The invisible bindings around me are gone, and I run to the edge, look over. “No!” I shout into the empty sky, Gabe and my mom bleeding on the concrete below.
My eyes rip open, my breathing heavy. My heart slams against my chest, and I wonder if Gabriel can feel it against his. The dream circles around my brain, playing over and over and over. They were both dead. I couldn’t save them.
“You were making noises in your sleep. You okay?” he asks without looking at me. We fell asleep with the lights on. His cheek rests against my chest, his body between my legs.
“Yeah, I’m good.” It’s a fucking lie. I’m not okay…and maybe he isn’t either. “You need to go back to the doctor. Check yourself in. Whatever you have to do to get back on your meds.” Gabe’s whole body burns, goes taut against me. I didn’t mean for the words to come out the way they did, but I won’t take them back. They’re true.
“I need to?” He pulls away and I let him. He sits up, a wall between us, as he looks the other way. “Need to go medicate myself so it can fix me, huh? Fix that broken piece in my brain.”
“Yes.” I have to shake my head to try to get the dream out of it. Seeing Gabriel and Mom bleeding on the concrete. “You hung off a fucking roof, Gabe!”
He whips his head in my direction, blue fire in his eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do! My parents did that! They tried to run my life. I don’t need that from you.”
My voice is softer, when I say, “Maybe they were right.” It feels like a betrayal to utter those words, but I don’t know what else to say.
Gabe gasps like I punched him. Maybe in some ways I did. Because his parents weren’t totally right. His dad abused him, was distant, and his mom had her problems too. “Shit.” I run a hand through my hair and crawl in front of him. Hooking my finger under his chin, I raise it so he looks at me. “I didn’t mean that. Not that way.” I’m scared out of my fucking mind. I don’t want to let you down.
He jerks his head away, and my hand drops. “For your information, I already called. I made an appointment, but there’s always a long wait for psych. I have something set up in six weeks. I’m not stupid. I know how to take care of myself. It’s not your job to take care of me.”
The hurt in his voice makes my chest ache. “I know.” And he’s right. What the fuck can I do for him? I don’t even take care of my own shit. “I’m sorry. You really have an appointment?” I ask him, and Gabe nods.
He’s stiff, though, still distant, but then I feel him begin to soften around the edges. He leans forward, lies on his side, with his head in my lap. He nuzzles his face into my crotch, my flaccid cock just an inch away from his mouth. “Six weeks,” he says softly.
I run my hand through his hair. Six weeks. Everything will be okay in six weeks.
29
Gabriel
I showed up at Pete’s a couple of nights ago after work. It was Thursday evening, and Lou practically twisted my arm telling me it would do me good to hang out with the guys.
I think he could tell that something was off about me the past few days. I’ve been quieter and certainly not as social with the crew. The familiar feeling of hopelessness is descending upon me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s like slogging my way through a dark tunnel, with only a pinprick of light at the other end.
I gave Lucas the heads-up before I rode up to his bar and it was definitely nice to see him. The last time had been three days before when I fucked him again and damn, that was intense. When I was balls deep, moving inside his body, and he was looking at me like that, I felt such a profound connection, that I thought I might break down in tears.
The argument the next morning seemed to come out of the blue. One minute we were wrapped in each other’s arms and the next, he was telling me to get my ass to the doctor. After I told him I had already made an appointment, he acted like everything was okay.
But nothing is okay. I felt his eyes on me all night at the bar like he needed to make sure I wasn’t going to lose my shit or something. The pressure of that was too much, so I bowed out early. Before saying goodbye, Lucas introduced me to his friend, Conner, who seemed nice. And then I walked around WeHo the rest of the night. Trying to outrun the freight train that I knew was about to hit me. But it was no use.
Now the sun is up, creating long shadows that stretch across the corners of the room, but I can’t move. I can’t fucking get out of this bed. It’s like my body is fighting me, like my limbs are made of cement, my brain made of sludge. All I want to do is sleep for days. Doze until this bleakness carries me away on the wind.
