Rhapsody on a Theme (11 page)

On the other hand, what were they supposed to do now? Getting him to go and see Elaine had been hard enough, and Jayden knew Darren well enough to know he wasn’t going to get so lucky a—he counted—fifth time. And they couldn’t just stop treatment altogether, otherwise they’d be right back where they started, and what then? Darren couldn’t carry on being so ill. Eventually, he’d lose his job because they’d deem him mentally unfit for the role, or he’d be passed over for promotion until he quit anyway, and that would make him worse because although he grumbled, he
loved
his job, he really did, and…

Jayden ground the heel of his hand into his face and sighed, fumbling with the lock and opening the cupboard. They had to do something. Go back to the doctor or something.

Darren had settled on the sofa, TV on, by the time Jayden composed himself and followed. Without the messy layer of blood, the scrapes weren’t so bad, and one thing Darren could do was take antiseptic cream like a man: he pulled a face at the first cold dab, but let Jayden rub it in quietly enough.

“I’ll call the surgery before I go to work in the morning,” Jayden murmured lowly. “Make another appointment.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“About the counselling, not your hands.”

“…Okay.”

“We need to deal with this.”

“Yeah.”

“We can’t just walk away from all the options, especially as the drugs messed you around so badly last time.”

“Mm.”

“And we…”

“Jayden, stop it,” Darren said gently, squeezing his hand. “Stop fussing. I’m fine. I feel better now. I was just pissed off, it wasn’t
that
.”

Jayden licked his lips. “What did she say?”

Darren rolled his eyes, drawing a foot up onto the sofa to shift sideways. He did look more relaxed, Jayden decided as he wiped his hands off. Maybe Darren
was
all right, for the moment.

“She’s been banging on for ages that I need to cut ties with my past, you know? Have a fresh start and get away from…” Darren waved one of those huge hands vaguely. “Everything, I guess. Father, music, the violin, all of that. Says that the only way I’ll learn to open up and trust properly is to effectively forget a bit of my own history.”

Jayden frowned.

“And that history includes you,” Darren said finally. “She was saying how…hanging on to a teenage fling is ultimately going to hold me back from recovery and it’s not healthy I’ve been with the same guy since I was fifteen. That was when I got angry. You’d be proud of me, mind, I didn’t do my nut. I walked out.”

“Well, it’s considered kind of bad to punch counsellors,” Jayden said and laughed a little guilty. He felt a little high, almost, or dizzy. Because academically, you know, maybe he could see the sense in her approach, but the minute Darren had voiced that implication, that they’d be better off apart, Jayden’s instinct had been to snap at him. And the counsellor. Because they
wouldn’t
and, if Jayden was
really
honest with himself, he would be hesitant to let Darren go even if it
would
make him better. It was selfish, but it was true.

“Well, we kind of tried apart,” he said eventually, and Darren laughed, draping an arm along the top of the sofa to tweak Jayden’s hair. “It didn’t work. At
all
.”

“No,” he said. “And if she can’t grasp after however many months of Sundays this has been now that you’re not some temporary thing for me, then how’s she supposed to help in the first place? She’s not fucking listening to me.”

Jayden nodded, still chewing on his lip. “Shit,” he said eventually. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“Yeah,” Darren agreed lowly, still playing with his hair loosely. “Where’s Rach?”

“Huh? Oh, out with Tony. He’s taking her to see a concert.”

“So she’ll be back late?”

“Yeah, I—oh,” Jayden murmured, his voice dropping as Darren shifted across the sofa and kissed him, one hand in his hair and the other sliding up his thigh, the palm hot through the denim, Darren using his mouth and chest to push Jayden down into the cushions. Jayden tangled his hands into that wild hair appreciatively, still damp from the shower at the gym, and said something breathlessly encouraging as Darren sucked a bruise into his neck, right below the jaw where Jayden liked it best. “I’m not prepared or anything,” he whispered as Darren slid that wandering hand around the back of his thigh.

“So we won’t go the whole way, easy,” Darren whispered into his neck, and made another bruise to match on the other side, leaving Jayden struggling to think. “Just let me appreciate for a while.”

“Oh, that’d be nice,” Jayden retorted, but the effect was lost in the groan that involuntarily rippled through his chest when Darren squeezed him through his jeans. “Fucking hell, Darren, we can’t on the
sofa
.”

