Our Camp Days (Complete)

[Wannatripbaby]

2 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Well, you'll be happy to know that this story has 31 chapters, not 20.   The end of camp is not the end of the story.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 

You see, I thought I remembered you saying that this story was 30ish chapters. ?

Yay! There's still a chance! 

[Baby Billy]

it will be interesting to see where this goes from here, I can't believe Sidney,s mom did she really think putting him in a setting like that was going help him with whatever his problems are.  

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 21

"I just don't know..." Linda - Sidney's Mom - spoke with a sense of disappointment in her tone to her husband, Mark. They'd put so much faith into the summer away - that being immersed in so much dirt, roughhousing with the boys, the joy of nature... how could he have survived and still not broken through? It had been heartbreaking in the first place to send him away; to know that it had been for nothing was even worse.

"He'll grow out of it, Linda. It's a phase."

"Mark! Our son hasn't said a word in seven years. He's scared to leave his own bedroom. It's not a phase, it's not something he'll 'grow out of'. He's not well."

The two of them talked in the car as though Sidney wasn't even there - for all the contribution he had to the conversation, he might as well not have been. She took a softer tone and looked over her shoulder, trying to mask her flustered frustration.

"Did you make any friends?" She knew the answer would be no. Sidney didn't like the risk of friends.

I nodded my head. That brought a smile to my mom's lips. I couldn't tell her about Kris, of course, and even if I could I wasn't sure how she'd take it. I'd likely omit the part about us kissing each other's cheeks and lying in the same twin sized bed. But none of that mattered - I couldn't talk to her anyway. Before she turned back toward my father I rubbed my hands together, trying to ask if she'd brought wipes with her. She was always quite considerate of my quirks, despite them scaring the hell out of her. But three months without me, three months with my dad... maybe that changed.

"We hadn't thought we'd need to,” Mark said, but Linda sighed a little with a smile and pulled a sealed package of cleaning wipes out of her purse, gently handing them back to the boy.

"Linda... we talked about this. We can't pander to it. It's tough love."

"No, Mark, sending him away and expecting he'd just be fixed through suffering is tough love. Making him sit in the back of the car when he feels unclean is suffering he doesn't need." It was often like that - she was more considerate; she tried to be understanding. But she also grew up in a household with six siblings - there wasn't space for that level of attention.

I gave my mother a thankful smile and wiped my hands off, running the damp wipe along the center of my left cheek. I'd washed it before, though. Then, with the other side, folded, I put the wipe to the window and cleaned it off, putting my head against the glass. Today was exhausting. Today I'd had to say goodbye to Kris. I couldn't even think about him - it made me dizzy with anxiety. I knew better. I threw the wipe away in the grocery bag that hung off the back of the chair. Trash.

Sidney’s parents continued to talk throughout the drive home - it was about an hour away from Boston; which meant the drive home for Kris must have been significantly longer. It was about a half hour later when Linda said something else to her son; though his eyes were closed.

"So, your friend is from Boston? Maybe we could arrange a play date." She knew it was pointless, of course - friends were a liability to her son. She desperately tried to connect, though; she longed for her son to talk to her.

I shook my head, eyes still closed. I found it horribly condescending that my mother used words like 'play date' with her seventeen year old boy, even if I was the size of a thirteen year old. But what could I do? It wasn't like I could tell her to use different words. She was doing the best she could. And it didn't matter. Even if Kris could come over, I wouldn't let him. We were separated now. And while that was difficult, it was also proper.

"I think we might go and see Dr. Yiselle some time this week, how does that sound?" Quite unlike Kris, Sidney's Mom was never about direct statements. She made everything a question to which she'd already determined the answer to way ahead of time. The illusion of choice.

"That sounds like a good idea, doesn't it boy? We'll talk more about some of those medications."

"Mark..."

"The doctor said that there were plenty of treatment options."

"He also doesn't like the idea of drugs. They scare him."

The likelihood of me dying from rolling out of a moving car going 65 miles per hour down a three lane freeway in the middle lane... probably high risk. And I'd have to touch the pavement, which was infinitely more terrifying. So I sighed and took another wipe, rubbing down the seat next to me and lying down across the bench. All the doctor talked about was giving me different kinds of medication, mostly to treat my "depression". He was clearly an idiot. I wasn't depressed. I just couldn't talk. I was labelled a hypochondriac at age twelve and put on placebos for a year. That didn't help and the diagnosis was repealed. And somehow, he's still my treating physician. How stupid could someone be?

"We'll talk about it when we get home." Linda looked over her shoulder and sighed a little. "He's such an angel, Mark. Maybe he's just too precious for this world."

"He's going to have to become a man one day, honey. How's he going to attract a nice girl, provide for her?"

"I don't think relationships are something on his mind. He couldn't deal with intimacy." The drive continued inexorably until the car finally pulled up in the driveway of the little brick two story suburban.

I regretted not jumping out of the car. When we finally pulled into the driveway I was the first out of the vehicle. I just wanted to get up to my room. Just wanted to lie on my bed. Just wanted to be alone. It had been so long since I'd been able to get away, and I was eager, especially after the longest hour I'd had to endure in months.

