I sighed, and Jamal shot me the side-eye.
“Look,” he said, settling back into the couch and reaching up to pet Solo, who was laid out across the back near his shoulder, “let’s not get sidetracked.
You’ve been radio silent for, apparently, five days.
You look like you haven’t showered or cleaned in at least that long.
I know you well enough to know something is very wrong, ok?
You need to unload it on either me or your boyfriend - or maybe both - so why don’t you just do that and we’ll go forward from there. ”
I still didn’t want to say it out loud. I shook my head. “Jamison already knows.”
“He said you got bad news, but he wouldn’t tell me what that meant. I’m gonna need you to tell me, bro, because I’m officially worried as hell and not leaving until we get you doing at least somewhat better.”
I chewed my lip. He’d need to know sooner or later, if only for his own safety in case I ever, like, cut myself near him.
But I couldn’t get the words out. Once again, they just wouldn’t come.
I closed my eyes for a long second, then reached for my phone.
I navigated to my patient portal and pulled up the test results, then silently handed the phone to him.
“What’s -” he said, but accepted the phone automatically when I shoved it at him. His eyes dropped to the screen, reading, and there was a moment of silence before he sucked in a breath. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit.”
Yeah, that about summed it up. I took the phone back from him when he pushed it toward me, my eyes on the floor. I didn’t really want to see his expression, whether it was pain, fear, or judgment.
“How long have you known?” he asked quietly.
I shrugged. “Got the first result about two weeks ago. Verified it a few days ago.”
“Do you…feel ok? I mean, physically? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I said with a shake of my head. “Well, I mean, as fine as…you know.” Was he judging me? Was he afraid to be near me? Should I move away?
“Ok, good,” he breathed, sagging back into the couch. “Fuck.”
“You told him?” asked a voice over my shoulder. I jumped. I’d been so focused on Jamal’s reaction that I’d forgotten Jamison was still puttering around. Apparently he’d stopped puttering, and he was now leaning over the back of the couch to put his head between us.
“He showed me the results,” Jamal supplied when I didn't answer after a few seconds. “I guess this was the bad news?”
Bad news. Hah. That was such an understatement that I couldn’t hold back the snort. Both men looked at me. “What’s funny?” Jamal asked.
“Nothing. Everything.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you can still laugh. That’s something,” he said with patently false brightness.
I snorted again. I might be making laughing noises, but internally I was just…numb. Frozen. I’d stopped processing my emotions around the time I walked away from Jamison, and frankly I didn’t want to start again.
There was a long moment of silence. Jamal and Jamison looked at each other, and then at me, and then back to each other.
Finally, Jamal slapped his knees with both hands.
“Ok,” he announced heartily. “We’ve got most of the mess cleaned up.
Let’s get you cleaned up, and then you’re going to tell me what you know already and what you’re doing next. We’re going to make a plan.”
How the hell did you make ‘a plan’ for having AIDS? I barely managed to stifle the urge to roll my eyes, but a little huff still escaped me.
My companions exchanged another look. “We had started making plans for treatment and just general living with HIV,” Jamison supplied, apparently deciding leaving this conversation up to me was stupid, “but then he walked away and hid in his house for five days, so…”
“Mmm,” Jamal agreed thoughtfully. “Honestly, that’s on-brand.” He patted my shoulder. “You’re a lot of great things, my friend, but you also tend to pull into yourself when times are hard. And this strikes me as one of those times where that’s a bad idea.”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” I burst out, startling everyone. “I’ve got a deadly, infectious disease. My entire life is fucked now. Nobody’s going to want to take on those problems. You shouldn’t have to take on those problems.”
“Ok, that’s bullshit,” Jamison snapped back.
“You’ve got a chronic, treatable-if-not-curable, disease, and you’ve got two friends sitting here fucking begging to take on those problems to help you.
This idea that you’ve got to isolate yourself is a you thing, not a reality thing.
And I get it,” he added before I could reply, “you’re stressed the fuck out, and you’re scared, and maybe I was smothering you last week, and I’m sorry about that, but I just wanted… ” He sighed. “I want to help.”
“And don’t,” Jamal interjected, again before I could say anything, “say that you don’t need help. This isn’t about what you need.”
“It’s not?” I managed to get in before one of them could talk over me again.
He shook his head. “It’s about what we want to give. You’re my best friend, Hen. I want you happy and heal-” He winced. “As healthy as we can get you,” he corrected himself.
“I -”
“Go take a shower,” he went on, ignoring my attempt at a protest. “You stink. Jamison and I will finish cleaning up in here, and when you get out we’re going to seriously talk.”
Didn’t they get that I didn’t want to talk? Talking didn’t accomplish anything. But they were both glaring at me, and honestly, if I protested we’d just start going in circles. I surrendered. With a huff, I stood up off the couch. Fucking fine, I’d shower to make them happy.
***
I walked out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, clean, conditioned, and still slightly damp, to find Jamison and Jamal leaning together on the couch.
If I didn’t know them both as well as I did, I’d think it looked like they were about to kiss, but know them I did, so instead I strongly suspected they were somehow plotting against me.
“What’s going on?” I asked suspiciously.
They jumped apart and Jamison dropped his phone to his lap. “Hey, big guy. Feel better?”
“Mmm,” I grunted noncommittally. I did, actually, but I wasn’t going to admit that. Instead, I silently sat myself on the arm of the couch, alongside Jamison. He lifted his hand and rested it on my knee, rubbing in what I’m sure he hoped was a reassuring manner.
“So, we were talking -” he ventured after a few seconds of loaded silence.
Of course they had been. Nosy motherfuckers.
“- and we agree -”
Of course they did.
“- that you need more support - and more informed support - than we can give you at this point. I mean, we can research our asses off -”
“- and we will,” Jamal added.
“- and we will,” Jamison agreed dutifully. “But neither of us has lived the experience of being diagnosed with a life-changing illness, or has counseled someone through that, so we can only be so useful. You need peer support, and probably also professional support.”
Ugh, the therapist thing again. It wasn’t that I was against getting a therapist; I was just completely overwhelmed by the steps involved.
Also I wasn’t much enthused at the idea of needing to start from scratch with a new therapist, either, after the comfortable, established relationship I’d had with my last one. “Look, guys -”
Jamison’s hand came up and covered my mouth.
I was so surprised by the action that I allowed it.
“And we’re going to take as much of the burden that comes along with that as we can, because we care about you.
So if that means Jamal searches your insurance coverage and I make a bunch of phone calls, and your job is just to show up at the therapist’s office for the first appointment, that’s what we’re gonna do. ”
Oh. That actually sounded…a lot less overwhelming. Not easy, but less overwhelming. Still, I felt like I needed to protest. I pried his hand off my mouth. “You don’t need to -”
Jamison made a loud buzzer noise. “Ehhh. Nope. Like we already said, it’s not about what we need to do; it’s about what we want to give.”
“And honestly, bro,” Jamal added, “we’re going to tag-team the fuck out of you until we get what we want, so you might as well just give up. There’s two of us and only one of you. Give up and let us loooove you.” He made a heart with his hands and thumped it onto his chest and back out.
That was just comical enough to send a spurt of warmth to cut through the cold that felt like it had pervaded me since I got the first positive test result.
It appeared I was going to be taken care of, whether I liked it or not, because these dumb idiots cared about me in spite of, well, everything.
“Fuckers,” I muttered, but even I could hear that there was no heat in the word.
“I’ll take it.” Jamal slapped me on the back and looked back at Jamison. “Ok, so what’s the first step?”