But Carl’s right. He’s fucking right, goddammit. Everything is gone.
But not his toothbrush. Not his aftershave stuff. I walk into my room, breathing so hard I can hear myself. I look at my nightstand, underneath both pillows.
Nothing.
I think of the way we dozed off. Things were okay. Things were good. I call him again…and again…and then a third time as my breath catches in my throat and tears start dripping down my cheeks.
“Hey Ezra? What’s the matter, man? I’m really worried. Please call. I don’t believe you would just go. Without some kind of…I don’t know. Did your mom find out? About us?”
As soon as I hang up, I call back. "Ez. It’s me. Are you okay? Can I come see you? Can you call me?"
I'm calling again, pacing my room, gripping the phone so hard it hurts my hand, when Mom cracks the door open.
"Josh—"
“Did you talk to him?” I ask her.
“No.”
"Then get out!"
I call again, not proud that I'm losing my shit. "Ezra, please! Please call me, angel. I don't know what I did wrong, but call me. Please. I want to know that you're okay. I need to."
One more time—again to voice mail. I hurl my phone at the window.
Seven
Ezra
December 10, 2018
"Okay, Mr. Masters. Quick song and dance, and then we'll get this started."
I nod.
"Remember to lie still and let us do our jobs or your arms will need to be strapped down. No one likes that." The nurse winks.
My stomach pitches.
“Did you give your consent to treatment?”
I nod.
“Can I get a verbal yes, Mr. Masters?”
I swallow and choke the word out. “Yes.”
She looks me over, and her eyes catch on something. She’s frowning as she pushes the sleeve of my gown up, exposing the lower part of my bicep. "Did you write on yourself?" Her brows rumple over her brown eyes.
I look over her shoulder, at the pale wall. "Something I want to remember."
"Would you like for me to write it on a piece of paper for you? I can give it to your mother?"
"No. Don’t. Please,” I manage.
"All right, well, looks like we're all set. I'll leave the room. Lie on the bed, and the team will be in in several minutes."
Eight
Ezra
December 16, 2018
Hey Millsy.
I’m so sorry.
I love you.
I miss you more than words can even convey. I miss you so much, sometimes I think I can’t keep breathing without you.
I’m in here again. At Sheppard Pratt.
It’s so crazy how it all went down, but my mom’s crazy. When Dad called her to tell her I’m gay and they should support me and be proud, he didn’t know what trouble it would kick off.
As soon as Mom found out that I’ve been ‘living the gay lifestyle’ in Fairplay, she went ballistic. She’s a zealot, and there’s nothing worse to her than a gay son.
She called and told me if I don’t come back to Sheppard Pratt and get back on psych meds to “control those urges”- she’ll tell the police…this secret I have. It’s a secret nobody can ever know. Not even you.
I made Mom swear she wouldn’t tell Dad that I’m here again. I know you’ve gotta be upset and confused, but if you knew I was in here, I’m pretty sure you’d be more upset.
I don’t like to think about you being worried or scared for me. I think if you’re just pissed off, that might be better.
The second I’m done with this shit to appease my mom and protect my secret, I’ll find a way to get back to you, and I promise I’ll earn your forgiveness. It should only be about a month, if things go as planned.
I got a tattoo as I was driving up to Mom’s, the day I left. I had the idea when you drew on me that day before I left. I already knew I was going to be leaving. I asked you to re-draw the angel and the infinity symbol so I could try to take something of you with me. Not just a material thing, but something of yours that could be a part of me.
I ended up not having that much cash, so I just got the infinity symbol you drew. Even though I’m not doing ok right now, it still brings me peace. I touch it all the time.
I don’t know if I’ll send this letter. I don’t know if I can.
I had three sessions of ECT so far. It’s been fine. Just like last time I was here, at the end of last winter. These people think electrocuting my frontal lobe is the holy grail for ‘treatment resistant bipolar depression’. Which- Mills- I don’t have. That’s the headline. I don’t have psychosis either. I don’t think so, anyway.
I’m pretty sure I’m just fucked up because of Alton and my mom. Nobody here at Sheppard Pratt the first time I was here even know about Paul or Alton. This is just a normal psych hospital. When Mom brought me here last time, it was right after I got out of Alton. I was fucked in the head. She made me promise not to tell them anything about Alton.