Haunted

LaVieEnRose

Brian was already awake when I got up, which is less uncommon than it used to be but still always throws off my Saturday routine. I kicked the covers off and wandered out of bed, stretching my arms across my body. Evan was in front of the TV, bunched up with his sling, and he barely acknowledged me when I passed by him. Kind of par for the course for him the past couple of days, but I still didn't love it. I trailed my hand over his leg on my way to the kitchen, and he caught my fingers in his for a second.

Brian was at the counter, dressed in his blue suit with a cup of coffee and the paper. He glanced up at me when I came up. Morning.

“Hi.”

Feeling okay?

“Yeah.”

You were breathing really loud last night. I almost got you up.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged.

“Are you going into the office?”

Yeah, once I have you two fed and watered. He went to the cabinet and took out my pills. You want a Benadryl? You're still really wheezing.

“Okay.” I glanced back at Evan and sat down on one of the bar stools. “I think he's depressed.”

I've been telling you that for months.

“You think all sick people are depressed.”

I know all of two sick people. They both just happen to be depressed.

“This is new. He barely leaves the house since he got hurt,” I say. “He just sits and watches TV. He doesn't want to talk.”

It's hard for him to sign one-handed.

“Oh, so he's talking to you?” I said, and I could tell by Brian's face that he wasn't. “He doesn't want to have sex, he never has anyone over.”

He doesn't want to have sex?

“I knew that would get your attention.”

He shattered his tibia, Brian said. He's in pain. I don't think he's going through some new mental health crisis.

“Okay, well, I think he is. He's not acting like himself. He's just...blank.”

Brian poured me a cup of coffee. So what's your big plan?

“I don't even know what helps me when I'm depressed.”

Baths and expensive gifts.

“Neither of which he likes,” I said, knowing full well Brian was going to buy us both some shit anyway, because his two strategies for any problem are throw money at it and spoil Justin. Not that I'm complaining on either front. Being sick got me two houses!

Brian handed me my meds. Did you see that bill? he said, pointing to the counter.

I picked it up. “The fuck is this?”

Insurance company's denying your last hospital stay. You gotta call them. Brian's useless when it comes to arguing this shit. He just starts screaming obscenity-filled versions of the Americans with Disabilities Act.

“Why don't they just give me money without questioning me at this point?”

Who could say. God knows that's what I do.

I scanned the bill while Brian did the combination lock—Michael's birthday, a number we knew and Evan didn't—for the cabinet where we'd been keeping Evan's Percocet. Brian handled most of the dosing, both because my short-term memory sucks and I'm hideously allergic to it. “Which one was the last one?” I said, turning the bill over.

No idea. Check the date.

“Uh...November 20th?”

Brian thought for a minute, crossing to the living room to give Evan his meds. You had the flu, right? That really high fever.

“Was that seriously the last time I was hospitalized?”

Look at you.

“Yeah, I'm on a roll.” I put the bill down for later. “They're trying to argue an immunocompromised asthmatic can't go to the hospital for the flu? Yeah, good luck with that.”

Brian watched Evan take his meds and asked him, What are your plans today? in his forced-casual way.

Evan swallowed the pills. Nothing.

Once I get this pitch firmed up, work should be pretty quiet next week, Brian said. I was thinking we could head to the beach house, maybe on Wednesday, stay through the weekend.

That sounds good, I said, watching Evan. He loves the beach house.

But he just shrugged his good shoulder. That's fine.

Brian paused, maybe waiting for more, but eventually he said, I have to go in and work on the Myers campaign. He ran his hand absently down Evan's arm and said Stop coughing, to me.

I would love to.

Call me if he isn't breathing, he said to Evan.

Does he sound bad?

Yeah, he's working hard. Keep the sling on, all right? I shouldn't be gone too long.

Okay, Evan said, and he moved his legs off the couch and said, Come sit with me, to me as Brian left.

I sat down on his good side and burrowed into him, and he put an arm around me and worked the sore muscles in-between my ribs. It was nice, and I felt close to him for the first time in a while, maybe since he'd gotten hurt. He'd just been different, quiet, standoffish, and it didn't feel right. It felt like back before he was here.

