Page 64 of Notorious

“I missed you, too,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “And you kept your promise.”

“Still alive, yeah.”

“Promise me again?”

No. I should just finish the job. “I promise to stay alive until I see you again,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice level.

Kurt nods in approval. “Thanks, babe. I’ll hold you to it.” We sit down where I’d been sitting with the other guys. “Tell me how things are going.”

I’m a loser.

“Better with a change of clothes. Thank you kindly.” I get him caught up with the events since I checked in, including my close (but behind glass) encounter with the mountain lion. Someone yells from down the hall, and I wince, feeling self-conscious. “Aren’t you weirded out by this place?” On his way in, I’m sure he passed by people talking to themselves and all kinds of other behavior that doesn’t fit with societal norms.

“Why would I be?”

“Well, the people here act kinda different,” I admit. “I hate to say it, but there’s a reason for the stigma around mental illness.”

I suck. I’m wrong. I don’t deserve to live.

Kurt shrugs. “They’re still people. Probably trying their best to get through the day, just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe I’m feeling a little ashamed I’m here … and that I brought it up,” I say. “Like I wanna separate myself from them, say I’m not as weird as they are. How many stigmas can I have at once? Gay porn star locked up in a mental institution—it’s almost the punchline to a joke.”

All I’ve ever been is a joke. I really should just kill myself.

As usual, Kurt treats me with more care and generosity than—well, than anyone I can think of. Certainly more than I give myself. “That’s a natural inclination. I’d rather you be honest about your thoughts and feelings than shove them down. When we censor ourselves too much, we end up repressing feelings we need to process—and that keeps us from healing. One of the things I want to talk about in my campaign is better mental health care. Our brain chemistry is no different from any other physical ailment, and yet we treat it with such secrecy and, like you say, stigma.”

I nod. “Very true.”

The more Kurt talks, the more … almost normal he makes me feel, even in circumstances so far outside my regular life. He makes me believe I could get better. That this might work. I’m fighting those voices that want to tear me down, that want me to remove myself from the earth.

And none of it would be happening if this amazing man hadn’t sat down next to me at that bar Saturday night.

CHAPTER 22

Kurt

After just one night in the hospital, Johnny seems more relaxed. There’s less tension at the corners of his eyes, and he’s smiling more. They told me what I could send for him to wear, which was mainly sweats with no strings, and while he should look sloppy in them, this is Velvet the Cowboy we’re talking about. Even in plain gray sweats and a white T-shirt and looking ill at ease, he’s still beautiful.

“They’re trying some medication,” he says. “It’s supposed to take a while to kick in and get the dosage right, but we’ll see how that goes. I’m also learning about codependency and childhood trauma. Tips on mental health.”

“That’s great,” I say. “I mean, I’m not glad that you’re having to go through all that, but I am glad that you’re getting help.”

“Yeah. I’m still numb, but … kind of hopeful. Sometimes. Like, I ain’t better yet, but there’s the possibility of improvement. And that possibility’s everything.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” I hold his hand.

“They gave me something for anxiety, too. I felt that right away. The nurse scared me about it—telling me not to take it too much, but the doctor said he thought it’d be fine.”

“What do you think?”

“It made me feel … not happy, precisely, but it kept me from feeling bad for the first time in a very long time. Not bad is a massive improvement.”

“Excellent.” I lean over and kiss him again. “I miss you. I mean, not right now, when I’m here. But when I was home. From the minute I left you here yesterday.”

He tilts his head. “Really?”

I nod.

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