Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
And now, let's continue.
Lance was huddled in a naked ball in the back of the shower, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, his face buried. His shoulders shook, and he flinched when I jerked the curtain open, pressing against the wall as if trying to push through it. His skin was a little pink from the heat of the water, but there was no blood swirling down the drain, putting my fears about the razor to rest.
"Lance?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer, instead pulling himself even tighter into a ball, which I wouldn't have thought possible. I couldn't really hear him breathing over the noise of the shower, but I could tell by the shaking of his shoulders and the hitching of his chest expanding that he was crying. I sat on the edge of the tub and felt the water starting to splash me.
"Lance, it's Jack," I said. He hadn't looked up, and I was afraid he might think I was Justin. "Lance, please talk to me."
"Go away," he whimpered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the shower. "Don't look at me."
I turned on the edge of the tub, so that I was facing away from him, and felt the water begin to soak the back of my shirt. Figuring that I was probably going to end up pretty wet before this was over, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the sink, out of reach of the shower spray.
"I'm not looking at you, Lance," I said quietly. I didn't know if he'd look or not, so I continued. "I'm sitting on the edge of the tub, but my back is to you. I'm not looking at you, but I'm not leaving, either."
"Please go away," Lance said quietly. "Please."
"Lance, I can't do that," I said, staring at the wall, hoping he wasn't getting ready to lunge at me from behind or put me in a headlock or something.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're in pain, Lance," I answered. "I can't leave you until I know you're ok."
"Don't you hate me?" he asked quietly.
I sighed, feeling my shirt starting to stick to me from the water.
"I don't hate you, Lance," I said. "Why would I hate you?"
He didn't answer right away, and I wondered again what he was doing back there. He was probably exactly as I had left him, curled up in a ball, sobbing against the wall. I wanted very badly to turn and look, but I wanted him to feel like he had some control of what was going on. If he didn't want me to look at him, I wouldn't look.
"Because I hate myself," he said. It was the first thing he had said that wasn't in a quiet, broken voice. He said it with such conviction that I wanted to just give up now.
"I hope that's not true," I said. "Even if it is, I can't leave because I care about you."
"How can you care about me?" he asked, his voice rising. "How can you care about me after what I did to you? And what I did to JC? And what I let Justin do? You know what I let him do to me! How can you care about me when you know what I am?"
His voice had risen almost to a scream. I started to turn and he screamed again.
"Don't look at me!"
"I'm sorry!" I blurted. "I'm sorry, I forgot, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I'm not looking, Lance, I'm not. I'm sorry."
But I knew that if he saw me turn he was at least looking at my back. It was a small step, sure, but it was a step.
"Lance, it doesn't matter to me what you did to Josh and I," I said, and I realized as I said it that I actually meant it.
"But I hurt you," he said.
"I don't care," I replied. "It doesn't matter to me. It's in the past, and no matter what you did, you had reasons for it. Maybe you were surprised, maybe you were scared, but I won't believe that you actually wanted to hurt Josh or me. That's not who you are, Lance."
"You don't know who I am," Lance whispered.
"No, I don't, not really," I agreed. "But I know a little about how you feel. I know what it's like to not know who you are, or to know it and not want to believe it. I know what it's like to grow up your whole life being told one thing, and seeing that the whole world is one way, and then realizing that maybe, just maybe, you're another."
"No," Lance said quietly behind me. "I can't be like you. I can't."
His voice was clearer, making me think that maybe he didn't have his head buried in his arms any longer.
"I'm not saying you have to be," I said. "Be yourself, Lance."
"This can't be who I am," he said, crying again. "It can't. This is wrong."
"Who told you that?" I asked.
"Everyone knows," he answered. "The Bible says."
"I don't know a lot about the Bible, Lance, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't say anything about hate," I said. "You believe in God, right? Do you think God wants to see you like this? Do you think this would make God happy, to know that one of his creatures is in this much pain?"
"Maybe I deserve to be in pain," Lance said quietly.
"No one deserves to feel like this, Lance," I said. My back was now completely soaked, as was the back of my pants, but I kept staring at the wall.
"But I lied, Jack," Lance said quietly. "I lied to everyone. I always have. I lied and I lied and I kept lying, and every time I did I got in a little deeper, and then I lied to myself. And I thought if I did it enough, if I lied enough, I could do it so well that it would be true. I have to be what everyone else wants. I have to be, or they'll know I lied. Everyone will know, and they'll hate me for it."
"Lance, there's always a time when you have to stop lying," I said. "There's a time when you have to be honest with other people, but most of all you have to be honest with yourself. And your friends won't hate you for it, Lance. The people who love you, and the people who care about you, they won't hold it against you."
