Date: Sun, 15 Jul 2007 22:18:15 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lusty <lustyville@yahoo.com>
Subject: Starving For Love- Part 8. No Escape

     I wanted to go through the drive thru at the MacDonald's but
Tom insisted that we go inside and sit down. I didn't order
anything and to my surprise, Tom said nothing about it. Tom
supersized a quarter pounder value meal and I stood by his side
and observed his interaction with the girl taking his order. The
girl was smiling at him and he smiled back at her. I felt my
jealousy building so I said, "I'm going to go sit down."

     Tom turned to me and I could tell by the fire in his eyes
that he was still upset. He grabbed my hand, "Wait." His harsh
tone made me want to cry and I sighed because I just wanted to
close my eyes and be alone in my room with my knife and my
cigarette.

     I expected Tom to drop my hand but he maintained a firm
grip. His thumb rubbed teasingly against the back of my hand and
I dropped my head in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Tom
was being intimate with me in front of a complete stranger. He
used his other hand to tuck my hair behind my ears. I tried to
shrink away from his attention but that caused him to step closer
and further invade my personal space. I was terrified he might
kiss me so I winced and pulled my face away from him while I
whispered, "Don't." I kept my head down because I could feel the
girl's eyes drilling a hole in to me and I imagined everyone had
stopped what they were doing and started staring at the two gay
boys holding hands.

     The girl told Tom his order was ready so he let go of my
hand and grabbed his tray. My mind was so confused and overloaded
by the revelations of the day that I was mentally crashing and
physically falling apart. I couldn't put my finger on what I was
feeling for those brief seconds after Tom let go of my hand
because for a moment everything was blank, even my mind. I
couldn't define what was happening to me and the best explanation
I could work up after I came to my senses was that I needed to
release some of the tension that was making mincemeat of my
insides.

     Tom grabbed my arm. I looked at him as he said, "Snap out of
it."

     I needed to get away from him because the urge to vent was
crawling around in my veins and giving me the sensation of creepy-
crawly things under my skin. I had to do something. I half smiled
at him when I told him, "I'm going to the bathroom."

     "I'll come with you."

     "No, sit down and eat. I'll be right back." He was afraid I
might hurt myself in the bathroom. His fear was painted all over
his face. "I won't do anything. I promise." He still didn't look
like he believed me. "It's a public restroom. Calm down."

     He released my arm. "If you're not out in five minutes I'm
coming in to get you."

     I walked to the bathroom knowing I lied. I was going to do
something to myself. I wished I didn't have the urge in public,
but I couldn't help it. I'm not sure why I did it, maybe I felt
his eyes or something, but I turned around when I reached the
bathroom door and there was Tom standing a few feet behind me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.

     "I just wanted to make sure you made it to the bathroom
okay."

     "Thanks, are you going to come in and help me use it too?"

     He wasn't amused. "Fine I'm sitting down."

     He left me standing there feeling guilty for being
sarcastic. I walked in the bathroom but being in there felt
wrong. I wanted to be in my room. I couldn't do it but I still
needed some satisfaction so I left the bathroom, ran past Tom at
his table and darted out the door. I started to run across the
parking lot but two arms wrapped around me and held me back. I
tried to push Tom off, "Let me go."

     "What is wrong with you? Where are you going?"

     "I just needed some air."

     "You couldn't tell me that?"

     I began fighting against him. "There are a lot of things I
can't tell you just like there are a lot of things you can't tell
me! Now let me go!"

     Tom physically overpowered me in every sense of the word. He
picked me up from behind and carried me to his car with me
thrashing around in his arms. He put me down by the passenger
side of the car and yelled, "Get in!"

     He sounded the way I imagined an adult would sound yelling
at an unruly two year-old. I opened the door and got in and
waited for him to get in on his side. I felt trapped. I shouted,
"Let me out!" I knew Tom wouldn't force me to stay in the car.
The truth was all I had to do was open my door and get out but I
didn't really want to. I wanted Tom to stop me and be my hero
again. I thought if he stopped me it meant part of him did love
me.

     Tom gently turned my head so I was facing him and he calmly
asked, "What happened?"

     "What happened? What the fuck do you mean what happened! You
happened and I hate you! Why would you touch me like that?"

     "Like what?"

     "You held my hand! In public!"

     "And? I've held your hand in public before."

     "But never like that! Everyone probably took one look at us
and instantly knew we were, ugh, you were, that we," My anger
wouldn't let the right words come out, "why would you do that?"

     "I wasn't thinking about it. I held your hand because I
wanted to assure you everything was okay. I could tell you
thought I was upset with you and I'm not."