It was another hour or so later before Linda knocked on her son’s bedroom door and smiled. "I'm going to come in now, is that okay?" 'Is that okay' was something recommended to the boy’s parents by his doctor, though Linda missed the entire point of it by asking it, and then proceeding regardless. She opened the door and smiled helpfully.

"I was hoping we could talk about your friends? Maybe one of them could come over. Would you like that?" He wouldn't. But she was so desperate just to see him smile.

I shook my head. My room was just the way I'd left it three months ago, notoriously tidy. And still, I had begun cleaning it again. Just making sure. After all, it had been three months. So I washed everything. Wiped everything. And after all was done, I stripped my bed and took ever piece of fabric out of my closet, one at a time with the sleeves of my coat. I'd wash all of it.

"Sweetie, don't you hate always being alone?" School was something Sidney could handle on occasion, but more and more he'd have his lessons sent home and he'd take care of them in the safety of his tidy little bedroom.

"If you made some friends, I think you should stay in touch. I mean, not many people know how to handle you properly. You should hold onto those that do. You never know when another will come into your life."

Conversations like this never lasted long. Mom would come in. She'd babble. She'd give up. She'd leave. I'd sit alone again. And that was exactly what happened. I put the strip of paper in my desk drawer and started the laundry. I didn't finish it for two full days. It was a lot of laundry.

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Baby Billy]

OK mom,s ok dads is an idiot but I like where this is going, maybe mom finds Kris,s contact info somehow. 

[Wannatripbaby]

Seeing their home-lives is certainly going to be interesting. 

Grammar Patrol

23 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

So, are your friend is from Boston?

 

[Sophie ♥]

1 hour ago, Wannatripbaby said:

Grammar Patrol

Edited!

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 22

"Hello, Charles? This is Linda Albanese. You had my son, Sidney, in your program this year." The woman nodded, twirling the spiral cord of her phone around her finger as she spoke. "I was wondering; he mentioned that he made a few friends while he was there. Do you know any names?"

The news on the other end of the line was more in line with anything she might have expected. There was one friend - singular. Kristophe Spataro. Sounded European. The overseer of the camp couldn't give any further information, though - privacy and all that. She hung up the phone, thankful, and looked at the name she'd written down, tapping the pen on the paper with a sigh. She'd have to have a talk to Sidney about this Kristophe boy.

School started. My senior year. I still had an attendance track - there wasn't anything medically wrong with me. Quirks didn't go far in the public school system. Still, whenever things got bad, and every year they did, my mom would call up and work it out. It didn't help me pass the ninth grade, though. We'd had to move to a district that would advance to the tenth grade based on merit. But even after two years, I didn’t know anyone. I didn't try to. They couldn't know me and I saw little point in the budding of friendships.

To the other kids at school, Sidney was an oddity. He didn't draw attention to himself, and so the fact that he said nothing and sat quietly doing his work after compulsively cleaning any surface he might touch went mostly unnoticed. Mostly.

"So is it true you can't talk?" The chipper voice belonged to a blonde girl named Michelle; she wore too much eyeliner and smelled of too much cheap vanilla cupcake body-spray; but she was mostly affable.

"Sally says you can't talk. Did you like, ever talk? Like, I mean, was there an accident, like a bear mauled out your vocal cords or something?" She didn't intend to be mean, but it was hard not to be when you're a seventeen year old girl encountering something unfamiliar.

I ignored her. I tended to ignore everyone. High school was commonly a place where people ignored me back, but occasionally this would happen: an unconventional passerby would come up to me with initiative and it would be shot down just as quickly. I mean, what? I couldn't talk to her. Though in the seventh grade there was a girl named Holly that I couldn't shake for three months. God, she was annoying...

"Hey, talk to me." She leaned down on the desk so she couldn't be ignored and rolled her eyes. "It's rude to ignore people, and you don't like, have any friends, so you should be grateful that I'm even talking to you." Another statement not intended to be mean, but inevitably so.

Please don't be another Holly, please don't be another Holly. I picked up my books and left her behind. She followed. Of course she followed. What was worse, she looked a year younger and was still my height. I didn't say anything as I walked down the hall. Where to go. Oh. Library. She can't bug me there. Quiet rules and all that. So that's where I went.

"You really are a freak, aren't you? Someones trying to be nice to you and you just pretend like I don't even exist." She rolled her eyes and walked the other way when the boy went into the library. The library was pretty perfect for a boy like Sidney - it was a place where everybody was quiet.

I didn't pick a table. I found a corner. The book shelves were small and that pissed me off, but when I sat down on the floor no one could see me. And that meant no one could see me crying. I kept my head in my arms, looking down, my knees pulled up, everything wiped, safe. I felt sick to my stomach. One more year. Then I'm out of here. And even then, where do I go? College, for another four years? I shook my head and continued to cry.

*     *     *     *     *

That day, when Sidney got home, his Mom was smiling a little more than the usual. "Kristophe lives in New York, right?" Spataro had proved to be a fairly uncommon surname, and a search on Facebook had yielded the desperate mother only one hit for Kristophe Spataro. In New York. "Would you like to visit him?" She was so proud of herself.

Kristophe...? Oh. How did she know about Kris? I shook my head and walked past her, aggravated. I hoped I conveyed that with the weight of my steps as I pulled my way up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door. Why couldn't she just back the fuck off? I laid down on my bed and covered my head with the blue pillow. Was she really this dense?