"I don't have any friends, Jack," Lance said, from right behind me. "I don't know who my friends are."
"I can think of one," I said. "I'd like to be your friend, Lance."
I felt his hand, wet and wrinkled, settle gently onto my shoulder.
"Do you, do you mean that?" he asked quietly.
"Of course I do," I answered, turning finally. He didn't scream or flinch this time, so I kept turning until my legs and feet were on the inside of the tub, instead of the dry outside. Lance's face floated before me, plaintive, hopeful, and scared, and tears streamed from his eyes.
"Good," he said, pulling me into the tub as he collapsed against me, pressing his head to my chest. "Because I think I need one."
"I think you do, too," I said, pulling him into a tight hug against me as the shower streamed down on us. I felt him sobbing, taking great hitching breaths against my chest. "It's ok, Lance. Go ahead and let it all out."
I don't know how long we stayed like that, lying against each other in the bottom of the tub as the shower ran. I just held onto Lance's shoulders, staring up at the ceiling as he sobbed against me. Who would have thought the day would ever come when Lance and I showered together? It would have been funny under any other circumstances, the picture of two grown men in a bathtub, hot water pouring down on them, one fully clothed down to his shoes and the other completely naked. I don't think Lance was even aware any longer that he was undressed, and I only noticed in the blandest, most neutral fashion, not attracted to him at all.
"Lance," I began, as he seemed to be settling down, or maybe just crying himself out. "Do you think we could shut off the water now?"
He clutched me almost painfully tight.
"No, please don't," he squeaked, fresh tears springing up. "I feel so dirty, so dirty."
"Lance," I began. I wasn't sure what I was going to follow it with, but he cut me off before I could continue, anyway.
"I let him do things to me, Jack!" Lance screamed against me. "I let him do that, and I liked it! I wanted him to do it."
"It's not your fault, Lance," I said. "It's not your fault."
"But I feel so dirty," he repeated. "I feel it all the time, on my skin, inside me, I feel like I'll never be clean. I liked it, Jack. I liked it."
"It's not always going to feel dirty, Lance," I said carefully. "Someday you're going to find someone who loves you, a boy or a girl, and it's not going to feel dirty. It's going to feel beautiful, and that's how you'll know they love you, because you won't feel bad at all. You'll feel whole."
"Is that how it is for you and JC?" he asked, staring up at me. He was so hurt, but wanted so much to hope.
"Yes," I answered. "Josh is like the part of me I never knew I was missing. He smiles, and it's like that smile is just for me, and I want so much to return that feeling, to return it and be worthy of it. I love him, Lance, and it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks. It only matters what we think, and how we feel. And someday it's going to feel like that for you, too."
"I feel so confused," Lance sighed against my chest. "I don't know what to think. I don't know how I feel, or how I should feel."
"That's ok, Lance," I said, wishing I'd thought to pull my wallet out of my back pocket when I saved my phone.
"I feel like I don't even know who I am," Lance said quietly. "Jack, what are we going to do?"
"I think we need to get you someone to help with all this," I said. "I think we need to find you a person, and a place, who can help you get some rest, and sort some of this out. What do you think?"
He was quiet for a minute as I hoped that he'd make the right choice.
"I think you might be right," Lance said finally.
"Tell you what, Lance," I began, standing. He stood with me. "Why don't you finish your shower, and then get dressed, and while you do that I'm going to make some calls. Is that ok?"
"I don't think I can do this alone, Jack," Lance said, still holding on to me with both hands. "I'm scared."
"You're not alone, Lance," I said, hugging him tightly again. "I'll be right there in your living room, and I'll stay with you every step of the way. You're never alone, Lance, never. I'm your friend, and I'll be here."
"OK," he said. "I'll be out in a little bit."
"OK," I said, stepping out of the bathroom. I pulled the curtain closed, although with the bathroom pretty much flooded it was kind of like closing the barn door after all the horses had run off.
"Jack?" Lance asked from the other side. "Can you, can you leave the bathroom door open?"
"Sure, Lance," I said. "No problem."
Leaving it open actually made me feel better, too, because I could watch the medicine cabinet, and make sure he didn't have a change of heart and go for the razor or a bottle of pills.
Scanning through the numbers in my cell phone, I found the one for the doctor who had come to look at Josh after the car wreck. He had been reliable and discreet before, and Lance trusted him, so I figured I could call him to get a recommendation for a good psychiatrist who might also be willing to take a case on extremely short notice. I called and explained what I needed to him, stressing as well that I would prefer someone who had a background and experience in sexual identity issues. After a few minutes on hold, he got back to me with a name and number, and I hastily scrawled them on a magazine. Thanking him, I wrote a note to send him a check for making the referral, thinking of Josh's "tip everybody" philosophy.
