Patient Privilege (13 page)

Erik loved the way Marshall looked happy no matter what simple little act he was involved in. No matter what, he always had a smile on his face and lilt in his voice. The only time Erik had seen any different had been when they'd broken up. And the face Marshall had worn that night hadn't been anger. It'd been hurt.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," Erik finally said.

"Me too, but I have work and the paper won't wait."

"I know."

"You could always come with me."

"I have patients, Marshall." Erik reached across the table and held his ex's hand. "If it weren't for them, I would go with you in a heartbeat."

"I know." Marshall gave his hand a firm squeeze. "But you can visit me, right? And when your patients have completed treatment, then maybe you can move back to San Fran?"

Erik laughed softly. "Maybe. We'll have to see how this hand plays out. I'll be looking for a new job in three months anyway." He sighed, the edge of his lip perked, staging a smile for Marshall just because he didn't want to be the one to ruin their last meal together. He said, "We'll start with a long, romantic weekend, and if everything goes well, we can talk about me moving back."

"I like that plan," Marshall said.

They polished off the plate of sushi and shared a few laughs here and there. Before they knew it, Erik's lunch break ended and he had an appointment with an old patient in less than ten minutes.

Hand in hand, they walked out to the parking lot. Erik touched his hands to Marshall's cheeks as he leaned in for a kiss. It was meant to be short and sweet, but quickly escalated into deep and sensual before either of them found enough will to reel their passion back in.

Erik pulled back and opened his eyes slowly. "I'm going to miss you so much." He said in a low, soft voice. His thumb brushed over Marshall's moistened lips.

"I'll miss you too." Marshall said. He wrapped his arms around Erik's waist and mumbled against shoulder, "You call me. I would love to hear your voice every once in a while."

Kissing Marshall's temple, Erik said, "I promise I will. Be careful, okay? And call me when you get home so I don't worry."

"I will, I promise."

"I love you," Erik said.

Marshall lifted his head. "I love you too, baby."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nearly eight hours had passed since Dr Daniels left the room. Angel lay in one of the two twin beds. Paranoia made him choose the one closest to the door, just in case he had a sudden need to bolt. The sheets were wrinkled from all his tossing and turning, corners pulled away from the edges of the mattress. A thin sheen of sweat covered his pale skin, despite the shivers giving the illusion that he might be cold. His gnarled body ached all over, and it seemed he only found relief while curled into a ball on his side.

Roni spent half the night begging him to eat. Nearly every time she would go by his room to check on him, she would suggest trying something light and bland, something easy on his stomach. The one time she brought food with her, he started to dry heave almost as soon as he took the first bite, which didn't help the sandpaper feeling in his throat.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, his eyes watered and burned, and he could barely see anything around him anymore. Not that the scenery—or lack thereof—helped to take his mind off how badly he wanted to get high.

Something had to give. He couldn't keep doing this shit. Coming down wasn't a pleasant experience. The sixty-plus-hours-clean withdrawals he felt now made those first few hours seem like a walk in the park. At this rate, he would lose his mind well before his body had a chance to heal itself. Angel could feel that shit coming.

"Help me!" he suddenly cried out, screaming at the top of his lungs. No one came running. How cruel could those assholes be? Promise him help, and this is the kind of treatment he got? "F-fucking help!"

Every inch of his skin tingled. He shuddered against the bed, hands white-knuckling the sheets. If they didn't help him soon, he was just going to throw in the towel and walk away.

The pitter patter of dainty feet charged down the hall, slapping to a stop as soon as they reached his door. Roni charged in, yelling out a stream of "What's wrong? What can I do? Calm down, please."

"I c-can't d-do this! It h-hurts!" Angel cried. "It h-hurts and I n-need to get h-high!"

"No, honey. Getting high isn't going to solve anything. It's not going to make it better." She knelt down beside his bed, covering his shaking hand with her fingers. "Come on. Let's get you out of this room for a bit, huh?"

