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The next day, Nick was very aloof, clearly avoiding me. I understood though, he was straight and possibly felt weird about the whole situation. I can't lie and say it didn't hurt my feelings though, at least a little bit.
My newfound friend decided not to join any of the group therapy classes that day, opting to stay in bed, as I found out when I went to my room several times to brush my teeth or change my shirt, skipping parts of the various groups in order to see what was new with Nick; which was nothing every time, he appeared to be sleeping or staring at the ceiling each time. I hoped things wouldn't change between us, and I hoped he wasn't too fucked up or hurt by his own actions. Confronting your sexuality is hard. And clearly he had demons to face. I mean we were roommates in a psychiatric ward. It's not like I was completely normal. I didn't even remember coming in.
By lunchtime I could feel anxiety welling up in my chest. It wasn't even just Nick, although I was shocked he skipped lunch considering his love for food. It was everything. I couldn't escape. I was trapped here and couldn't sign myself out like I usually did when I got committed and the hold was up. I couldn't leave until the psychiatrist signed off on me and I still hadn't seen her. I could barely eat.
Our next group was music therapy. A guy came in and played the guitar, singing some song I didn't recognize. It didn't matter, I began to cry. I left the room and stood at the sink in the common room, facing away from everyone and ripping some paper towels out of the machine on the wall. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I started crying even harder and began to choke. I couldn't stop.
It seemed like an eternity before the psychiatrist came up to me. She brought me into a doctor's room and asked me what was wrong. Everything started to tumble out, but in the wrong order. I was just sick of this, sick of my life. I kept fucking up and had no idea why my life was the way it was. And I couldn't leave. I couldn't escape, I couldn't go home. After 10 minutes of my desperate breathing and crying the doctor wrote a prescription for a Xanax and told me to go use the phone and call my mom while they filled it.
I went to the common room and called my mom, still crying. I complained about the fact that I had somehow sweated through my clothes. I noticed that Nick was out of our room and kept walking close to me. Every time I walked away to cry to my mom he would follow closely. What the hell was he doing? Was he trying to listen, did he think I was upset about him for some reason and might tell someone? Was he scared that his complicated sexuality might be further troubled by me?
After I got off the phone I went to the nurse's station to get my Xanax. It was crazy that Xanax was the reason I ended up here and that I was now getting a prescription for it. Nick was right behind me in line the entire time I talked to the nurses about my panic attack while waiting for them to give me my pill. He walked in circles around me while I talked about the situation with Zack, another guy on my unit I was friends with. It was starting to annoy me. I went into my room to lay down in bed, feeling drowsy and relaxed after taking the Xanax. Just a few minutes later Nick came in and layed down on top of his bed. I smirked at the ceiling. He was fucked up alright, but in just what way I wasn't sure. Yet. I decided I was gonna be bold.
"Dude you keep following me." I said, trying to sound like I was just joking around. Nick laughed sharply.
"You don't get it." He responded. He was right.
"Don't get what?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just nothing."
I sat up.
"You know why I had a panic attack?" I asked him.
"No."
"Because dude, I want to get out of here. And I fucking can't. I just want to go home. That's all."
Nick looked at me and grimaced in sympathy.
"I can't either." He said.
"Yeah, we're trapped." I sighed, "The least we can do is have a little fun."
Nick raised his eyebrow at me, but he made no moves. It was daytime. Was that a no for him? I smiled at him, but he didn't return the favor. I had an idea. I hopped up off my bed and got some clothes and went into the bathroom. I left the curtain halfway open on his side so that he could clearly see inside. Slowly, I took my shirt off, then unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down; all while facing away from Nick. I then turned to face him but didn't look at him. I took my underwear off and stood still for a moment. Then, I turned and got into the shower.
During the shower a million thoughts raced through my head. Was he even facing me, did he see me change? Did he like what he saw, did he care at all? I tried to hurry up; after all, the point was certainly not the shower.
After I got out I slowly dried myself off in full view of Nick- if he was facing the shower that is. I didn't look at him as I pulled my shirt down and my boxers and sweatpants up. But I glanced at his bed as I left the shower and saw that he was indeed facing the shower although his eyes were closed. At least, they were right now. When I laid back down on my bed I saw that Nick had turned around on his bed so that he was facing me now. Still with his eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
I began to touch myself but Nick didn't follow suit so soon I gave up. Instead I simply looked him up and down, analyzing his handsome, guant face, those long eyelashes, his parted, full lips, his messy brown hair that needed to be combed. My eyes couldn't help but track down his body. There was nothing to see really but he looked sexy in his clothes anyway. They were like gym clothes, a t-shirt and sweatpants that came from Adidas.
His shoes were nice, although it was crazy he had them on the bed. He had big shoes, and he needed to clean the bottom of them. He began to breathe sharply, and I deduced he was probably dreaming. Slowly and silently, I got off of my bed.
I crept over to the side of Nick's bed and I looked at him up close. I wished I could touch his soft brown hair. I glanced down at his arm and saw the sw*stika tattoo amidst many other playful or random images like the playboy bunny. Why did he even have this tattooed on him? He seemed nice to everyone on the unit, no matter their race. And he clearly wasn't straight up homophobic. In fact he had no problem with me.
Or at least he didn't for now, but if he caught me inches away, staring at him he sure would. I booked it back to my bed and got under the covers. I continued to look at my roommate. After quite some time had passed he awoke and caught me staring. I looked away blushing but I could hear him chuckling. I laughed nervously.
"Is it dinner time yet?"
He asked me.
"Not yet," I responded sheepishly, "but thirty minutes until smoke break."
Nick laughed again. I wiped sweat from my forehead.
"Dude you're fine." Nick told me.
"What?"
"I meant I don't care."
I looked at him swiftly.
"Don't care about what?" I asked.
"I don't care what you do," he replied, "I mean you can do whatever you want, I don't care. Doesn't bother me. So long as we understand each other. Meaning you don't talk to me people. If you catch my drift."
I was shocked. What exactly was he trying to say? I laughed out of sheer anxiety.
"I don't talk to people," I said firmly, "so that will never be a problem. But I'm not sure what you mean otherwise."
My roommate simply grinned at me. Do whatever you want." He said.