I no longer feel like I can grab hold of the sky. Instead, my fingers are turning over dirt as I dig my own grave. I want to burrow deep so nobody can see me like this, nobody can find me. I want to be left alone in my own despair, in my own nothingness.
I haven’t responded to any texts from Lucas. Fuck Lucas for telling me what to do. Fuck him for coming back into my life and showing me that he cares. I’ve wanted to mean something to somebody my entire life. To be something more than an afterthought.
So fuck me with a giant dildo for letting Lucas down.
For letting everybody down. I can’t be a good enough son. I can’t be a stable apprentice for Lou. I can’t be a good enough boyfriend for Lucas.
And that pounding outside my door is driving me mad. I can’t even be a decent roommate for Ezra.
“Gabriel, I know you can hear me,” Ezra says in a muffled voice, and I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to make me talk like I’m actually human or something. But I’m not. I’m just an unrecognizable blob of nothing. Everyone would be better off without me.
Still, that tiny voice in the back of my head is trying to break through the fortress of my brain. It’s reminding me that I’ve been through this before. That I’ll get through this again. But the truth is, I don’t have what it takes to make that happen. It requires a certain kind of energy I just can’t muster. Once I’m back on my meds, I’ll finally be stable. Even.
Dull. Boring. A tireless construction worker who can’t fly. A nameless hook-up who can’t keep a dude’s interest. A worthless son who can’t earn his parent’s approval.
More pounding on my door. “If you answer me, I’ll leave you alone. Just need to know you’re alive, man.”
The anguish in his voice gets to me, makes me feel like shit. I am shit. Useless crap because my brain is defective.
“If you don’t respond, I’ll have to knock down your door and you’re going to be pissed,” Ezra says in an exasperated tone.
I clear my throat. It feels like I haven’t used it in days, weeks, months. “I’m here, okay? I answered you. Now leave me the hell alone.”
I hear him expel a harsh breath through the door. Relief. Maybe he does care whether I live or die. Lou probably does too. But I’ve caused them too much worry. And Lucas…
A sob tears from my throat.
I’m such a lousy fucking human being.
“I placed some takeout by the door,” Ezra says in a soothing tone. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just let me help you. I talked to my sister and she said if you just check yourself into—”
“Don’t you fucking say it,” I shout through a strained voice. I think of that sterile smell, the scratchy socks, the muffled sobs in the middle of the night. I felt even more alone than I did living with my parents.
I mash my head beneath my pillow. I can’t handle that pity. Can’t fucking take the shame. I just want to jump into the endless void. White out my brain.
Silence. Finally. I’m not worthy of his help anyway.
So tired, so goddamn tired.
I fall into an endless sleep.
When I wake up hours later, my feet are tangled in the sheets, and I’m sweating like crazy. The room is dark, which means it’s the middle of the night and Ezra is in bed. Nobody will bother me now.
I just need more sleep. Sleep will help everything.
Lucas,
I’m pretty sure something major is wrong with me. My thoughts and emotions are all over the map and I can’t seem to shake it. Sometimes I’ve even imagined what it would be like if I were dead. If I just took a bunch of pills or drove off a cliff.
Yeah, my brain feels pretty fucked up.
I tried talking to my mom about it the other day. I figured if I could share this with her, then it would be okay to tell her other important things. Like the fact that I’m gay—the way we’ve planned it.
Her reaction was sort of odd. Like she was overwhelmed and didn’t exactly know what to say or do. She’s always had trouble expressing her emotions toward me, she always been kind of… I don’t know, flat. Like a robot, going through the motions. If that makes any sense.
Even though I know she has tons of feelings. She cries all the fucking time, mostly about not being able to have any more babies. Strange I know, because she can’t even handle me.
Why can’t she just throw her arms around me and give me a fucking hug? Doesn’t she know how much I crave her attention? Her affection? Her love? Well shit, now I just sound like a fucking baby.
