"I know. That's why I am doing this. I thought I would go to school, find a real job and a better place to live, and when Angel gets out of rehab, he'll have somewhere to go if he wants it. I don't want to see him on the streets again, and if that means I have to support him for a while, then that's what I'm willing to do."
"That's good, Jon. That's really good. He'll need someone he trusts when he comes out of this. I know. I wish I'd had someone waiting for me when I got out, but I…"
Erik's words trailed off as he remembered taking that lonely walk down the hallway and out of the front doors of the rehab center he'd been in. Every step, he'd prayed Marshall would be there waiting with open arms, ready to take him back so they could have their dream life together, but Marshall hadn't been there. He hadn't been waiting to help Erik heal and move ahead. Erik had faced his own journey alone and wouldn't wish that on anyone. It was hard enough, but doing it alone was almost maddening, even with a sponsor on standby.
"Whatever you do," Erik looked Jon straight in the eyes. "If this is something you're serious about, you stick by him, no matter what. He'll have low days and high days. He'll be full of light and life one minute then completely down in the dumps the next. No matter what mood he's in, you have to be strong and stick by him. Understand?"
Jon nodded slowly, never tearing his eyes away.
"Good," Erik said with a smile. He patted Jon's clenched fist, took another sip of his coffee and reached for the paperwork again. "So this first form," he said as he slid the page across the table. "This is your financial aid form. You'll probably qualify. Do you want to fill it out?"
"Yes, please." Jon took the paper and grabbed one of Erik's pens. He looked down at the page, staring at the lines and words. Tears still clung to his lashes, threatening to slip down onto his cheeks. He looked back up at Erik and said a soft, "Thank you."
"Anytime, Jon. Anytime," Erik said with a reassuring nod.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It'd been two weeks and, as far as Erik could tell, Angel had been showing some promise. He still had really violent nightmares and he didn't trust anyone, but at least he actually wanted to talk now, though he still refused to talk to the group.
"Knock, knock," Erik said, lightly tapping his knuckle against Angel's door. He found the guy sitting on the bed with his legs gathered to his chest by arms coated with a thin film of sweat. It glistened in the soft light of the table lamp on the nightstand next to Angel's bed. "I brought something for you."
Angel barely lifted his head, mumbling some incoherent sound Erik couldn't understand. Erik stepped into the room and closed the door behind him before taking his normal seat next to Angel. He tossed a tablet and a small box of pencils onto the bed.
Angel looked down and arched his brow. "What's this?"
"Therapy. It's the best I have to offer right now. Write. Draw. Doodle. I don't care, but do something so you don't lose your mind."
"Too late," Angel muttered.
Erik huffed out a breath as he pulled the seat closer and whispered, "Bullshit." He sat back in the chair, crossed his legs ankle to knee and quietly watched for a moment, giving Angel a chance to talk before he opened his mouth. Of course, his steely patient with the raw, hardcore attitude of a common street punk didn't say a word.
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me," Erik said.
Nothing.
"I can stay here all night."
"Look," Angel said as he lifted himself from the mattress. He began pacing back and forth between the two beds, bare feet slapping at the linoleum. His fingers tugged at the bottom of his blue shirt. "I'm doing the best I fucking can. What more do you want from me?"
"I want you to open up to me. Talk to me like you appreciate my help."
Angel's body tensed, breath catching. His jaw clenched and his brow wrinkled. With his arms crossed over his chest, Angel glared at Erik. It was the sound of a sniffle that finally made Erik really look at him.
"C'mon, Angel, talk to me. You know you need to get this crap off your chest. I can see how bad it hurts. Letting go will help to ease your pain. Trust me. I've been there."
"Not like this."
"Angel, every story is different, but the results are always the same. You wanted to forget everything. You wanted control of your life and you didn't have it. I didn't have control over my life. I had a great life, but it wasn't mine and drinking let me control how I felt. I was afraid of losing everything, so I drank more. It was an endless cycle and it took really screwing up, losing everything I had, before I realized I had to stop."
