The Darker Side of Trey Grey (25 page)

“You’d rather I stay on the Ave?” I asked, surprised at the edge of anger in my tone.

“I’d rather you quit all together, but I know I have no right to ask that right now. We haven’t known each other long enough for me to make that demand.” He leaned onto his knees and bowed his head. “I need some time to —” Kelly’s cell phone rang cutting him off.

I answered around the thickening in my throat. “Hello?”

“Trey, what happened?” Dr. Greene asked in a soft voice. I almost broke down, I wanted too, but managed to tell him without blubbering. When I was done, he informed me he was on his way, and if they tried to do a mental health screening I needed to refuse it. This wasn’t my first mental rodeo and I already knew that. I hung up feeling a bit lighter knowing he was coming to see me, then I looked at Justin and felt our relationship hanging by very tenuous and painful threads. The rending hurt. I made a hasty decision that I hoped was the right one.

“Justin...”

He raised his head and swiped at his eyes.

“Give me until finals with no questions asked. If you can give me that I
will
walk away from it all. I just... I can’t right now, no matter how much I wish I could.”

He sniffled, giving a slight nod, and his eyes brightened despite the crease in his brow. He went to shuffle out of his chair then hesitated, unsure.

“I still need you more than ever,” I said as I scootched over. I needed to hold him as much as he needed to be held. I didn’t care what the nurse might think. If she complained she could go to hell. The instant my arms went around him Justin broke and began sobbing. My chest ached knowing I was the cause.

Kelly chose that moment to return and stopped just inside the door, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“I leave you for ten minutes,” she teased gently as she set the drink carrier on the bedside table. She handed us each a tissue. I felt my cheeks and sure enough they were wet. I patted them dry then buried my face in the nape of Justin’s neck while he cried fearlessly in front of Kelly. She sat down silently and began stroking his hair while I held him tightly against me, disregarding the ache radiating along my side and under my ribs.

This was Justin’s breakdown. The first since his suicide attempt, and he deserved every minute of it.

The sobbing broke down to hitched breaths, and he began to shiver. I wrapped myself tighter around him. A young black nurse with a kind face walked in carrying a new bag of beige fluid.

I looked imploringly at her. “Please don’t ask him to move,” I pleaded quietly.

She smiled warmly. “I wasn’t going to say a thing. I’m just here to reset your IV.”

I held out my arm for her, and she set the new shunt deftly. “Do you need another blanket?” she asked.

I nodded, mouthing “
thank you
.” She retrieved a white knit blanket from a cabinet over the little sink then laid it over both Justin and I before she left. I settled my head into the pillow, snugging the blanket around him as I closed my eyes.

I wasn’t sure if I slept, I must have, because the next thing I heard was Dr. Greene’s voice in the hall. I opened my eyes and saw him talking to a young man at the nurses’ station just outside my door. No tweed suit today. He was in jeans and an olive green button down shirt with pockets all over it. He looked even more a geek, if that was possible. Justin was snoring softly, and Kelly was rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“Is that your therapist?” she asked quietly as she eyed him.

“Yeah.”

“He looks like Larry Fines,” she whispered.

I grinned. “Yeah, he does. He’s starting to grow on me though.” I shuffled into a more upright position causing Justin to grumble and stir. “Go back to sleep,” I whispered to him, kissing the top of his head. He pushed his spine against me, quieting right back down. My whole side throbbed now and I reached over, hitting the button on the pain pump.

Dr. Greene took in the scene as he entered the room, struggling to suppress a grin.

“Trey, I have been worried about you since we talked, but I see you are well tended.” His chin gestured towards Justin. “I assume this is Justin, and it appears things between you are going well.” He did smirk now.

“They were until I did this. Things have been a bit tense as a result.”

He inclined his head, then glanced at Kelly as he set a skinny leather portfolio on the floor.

“Dr. Greene, my therapist. Kelly, Justin’s roommate,” I said. They both smiled at my descriptions. Kelly stood, and they shook hands, then she picked up her coffee.

“I’m going to run to the house and get his meds and a quick shower,” she said.

“Can you grab my jacket too? My smokes should be in there, and I could really use one.”

She squeezed my hand then ran her’s over Justin’s arm before she left.

“Do you want him to stay?” Doc asked of Justin.

I nodded. He closed the door then sat down in the chair Kelly had vacated, pulling a legal pad from his bag.
 

“What happened, Trey?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

He pursed his lips and gave me an irritated look. “Tell me what you remember.”

I grunted. “That’s the problem, Doc.”

The irritated look magnified to an eye roll. I think I had said that more to get a rise out of him than anything.

“Okay, I’m telling,” I said when he shifted and I thought he might be contemplating leaving. “I was dreaming about the day I found my mother dead from an overdose. It’s not something that really bothers me. It didn’t really bother me when it happened. I knew it was coming, it was just a matter of when.” I paused, frowning down at Justin. “Suddenly Justin was there, standing over me, and I was talking to him. Telling him I didn’t kill her.” My eyes narrowed down on the Doc. “That’s never happened before, him entering my dreams I mean.” I could feel the deep wrinkles in my brow and tried to relax the frown from my face.

“You’ve never dreamt about him?”

“No, I mean yes. I dream about him, but he’s never been present in one of my repressions.”

“That’s an interesting way to describe them. Am I to assume these dreams, or nightmares as you like to call them, are things you don’t generally think about? They only present when you’re asleep?”

“I try not too. I’ve gotten pretty good at forgetting over the years.”