He still didn't talk to me much, but I guess it was hard for him with one arm in a sling and the other one wrapped around me. He shrugged when I asked questions and eventually I just gave up and watched his show with him. It was one of those baking competition shows he loves, even though he can't bake worth shit. After an episode and a half I realized he was asleep, and I stayed still as long as I could but my body doesn't really let me stay in one position for too long before it starts to ache, so I squirmed out carefully and covered him with a blanket, then slowly took his hearing aids out and set them on the table next to him. I did a load of laundry and got on the phone with the insurance company and got that sorted out, and I thought about cleaning the kitchen but my back was really bothering me and I felt like my chest wouldn't open all the way, probably because, you know, it doesn't, so I lay down on the floor and did some stretches for a little while.

Brian called around noon, looking kind of agitated. There's more work here than I thought, he said. I might not be home until kind of late.

It was kind of weird for him to call just to tell me that. I'm used to him just showing up when he shows up. So I just said, Okay.

Why are you on the floor?

PT.

By yourself? He usually helps stretch me.

I was sore. It's not like Evan can do much.

Where is he?

I held up the phone so he could see him sleeping on the couch.

Okay, Brian said. He looked kind of nervous.

What? I said.

Nothing. Just I don't know how long I'm going to be here.

I can take care of him.

Yeah, Brian said. Yeah. Okay. Take something, you look like shit.

Anything in particular, or...?

Gabapentin. Albuterol. Penicillin. I don't care. Dealer's choice. I've got to go.

So I took some crap but it didn't really help, because nothing really does, and then I felt myself getting kind of down about that like I do sometimes so I shot an email to my therapist and got started on making me and Evan something for lunch. I was just about to get him up when he came into the kitchen, looking a little sick and sweaty.

You okay? I said.

Fine. He scratched his chest, looking around. Where's Brian?

Still at the office. I made you lunch.

Do you know when he'll be back?

He said not until late. Why?

Evan didn't say anything.

I can call him... I said.

He shook his head. No. It's fine. He gave me a hug with his good arm. Thanks for lunch.

Yeah, anytime.

I sat with him and let him bully me into eating, but for the most part he was quiet, and he didn't eat much either. He kept looking at the clock, and it was obvious he was worried about something. I figured it had to be a work thing; Brian staying late unexpectedly, especially on a weekend, usually means someone screwed up, and Evan is completely terrified of screwing up at work, which is ridiculous since he probably has more job security than anyone on the planet, but that's Evan. Look at him funny and he'll be convinced we're about to ask him to move out.

I'm sure everything's fine, I said, but I thought about how anxious Brian seemed on the phone and it honestly made me kind of worried that Evan had messed something up, and that Brian was struggling to cover for him. Great. Exactly what we needed right now.

I texted Brian subtly to try to get some intel, but he didn't answer me. I knew he was working on something for some clients in India, so maybe he was in a meeting with them. What time was it in India?

Evan got up without eating much, helped me clean up, then sat in front of the TV shaking his knee while I sat down and started sketching him. That usually calms him down when he's anxious. Works on Brian too. But this time, every time I looked up from my paper I could see Evan getting more and more wound up, and eventually he stood up and said, Brian should be back by now, right?

I think it's still going to be a while, I said gently.

Evan ran his hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in his curls.

Is there anything I can do? I said.

He watched me. I'm okay.

You're obviously not okay. What's going on?

He bit his lip and then said, in a rush, Can I have a pill?

You mean Percocet?

He nodded, and I checked my watch.

Not for another three hours. You're hurting?

Yeah.

I'm sorry. I'll get you some ice, okay? Maybe some aspirin to take the edge off?

He bit his thumbnail, like Brian does. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.

And I still didn't put together what was going on. I went to the freezer and got one of the ice packs Brian uses for his shoulder after he works out and I use for my migraines or when I hurt myself after seizures. I helped him wrap it around his arm, and I noticed how cold his skin was, and how much he was shaking, and when the ice didn't help at all, and when he looked at the clock again and asked me again when Brian would be home...

Well. That's when it started to click.

I told Evan I was going to get him some aspirin and I went into the kitchen, and once I was sure he wasn't watching me I unlocked the cabinet with his medication.

There were a few pills left in the bottle. Maybe fewer than there should have been, but I wasn't sure. Evan broke his arm two weeks ago, but he'd had surgery, so maybe they'd given him pills for longer than usual. After I'd burned myself I was on narcotics for a month.

Except then I noticed the date on the bottle. The prescription was filled four days ago. For thirty pills.

And there were four left.

And the name of the doctor wasn't the doctor we'd seen in the ER.