Her optimistic smile faded as her son stormed up the stairs to his room, and she sighed with a frown. She'd honestly only been trying to do well, and she knew he didn't mean to be so ungrateful. Maybe it was time to revisit the doctor, despite her trepidation at making her son uncomfortable. She came up the stairs a little while later and knocked on the door before entering. He was on his bed, pillow over his head, and she sat down next to him with a a sigh.

"It's been so long since I've seen you with a friend, Sidney. Most kids don't get you. And you had a friend this summer, someone who got you, right? Someone who understood? It's the only way you could have made it through that summer away, I know that. You know that. I was only trying to help you stay in touch. I'm sorry."

I sighed and took the pillow off my head, sitting up with a little frown. She was just doing her best. I knew that. I didn't have to be such an ass. So I shrugged my shoulders and played with my fingers in my lap. I'd have apologized if I could. But all I could do was sit there and look down. She'd know I was sorry for the way I acted, though. She had gotten quite good at reading body language.

"There's a ticket, on American Airlines. It's in your name, so you can claim it whenever you like - it's in First Class." For all her own self-admitted failings as a mother, Linda did know her son. She knew that he could only fly in First Class to avoid touching others, and she also knew that the fact she'd stipulated an oxygen tank and mask for the flight would help manage his worry about breathing recycled air.

"Don't tell your Father, okay?" She smiled at the silliness of that - she knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. But Mark was less understanding of Sidney than she was, so this one she'd keep to herself.

"Just... tell me before you go, so I can make arrangements with school, okay?" She stood up, knowing better than to make a comforting gesture physically, and smiled before turning away to leave the room.

"Dinner will be ready in a little bit." There was an optimistic tone in her voice - it was always pot-luck as to whether or not he'd actually eat it, but she still cooked for her son every single night as she had the entire time when he was growing up.

"I'll see you down there."

I didn't eat that night. Prepared food was something I often avoided unless my mom made pasta. And even though she did make pasta that day, I still didn't eat. I was unsettled.

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Wannatripbaby]

Poor Linda... She's trying her best. 

1 hour ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Though in the seventh grade there was a girl named Holly that I couldn't shake for three months. God, she was annoying...

Is this some reference to another story or just a random throw-away line? ?

[Baby Billy]

OK so now I am really beginning to like Sidney,s mom, I don't think Sidney is strong enough to fly to New York on his own though.  She might have better luck writing to Kris and asking him to visit but with Sidney,s dad that would not go well.  

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 23

The first few weeks of school went by and I continued to perform admirably in my classes. I decided to eat lunch in the library from now on to avoid people like Melanie or whatever her name was. I didn't care. But I cared enough to keep my distance.

"I know you don't like going, but it's really for your own good." The boy had vehemently dug his heels in on the issue of going to see his doctor; he was usually reluctant to go but today was especially bad.

"We can go and see a movie afterward, if you like. Or get ice-cream?" Those were the normal sorts of things boys would do on a Saturday afternoon; but not Sidney. Not her son. No, his Saturday was going to be in a doctor’s office, being talked to.

I didn't even gesture a nod toward my mother. My father was driving and that made me even more unhappy, even when he scoffed at the idea of a movie. What was the point in going? I wasn't going to talk to him. He was just going to start giving me more pills and I'd continue pretending like I took them.

The rest of the drive remained silent; almost cold but not quite, and when the car finally pulled up at the house that Dr. Yiselle worked out of, Sidney’s parents braced themselves for more reluctance.

"Son... you want to be normal, don't you? Like the other boys? Cars, girls, drinking, and all that stuff?"

I didn't answer, just climbed out of the car. It was something I wouldn't be able to avoid. They drove the car. They were my parents. I was seventeen. I had to go see this doctor. But I'd heard it all. I knew what he'd prescribe me. I knew what would happen. But I wasn't depressed. But who could I tell that to? I was unhappy. Very unhappy. I hated this place.

"How was your summer, Sidney?" The man had a notebook and a pencil the way he always did, but with Sidney there was seldom reason to take notes. He never spoke. Never opened up. Rarely even nodded or shook his head - it was usually shrugs. And thats how he answered that question, too.

"Your Mother tells me you made a friend. A boy named Kristophe. Did you enjoy spending time around him?"

Again, I shrugged. I did, but I didn't want him to know it. And even if he did know it, I didn't want him to turn it into a new insane idea for my parents, who seemed to believe him exclusively. He bothered me. I wasn't sure why my parents didn’t just got a new doctor - this one clearly didn't work.

"Three months away from the world, and a friend who you remained close to for the entire time. That's unusual for you, Sidney. But your mother tells me you've chosen not to stay in contact, and that's quite fair. With friendship comes expectation, and expectation breeds pressure. And in your case, pressure breeds anxiety. Still, it must be lonely." To be fair, Dr. Yiselle wasn't the worlds best doctor. He didn't listen well, and he spoke perhaps more than he ought to have. A little presumptuous, a little high-pressure. But he did have a kind smile and soothing voice, and that was all it took for him to get the approval of Linda and Mark.

"Did you like yourself more, when you were around him though, I wonder?"