     I exploded. "Yes you are, but you have no right to be upset
with me!" I could hear my heartbeat and I felt my chest tighten
and it was hard to breathe again but I kept talking. "You kept
Brian a secret! You kept Isaac a secret! What other secrets do
you have? Why can't I have any secrets? You want to know
everything about me! You want to be a part of everything I do!
It's not fair. I want to see Dr. Conley in private. I want to
talk to him about my problems and I don't want you there
listening to how crazy I am. I told you I was going to tell him
and I wouldn't lie to you, at least not about that!"

     I stopped talking because I couldn't slow down my breathing.
A sharp pain shot through my heart and I put my hand on my chest
and grunted. Tom grabbed my shoulder and asked, "Are you okay?"

     I looked at him but I had to shut my eyes because my chest
kept getting tighter and trying to focus on him seemed to make it
worse. When I opened my eyes, Tom was speeding down the road. I
got out a soft, "Stop speeding," and then I closed my eyes again
because I was more comfortable that way. The car stopped and I
half opened my right eye. I saw the EMERGENCY sign and my eyes
shot completely open. Tom had taken me to the hospital. Tom got
out of the car and came around to my side and pulled me out. "I'm
fine," I told him.

     "No you're not. You passed out."

     "No I didn't! I shut my eyes for a while. That's it." He
cradled me in his arms and walked in to the hospital. I buried my
face in his shoulder because I didn't want to be seen by anyone.
He told someone I passed out and they asked some additional
questions but I stopped listening. He started yelling and then
there was a buzzing sound and he walked me around a corner and
through an open door. "Tom I'm fine," I whispered, "just take me
home."

     "This isn't the first time you passed out."

     There was no arguing with him. He was going to find out what
was wrong with me. His mind was made up and all I could do was go
along for the ride. I didn't want to know why I sometimes lost
track of time and I didn't particularly care about my rapid
heartbeat or the pounding in my chest or the feeling of losing
consciousness. In fact a fractional part of me was thankful for
my blackouts because they seemed to be coming at times when I
hated the situation I was dealing with as if the blackouts were
protecting me from life. After years of feeling like the
outsider, it was nice to know someone or something was completely
on my side without judging me or trying to change me. At times I
was my own worst enemy but during my blackouts, I was my own best
friend. My blackouts were perfect escapes from reality because
each blackout was welcomed in by uncontrollable spasms of pain
and finished off by complete peace and a tingle of inner
awkwardness as the nerves in my body calmed down.

     "You can put him down in there," someone said.

     Tom laid me down on a bed and smiled at me. I began laughing
maniacally and Tom looked at me like I had lost my mind. "What's
so funny?" he asked.

     I stopped laughing because I realized there was nothing
funny. I nervously smiled at him and confessed, "I think I'm
going crazy." Only a crazy person would rationalize mental
breakdowns and somehow find them meritorious. I knew I was
officially losing my mind.

     "You're not going crazy," he assured me.

     "How can you be sure?"

     "Because I know you."

     In just above a whisper, I blurted out a secret I wasn't
ready to tell him yet, "There are days when I find myself
teetering dangerously close to the edge of insanity and I wonder
what will happen when I can't reel myself back in."

     "I'll be there," he said. "When the day comes and you can't
reel yourself back in, I'll be there and I'll catch you or throw
you a rope or grab you or pick you up like I did today or
sacrifice myself in your place or whatever it takes to save you."
He smiled tentatively. "So see, you can't go crazy, at least not
as long as I'm around because I won't let you."

     "You can't stop someone from going crazy," I informed him.

     "Ten dollars says I can," he joked.

     I laughed. "You think you can do anything, don't you?"

     "I can," he said with a grin.

     "Okay, make this hospital room disappear."

     His grin vanished and he instantly looked sad and defeated.
I knew if he could do it he would. "Alright maybe not anything,"
he admitted.

     "You do enough," I told him.

     "Apparently not, here we are."

     A nurse walked in and Tom sat at the foot of the bed while
she took my vitals. My blood pressure was too high and my pulse
was a bit fast but my temperature was fine. She asked me a lot of
questions while Tom listened attentively to all of my answers and
corrected every minor mistake I made and included every major
detail I couldn't bring myself to mention such as my anorexia and
somehow my cutting. I can't recall how the hell we got on the
topic of cutting I think the nurse asked something about bruises
or wounds or something. I fell silent and Tom answered for me. I
had been to the emergency room before but I never remembered
having to go through twenty questions about every minute detail
of my life. Then I remembered that my mother or some other adult
had always been with me when I made my trips to the ER. The adult
did most of the talking and I just answered simple questions
like, `on a scale of 1 to 10 how much pain are you in?' and `what
is today's date?' but with Tom as the only other person around, I
had to answer the tough questions too including the questions
about my medical history and any conditions I might have.

     After the nurse had sufficiently rummaged through my medical
history and my psychological flaws she repeated one of her
initial questions: "Are you currently taking any medications?"