I put the pills away, locked the safe and looked at my boyfriend shivering on the couch, and I was so mad it was like something was alive inside of me.

I marched to the living room and took him by his good wrist. Come on, I said.

What? Where are we going?

Brian.

**

The thing about Evan is that he's glowing and soft-skinned and big eyed like he's never been touched by the world. He's amazed by waterfalls, redwood trees, volcanoes. He lights up at floral flavors and French food and has never met a baby or an animal that he doesn't want to be friends with. He's scared of the mildest horror movies and spiders and doesn't like when he can hear a loud noise. He donates to youth shelters and food banks and groups for prison reform. He gets food on himself when he eats. He laughs at any joke. He is pure, and easy, and good. And he is a heroin addict.

**

Evan didn't say anything the whole subway ride. He played with the strap of his sling and jiggled his legs and sweated and shook.

He could tell from my face that I knew.

I'm sorry, he said when we were on the platform transferring to the N/Q that would take us to Kinnetik.

Why didn't you tell me? I said. People were staring at us, because we were signing. People thought we looked cool and had no fucking idea that my household was falling apart.

I didn't want you to stop me.

It didn't make sense. If one of me or Brian was going to cave and give it to someone, you'd think it would be me, right? I'm softer, I'm more sensitive, I'm a hell of a lot more naive.

How did you get him to do it? I said.

Evan pulled his lip into his mouth and looked at me like he didn't want to tell me, and what more could there possibly be to this that would make it worse? What could he possibly say that would hurt more than I was already hurting?

It wasn't very hard, he said, and yeah, there it was.

I kept my hand on Evan on our way to Kinnetik from the subway stop, but once we got there I didn’t have much of a plan. Evan gets really freaked out when Brian and I fight, and, well, this was going to be a big one. But I wasn’t about to leave him by himself. I don’t know the first thing about getting any drug harder than E, but Evan does, and with all of this obviously crashing around him I didn’t trust him not to run off somewhere. Because apparently I couldn’t trust him at all.

But he wasn’t the one I was mad at.

You have to understand that. Evan was hurting and vulnerable and he was trusting us to keep him safe. Locking up the cabinet was his idea, when we first got home from the hospital. He knew this was going to be a struggle for him and he was trying to stay clean. And Brian and I promised him we would be on top of it.

Brian promised.

Thankfully, Brian wasn't the only one working that Saturday. Emily was at her desk, typing something, and she glanced up when we approached her deck. Hi. Brian's in a meeting.

I don't care. I thrust Evan towards her. Watch him.

What?

I mean it! I said, and I went straight to Brian's office.

He was at his desk, talking to someone on the webcam. Ted, probably, since I saw him roll his eyes and say “Justin,” when I came in.

Get off the phone, I said.

The fuck is your problem?

Hang up the fucking phone right now.

Jesus, fine. Sit down, will you? he said, but I didn't. I stayed right where I was as he wrapped up the call and stood up from his desk, fixing his cuffs. Your breathing sounds awful, you know.

I don't care.

Wow, I'm excited for this conversation. He sighed. Okay. What is it? A bit of worry crossed his face. Where's Evan?

Out there with Emily, I said, and he relaxed a little. Why, I said, Were you worried he was out in some drug den?

His eyebrows creased. What the fuck are you talking about?

I saw his pills, Brian.

Okay...?

“Don't,” I said. “Don't act like I'm crazy.”

He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but I could tell he was nervous. In a different context, I'd think it was sexy.

“I don't think I've ever been this mad at you in my life,” I said.

He blinked. It's not a big deal, okay?

You fucking idiot.

I have it under control.

Do you know what you sound like right now?

Justin, use your inhaler.

You're giving him extra drugs and getting him sketchy new prescriptions—

I have a schedule, it's not like I'm handing him—

It's exactly like you're handing him a fucking needle, what do you think he's going to do when the pills run out, just say, okay, okay, that's it, I'm done?

He won't be in pain anymore, he won't need them.

He's an addict! I screamed, with my hands and with my voice. He's sick and you're fucking him up!

Brian didn't say anything.

And don't pretend like you don't know it, because if you didn't know you were doing something wrong you wouldn't have kept it a secret from me. You know what you're doing is fucked up and you feel guilty.

No.

Look me in the eye and tell me you're not in over your head.

He looked down, and then up at me, and didn't say anything.

Brian, what the fuck were you thinking?

He's in pain, Brian said tightly.