I shook my head. I didn't. Realistically, I was no different. I'd been through this in my head. I was the same Sidney as I was around Kris and I was the same Sidney now. There was no difference. Fact of the matter was, I was pretty okay with myself. I knew I had these annoying quirks, and I was working to get over them, albeit slowly, and that was that.

“It must be quite difficult for another person to be your friend - the communication barrier is something that all but the most remarkable people would find... troubling." He really did mean well, but calling someone difficult to be friends with probably wasn't what the AMA had in mind when issuing him a license to practice. He continued to talk though, until the fifty minutes was close to finishing; and then took out his prescription pad.

"I'd like you to get all of these filled, please. The first will help with your depression, and the second may help to take the edge of your general anxiety. I'll see you in two weeks time."

I didn't talk the whole way home, and it wasn't until the next day when Mom gave me the two orange bottles that I gave up. I tossed the bottles into the drawer with the other pills I'd been given - pills I'd constantly throw away day after day as ritualistic as taking them. Then I went to the computer and wrote a letter. A letter to Kris.

"Dear Kris,
I'm tired of not talking. My parents have been driving me crazy since I got home - somehow, my Mom found out about our friendship and she's been dropping hints about flying me to New York ever since. I know how this must make you feel, but don't get excited. I'm not better yet. I'm going to work at it more over the next few weeks. I'll see what I can do. The return address on this envelope isn't real, but right now we're better off apart. I hope you understand that. I'll try to write more. This seems to be a good method.
Sincerely, Peach"

The next day I mailed the letter at the post office - no way for my parents to trace it.

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Baby Billy]

Just loved how this went at the end and Sidney closing the letter with Kris,s nickname for him.  Hope Sidney get better in the end, but I can't tell with you either way.?

[Wannatripbaby]

I know Sydney has been dealt a bad hand. But I wanna make this one thing clear: He is not blameless. Sure, his father is a bit of an ass. His doctor may not win any Nobel prizes. And his Mom... Actually his Mom is pretty great. No complaints there. But he refuses to even *try* to do anything that might be considered helpful. His doctor prescribes pills, and he refuses to even consider taking them. He claims the reason is that it's a bad diagnosis, but he won't even *attempt* to communicate with his doctor. How are they supposed to know what's wrong with him if all he ever does is shrug? Sure, he has it rough. Very rough. But he's been given access to SOOOO many resources that a lot of troubled people would kill for, and he refuses to use any of them. 

Also

6 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

I didn't talk the whole way home

Doesn't that line seem a bit superfluous at this point? ?

[Baby Billy]

2 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:

I know Sydney has been dealt a bad hand. But I wanna make this one thing clear: He is not blameless. Sure, his father is a bit of an ass. His doctor may not win any Nobel prizes. And his Mom... Actually his Mom is pretty great. No complaints there. But he refuses to even *try* to do anything that might be considered helpful. His doctor prescribes pills, and he refuses to even consider taking them. He claims the reason is that it's a bad diagnosis, but he won't even *attempt* to communicate with his doctor. How are they supposed to know what's wrong with him if all he ever does is shrug? Sure, he has it rough. Very rough. But he's been given access to SOOOO many resources that a lot of troubled people would kill for, and he refuses to use any of them. 

Also

Doesn't that line seem a bit superfluous at this point? ?

If you have been following closely like I know you have you would realize that something happened to Sidney years ago, not sure what but somehow he found himself in a place with insects clawing over his body, remember the dream and his nails digging into his arms.  Why this made him stop talking I don't know but the doctor should focus on the cleaning more to find out what shut him down.  I think Sidney is smarting then most know, sure he doesn't take the pills, he knows he is not depressed and pills to numb his feeling are not going to help. That is the excepted things doctors do when they have no idea how to treat someone different than the norm.   

[Wannatripbaby]

23 minutes ago, Baby Billy said:

If you have been following closely like I know you have you would realize that something happened to Sidney years ago, not sure what but somehow he found himself in a place with insects clawing over his body, remember the dream and his nails digging into his arms.  Why this made him stop talking I don't know but the doctor should focus on the cleaning more to find out what shut him down.  I think Sidney is smarting then most know, sure he doesn't take the pills, he knows he is not depressed and pills to numb his feeling are not going to help. That is the excepted things doctors do when they have no idea how to treat someone different than the norm.   

But he should also be smart enough to know that lying or hiding important information about his feelings and physical well-being does nothing to help get him the treatment he needs. 

And to be clear, that isn't a critique on how he was written. This is VERY realistic and he was written amazingly (surprise, surprise ?) 

I just felt it was important to point out, since we as readers have a habit of overlooking our protagonist's flaws. But there's a very good lesson to be learned by Sydney's failings. One that I'm sure a lot of S&P's readers could use. If not for themselves, Than for someone in their lives. ❤️

[Baby Billy]

31 minutes ago, Wannatripbaby said:

But he should also be smart enough to know that lying or hiding important information about his feelings and physical well-being does nothing to help get him the treatment he needs. 

And to be clear, that isn't a critique on how he was written. This is VERY realistic and he was written amazingly (surprise, surprise ?) 