     "No. Didn't you already ask me that?"

     "Yes but I don't think you understand the question. Anti-
depressants are medications."

     I heard her implication loud and clear. "Yeah, I understood
the question and the answer is still no. I'm not on any
medications and that includes anti-depressants. I don't even take
Advil when I have a headache."

     "Is there a reason why you're afraid of drugs, maybe a
former addiction that you forgot to mention?"

     "I'm not afraid of drugs. I have never been a drug addict
and I'm not going to change my answer so let's move on."

     She looked at Tom and then she looked at me. "Would you be
more comfortable if he waited outside?"

     "No, I like him right where he is, but since you mentioned
it, I think I would be more comfortable if you waited outside."

     Tom put his hand on my leg. "Calm down Sam. She's just doing
her job."

     "She's fucking badgering me, that's what she's doing!" I
knew I wasn't really angry with her. I was angry with the
situation. I hated hospitals. Dr. Conley would say I had
displaced anger, but I would say I was ticked off and she was
pushing me up against a wall.

     "I am not trying to badger you. I'm trying to make sure I
know all of the important information about your medical history.
Knowing your allergies and what medications you are on is as
important as knowing what brings you to the emergency room." She
was struggling to keep a smile on her face and maintain an even
tone.

     "Okay, I told you everything! I shouldn't even be here. He
overreacted and brought me here, but I'm fine!"

     "Your friend did the right thing bringing you here."

     "That's just your opinion."

     Her face looked uncomfortable as she continued to smile,
"The doctor should be in here in a few minutes," she said.

     Tom was on me as soon as she walked out the door, "She just
wants to help you."

     "She thinks I need to be medicated." Tom was quiet. "Tom?"
He slowly looked at me and I saw it, "You think I need to be
medicated, too, don't you? You think I'm crazy?"

     "Being medicated doesn't mean you're crazy. If it did then
my father is psychotic because he takes a shitload of pills
everyday."

     "For what?"

     "Just because he doesn't talk about Isaac doesn't mean he
never thinks about him."

     I wanted to say something but there was nothing I could say.
If I went on about taking a stupid anti-depressant making me
crazy then I would be saying that his father was crazy and Mr.
Yeager was definitely not crazy. "What type of pills does he
take?"

     "He takes an anti-depressant, some other mood related pills,
I don't really know what they do, I think one of them helps
regulate his mood during the day or something like that and he
takes a pill to help him sleep."

     "Wow. That is a lot of pills."

     "I know, but you know him. Do you think he's crazy?"

     "That's different."

     "Why?"

     "Dr. Conley would say your father had a traumatic event that
impacted his ability to adequately express his emotions, whereas
I have no such event in my history. Your father's emotions were
impaired while my emotions were never right to begin with."

     "Dr. Conley doesn't think you're crazy."

     "He gets paid to say there's hope for me."

     "No, he gets paid to determine if there is hope for you or
if he should have you committed. Considering that you're here, I
guess it's safe to say he thinks you're okay."

     "He's had me committed before," I reminded him.

     "Going to a clinic is not the same as being committed to a
psychiatric facility."

     "You mean the loony bin?"

     "Don't call it that."

     "Why not? It's going to be my home when Dr. Conley finds out
about my legs."

     "He'll understand. I went to the library at school and
looked up some information on self-mutilation and you're not
alone and it doesn't mean you're crazy it just means you haven't
found a healthy outlet to express your feelings but I know that
you're going to be fine and I also know that Dr. Conley is not
going to commit you because you occasionally hurt yourself."

     "You don't know that."

     "He won't, not when he sees us together and I tell him that
you won't hurt yourself anymore."

     Tom was ignoring the obvious so I took my finger and pointed
at the bruise on my cheek, "What are you going to tell him if he
asks about this?"

     "You fell."

     "But I didn't fall. I did it on purpose."

     "Well," Tom took a deep breath, "well tell him what you did
and explain what you were thinking before you did it. Shrinks
love that shit, don't they?"

     I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, they love that shit."

     "Okay so give him what he wants."

     Tom had me convinced that he was right. Dr. Conley loved to
tell me to be honest with him and he would never judge me so if I
told him I hurt myself, it would be judging me if he sent me to
the loony bin and it would be like punishing me for being honest.
I thought about it a little longer and then I said, "I'll tell
him but thanks to you I don't think I'm going to make it today."

     "I know, but you can tell him the next time you see him."

     "Speaking of which, where the hell is the doctor?"

     "I'm sure he's on his way. You're not exactly a top
priority."

     "Way to boost my self-esteem."

     Tom hit my leg and the doctor walked in almost on cue. "Try
not to be too rough with my patient," he joked.