He's an addict.

He's still in pain.

Okay, so what? So he's in some pain after surgery, that's liveable! People take narcotics for a few days and then they deal!

Brian shook his head. You don't understand.

I don't understand pain?

He's my responsibility, Brian said.

Exactly, which is why—

I could do something! Brian exploded. He's in pain and I could actually goddamn do something about it! For once! Jesus!

I gaped at him. This is about me?

He looked away.

“You're using your fucking baggage about me as a reason to throw our fucking boyfriend back into addiction, that's what this is?”

He came to me crying.

“People cry, Brian!”

For once, he said again. For once I had the fucking solution.

“It's not a solution! It's just a different problem!”

I have it under control! He ran his hand through his hair, shaking. I can take care of him! I can take care of him! His eyes shifted, and he gestured exhaustedly over my shoulder. Emily's here, he said, and I turned around.

Evan really doesn't look good, she says. I think you should take him home.

I looked at Brian.

What's wrong with him? Brian said.

God, he really wasn't getting it. And I wasn't mad anymore. I was just tired, and so, so sad.

I said, He's in withdrawal, Brian.

**

The night was hellish, and we don't need to get too far into it. There's no reason to make a spectacle out of what Evan went through. God knows I know what it's like to be the type of person they've decided privacy doesn't apply to anymore. You don't live through four surgeons staring into your skull, let alone the rest of the bullshit I've weathered, and come out without a bit of a desire to lock yourself away. Because as much of this is about Evan's right to privacy, and it is, it's also about me. Evan is a part of me. He's my blood.

But God, I felt so far away from him that night, further than I had even in the past couple of weeks. And it's not like Brian and I were in the same place. We worked together without talking to take care of him, the way we can, but I didn't comfort him and I shook him off on the rare occasion he tried to comfort me.

So, okay, he was angry and desperate and scared and he begged and bargained and was so goddamn sick that even Brian got scared, and there were more than a few times where he looked at me panicked and worn, should we just give it to him, and more than a few times where I almost said yes. Almost.

But then, I don't know what happened. We got through the worst of it, or Evan just got too tired, and he stopped asking. He lay in his bed and cried softly, and Brian slipped upstairs to allegedly check on work, but I think he just needed a minute to collect himself.

I'm such an idiot, Evan said to me, moving his hands as little as he possibly could.

You're not an idiot.

I'm so sorry.

I'm not mad at you.

You should be.

I sighed and shifted on the bed, brushing a curl off his forehead.

Brian was just trying to help, Evan said.

I don't want to talk about Brian.

Evan was quiet for a minute, then said, He just wanted me to feel better.

Come on, I know that.

He has to sit there every day and watch us feel like shit, Evan said. And he can't make it about him. He has to just sit there.

What am I supposed to do about that? I say. He can't just be allowed to drug you up because it makes him feel useful.

Why not? Evan said, with a weak smile. Sorry. Probably too early for addict humor.

I lay down beside him on his sweaty sheets, and he tangled his fingers in my hair.

I try to give him things to do, I say.

I know you do.

But I can't....I can't be worried about how this affects him all the time. This can't be about him.

Evan laughed a little and winced. Imagine how pissed he'd be if you tried to make it about him.

I try to give him little things to do.

I need to do better at that.

It's not your problem, I said. He needs to get used to this. We're not going anywhere.

He doesn't want us to, Evan said with a yawn. He just wants to feel like we're better with him than without him.

That stuck, I don't know. Maybe just because Brian came back downstairs right then, so we couldn't talk anymore, so those last signs kind of hung in the air. I was starting to feel pretty shitty from being down on the floor with Evan so much, so I went upstairs to take a shower and lie down. Brian came up about an hour later.

He's asleep, Brian said. I set the alarm so we'll know if he tries to make an escape.

Okay.

He sat down on the foot of the bed, his legs crossed like he was in school. He looked...scared of me, but I was too tired to be mad anymore.

I know it kills you that you can't fix us, I said.

It's not about fixing you, Brian said. I can barely help you. I see these knotted up muscles in your back and I lie awake listening to you fight to breathe, and nothing I do seems to even make a dent. You're just miserable all the time. He shrugged one shoulder. It felt really good to have something.

I know. I know.

You okay? You don't look good.

I stretched one arm behind my head. Just sore. Can you help me with PT?

He stood up. Yeah. Come on. He helped me stand up.

His hands were so, so gentle.