I just felt it was important to point out, since we as readers have a habit of overlooking our protagonist's flaws. But there's a very good lesson to be learned by Sydney's failings. One that I'm sure a lot of S&P's readers could use. If not for themselves, Than for someone in their lives. ❤️

I agree just until we know what happened to him we need Sophie to let us know, sometimes young children have things happened that are much for them and they shut down.

[Baby Billy]

Sophie I am really getting into this story, I think that by now Kris knows Sidney about as well as anyone at this point.  Spending 3 months with someone one on one for for most of the day has to give you some insight into that person.  I think Sidney is afraid of how he feels right now.  I don't normally like gay stories but this is different.  I hope you don't make me cry like the end of Anna, it broke my heart when she left the world.?

[Sophie ♥]

Quick story time.

About 9 months ago, I started having horrible stomach pains.  Well, I actually confused them for chest pains for a few months, since chest pains are sort of normal for me.  But they didn't feel the same.

About 4 months later, I went to the hospital because the pain was literally unbearable.  It only happened once a week, but when it happened it was hell.  The doctors dismissed me, since by the time I got there, it had settled down a bit.  I went home.  A week later it happened again.  And again.

Another month later, the episodes were happening twice a week.  I went back to the hospital.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't stand it anymore.  They did some ultrasounds, did an EKG, all the fun stuff.  Didn't find anything.  So they sent me to a stomach doctor to see if I had an ulcer.  The next week I went to that appointment, which schedule another appointment, which scheduled another appointment.  Two weeks later, I got sedated and scoped.  No ulcer.  No anything.  Perfectly fine.

I went to the hospital three more times that month.  The same thing.  Nothing bad.  Everything fine.  Even when I was lying there screaming and crying on the hospital bed, they just assumed I wanted pain meds and gave me Tylenol.  And they made me feel /guilty/ for having something wrong with me.

I was throwing up every other day and too scared to eat anything (because the doctors said it was my stomach).  I would pass out from not eating.  I'd cry whenever I had to eat something, because I knew it would hurt.  But as far as I could tell, the pain wasn't even correlated to when I ate or what I ate.  I tried healthy food, I tried eating unhealthy food, I tried changing my diet and my sleep and everything.  I was sure I would die.  By the end of it, I wanted to.

I finally went to the hospital again last month.  Because my friends made me.  Because I was curled up on the floor sobbing while we were trying to watch a movie.  I knew they wouldn't find anything.  I knew it wouldn't matter.  But they made me go.  This was when the COVID stuff was high alert and I had to go in on my own.  A doctor asked me if I wanted to just go home, since admitting me put me at risk.  I said to admit me.  I didn't care about the risks.  Apparently that got the doctor's attention.  That I was willing to risk my health for this thing.  Suddenly people believed me.

They did a few more scans, found out my gallbladder was having problems, and removed it within two days.  I haven't had that pain since.

Long story short, I gave up on doctors and hospitals and "getting better" after 8 months of not being listened to.  Imagine if you were Sidney, you couldn't talk, and it had been 6 years?  His distrust in the system and keeping others at arms length are defense mechanisms, because 95% of people see him as a chore or a faker or a joke.  Yes, we did a great job writing these 'character flaws' in Sidney, but honestly, it's just his character.  There's no flaws here.  He hates miming and writing shit down because it makes him feel broken and bad and different.  The flaws are all the people that failed him for the past half-decade, and caused him to lose hope.

I think it's sort of... "blaming the victim" to say Sidney "isn't blameless". I mean, he's a kid.  He's had this problem since he was like 10 or 11 or something.  He's seen exactly one doctor.  Maybe he could be "doing more" and "trying to fix it better" but what good is it doing to blame him for the problem?  That's just like his dad saying "you want to be normal, don't you?", like he hasn't spent his entire childhood wandering through a mist of uncertainty and self-hate.

To draw things back to the story, in the next chapter you'll see that Sidney wants to "be better" more than ever.  But he has defense mechanisms for a reason.

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 24

It wasn't as though I were the compulsive 'collect and keep everything' type of person; but the day I received the letter was the day I went down to the store and bought a little lock-box in blue - I knew he liked blue - and found it a place on my writing desk. I re-read the letter a hundred times, smiling when I did. His parents were driving him crazy. His Mom knew about us - well, probably only that we were friends. He wanted to be better so he could be with me. And he'd write me. I smiled, and started to pen a letter in return. One that I couldn't send; but that I resolved to if he ever provided a way. I resolved, also, to do this each and every time. The letter read;

"Dear Peach,
I'm really sorry things aren't great on your end - they're not really fantastic here, either; but I'm making them work. Mom and Dad are fighting, and I think that might be it for them soon. I could really use a cuddle - I woke up the other night, cuddled up to my body-pillow and I could have sworn it was you. School is okay - I started telling people I liked boys. Not in a big, open, swishy gay kind of way. Just a “oh, yeah, I like boys too" sort of casual comment when the topic came up. My friends are taking it as I expected they would - little smiles and nods, like it's no big deal.
It makes me confident that it's not.
I wish you could meet them; they're such great people. I don't talk about you overly much, though Piette said that when I do? My face lights up in a big smile.
Maybe she knows. I'm not sure.
I miss you a lot, peach. And I hope you write me again, soon.
~Kris."