“Watch me,” Darren challenged, pushing up Jayden’s T-shirt, and licking up his chest in fleeting little laps that had Jayden swearing by the time he reached his breastbone.

“Tease,” Jayden whispered. “Tease, tease, tease—
Jesus
—tease!”

Darren laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“In all honesty,” Dr. Zielinski said finally, sitting back in his chair as Jayden finished recounting what had happened on Sunday, “I don’t think we need to be overly concerned just yet.”

Jayden chewed on the edge of his lip. Darren, who had said very little throughout the appointment, took his hand and squeezed it gently. Jayden laced their fingers together.

“Despite the emphasis placed on talking therapy, it doesn’t always help,” the doctor said flatly. “Some people are simply not built to open up, or open up in the environment that a counselling office creates. That is why anonymous phone lines or forums, or family members and loved ones themselves can be equally vital to helping a patient who is suffering.”

Jayden swallowed.
Samaritans,
the voice in his head piped up.
He stopped calling Samaritans because of you, he stopped years ago after you accused him of…who’s he going to talk to without Elaine?

“How much coffee are you drinking now, Darren?”

“Two cups a day.”

“And he’s allowed one more of decaf if he gets really pissy,” Jayden added, and the doctor chuckled.

“That sounds much more reasonable. Have you felt otherwise well since we last spoke?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Just ‘okay’?”

Darren shrugged. “Yeah. Not bad, but not great.”

The doctor hummed. “Well, I would rather like to get you above just ‘okay’ but we’ll see. I have been looking into available options should we need to turn to drug treatments, but hopefully that won’t be necessary. If it has to be done, I can arrange for the first couple of weeks to be spent under observation in…”

“No,” Darren said sharply. Jayden clutched his hand tightly.

“You can’t put him away!” he protested.

“That’s not what I was suggesting,” the doctor said calmly. “It would merely be a stay in a residential psychiatric clinic until the initial side effects of the medication eased. Effectively a suicide watch. It’s a private clinic, but they do accept a few NHS patients on referral throughout the year. It would be a six week stay, or up to eight weeks if the side effects do linger.”

“I’m not going to a nuthouse,” Darren said harshly, and the doctor nodded.

“Very well. It is academic for the moment anyhow, and of course up to you,” he said, rattling away on his keyboard for a moment. “I would recommend you talk to
someone
—try and find out what’s most comfortable for you. Some people prefer to remain entirely anonymous on the internet, and others prefer to have a friend or relative as a confidante. I would suggest you look into these options, find something that works for you, and come back to me if you find nothing, or if you experience a depressive episode. Otherwise, we’ll have another check-up in March. Continue with the diet and exercise, and see if the adjustments help.”

Darren was standing almost before the doctor had finished talking, and Jayden rattled off a hurried thanks and goodbye before following him. “
Darren
.”

“I’m not going to a nuthouse,” Darren repeated firmly, already halfway to the surgery entrance. His voice sounded very tight, like a wire stretched taut, and Jayden knew that sound. It was the way his voice went right before he
cried
, and it sound of it created a sharp stab of pain in Jayden’s chest.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, caught Darren’s elbow, and squeezed his arm. “I wouldn’t let you go either, you know that.”

The tense set of Darren’s shoulders eased fractionally.

“
If
it comes to drugs, Rachel and I already talked about it and we’ll set up something at home to keep an eye on you for the first few weeks,” Jayden soothed. “You’re not going on any residential course or anything like that. I won’t let them put you there, and I won’t try and make you go myself. I
promise
.”

Darren relaxed, and Jayden nudged their shoulders lightly.

“Promise,” he whispered again, and Darren nodded jerkily.

“Okay,” he said, and the thin quality to his voice had eased somewhat. Jayden bit his lip.

“Smile for me?” he whispered.

Darren raised an eyebrow.

“You should,” Jayden said. “We’re seeing Paul and Ethan at the weekend, remember? And that’s a nice hotel Paul booked for us, I checked it out online, and I have your Christmas vouchers.”

Darren snorted, but an exasperated smile did wash over those angular features, and Jayden smiled, kissing him briefly in the waiting room in front of a huddle of old people awaiting flu jabs and small children with runny noses. One old lady harrumphed indignantly and loudly told her grandson not to look.