With a deep breath, Angel sank down onto the floor with his back against the wall. "I'm not proud of anything I did. I hated the gross shit I put myself through just so I could get high," he finally said. "I hated leaving my mom and sister with my asshole father. I hated that I didn't have the strength to stand up to him for them. I miss them." He sighed. "But I had to get away from him. I had to leave that house before I hurt him. I mean, I wanted to beat the shit out of the guy."
Erik turned in the chair, steepled his arms against his knees, and locked his fists under his chin. "What happened when you left home? You said you sold your body, right?"
Angel refused to look up and his voice wavered as he continued. "Yeah, I had about two hundred dollars to my name. I didn't get far on that. I think I was somewhere around Michigan when I ran out of money. A guy propositioned me and I told him I would fuck him for five-hundred dollars. He paid me three. I realized I could get to Los Angeles if I kept doing that." Angel shrugged. "It was okay the first few times."
"What changed?"
"There was a guy who was rough. After he was done with me, I couldn't walk right for a few days. A person I'd met along the way suggested getting high, said it would take the pain away. That was the first time I snorted heroin. It worked. I didn't feel the fucking pain anymore and that was the first time since I'd left home that I actually slept through the night without feeling some random dude's nasty fucking hands crawling all over me."
"So you kept screwing your way west, getting high along the way?"
Angel's head shot up and his eyes locked on Erik. He saw the shimmer of tears clinging to Angel's lashes, saw the swollen, red rims. He climbed down onto the floor to sit beside Angel and offered the kid his hand.
At first, Angel only stared at him with wide eyes, like Erik had lost his mind or something. His silent refusal prompted Erik to open his hand a little wider and move it a closer. Angel looked down at his splayed fingers then back up at his face. It seemed like many minutes passed before Angel finally took his hand.
"Snorting the shit stopped working," Angel said. "It wasn't making me forget anymore. So I started shooting up, between my toes at first. I got to where I could barely walk. My feet would sweat and the wounds would burn. They started getting infected, so I moved to my arms. The more I'd fuck, the more I'd have to get high. The more I got high, the more I had to fuck to make the money for it."
"A vicious cycle, huh?"
"Yeah. No kidding."
Erik's hand tightened around Angel's fingers. "And Jon found you at your lowest?"
"I guess so." Angel looked up at him, chewing the edge of his lip like he didn't want to talk about any of it anymore. Erik gave him a soft, reassuring smile, hoping if he looked more like a friend and less like a doctor, the kid would keep going. Finally, Angel licked his lips and said, "Honestly, I don't know why Jon even kept coming around. Wait, yes, I do. He liked the sex." Angel laughed and Erik followed with a short chuckle of his own. "Jon said sex with me was great, said I gave him the right amount of rough stuff without scaring the hell out of him."
Angel gave Erik a wink and, in that moment, the dynamic between them changed. Erik stopped seeing a helpless, fucked-up kid. He saw an incredibly sexual man who just happened to be pretty damn attractive, someone he could see in his bed and under his body.
Erik's stomach knotted. A serious sense of dread washed over him and he was pretty sure his
whole body had paled though Angel didn't seem to notice. Shit! Shit! Shit! The ethical wall he'd been teetering on just crumbled down to dust and left him lying on his ass staring up at his career drifting away from his desperate grip. He cleared his throat.
"Okay," he said hoarsely as he released Angel's hand, "besides the sex, what made him stay?"
"I don't know. I mean, we had fun together. I've never laughed so hard in my life. We just liked hanging out. Then one night he walked in on me shooting up. He didn't act like he gave a shit. After I got high, we fucked, showered, and slept in each other's arms. We did that all the time. I knew Jon would eventually fall in love with me. He had that romantic dream about life, but I kept telling him I didn't do love. He just never listened." Angel let out a hard sigh and his gaze quickly darted away. Erik gave his leg a little nudge to keep him talking. Angel finally mumbled, "I didn't mean for him to find me like that."
