by Nyrae Dawn
Not too much. Not enough to forget, but enough to get by. Enough to maybe taste a little bit of happiness again, even if it’s artificial.
Maybe those two people inside me are fighting the war John told me about.
It’s crazy that I don’t know which person I want to win.
After flipping out the light, I leave the bathroom and head for the cafeteria. I pass three nurses on my way (the place is crawling with staff) and then make my way through the line to get my food.
Stray, Rosie, Casey, and Bethany are sitting at my table. They always sit at my table now. Maybe I should have been the one to move to theirs. But then, if that were the case, I’d still be sitting alone.
“Hey.” I take the empty spot between Stray and Rosie. It’s the same one I’m always in, the same two people always flanking me.
“He speaks! You never speak to us first. You’re totally falling for us, aren’t you, Hunter?” Rosie wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulls me to her, and kisses my forehead. “Hunter loves us. Hunter loves us,” Rosie sings, and everyone laughs. It’s a delayed reaction, but a couple of seconds later, I’m chuckling too.
“Shut up,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.
“So rude,” she replies with a grin. She makes me do the same, I realize. It’s kind of hard to be in a bad mood around Rosie. She’s like this ray of sunshine that never dims. I still don’t understand why she’s here.
“You took the wrap off your hand,” Bethany says. “Are you supposed to?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s getting in the way, though.”
She shakes her head. “No punching things, silly boy.” It’s one of the most personal things Bethany has said to me. Yeah, she told me the story about her dad, but this is personal on my level, not hers.
I’m not sure how to respond to what she said. Hurting my hand by slamming it into something again doesn’t sound real tempting. The first time it wasn’t planned either, though. Sometimes it’s hard to even remember doing it.
We’re having salmon and rice for dinner, so I dig into my food instead of responding. It doesn’t taste as bad as it did the first couple of days.
The four of them laugh and talk while we eat. No words filter through my brain far enough to find their way out of my mouth. Before, I was never like that. Everyone knew who Hunter Donovan was. I made sure of it.
We finish eating, and the voice on the overhead speakers lets us know we have free time. Rosie stands first, followed by Bethany, then Casey, and Stray.
Stray looks down at me and shrugs. “Come hang out with us.” His voice is softer than it was earlier… and somehow a little sadder. I guess that’s all of us, though. We’re all screwed up. Half the time we don’t know how to feel.
For this one moment, I want to dig inside myself and find the old Hunter. Find a way to revive him, bring him back to life, even if he has to go six feet under again.
“Are you sure you want me there? I’m the reigning air hockey champion back home.”
Stray rolls his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PLAYING AIR hockey with a bruised, tender hand isn’t an easy thing to do. I hadn’t thought about it when I mentioned it to Stray after dinner, but about thirty seconds into the first game, I realize it isn’t going to work. The movements have to be too fast.
“Play pool. That won’t be as hard for you. There are two open pool tables.” Rosie picks at her nails as if she’s not interested.
It’s surprising that there are empty tables since there are about fifty people or so in the room. Spare tables would be a good thing, except… “I don’t want to play pool.” I suck at it.
“Do you know how?” Bethany asks, leaning her head on Casey’s shoulder. He smiles down at her in a protective way. Not like I think they’re hooking up or something, but I think she trusts him. Maybe it makes him feel good that she does.
“Yeah… I just….”
Stray’s arm brushes against mine, he’s standing so close.
And he doesn’t move it. I don’t move mine either. “Not the reigning billiards champion, huh?”
A frown tugs at my lips. It wasn’t supposed to be that obvious.
“You don’t like to lose.” He nudges my arm. He smells a little bit like marker, though I’m not sure why.
“That’s a given. Nobody likes losing.” I’ve never understood people saying that. What person goes into anything in their life thinking they might lose and not caring? We had a kickass baseball team—all our athletics were good, but especially baseball. Odds were often in our favor to win every game. In this I’m not good enough to win unless the rest of them really, really suck.