I called the psychiatrist while Lance finished up his shower, combed his hair quickly, and then went into his bedroom to get dressed. I outlined the basics of Lance's situation, not giving his name yet, because I didn't want him to know who Lance was until Lance fell within the guidelines of doctor/patient confidentiality. By the time Lance finished dressing and joined me in the living room I had the psychiatrist on standby at his private clinic, waiting for us to arrive. I led Lance over to the couch and sat down, holding his hand. He looked kind of dazed.
"Lance, are you ok?" I asked.
"I don't know," he answered, staring at me. "What's going to happen to me? We're going to walk out the door, and when we come back, I won't be who I was any more. I'm scared, Jack. I'm really scared."
"I know, Lance," I said, squeezing his hand. "But you're not alone. I called the doctor that you got for Josh, and he recommended this other doctor. If you still want to, I think we should go out there now. I think he can help you with this, Lance."
"OK," he said. "Are we going now?"
"I want to go get changed into some dry clothes first," I said, standing. "Then I'll drive you out, although I'll have to use your car, and you'll have to help me find this place."
"OK," he said again, handing me his keys.
Lance followed me to Josh's apartment, and waited in the living room while I stripped out of my wet clothes, dried myself off, and got dressed again. He was sitting in exactly the same position when I walked out of the bedroom as when I had gone in, and I wanted to slap Justin all over again. I was also struck by the contrast between the state of Lance's apartment, and the way ours looked, and wondered if I should call in a maid service. That was a security risk, though, so we'd probably be better off if I just cleaned it later. After all, I had his keys.
Lance navigated me through the city, and then up into the hills and canyons, and we finally pulled to a stop at a building that looked more like a mansion than a clinic. The address was correct, but there wasn't even a sign out front. I parked the car in the circular drive, and Lance followed me up to the front door. I knocked, and a young woman with small, round glasses answered the door.
"Hi," I began. "I'm not sure if I'm in the right place or not. I'm looking for a Dr. Centano?"
"Oh, yes, you're in the right place," she answered perkily. "Please come in, and I'll let him know you're here. Are you Jack?"
"Yes," I answered, relieved.
We followed her inside, stepping into a marble tiled foyer with large windows, a gleaming chandelier, and a sprawling central staircase. Looking around as we waited for her to reappear, I realized that the building was a former Hollywood dream palace, one of those houses built by some long gone and probably forgotten movie icon, some actor or actress who made it big, at least for a while, and left behind the home of their dreams tucked away in the Hollywood hills. My musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and I turned to see an older man with half glasses and gleaming white hair walking toward us, smiling.
"Mr. Springer?" he asked, looking back and forth between us.
"Please call me Jack," I said, extending my hand. He was perfect. Warm, friendly, and as innocuous as Santa Claus.
"And you are?" he asked, turning toward Lance.
"I'm Lance," he answered quietly, not extending his hand. His shoulders were slumped, and he was clasping his hands together.
"Lance?" I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder. "You ok?"
"Yes, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just, I mean, I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for," I said.
"Lance, my name is Charles Centano," the doctor said. "You can call me Dr. Centano, or Charles is fine, if you prefer."
Lance looked at him, swallowing.
"Are you going to help me?" Lance asked quietly, staring.
"No," Dr. Centano answered, and my head jerked toward him. "You're going to help yourself. I'm just here to guide you along the path. Why don't we go somewhere a little more private to talk, ok?"
Dr. Centano led us down a long hallway, past many closed doors, and finally ushered us into a comfortable little office. There was a large desk pressed against one wall, the top filled with the comforting clutter of someone working, and there were several leather chairs in a group around a small round table in the center of the room. Lance sat in one, so I sat next to him, and Dr. Centano took a chair on the other side of him.
"Lance, before we get started, I just want to tell you that everything that you say in this room stays in this room, unless you choose to take it out," he began. "Everything you say to me stays with me. Now, Jack gave me a little bit of background on the phone, but do you want to tell me why you're here?"
Lance swallowed again, and looked at his hands.
"Jack?" he asked.
"Yes, Lance?" I answered, scared that he was going to decide that he couldn't do this after all.
"Do you, um, maybe could you," Lance stammered, trying to find the right words. "Would you be mad if I asked you to leave? Could you wait for me somewhere? I just, I don't want you to hear this."
