Page 17 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
That was exactly what he would do. But he couldn’t, not to Mr. Reevesworth. It went beyond boundaries. The man was married.
The door opened. “Richard, I was…”
“A moment, Émeric, if you can. I’m hoping Collin will tell me something or maybe show me something.”
Collin shook his head. It immediately hurt, and he grasped it in both hands, groaning.
Mr. Moreau’s footsteps approached Mr. Reevesworth’s chair.
“Show you what, Richard?”
Mr. Reevesworth sighed. “Collin is distressed, Émeric. Somehow, I have distressed him, and yet he cannot seem to tell me why.”
“What were you doing last?”
“I asked permission to touch him and then applied a simple massage technique to his back to release the tension. The doctor recommended it.”
“Did it work?”
“At first, and then he curled up, tensed twice as much, and requested to be left alone.”
Mr. Moreau sighed. “Richard, we have to accept Collin’s boundaries. That is the first rule.”
Mr. Reevesworth stood. “I know, Émeric. I know. But I don’t believe him that he wants to be left alone.”
“We can’t force someone to ask for what they’re not ready for. Even if they want it. You taught me this. Come. We’ll check back on the schedule the doctor left us.”
Mr. Reevesworth sighed and stood.
Collin curled up tighter on the bed.
Being left alone was miserable. Collin tossed and turned on the mattress even though each move shot bits of pain into his head and blurred his vision even with his eyes closed. Which should have been impossible.
Everything he used to quiet the pounding in his head was gone. No screens. No studying. No work. And he’d already slept more than his body was used to. Even though he was in pain and tired, it refused to go back to senselessness. How was he going to pay the bills? Would his sister be able to stay in school if he didn’t send money back this month?
His breath came quicker, and his muscles tightened. His fists came up and pressed into his eyes. Cold shuddered through his limbs.
Just breathe.
But what good was breathing when everything was coming down like a house of cards? He was never going to make it. The world wasn’t designed for people like him to make it. Someone had to win, and someone had to lose, and by the lottery of birth…
…he was going to lose.
Had already lost.
His chest ached worse than his head. If he couldn’t make it, if he couldn’t have a good life, his mother was going to blame herself. She’d say things like she should have died of the cancer instead of letting them go into debt to pay for treatment. Things like he would have been better off without her.
He couldn’t let her think that. He had to make everything okay. Somehow. If he could just get up, go to work, put his head down, just do everything he was doing, he’d be okay. He could hold on just a little longer.
He needed to do something. If he lay here with his thoughts much longer, he was going to do something drastic.
Collin pushed himself up out of the bed. The room swam but that was nothing. Low blood sugar did that all the time. He could walk through dizziness as long as he didn’t try to fight it. Now where were his clothes?
There weren’t any. He was going to have to ask for them. He looked down at what he was wearing. Honestly, it wasn’t bad. He could get home in these. Plenty of kids went to class in flannel pajama bottoms. Wasn’t cool, wasn’t something he approved of, but it wouldn’t get him thrown off the CTA. Shoes.
He stumbled around the room. No shoes. Nothing. It was going to suck if he had to walk back to his place barefoot. Maybe Ellisandre had his shoes. He should call them.
But no phone. The world spun a little harder and his stomach lurched into his throat.