But then yesterday I found out that she told my dad, and he went ape shit crazy. Telling me that I’m being a goddamn wuss and I need to pull it together. Telling my mom that she’s going too soft on me and that he needs to toughen me up.
Well FUCK.
…
This email is going in the draft archives. Not sure I can send this to you, Lucas. I’m afraid what your reaction will be. Maybe you won’t want to talk to me anymore. Or want to meet me in West Hollywood after all. I’m afraid, so fucking afraid, of losing you as a friend.
I’m not sure I got this, bro. Like, at all.
Gabriel
30
Lucas
My leg won’t stop bouncing up and down. It seems like whatever I do, it just can’t quit moving.
I haven’t heard from Gabe in a couple of days. At first I was pissed. He acted strange, almost distant at the bar the other night. Then, I felt guilty because he was probably pissed at me for bringing up the doctors the other day.
Now? Now I’m fucking worried. He’s still not returning my texts. I can’t even call Ezra to check on him because I don’t know his phone number.
No matter what I do, I can’t calm down because I know something’s wrong. The instinct is there, the need in me to rush to his place and make sure he’s okay. To find a way to help him. To try to make him feel better and to take care of him the way I took care of and sobered up my mom.
But I’m tired too. So fucking exhausted. Why does shit have to be so goddamned hard? Why can’t anything be easy? Those are asshole thoughts, though. The need in me to do whatever I can do to fix it is stronger than my exhaustion. I couldn’t help Mom. Hell, I can’t even fucking do right by her when she’s dead. I’m not doing the only things she ever wanted for me. I at least have to try and do right by Gabe. That’s more important than anything.
Not knowing what else to do, I shove the sketchbook that I’ve been too shaky to draw in off my lap and make my way for the door.
Traffic is shitty like it always is in LA, but there’s no way I can be around other people right now by getting a car or taking the bus.
Time drags as I make the short drive to Gabe’s that takes longer than it should. I almost turn around a hundred times, but I force myself to keep going.
I swear it almost feels like it’s less than five seconds after I knock that Ezra rips the door open. “Thank God.” He runs a hand through his dark hair. “I was about to call 911 because I don’t know what the fuck else to do. I can’t get him out of his room, man. He answers me every once in a while, but other than that, he’s been locked in there. As far as I know, he hasn’t even fucking eaten anything.”
Heart in my throat, I push past Ezra. It feels like there’s a car on my chest. Like I can’t fucking breathe. I keep seeing Gabe and Mom bleeding on the concrete, wondering if she knew she was dying when she passed. If she woke up in the end, knew she couldn’t fucking breathe and was scared because I didn’t save her.
My hand is numb as I reach out and grab the doorknob to Gabe’s room, try to twist it even though I know it’s locked. When it doesn’t budge, I lean my forehead against the wood. “Gabe. It’s me. Open the door, baby. I need you to open the door.”
Why the fuck didn’t I come sooner? Why the hell did I leave? It’s so fucking hard, dealing with this and not knowing what to do, that I stalled and now I’ve taken too long.
“Go away.” His voice is rough like sandpaper. It scratches a layer of my strength away.
“I can’t. It’s me, Lucas,” I say like a fucking idiot. Like he doesn’t know it’s me…but I don’t want to believe that he would tell me to leave. “Please open the door. I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna get you some help.”
“Go away!” he yells it this time, his voice so fucking lost and painful. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself…just need to sleep…if I sleep, everything will be okay.”
Each of his words are torture, knives stabbing over and over into my body, places that won’t kill me, just make me hurt.
Looking back, I glance at Ezra. He’s pacing, looking as lost as I am.
“We’re gonna have to call someone, man. If we can’t get him out. We’re gonna have to call,” he says softly, and I nod because I know he’s right. I’ll have to turn him in. Maybe get him institutionalized again…and he might hate me for it.
“Give me an hour. Just…give me an hour, okay? Can you give us some privacy for an hour?”