More days passed and more letters were sent. I didn't write on a schedule, but I found I was sending one at least every two weeks. Until January, when they stopped, and March, when they picked up again.

"Dear Kris,
I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. I started taking pills. Antidepressants. And for a few weeks, I just couldn't write. It was stupid, in retrospect, but I just thought... maybe they'd help. Maybe something in my body changed from when I was young. Maybe they'd work now.
I tried to kill myself, which was both stupid and uncharacteristic. The pills made things difficult, and one day I just thought it was a good idea. I'm a lot better now that I'm off them and I feel like I can write again.
Through it all, though, I've gotten no better at controlling my quirks. I know I don't talk about them much, but I think it's important you know. I'm not sure I'll ever get better, and if I don't, I'm really sorry. I miss you more than anything, even more than being comfortable outside. I don't know what to do. I wish I could ask you, but I can't open that door.
I hope you like these letters. I hope you're getting them.
Sincerely, Peach"

I wrote letters in reply to those that came, I never missed one. I knew he couldn't read them, not yet. But one day he would. And I enjoyed the ritual. One day the letters stopped coming, though, and I fretted and worried endlessly for two whole months until the next one arrived. And this time, when I wrote my reply, I wrote it while wishing as hard as I could that he'd be able to know my words.

"Dear Peach,
I had a dream every night for two weeks most recently, and in the dream we didn't go our separate ways after the camp. We disappeared together, and we found our way and we found a life. It wasn't the typical fantasy dream - there were hardships and difficulties and all the realities of life. And each morning I'd wake up, disappointed to know it was only a dream.
Sometimes this life feels every bit the dream; it's weird knowing how much I should be with you - be there to protect you and take care of you. But I'm not. I'm so far away, and you're so far from safe. Last night, I thought about driving out to Boston and knocking on every door until I found you. 625,087 people in Boston. That means about 252,051 doors to knock on. I don't know the statistics, but I'm confident I'd find you before I died. But I'm worried that by the time I do, you won't be around anymore.
Please be safe.
Your Knight, Kris"

Signing off as 'your knight' had become a habit in my last few letters; I was sure he'd find it stupid, and not at all charming. But even thinking about how he'd act made me feel a little closer. God it was hard, though. I missed him so much. I slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it, writing Peach on the front, and then slipped it into his section of the lockbox.

"Dear Kris,
Things are back to normal. It's been a month since those pills and I'm back at school. I took a bit of leave, which seemed okay since I went to the hospital for my suicide attempt. They kept me for observation - I don't know if I mentioned that in my last letter. Anyway. I'm back at school and things are looking up. I spend a lot of my lunch periods and before class in my old art classroom. It's not used anymore since they built the new wing over the summer. It's nice to get away from everything. A little sanctuary away from home. I can't talk there, yet, but maybe soon?
Sincerely, Peach"

The day I got that letter, I wrote my reply like always and set it aside; my day brightened for having known that he was doing better. I still worried about the suicide thing. About all that stuff. But it wasn't until I woke up at four in the morning a few nights later that I had an epiphany. I got on my computer, and I started searching. Schools in Boston with new wings. Schools in Boston with art buildings. Schools in Boston with new art wings. Public High Schools in Boston. And then I came across the page for the department of public education. Twenty minutes later... I had a list of public work notices for the schools. And an hour and ten minutes after that, I was showered and cleaned up and in my car on the way to Boston.

I should've told my Mom in a better way than a note - she deserved that - but my phone told me it would be about a five hour drive. I could stay at a hotel, and be at his school by morning. He'd be furious. He'd argue that he had this all under control. That I shouldn't have come. But I looked at the pile of my return letters on the passenger seat and smiled.

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Baby Billy]

First sorry to hear you had to go through so much pain before you could get the doctors to believe that something was really wrong and take care of you.  I loved that chapter and Sidney is going to be super pissed at Kris coming to his school but so very happy at the same time.

[Wannatripbaby]

Why am I predicting the phrase "Elementary, my dear Sydney" when Sydney asks Kris how he found him. XD

[Sophie ♥]

On 6/12/2020 at 5:51 PM, Wannatripbaby said:

Why am I predicting the phrase "Elementary, my dear Sydney" when Sydney asks Kris how he found him. XD

*quickly adds that to the story!*

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 25

I arrived at school half an hour before classes. It was standard. It beat the idea of pushing through crowds of people on my way to class, but like every other morning that week, I went to the art room first. It was my own little sanctuary and I'd even started leaving some of my belongings in the room. Never anything important, but just little things. Wipes. A scrub brush. I actually cleaned the entire floor one day during lunch. But today was different. Today I didn't clean anything. I opened the door to the room and the pile of books dropped from my hands and clattered against the floor. Kris sat at the teacher's desk, smiling up at me.

It wasn't the world’s most romantic display - all I had to offer was me, the little pile of letters (each envelope in a vacuum sealed bag), a little punnet of raspberries from a vendor on the highway and a smile.

"Hey peach." In the history of the world and romantic gestures, those words would surely go down and some of the most underwhelming ever spoken. But I figured my presence spoke well enough.

I couldn't talk. I had so much to say. So much to tell him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but I didn’t. He couldn't be here. We both knew it. I felt my chest rise and fall, faster and faster. I was dizzy. I shook my head again and again. He couldn't be here! He couldn't! And what was I supposed to do? Say? I couldn't even speak?!