Pulling his hand away, he shook his head back and forth. "I can't. I c-can't stay h-here and d-do this anymore."

"Let's go to the courtyard and get some air," Roni suggested. "Getting out of this room will do you a world of good, Angel."

"I c-can't," he breathed as tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the stark, white sheets wrapped around his body.

"Angel, look at me." Roni gripped his chin and lifted his head. Angel's puffy, red eyes met her hard, stern stare. "As long as you keep telling yourself that you can't do this, you won't be able to. You have to believe that you have the will to beat your addiction. You have to want this as much as you want air or water or… or your life. Don't give up now, honey. You can beat this."

With her hand locked around Angel's, she helped him up in the bed, keeping her eyes trained on his. He could do this. Even if he didn't have faith in himself, she seemed to and so did Dr Daniels. Angel nodded his head slowly and let her walk him out to the clinic's inner courtyard.

The area was a decent size, surrounded on three sides by the clinic's walls. The last bit had been blocked off from the outside world by a wall of fencing. The part of the fence the patients could see was made of wood. It made a good attempt to hide the chain-link and curls of barbed wire just behind it. A tree here and there made the place feel cozier, Angel supposed. Concrete sidewalks crisscrossed through the center. Every few feet, there was a wooden bench. Roni guided him over to one, sat down, and eased him down beside her. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and he nestled against her side.

"This is a nice place to relax, Angel. You should take advantage of it."

Angel's teeth chattered as he tried to speak.

"Shh," Roni whispered. "Just relax. You don't have to talk." Her hand rubbed up and down his arm as he stared up at the starry night above. "In a few hours, you can have meds and it will take some of that pain away. Then Dr Daniels will be by to talk to you."

He tensed against her side, lowered his head and swallowed hard. "I… I d-don't want to t-talk."

"You have to. You have to get to the root of your problems. If you don't solve them, then they could easily come back. You don't want that, do you?"

"N-no but—"

"There's no 'but' to it. Everything we do here, we do for a reason. It's not because we want you to suffer. It's the opposite, really. You need to go to group because you need to learn how to talk to people, how to deal with them, and form relationships. You have to relearn some of the fundamental basics of being in the world and around people without having the urge to get high because you're having a hard time dealing with things. Like I said Angel, we're here to help you, but you have to let us."

"W-what if I c-can't be helped?"

"Everyone can be helped, Angel. I firmly believe that. You just have to want it."

Angel looked back up at the night, at the stars. Those same stars twinkled over his family's home in Maine, and he wondered if his mom or sister looked up at those stars and wondered if he was out there doing the same. When he was high, he'd never realized just how badly he missed them. Now that his mind was somewhat clear, he'd give almost anything just to hug them both again. And God, the shit he'd said to Jon, his best friend. Had he screwed up so badly he'd lost the only person who'd ever cared for him and understood him?

"I'm alone," he whispered. Tears dripped onto the light blue shirt they'd put him in. All the new people wore the same color shirt, a sort of a sign to the nurses that those people needed to be watched closely. Darker blue spots formed where his tears fell, and Angel made no attempt to hide them. He didn't care. He was broken and he didn't give a shit who knew it.

"No, sweetie, you're not alone," Roni said. "We're all here to help you and as soon as your first two weeks are over, and if you show progress, you'll get the chance to have visitors."

Angel nodded against her shoulder. The idea of Jon seeing him clean gave him a new reason to stick with it. He owed Jon that much after everything he'd put him through. Then maybe, just maybe, he could see his family again.

"I want to be saved," he rasped through the tears and Roni's arms tightened around him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I'm back in San Francisco." Marshall's voice sounded so thin and distant. Erik heard the clanking, scraping rattle of keys hitting a hard surface, like Marshall didn't waste a moment after walking in the door before making the phone call he'd promised. "Are you still at the clinic?"

"No," Erik said as he padded toward the kitchen, gripping the phone in one hand while the other attempted to rub the tiredness from his face. "I actually went home early tonight. I needed a break before I lost my mind."