“We can play teams. You’ll be on mine.” Stray wraps his hand around mine and tugs a little. I find myself going easily. We get to the table before he lets go of my hand.
“There are five of us. How are we supposed to play teams?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m not playing. I hate billiards. I’ll be the cheerleader.”
I look at Rosie, who was the one who spoke. “I hate them too. Why do I have to play and you don’t?”
“Because Stray doesn’t have a crush on me.” Rosie winks, and my pulse decides it’s a good time to go on a race.
“Shut up, Rosie.” Stray puts a hand on her face and pretends to try to block her from us.
Rosie laughs, pulls away, and says, “But it’s not fair. I want to be a gay boy so I can have a secret loony bin love affair with the two of you.”
Stray shakes his head. He glances at me and then away. There’s a slight pink to his cheeks, but I know he can’t really be embarrassed. He told me earlier he likes looking at me. That’s different than a crush, though.
“We’re not having a loony bin love affair.” I’m pretty sure a mental institution might be one of the worst places ever to hook up.
“Yet.” Rosie sits on the overstuffed blue couch beside our table. “You have to admit, it would be fun, though. Sneaking around, looking for private places to make out, always wondering if you’re going to get caught… which would make it even more exciting. Forbidden romances are the best. Knowing you’re not supposed to be doing something but doing it anyway. Ugh! I’m totally jealous!” She crosses her arms and pouts. Words get trapped in my throat. Actually, I don’t even know if they make it there. They’re a jumbled mess in my brain, trying to sort themselves out into something that makes sense.
“In some things three’s a crowd,” Stray says just as I tell her, “We’re not hooking up!” She makes it sound like we’re already doing all the things she said. Stray does too.
Rosie giggles. “Oh my God, I’m going to love giving you shit, Funny Boy. You get all worked up.”
I open my mouth to reply, but Stray puts a finger over it. It’s warm. There’s a rough spot on his finger, maybe where he holds a pencil or a pen or something.
“Are we going to play now, or what?” Bethany asks.
When I look over at them, Casey’s eyes are focused on the ground. His lips are moving, like he’s counting or talking quietly, the way he did when Brock tried to hurt him. My stomach rolls. I’m not sure if we did something to make him nervous or not.
“Yeah… yeah, come on. Let’s play.” Stray walks over to him, pulling up his baggy shorts as he goes. “You rack, Casey, and I’ll break.” He puts both his hands on Casey’s shoulders like he’s giving him a pep-talk massage.
For a minute I watch him and think maybe he’s good at making everyone feel better. I think he might do it for me.
“NO. DUDE, no, not that one. The four ball is a way easier shot.”
Stray looks at me from where he’s bent over the table. “Is it my turn or yours?”
“We’re a team, though! Aren’t we supposed to… you know, work together?” The four is a guaranteed shot. That gets us one ball closer to winning the game… which we actually might do this time.
Still leaning over for his shot, he lets out a heavy breath, bl
owing the light blue strands of hair off his forehead, which immediately fall back into place. “And working together means doing what you say?”
There’s a second where my stomach flips, and my tongue begs to snap at him, but the smile on his face stops me, making a rush of warmth spread through me instead. “Well… no, but actually, if I have a good idea, then yes.”
Stray laughs as Rosie starts humming the final-question Jeopardy music, like our time’s running out. “Trust me. If I go for the four, I have no shot after that. This way, I do.”
I don’t want to trust him. I want to win. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Relax, Oscar. I got this,” he replies.
“Oscar?” I ask.
“As in the Grouch, I’m guessing,” Casey tells me.
Nice. Folding my arms across my chest, I wait for Stray to take the shot. He lines up forever, eyeing the cue ball, before he slides the stick forward, connecting with the cue ball, which hits the other and—“Holy shit!”
“See, I told you I could make it!”
I hold up my hand to give Stray a high five, but he doesn’t lift his. Instead he just smiles, kind of looking up at me with his neck bowed, looking proud. The look makes my heart speed up, and feels like more of a celebration than a high five would.