Quickly as I could, I got up off the chair and raised my hands - pink, raw, clean - and then wrapped my arms around the boy in a tight cuddle. He struggled a moment, then sunk into my embrace and squeezed me even tighter than I'd squeezed him.

"Let’s go somewhere safe. My car is outside, we can go anywhere. What about your bedroom?" Skipping school was probably the last concern on his mind, anyway. "I know it's been a while, and you probably can't talk to me straight away. I understand." I motioned to the pile of sealed envelopes. "Those are replies to all your letters. You can read them while we drive, if you want. Or you can read them latter."

It took a minute, but I finally pulled away and shook my head. I was used to not talking again, but having him here... it felt strange in the silence. I didn't like it. I pointed to the door, trying to look as sternly as I could. He had to go. He had to know this. But he shook his head. I looked at the envelopes in his hand and took them, my sleeve over my hand, then pointed to the door again. I'd read them. I'd get back to him.

"I don't want to be apart any more, peach. I don't. I'm going to be at the Hilton across the street from your school. Room 811." Boldly, I kissed his cheek and it felt as though it were the last day we'd seen one another. And then I left. I wouldn't be far, though; I didn't know how long I could afford the hotel; but he didn't need to know that.

I wiped my cheek with a wipe and sat down at the desk. He couldn't be here. I couldn't let him stay. Why was he here? How did he find me?! None of this made any sense. So I decided to read the letters.

I didn't go to class that day - I just sat and read the letters again and again and again. And it was just after lunch that I gave up, stuffing the letters back in their envelopes and into my bag. I left. No one stopped me. I was practically invisible. And I walked across the highway, over the overpass, to the hotel. Room 811.

The knock on the door was muffled and small; it could only be Sidney. I got up off the sofa - the entire suite having been scoured with a vacuum a dozen times, and each wall scrubbed, and each piece of furniture having been brushed down. Each surface practical sparkled. And I was clean, too, having only stepped out of the shower twenty minutes ago. I opened the door and smiled.

"You get more beautiful every time I see you. How do you manage that?" I grinned and stepped back to let him in - chances were, he couldn't talk in here. Not yet. But it was a start.

I looked at my feet as I walked in and handed him the letter. I knew I couldn't talk here. I knew I couldn't talk to him at all. But I had written down everything that needed to be said.

"Dear Kris,
I'm sorry you came all this way. I'm sorry if I gave you false hope or something. I don't know how you found me, but I don't want you here. I haven't made any improvements. I have so much more work to do. I thought the pills would help, but they only made things worse. But I'm trying. I practice every day. And one day, maybe all this will go away. A click the same as the first time. And I'll find you then. But until I can get over something I hate, something so inherently stupid, something that causes so many problems not just for me but for us, then I can't have you around. My email is written at the bottom. I'll read your replies and write you back. But that's all I can offer until I get over this habit. I'm sorry.
Sincerely, Sidney"

The change of name had been intentional.

"They're not the enemy, you know. They're not bad things. They're just a part of who you are, and if you got rid of them... you wouldn't be you any more. You'd be someone else." He didn't make any indication that he'd cared, but he also didn't move to walk away. So I continued.

"Your quirks. They're so much a part of who you are. Just like my Aunt Freya. She likes to dip pickles in ice-cream. And my Mom? She won't use a toothbrush more than fifteen times. I don't let people talk during movies - not at all - and I even get upset when they go to the bathroom. People don't get it - they get frustrated at me over it, and whatever. But I think that's because this world is a world where people criticize the quirks of others, shame for them, and don't consider just how many quirks they have of their own." He still didn't move, though his hands were trembling.

"Your quirks are no better or worse than anyone else’s. They're different. They're special. They're you. I love that they are... I love that you think it's sweet if I wipe down a chair for you before you sit. I love that you like to be so clean. I love that things have to be just the right way. And I love..." I let that trail off, not sure if I was ready for it... or maybe not sure that he was.

I shook my head, turning around to face him with a frightening glare. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream at him. Tell him how different this was. Explain the differences. How he was confusing quirks with whatever the hell I had. I liked that he made light of it, I did, but it wasn't the case. I couldn't stop. I wanted to. I hated this part of me. And I couldn't move forward. It ruined my life sometimes. It made me miserable. And I dealt with it, sure, the way a dying person deals with dying. But it doesn't mean I wanted it. It wasn't a quirk. But there was no yelling. Because I'm fucking broken. I just sat there, frustrated and furious like Tinkerbell at Peter.

"You can't cure who you are... and trying to do so is like trying to count the stars... I wish you loved you as much as I do, peach." And there it was. The word. I didn't regret the feeling, but I regretted saying it. I knew it would push him away, and just like the night I'd put my leg between his. It was something I wished I could take back.

I slammed the door on my way out. I wasn't sure what was wrong with me, in that moment. I was just so angry. More angry than I could ever remember being. Couldn't change who I was? Really? Well fuck you, Kris. I could do whatever the hell I wanted! So I threw my wipes down the hallway before taking the elevator to the lobby.