"Why? What's wrong?"

Erik heard the cracking of a plastic bottle, heard the giant gulps Marshall took, and he imagined the Adam's apple bobbing in Marshall's sexy, slender throat as he swallowed down whatever he was drinking. He imagined his fingers grazing up and down Marshall's neck from collar to jaw, and he had to clear his throat before speaking again.

"Nothing specifically. It's just," Erik sighed as he leaned against the worn, cracked kitchen counter, arms crossed over his bare chest. "Dealing with junkies can be hard sometimes. I wish they would just listen and not fight back, you know?"

"If that were the case, they wouldn't need your help, now would they?"

"And leave it to my ex to be the voice of reason." Erik laughed lightly.

"I don't like that."

"Like what?"

"You calling me your ex."

"But that's what you are."

"Call me your friend or… or even your lover, but not your ex. It sounds so… so final, like there's no chance of it ever changing."

Erik let out a deep, unsteady breath. "Let's not get our hopes up. I love you and God knows I miss you already. But if things don't work out, I don't want either of us to be disappointed."

"You've always had such little faith."

"I never had 'little faith' in us."

"Maybe," Marshall mumbled. "Seems you do now."

"You think I don't believe in us as a couple?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I think you want to believe in us, but you're afraid to."

What could he say to that? Marshall was right, but he always seemed to be right when it came to them. Erik gulped down his first cup of coffee then poured himself another. Apparently the night would turn out to be a long one. "I'm realistic, Marshall. That's all."

"Yes, my beloved doctor. Ever the realist." Marshall let out a hard yawn. "I need to unpack and get to bed. Seven comes early."

"That it does. Sleep well, Marshall. We'll talk soon."

"Goodnight, Erik."

Dial-tone.

Marshall hung up without waiting for the "I love you" this time. Erik didn't know if that was a good or bad sign, whether they'd reached the dreaded impasse of their relationship or if Marshall simply didn't need or want to hear the words anymore.

Erik shut his phone off and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. He sucked down one last cup of coffee before making his way toward his bedroom. He wasn't tired, but the idea of settling in with a good book really tickled his fancy at the moment.

Then he heard a knock at the door.

"Dammit." He sighed as he headed back out to the living room. No one ever came to visit him, especially at this time of night, but that wouldn't stop him from welcoming…

As soon as the door opened, he saw Jon's small frame and light blond hair. "What are you doing here?" Erik asked with a frown.

"I need some advice and you're the smartest person I know," Jon said as he waved a large, white folder in the air.

"What is that?"

"I'm going to school."

"And this couldn't wait?"

Jon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, huffing as he said, "Please help me. Like I said, I don't know anyone else."

Erik opened the door further to invite Jon inside then closed it behind him. As they passed by the couch, Erik snatched up the T-shirt he had tossed there earlier. He pulled the wrinkled rag over his head and guided Jon over to the kitchen table. This wasn't how he'd wanted to spend the rest of the night, but taking one look at Jon and remembering the way the kid had been so devastated by Angel's harsh words, there was no way he could say no.

He flipped on the cheap light fixture that hung over his equally cheap table and held out his arm, pointing toward a rickety, wooden chair to offer Jon a seat. "Thirsty?"

Jon shook his head.

Erik went to the back of the kitchen and poured himself yet another cup of coffee. It was definitely going to be a long night. And this—Jon being at his place—didn't look good no matter how he spun the story. His patient's partner or ex-partner or best friend or… whatever, didn't need to be at his apartment. But then again, Erik had never been the kind of guy who could say no to a person in need.

He took a seat beside the kid and reached for the envelope. It wasn't UCLA, but rather some small community college somewhere on the other side of LA. If Erik had to guess, he would venture that Jon had chosen the place to stay far away from Angel just like Angel had asked. But in the grand scheme of things, did the school or location really matter? At least it was
some
school. At least Jon wanted to make something of himself. If being kicked out of Angel's life shifted the kid into full gear, then far be it from Erik to judge.