“D-d-don’t make it, don’t make it, don’t make it,” Casey chants, standing on the opposite side of the table as Stray, right across from the ball he needs to hit next.
“You get him, Casey!” Rosie cheers from the couch, as Casey dances around, trying to be distracting.
My eyes are drawn to him, sort of glued there. Someone stepped into his body and took over, someone who isn’t the Casey I’ve come to know. He’s acting lighter than I’ve ever seen him.
“Don’t mess up. Y-you’re going to mess up,” he continues, playfully taunting Stray as he aims for his shot.
Casey laughs as he teases. Stray shoots and misses. Casey jumps up and cheers… and I laugh too. It’s suddenly okay that he missed the shot, and Casey and Bethany dance together as though the game is already in the bag. Stray rolls his eyes. Rosie says, “Give me a C,” before continuing through Casey’s name.
They’re crazy.
Crazy in a good way. A fun way. An upside down and backward way, maybe, but I like it. My stomach cramps I laugh so hard, and I’m having fun when Casey makes his shot, and the one after that.
When they win, I give them both high fives, not caring at all that I lost.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“WE ONLY have forty-five minutes left until we have to go to our rooms. Can we do something I want to do now?” Rosie asks with a fake whine in her voice.
“Yep,” I reply, even though she probably wasn’t talking to me. I’m the new guy filling up space in their already tight group of friends. It’s obvious this is Rosie or Stray’s show, but no one counters the fact that I answered her question.
“Yay! Come on.” She stands up, weaving her way through people before finding a quiet corner and sitting on the ground. Bethany automatically sits too, then Casey, then Stray and me.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Talking,” she says simply.
Talking? “Don’t we get enough of that in therapy?”
“Oh, Funny Boy, definitely not you. Maybe the rest of us.”
“It’s stupid.” The words come out automatically, unplanned. But they’re true. It is dumb. “Talking out your problems does nothing to change them. I don’t care what anyone here says.” The fun I was having starts evaporating from my body, disappearing like water on a sidewalk in the bright sun.
Rosie says, “No one said we were talking about our problems. Best movie ever made, ready, set, go!” They all start calling out different titles in a rush.
“Mr. Holland’s Opus!”
“A Walk to Remember!”
“Crazy Love!”
“Scooby Doo! Camp Scare!”
Wait. “Scooby Doo?” One of my brows rises when I look at Stray.
“Don’t knock Scooby. Mysteries Inc. is badass.”
My chest rumbles I laugh so hard.
“I’m not kidding. They’re best friends who solve mysteries. How much cooler can you get?” Stray asks. I disagree with him. There are way cooler things than Scooby Doo, but, at the same time, I think it’s awesome that he doesn’t think so. That he’s random, and he doesn’t care. Stray makes different feel normal.
“I won that round,” Casey says. “Best instrument, ready, set, go!”
“Piano!”
“Clarinet!”
“Drums!”
“Guitar.”
Bethany, Casey, Rosie, Stray.
Everyone looks my way.
Umm…. “Tambourine?” Tambourine? Even I think my answer is lame. It’s the first thing that came to my mind.
“Oh my God, Hunter. You have to take this seriously.” Rosie sticks her leg out straight and kicks me with her foot before folding her legs again.
“You guys didn’t give me a chance to figure out what we were doing. Okay.” I rub my hands together. “I got this now.”
Bethany jumps right in. “Best color in the world, ready, set, go!”
“Blue!” I shout, just as Stray says the same thing.
“Purple, yellow, and black” follow our answer. My face feels hot, but I’m not really sure why.
“We tied… you can go,” Stray says.
“Tied and gave the same answer.” Rosie makes kissy faces, but I can tell she’s just trying to get a reaction out of me, so I don’t reply.
Now it’s my turn to pick something for us to choose our favorite of, but I’m not sure what to say. What do I have a favorite of? I can’t say sport, not anymore. Talking sports makes my stomach cramp, and visions of Dad and me hanging out play in my head.