Looking unsure, he nods slowly.
The second Ezra leaves, I get to work on the lock. It doesn’t take me any time at all to slide my debit card between the door and jamb. I wiggle it, push it beneath the mechanism that locks it and push. I was good at this as a kid. Haven’t done it in fucking years, but shit like this, you don’t forget. It’s only a few minutes after Ezra leaves that the door is open.
Gabe’s lying in the middle of his bed, with his back to me, and blankets up to his chin. It’s dark. There’s something over the window, another blanket or something, keeping the light out.
“Gabe?” My voice cracks on his name. When nothing but silence reaches me, my heart breaks. Shatters into a million fucking pieces. All of my insides do. They’re grinded up, turned to dust, and then blown away. “I picked your lock. Haven’t done that shit in years. I used to pick a whole hell of a lot of locks when I was a teenager. Did I used to tell you about all that? When this kid and I would break into shit?”
I step closer and closer, hoping each second that he’ll respond but he doesn’t. When I reach his bed, I turn around, go down on the floor and lean up against it. My hands won’t quit moving. I wring them together as I try to find my words. “I’m scared,” I finally say.
Nothing.
I wonder where he’s at. He’s not in this room with me. Maybe he’s lost in his head. I don’t know if that’s what it’s like for him, but it feels like it. “I don’t know how to reach you. Don’t know why I thought I’d know…”
There’s a sharp intake of breath…quiet…and then… “Broken,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Brain’s broken.”
His reply is a barrage of fists slamming into me. My heart getting formed again only to be grinded back into dust, finer this time. “Your brain’s not broken,” I tell him. Everything inside me wants me to climb into bed with him right now. Wants me to hold him. To tell him it will be okay. But will it? Will it really be okay? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m not strong enough or smart enough to fix this. There isn’t a chance I won’t let him down. There isn’t a chance that climbing into bed and holding him will change anything. It will probably make it worse.
He doesn’t respond, and somehow I know he won’t. No, I know he can’t. None of this is his choice. He doesn’t want any of it, but it’s what we have. No matter what, it will never go away.
“I wanted to c
ome and find you. After I beat up that kid, and I realized what I’d done. When I was behind the wheel of that car, I thought about going to find you. Mom was drinking and you were gone.” It takes me a minute to realize that I’m rocking back and forth. My arms wrapped around my knees. Maybe it’s my brain that’s broken. I don’t have a medical excuse for my behavior like he does.
“It was stupid. I couldn’t have found you, but I wanted to. I was young and dumb. Even though you hadn’t talked to me, I thought maybe I could come get you. We’d run away together and everything would be okay. It’s never that easy, though, is it?”
Because even now, things aren’t okay. Nothing is.
Then, I can’t help myself. I push to my feet. Climb into his bed. Wrap an arm around him. Try to climb inside of his skin. “I can’t lose you like I lost her, Gabe. I let her down, and I’m so fucking afraid of letting you down too.”
He shakes, breathes heavily, but still doesn’t move. He’s crying silently, though. I feel it in vibration.
“Don’t do it for me. I don’t fucking matter. Do it for you. Do it because you wanna fucking fly some day and this is the only way. You will fly, Gabe. I know it. Did you ever notice that in all of the buildings I draw, there’s always a plane flying over the skyscraper? Even when I was a kid, there was always a fucking plane, because I knew it even then. You’re gonna touch the sky. I can’t wait to see it.”
A cry breaks free from his throat. His shoulders start to shake, then mine do too and my face is wet. My tears are dripping onto his cheek, into his hair as we lie together and cry.
“I don’t want to be locked up.” His voice is drenched in so much pain, so much loneliness, it’s almost unrecognizable.
“I won’t let them lock you up.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“I won’t leave you. Not for a fucking second.” I won’t leave him behind the way I left Mom.
“I don’t want to feel lost like this anymore. I’m tired, though…so fucking tired, Lucas. Don’t know if I have the strength to move.”
Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) Page 15