"Lance, how could I be mad at that?" I asked. "I want you to do whatever makes you comfortable. Of course I'll wait for you somewhere."
Lance jumped out of his chair as I stood, wrapping me in a hug.
"Thank you," he whispered into my ear. "Thank you, Jack."
"You're welcome, Lance," I said, pulling him back. I lifted his chin with my finger, so that I could look into his eyes. "I'll wait for you right outside somewhere, Lance. I want you to know that I think you're being very brave, and very strong, and that I'm proud to be your friend."
"Thank you," he repeated, looking away. I saw his eyes filling up with tears, and decided to beat a hasty retreat before he broke down again.
"I'll have Colette show you somewhere comfortable," Dr. Centano said, pressing a button on his desk.
"Thanks," I said, giving Lance a thumbs-up as I stepped into the hallway.
Colette showed me a nice library, with more padded leather furniture, and an outdoor garden. Having been inside all day, I opted for the garden, finding the birds and flowers soothing as the sky began to darken. I was sitting on a painted iron bench, waiting for it to be dark enough for me to try to spot the stars, when my phone rang. I checked the number, and saw that it was Josh.
"Hi babe," I said, smiling.
"Hi!" he breathed. I could hear his voice jumping with excitement.
"You sound happy," I observed. "How's the visit with your parents and Tyler going?"
"Jack, I told them, and they don't care!" he gushed. "They're completely ok with it!"
"I thought Heather said to tell your mom first?" I asked. I was sure that was the plan the two of them had agreed on.
"I thought about it, but I didn't want to wait, or play games," Josh said. "Jack, they don't care! It doesn't bother them at all!"
"I'm so happy for you, Josh," I said, and I meant it.
Josh needed his family, so I was glad they turned out to be totally supportive of him. He told me the whole story about flying in, going to eat with them, and then telling the three of them immediately, without any preamble. He told me excitedly how they didn't care who he was with, as long as he was happy, and how the four of them had a long discussion about what this meant for him, and how he had arrived at this.
"I haven't told you the best part, either!" Josh continued. "They want to meet you, right away!"
"Oh, wow," I said. I had never been brought home to meet a boy's parents before, oddly enough. "Josh, what did you tell them about me?"
"I told them that you're the man I've waited my whole life to love," he answered. "And that's all they needed to hear. When can you fly out? I'll have a ticket brought over."
"Day after tomorrow?" I asked. "I have some stuff here I need to wrap up before I can come out."
"You sound down," Josh said. "Are you ok?"
"More or less," I answered. "I really, really miss you, and there's some stuff going on that I need to talk to you about, some important stuff, but I don't want to get into it over the phone."
"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked again. "I can grab the next plane and come back if you need me."
"No, Josh, please, stay and enjoy your time with your family," I said, shaking my head as if he could see me doing it through the telephone. "God knows you don't get to see them enough. Let me just take care of this stuff, and then I'll be right out to see you, and we can talk then, ok?"
"OK," he answered. "I miss you, too, you know."
"Glad to hear it," I said. Looking up, I saw Lance and Dr. Centano entering the garden, and realized I had been on the telephone for over an hour. "Josh, I have to go. Call me tomorrow night?"
"Sure," he answered. "I love you, Jack."
"I love you, too," I said. I hung up and stood as Lance and Dr. Centano approached. I could tell by Lance's face that he had been crying again, but he looked better somehow, too. "How's it going?"
"It's better, Jack," Lance said, looking down. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said. "What are we doing now?"
"Well, we have the facilities here to house a small number of our clients, and Lance has expressed an interest in staying for a few days," Dr. Centano answered.
"Do you think you could, um, go to my apartment and bring me some stuff?" Lance asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I could make you a list."
"Of course I can, Lance," I said, smiling. "I'll have to take your car, though."
"That's ok," he said, shrugging. "I'm not using it. I'll call Chris and Joey tomorrow and tell them I'll be away for a couple days."
"OK," I said. "Why don't we go make that list?"
After Lance gave me the list of what he wanted, I drove back to the apartment building. Discovering a full set of luggage in his guestroom, I packed him up everything that was on his list, and a couple of extra things that I thought he might also want, like running shoes, and his Bible. I wasn't sure if he'd want this or not, since he had thrown it across the room hard enough to dent the wall, but I thought maybe he would want it at some point. Pulling the suitcase along, I shut off all of his lights, and pulled open the door.
Justin was standing right outside, and he stepped back in surprise when he saw me.
"Jack," he asked, eyes darting down to the suitcase. "What are you doing?"
Maybe Jack should just beat him with Lance's suitcase. More to come soon.