"I know you didn't."
"I do care about him."
"I know you do."
"I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for yelling at him like I did."
"Angel, let's focus on getting you well. Forgiveness comes later. You'll have a chance to talk to the people you've hurt and you'll have a chance to make amends with them. Right now, I just want to fix you, okay?"
Angel nodded. He hefted himself up from the floor and started to pace the room again. Erik watched his every step.
"Dr D, I really… really want to get high right now. I know if I did, I wouldn't have to think about any of this shit."
"Here," Erik grabbed the pad and pencils then handed them to Angel. "We'll go out to the courtyard, get some fresh air. You can write or draw or talk. Whatever you want to do, your call, and I'll keep you company, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
Holding the door, Erik waited for Angel to step through first. He followed close behind the kid, watching his mannerisms, trying to judge if he still suffered from withdrawals without having to broach the subject. It just seemed easier that way. Part of Erik's job was determining how much they needed to scale back on the meds while keeping his patient on an even keel.
Angel still had the cold sweats and the night terrors. He ate better, but sometimes holding down food was a problem. The kid's hands still trembled, but not always. Erik made a little note in Angel's file to scale back the methadone. The time had come and, most likely, Angel wouldn't even notice the difference.
They reached the plexiglass-paned doors that led out to the courtyard. The setting sun had left a pink hue in the sky and the automatic lamps had yet to turn on. Erik held the door as Angel passed through, then followed him out to one of the benches. Luckily, all the patients had gone inside for the day and none of the other doctors were hanging around. Private, just the way Erik preferred it. He took a seat.
Angel sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk in front of the bench and flipped open the tablet. He held the notepad in the crook of his arm with his back bowed and he lowered his head as the pencil scratched against the plain, white page. His hand moved with purpose, drawing lines here and there. Occasionally, he would look up, but Erik didn't have the first clue what he was looking at.
The minutes marched by one by one. Erik jotted notes in Angel's file. Angel scribbled in the tablet. They were both consumed by what they were doing and it seemed to work for each of them. Erik didn't think about Jon's surprise visit, didn't think of Marshall's un-kept promises of regular phone calls, and damn sure tried not to think about what sex with Angel might've been like. Angel didn't seem to be worried about getting high. It definitely worked for both of them—that quiet, mutual existence.
After a long while, Erik finally broke the silence. "If Jon wanted to visit in a few weeks, would you let him?"
"Why?" Angel said without raising his head. "Has he been bothering you about me?"
"A little." Erik laughed. "He's curious. Wants to know how you're doing."
"I told him not to worry. I told him to move on with his life."
"Oh, he is. He's doing really well, actually."
At that, Angel raised his head and frowned. "That's good, I guess," he mumbled before going back to his scribbling. "He needed to do something with himself."
"He is doing something with himself, but I think he'd rather be the one to tell you about it."
Angel nodded. "Good. Glad he's moving on."
"So will you let him come see you? He really misses you."
"I thought we were supposed to work on making amends later, Doc."
Erik closed the file and laid it on the bench beside him. He sat back and crossed his legs, staring down at Angel and whatever the hell the kid was working on so intently.
Shaking his head, Erik said, "You don't have to make amends with him, Angel. But I would like to see you take some responsibility for him. He cares about you. Something about you has touched him and he's genuinely concerned. The least you can do is let him know you're okay. You could let him visit so he can stop worrying about you and focus on himself."
"Fine. Whatever." Angel licked his lips, then turned the pad and scribbled a little faster. "I guess he can come on my first visitor's day… I guess I probably owe him that much."
"I think you do."
"You going to be there?"
Honestly, Erik didn't want to be around for that reunion, but it wasn't like he could leave them alone together. After all, the clinic still had rules—despite Erik's unrelenting urges to break them.
"I can be. Or Roni can supervise."
"I want you to be there."