     The doctor then turned his attention to me. He introduced
himself as Dr. Cunningham and then he asked me a few questions,
had me breathe for him. He left the room and a nurse came in and
handed me a hospital gown and told me to disrobe. Tom pulled the
curtain and offered to help me take my clothes off but I wouldn't
let him. I should have because he watched lasciviously as I
undressed. I smiled and he asked, "Why are you smiling?"

     "Because you're almost slobbering even though we both know
I'm not much to look at."

     His face tensed up for a second then he relaxed and said,
"Why don't you sit in my lap and I'll tell you a story?"

     "Huh?"

     "I said sit in my lap and I'll tell you a story."

     "Oh so you're a dirty old man now?"

     He smirked. "Come here."

     "What if someone walks in?"

     "I'll be quick, I promise."

     "Would you tell a lady that?"

     It took him a second to get the joke and then he laughed,
"You're supposed to be too sick to be witty."

     "I already told you I feel fine."

     "Okay, so come sit in my lap for a second." I sat down in
his lap and kicked my feet up on the bed. Tom tucked my hair
behind my ears. He kissed the side of my head and then he kissed
down to my ear and whispered, "I love you." I sat there for a few
minutes and Tom said, "Okay you need to move before I'm forced to
grope you."

     "Eww." I crawled away from him and lied on the bed.

     "You know you wanted it."

     "Yes because the idea of being groped in a hospital is a
real turn on."

     "Thanks for the sarcasm," he said then he winked at me, "The
hospital is a real turn on for some people."

     "Well it's not for me."

     He grinned, "Don't knock it until you try it."

     "Oh so you've tried it?"

     "Well," his hand began slowly creeping up my exposed leg.
When he reached the edge of my gown I kicked him. "Ow. I wasn't
going to actually touch you."

     The curtain moved and a blur that resembled my mother
charged towards me. "Oh Honey how are you? What happened this
time? Are you okay?"

     "Mom I'm fine. You didn't have to come."

     "Don't be silly, you're in the emergency room, of course I
had to come. The nurse said they need my permission to run some
tests on you."

     And there the truth was: they needed her permission for
tests. She was essentially forced to come. I felt bad. "I'm sorry
if I ruined your day."

     "You didn't ruin anything." Her response didn't convince me
because I knew I had ruined everything. Ruining things was what I
was best at. "So what happened? Did you faint and fall on your
face?"

     "No."

     "Why is your face bruised like that then? Did you get jumped
again?"

     "No."

     "He fell while he was running around the track at school and
later he fainted in my car," Tom said.

     "Oh thank God you were there."

     I rolled my eyes at how honest she sounded. For a second I
almost believed she cared. The emergency room seemed to bring out
the best in her. She became somewhat motherly. She sat on the
side of the bed and held my hand. I knew her affection was only
for show but I squeezed her hand anyway.

     Dr. Cunningham walked back in the room. He talked to my
mother and told her given my history and my description of what
happened he thought I had a panic attack but that didn't account
for the fainting and that's why he wanted to run some more tests.

     The first order of business was to draw some blood. I
enjoyed that part because I was able to watch the blood flow
through the tube and in to the vials. I wished it was painful but
I hardly felt a thing. It was downhill after that. The tests Dr.
Cunningham made me endure were much worse than the simple tests
Tom's mother gave me. I reached a point where I was hoping I
would have another blackout so I didn't have to deal with the
tests. The doctor told my mother he was going to admit me so he
could run a few more tests in the morning. My mother left after a
few hours but Tom stayed until I was transferred to my new room.

     Tom begged and pleaded to stay but they sent him home. He
promised to be back at the beginning of visiting hours. I was
amused by the contrast between Tom and my mother. Tom was willing
to miss practice and have his playing time cut so he could be
with me and my own mother wasn't willing to take one stupid day
off, although she did promise to stop by after work.

     I was exhausted by the time I reached my room but I still
had time to think about Tom. It took time for me to adjust to the
rhythmic pattern of the snores coming from my roommate, so while
I adjusted, I reflected on my day. The thought of Brian and Tom
angered me, but then I remembered how loving Tom had been to me
after we went to MacDonald's. I had told Tom I hated him and I
meant it when I said it but I couldn't hate him for long because
as soon as I needed him he was right there for me just like he
always was.

     I wasn't sure what I felt, so I carefully pulled at the tape
that was keeping a gauze pad on the bruise on my cheek. I picked
at the bruise until my fingers were wet with blood and then I
pressed my hand against my cheek and didn't stop until my palm
could feel the hardness of my teeth under my skin. My cheek
burned like hell but I felt good. I put the gauze back on the
bruise and used my hair to clean my bloody hand.

     When my cheek finally stopped burning, I wept silently
because I knew Tom would be disappointed in me. He had faith that
I could be helped, but I knew I was beyond redemption.


c Lustyville 2007
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