“Oh, get fucked,” Darren told her, equally loudly, and Jayden rolled his eyes and pulled him towards the door.

“We’ll be fine,” he promised as they fled the disease factory into the icy January frost, and Darren squeezed his hand tightly. “
You’ll
be fine.”

“Yeah,” he said.

In time, Jayden decided, Darren would sound convinced about that.

* * * *

On Saturday morning, they went to London.

It involved getting up stupidly early, and Jayden had to more-or-less steer a mostly-asleep Darren to the train station, through the barriers, and onto the train, capitulating and buying him a small cup of coffee in apology from the trolley when it came round, and then letting him settle against the window and doze off again. He’d had a late shift on Friday night, and maybe it
was
a bit unfair they couldn’t put it off, but it would be really rude and anyway, seeing the nutters Darren still called friends would take his mind off the doctor maybe. So Jayden didn’t feel too bad, especially when, as they pulled away from Basingstoke, Darren stirred sleepily, blinked at the icy world outside, and turned to slump against Jayden’s shoulder instead. He was warm, and his curls tickled, and Jayden pressed his cheek to Darren’s scalp in a vague imitation of a hug, and continued reading his magazine. This was his world, this tiny space in two seats with Darren and a magazine, and everything going on in their lives paused, for a brief second, and Jayden was happy.

Once they reached London, it was a case of waiting—Paul had decided he would pick them up, because Paul had typically gone into a job in finance and therefore could actually afford to drive in London, and in a very flash car as well—and so Jayden roused Darren enough to walk him off the train and into the closest cafe, and placed a small bucket of decaffeinated tea in front of him.

“I’ll let you sleep at the hotel,” he promised.

“You won’t,” Darren said darkly, sipping the tea gingerly and pulling a face. “This is disgusting.”

“Well, you’re not having any more coffee.”

“Bastard.”

Jayden rolled his eyes, and squeezed Darren’s hand over the table. “You’ll get used to life without caffeine.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t,” Darren insisted, and yawned widely, retracting his hand to cover his mouth briefly before returning it and wriggling his fingers back under Jayden’s. “I am in mourning for the loss of my beloved coffee. We need to have a funeral, for closure and shit, and I’m going to wear black for the rest of my life.”

“Your hair is nearly black.”

“Nearly black doesn’t begin to address the depths of my grief.”

Jayden laughed, then his eye was caught and he smiled. “There he is,” he said, raising a hand to wave as a tall figure in a polo shirt and baggy jeans meandered into the station foyer, underdressed for the cold and beaming.

“Kill me,” Darren said.

“Beatnik!” Paul crowed, pacing towards them on ridiculously long legs and stooped to hug Darren briefly. “Drink your swill and let’s go. I parked in the taxi rank.”

Darren grunted, unfolding from the seat with another yawn and leaving his bag for Jayden; Paul raised his eyebrows.

“He all right?”

“Just tired,” Jayden said, and they both winced at the use of one of Darren’s favourite excuses. “Legitimately tired,” he amended. “He was on the late shift last night, he didn’t get much sleep. He didn’t get in until five this morning. And he’s not allowed coffee anymore.”

“Ah,” Paul said and grinned again. “So how’re you then, mate?”

Paul had changed a lot in some ways, and very little in others. His appearance had definitely changed since he’d gotten his job at the bank: he’d grown his hair and controlled it now in neat cornrows, and he had grown an impressive beard for No-Shave November to raise money for prostate cancer last year. (He’d raised more when he’d shaved it off.) His dubious taste in fashion as a teenager had subsided, and now he wore tidy jeans and T-shirts or suits almost perpetually. He had been tall, well built, and vaguely intimidating since leaving school, but now his easy wealth and brash confidence in even the way he walked had added to it.

And yet he hadn’t changed either. His enquiry was genuine, but once reassured it passed and he poked fun at Darren like he always did. He was still cheerful, still breezy, and still sharper than Jayden ever quite managed to remember, half-hidden under the cheerful and casual demeanour with which he tended to handle his friends. He was still
Paul
and it was nice to think that even if Ethan was getting married and the four of them lived in completely separate places these days,
some
things weren’t going to change.