“Hunter! Go!” Rosie orders.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re not supposed to think. Just say something. Anything. That’s the whole point.” Stray shakes his head as though I’m ridiculous. “It’s random and fun but personal, because you don’t think about it.”
Then it becomes this weight bearing down on me, a hammer slamming into my head, think, think, think. Nothing is there. My mind is blank, which doesn’t usually happen to me. But then I remember Stray in the stables, and how much he seemed to enjoy it. How at peace, and comfortable, he seemed. “Best animal, ready, set, go!” Jumps out of my mouth.
“Cat, dog, dog,” all call out from the group, but it’s Stray’s answer I hear the loudest. His I already know.
“Horse.”
We spend the whole forty-five minutes shouting out all our favorites—books, foods, poets. That one comes from Stray. I say Shakespeare because of his sonnets. I don’t really know any other poets. He does, though. He likes poetry, he tells me, because it’s possible to say so much in so little, or a little in a lot, and because we can all get something different out of it. Then Rosie calls out for us to pick our favorite personality trait. Casey asks our favorite city in the United States.
My cheeks hurt I laugh so much at everyone trying to rush their answers out. Some questions, none of us pick the same thing; others, we do. It’s the simplest thing I’ve done with friends in I don’t know how long. Back home, we were always going to games, or arcades or dates, or whatever else we could do. We never sat around and just talked or found things out about each other.
And yeah, I don’t really like talking. But this? Laughing and talking with them, it feels okay. It might even feel good.
We don’t get up until the overhead speaker says we have to, and nurses and staff start guiding us out of the room and to our dorms. Casey, Stray, and I tell Rosie and Bethany good-bye as they head for the girls’ section.
My feet amble along. Casey, eyes toward the ground, tells us he’s going to go on ahead as he speed-walks away.
There’s laughing from down the hall, behind us, and right away I know who it is—Brock and Abraham—but I can’t find it in mysel
f to care. Tonight, my new friends helped me find the old Hunter, and I want to hold on to him, to be him, for as long as I can.
“Gates is on tonight. He checks rooms a lot. If you can’t sleep, it’ll be hard to leave your room… if you wanted to, I mean.” Stray pushes his hands into his pockets. My eyes find the scars on his arms, big and small, and they make my chest hurt. I don’t get it, can’t see it. Not him. Stray hurting himself doesn’t make sense to me. But then, before everything happened, me being here wouldn’t make sense either.
“Hopefully I can sleep,” I reply.
“Did you tell them? Your doc should give you something if you need it.”
I shake my head. “I’m good.” The pill I take for depression already pisses me off. Adding another one isn’t an option.
We’re near the end of the hall, so it’s thinning out now. Brock’s laughter disappears. That’s one of the good things about the rules here. He doesn’t have free rein, so I don’t have to deal with him all the time.
“I’m glad you hung out.” I stop in front of Stray’s door at his words. I feel really big all of a sudden, noticeable. Like there’s a neon sign hanging over me, telling everyone to look at me, even though it’s only Stray and me in the hall.
“Why?” I ask, nervous for his answer.
Being gay was never a big deal in my family, or in my life. My mom’s brother, Ricardo, is gay. He and his partner spend holidays at our house with their kids. Holly and I stayed with them while our parents went out of town for their anniversary every few years. It just sort of was.
Sure, I got a little shy the first time I asked a guy out, or when I’d flirt with someone new; those were normal nerves. But other than that, I was never really insecure about anything in my life. I didn’t question why people liked me or wanted to spend time with me. It’s just who I was.
Feeling that way isn’t easy these days. Nothing is easy anymore. Why would someone want to spend time with me, and why would someone care if I hung out with them? As much of a jerk as it makes me, that’s probably one of the things I hate my father for the most—the fact that he took away who I am. That’s not the way it should be. Everything should be about Holly, but it’s not. It’s also about me, and I think I hate myself for that too.