More Happy Than Not

“Fine. Five minutes.”

Evangeline hooks my mom’s arm in hers, escorting her out.

I have to piss, and I’m not doing it in one of these bag things, so I rip off the wires from my forehead and chest and try steadying myself on my feet. I’m dizzy. It feels like the awful combination of a head rush and a hangover. I balance myself against the wall and make my way to the bathroom.

I piss myself when I look in the mirror.

I have one black eye. My other eye is swollen and purple, like a bruised plum.

There are stitched-up gashes on my forehead with some dried blood the nurses didn’t wipe clean.

My lip is cut open.

There are tears sliding down my face.

Something primal explodes from my aching throat, and the mirror smashes when my fist connects.

Glass shards were pinching underneath my skin until the nurses pulled them out and bandaged my hand. Another war wound. Now they all refuse to leave me alone, period, scared I might slice a smile into my throat if I can’t get what I want. Mom is keeping me company, telling me that Eric was here this morning, but he’s not who I care about.

“Any other visitors?”

“Genevieve and Thomas have stopped by every day,” Mom says. “Genevieve was here late last night and Thomas hung around for a few hours this morning. You have great friends.”

I stare at the blue wall.

“Genevieve says you broke up with her.”

“I guess this means you’re not disappointed in me this time around.”

She’s crying again and hides behind her hands. “You weren’t supposed to remember . . .”

But I do. And I need her to help me forget again.

2

TOUGH STUFF

I wake up from the same nightmare I usually had after my father killed himself. It’s the one where he is getting completely undressed in the bathroom while calling me a faggot and telling me how I’m not worth living for. He turns on the bathwater and relaxes inside the tub before cutting his wrists. And then I’m drowning in red. I never wake up when the drowning starts like you would expect. I’m always suffocating for what seems like an unfair amount of time, considering I never chose to commit the crime he hated me for. I never chose anything. I just was.

I just am.

“Nightmares again?” Mom asks.

I nod.

I eat breakfast, chat with doctors about how I’m feeling (“like shit”), and read through all of Brendan’s apologetic text messages. I don’t respond. A couple hours later, Evangeline tells me I have guests. Thomas and Genevieve. Together. More worlds I don’t want colliding.

My mom invites them in and leaves us alone.

I should be happy to see them, and they should be happy to see me alive, but no one’s smiling. “You’ve looked better,” Thomas finally says. He has dark circles under his eyes. He isn’t looking his best either. If this were my first time meeting him I’d have guessed he was twenty-two-years old, not seventeen. “No homo,” he adds while completely avoiding my face. “That’s not funny. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say. Then silence, except for Genevieve rapping her knuckles on my bed frame. “Thanks for visiting.”

“Thanks for waking up,” Thomas says, still not looking at me. At least he’s here. I don’t know if word got around to Collin, and I’m not sure if he would give a shit if it did. I wish I didn’t give a shit about him either, even if the person I really care about is standing right in front of me. I don’t know if that’s even right. This whole situation is impossible.

“Me-Crazy was arrested,” Genevieve says. “Baby Freddy’s mother told Elsie he’s being moved to a juvenile detention center upstate.”

“Good.”