He nodded, writing on the pad. When he was done he looked up at me and sighed. “Trey, I think you need to talk about your abuse more. If you don’t want to talk to me or Justin, then talk to yourself in the mirror, or write it down in a journal. Open yourself up and let it out. Yell, swear, cry, punch a pillow, whatever it takes to release the memories. Right now you think you have everything in a tidy corner of your mind, but that is not a healthy place for it to stay. Now, what happened next?”

I stared at him for a moment as I processed what he had just said. I wasn’t sure I could voice every detail to him, Justin, or myself for that matter. They were repressed memories for a reason. A journal... maybe I could do that. If it would stop my mental decline I was willing to try anyway. I licked my dry lips, glanced at the cold coffee and blanched. I wasn’t that thirsty yet.

“What happened next?” Doc asked again, his pen poised over the yellow pad.

I rubbed my itchy eyes. “Um, I had some trouble escaping. I figure it was the stress of being stabbed, even though I didn’t consciously know it yet.”

Doc gestured in agreement.

“I asked him”— I indicated Justin with a sweep of my eyes — “what had happened, and he told me I had stabbed myself. I denied it until I saw the blood, and felt the pain. I didn’t remember doing it. Still don’t. But, you know, evidence doesn’t lie. I had a recent stab wound, and the bloody knife was on the floor next to where I had been kneeling. Then the ambulance came and brought me here.” I licked my lips again. “Doc, I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never intentionally hurt myself.”

“Bullshit,” Justin said.
The dog, how long has he been awake?
“You do it every time you scrub yourself until you bleed.” He sat up, settling near my shins.

“You’re right, Justin,” Doc said, surprising me. He pointed his pen at me. “What happens while you sleep is done sub-consciously. Your obsessive-compulsive disorder is an intentional and conscious act. Something you should be able to moderate, yet seem unwilling to at times.”

He was right of course. After being diagnosed while at Fairfax, I had done countless hours of research on the subject. I should be able to train myself to stop before it became self-inflicted abuse. Yet, every time I had tried, I had failed. For some reason I just zoned out. The fact I didn’t remember where I went during those times had always disturbed me. It must have disturbed Justin too, because he reached for my hand and held on tight.

“I think we need to work on that during regular sessions. Do you agree, Trey?” Doc asked and I nodded compliantly. “All right, so, you sub-consciously injured yourself, do you know if it was before or during the recalled memory of your mother’s death?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you remember how long the actual event was you dreamed about?” Justin asked, and Doc glanced at him amused.

“Maybe five minutes, give or take. It didn’t take me long to find her, and I didn’t stay with her very long before I called 911.”

“Then it had to be before. He had lost a lot of blood already, and the blood on the knife was dry when I found him.” Justin added.

“Where did you get the knife?”

I sat up a little straighter, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”

“It’s from the block in the kitchen. Kelly verified that. She found your PJs on the floor by the sink.” He looked at the ceiling, waving his head back and forth. “I don’t know why you came back to the bedroom... I’m glad you did though.”

Justin wrung his fingers while his Adam’s apple worked his throat. I rubbed my foot over his thigh and hip. He gripped it through the blankets and squeezed. I was glad I had too.

Doc wrote on his pad, appearing just as stymied as we were. He lifted his head, his confusion evident by the creases in his brow. “Do you remember anything before that? An event where you felt the need to defend, or possibly harm yourself?”

I snorted, running my hand through my hair. “That’s every memory, Doc.” I shook my head though. “I wasn’t dreaming before that.”

“You sound positive. How are you so sure?” he asked.

“I remember everything when I wake up.” I looked at Justin’s and my hands twined together. “Except... I can’t remember the one from earlier today. I know it was a nightmare, but I can’t recall any of it.” I chewed on the dry skin flaking off my lower lip as I tried to remember the dream that ended in my striking Justin. It was like chasing a fox through the woods at night. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t see the sucker to catch it.

“I want to be hypnotized,” I blurted.

“No, that’s a very bad idea for you. I won’t allow it. Not yet, and maybe never,” Doc said emphatically.

I glanced sideways at him and shook my head, not understanding.

“There are side effects of hypnosis. Sometimes, when the doors in your mind are opened, they don’t close again.” He gave me a solemn look. “I’m not sure you’re ready for that,” he said softly.

I chuckled derisively. “No, probably not. I’ve spent years partitioning my memories. I’m not sure I want all that brickwork blown up at once,” I said, then coughed and reached for my empty mauve cup.

Justin took it without me having to ask, filling it at the sink then handing it back. Doc didn’t miss the ease with which he cared for me. I didn’t either, and stroked his fingers as I took the water, eliciting an easy smile from him.

Justin indicated our coffees. “I’m going to see if I can get these re-heated. I think you need a few minutes without me in the room.” He bent down and brushed my temple with his lips before grabbing the carrier and heading out the door.

“Trey, can I ask you a personal question?” Doc asked once the door clicked shut.

“Does this have to do with my treatment?”

He toggled his head back and forth. “I believe it will bear heavily on how we proceed.”

I rolled my hand, gesturing him to go ahead, as I finished off the water.

He adjusted his position in the chair. “Are you and Justin sexually active?”

I swallowed quickly and laughed, as much at the question, as over his noticeable discomfort in asking it. How a sex therapist could be uncomfortable asking
that
question was comical with a capital
C
. He recovered his composure quickly, quirking an eyebrow at me.

“Since the night we met actually.”

“Was he a client?”

The question surprised me, but only for an instant. It was a justifiable conclusion considering my occupation.

“No. We met at a restaurant and he asked me to a party at his place. We drank, fucked, and passed out.”

Doc flinched at my vulgarity, but refrained from saying anything. I breathed in at the memories from that night, and the following morning, while my heart stammered a beat or two.