Great. Just what Erik wanted—babysitter to his newest stalker and inadvertent headache. He lifted his glasses, rubbing his forefinger and thumb hard against his eyelids. Speaking of headaches…
"I'll call him and let him know when the next family day is."
"Thanks," Angel mumbled. He held up the tablet, eyed the thick, black lines he'd scribbled against the white page, and grinned. This was the first time Erik had seen Angel genuinely smile since he'd been at West Clinic. The kid ripped the page from the notebook and handed it over to him. "Looks like I still got it."
Erik looked down at the paper and gasped. In those thirty or so minutes they'd spent together, Angel had sketched an almost perfect likeness of the doctor sitting on the bench, making notes in Angel's file. It was amazing, almost perfectly detailed, all the way down to the laces on Erik's brown dress shoes.
"Damn, Angel. Where have you been hiding this talent?"
"I was getting high," Angel said with a shrug.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After one last "Good night", Erik closed the door to Angel's bedroom. He left him lying there alone in the dark, probably scared and definitely suffering. He hated that no one could stay and hold Angel's hand through the rough stuff. He hated he couldn't hold Angel in his arms just so the kid wouldn't have to sleep alone.
God, he couldn't believe the hours he'd spent with Angel, the new discoveries he'd made. Angel seemed to be so full of surprises. The sketch really impressed the hell out of Erik. He knew Angel was smart, but that talented? He had no freaking clue. He really hated that someone so amazing wasted himself on drugs. How could Angel's father not appreciate Angel for the miracle he was? How could anyone not? For a moment, Erik wished he could pick up the phone and give that man a piece of his mind, but he'd crossed enough lines already. He sure as hell didn't need to cross any more.
"Roni," Erik called out as he noticed the nurse making her way down the hall. Her head popped up and she gave him that same old excited grin she always did. Erik tucked the sketch safely away in Angel's file.
Roni bounced toward him. "What's up, Dr D?" she asked in her usual light, airy voice.
"Can you do me a favor and check in on him through the night? More often than normal, if you get a chance."
"Sure." She frowned. "Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I just don't like the idea of him being alone in that room. He really needs a roommate."
<
br /> "Well, what about Chris, the thirteen-year-old? Shouldn't he be coming back soon?"
"Um," Erik tilted his head, fingers scratching at his furrowed brow. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to tell Roni about the kid. With things being so crazy at the clinic, it seemed as though he had fallen through the cracks. "No, he's not coming back. After the suicide incident, they wanted to put him in an institution. I tried to fight them on it, but the state stepped in and made the call. It's out of my hands."
"That's horrible." Roni reached out and touched his forearm. It was a light, caring, concerned, and friendly touch, nothing more. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine. You know me. I'm a survivor." Erik glanced over his shoulder, back to Angel's door. "He's the one I'm worried about right now. Just keep an eye on him, okay?"
"Sure thing, Dr Daniels."
"Thanks, Roni."
He gave her a half-attempt at an almost genuine smile before walking away. He had absolute faith in Roni. She always cared and always took time with the patients. She always did her best, and right now, Erik wanted nothing but the best for Angel.
Ducking into the doctor's lounge, Erik closed and locked the door behind him. He spread Angel's file open on the table as he slipped down into one of the hard plastic chairs. He scribbled notes like a madman, recounting their conversation—the despondence, the rage, the sadness.
Erik's hand moved back and forth across the page as he wrote word after word on the state of Angel's well-being. The edge of another piece of paper slipped out and when he looked down, he saw the hard, black lines of Angel's sketch staring back at him.
With a deep-set frown and an exaggerated sigh, he pulled the drawing out of the folder and stared down at it. His eyes traced all the miniscule details Angel had somehow managed to capture with the use of shading and just the right thickness of lines. He'd shaded in the slight wrinkle of his shirt and the crease in the folder's spine. The kid had even drawn in the dimple at the edge of Erik's half-curled lips and the frown line between his brows.
Patient Privilege Page 11