I walked home, and what was worse, I touched everything. The elevator button. The door knob. The awning. The brick walls as I passed. The railing of the overpass. I could feel the anxiety building. I could feel it crushing me. I didn't care. I could change. This wasn't part of me. It was an add on. Extra content. Something I could uninstall. Something I could knock down. I'd still be me. The me I was when I was nine. But it all played like a movie in fast forward in my head, everything since throwing those wipes.

I made it halfway down the overpass. Granted, it was a hundred times longer than any other attempt, but it was... bad. The panic struck me like a knife, stabbing into my chest again and again, as I ran back toward the hotel. Into the lobby. Into the elevator. Eight. Eight. Eight. Eight. Eight. Eight. But I didn't make it to Eight. Everything spun around like my anxiety made the world dizzy.

And I couldn't breathe. My exhales came as quickly as my inhales, and each of those was as quick as the rapidly accelerating heartbeat. Needed those wipes. Needed to get clean. Infected. Dying. This was their fault. Stupid germs. And before the elevator could ding, before the doors opened, everything went black.

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Baby Billy]

Another great chapter, I didn't think Sidney would handled Kris showing up well, I hope Kris finds in or someone brings Sidney to his room.

[Sophie ♥]

Chapter 26

I'd found Sidney only because of the commotion that was caused by the Texan couple who'd discovered him passed out in the elevator; I'd heard people talking outside my room and by the time I opened the door, four or so people were crowed around the unconscious boy. I pushed past two of them and knelt down, my hand pressing to his neck to check for a pulse. He was okay. Unconscious. One of the men looked at me strangely and I explained to the group.

"It's my boyfriend. Sorry for the bother." I hoisted him into my arms and struggled down the hallway back to my room. I closed the door, turned on the lights, and laid him down on the bed - only then stopping to take a breath. What had happened? I didn't understand. I noticed, though... I noticed there were dark smudged on the tips of his pink fingers. I sighed and shook my head with a smile, talking to the unconscious boy.

"Now that was silly, wasn't it, peach?" Quietly and dutifully, I started to clean his hands with a warm cleaning wipe.

Consciousness came slowly, and when it did I was still so unsure. The entire room was dark, and I had no idea where I was. I sat up slowly on the bed, the unfamiliar comforter on my fingers. I quickly took my fingers off, my breathing starting up again, looking them over in the dark. Were they still dirty?! I needed a light...

Just like our endless nights in the cabin, his movement woke me from my sleep - though this time I was asleep on an armchair that sat just past the foot of the bed. The room was dim, and my eyes opened slowly as I spoke.

"Hey sleeping beauty. Light switch us above the head of the bed." A moment later the light switched on and I saw the boy looking desperately at his hands. He'd find them only pink and clean.

It was dark out? What had happened? I was in the elevator... my wipes... I shook my head in confusion and looked over at Kris. I was glad I couldn't talk. Glad I couldn't tell him he was right. I couldn't be fixed. I was broken. And that only meant... we couldn't be together. My mom would be worried sick. She usually picked me up from school, and now... ugh. I had to get home...

"Don't move too much. Take it slow." He didn't listen, though; struggling to pull away at the comforter. I stood up with a little smile and crawled up the bed, crawling atop the boy and putting my hand on his cheek so I could look into his eyes. Oh, how I missed those eyes.

I opened my mouth hopelessly, but he stayed in place, his hand on my cheek, keeping me from moving. I felt dizzy beneath him. I'd missed this so much. But it wasn't a thing anymore. Wasn't possible. I shook my head and pointed out the window. I hated miming so badly, but I didn't have much choice in this matter. I gave a little worried look, then pointed to the clock. Late. It was late.

"What's your Moms number? If you put it into my phone, I'll call your Mom. Tell her that I was in town, and we're hanging out and where we are, and sorry that it took so long." My hand slipped into my pocket and I passed the boy my phone, my hand didn't leave his cheek though. I didn't want him focused. I didn't want him able to use reason. Just to enter the phone number and do as he was told.

I had to point to the numbers for Kris to type in; I didn’t know where his phone had been. He didn't look like he was going to move, though. He wasn't going to talk to my mom on the phone while he was on top of me, did he? I shook my head in mild disagreement - I could just go home - but he took the phone and hit call. Awkward.

I stayed atop the boy, my knees on either side of his thighs beneath the comforter, and my free hand took one of his hands, our fingers intertwining. The phone rang and rang, and then finally answered.

"Hey, uh, Sidney's Mom? Sorry. I don't know your name; Sidney doesn't talk much. Anyway, this is Kris, we met at camp. Yeah, that Kris. No... no, Kris is fine. Look, I was in town and we decided to hang out; but I guess Sidney was so excited to see me that he forgot to call. So yeah. We're at the Hilton on Bradley & Giles; we're just going to hang out tonight. Is that okay? No... no, that's fine - I can take care of that. I just miss him. Uhh, yeah, that's cool. Okay. Make sure you wear clean gloves before you touch any of his clothes, okay? Alright. Bye." I hung up the phone and smiled.

"She sounded excited, huh? She's bringing you some fresh clothes down here in a little bit, and she said you can hang out with me tonight. Which is cool, right? She was worried, but I think that's mostly gone now."

I couldn't look at Kris. He was still on top of me and I still couldn't talk. This place made me uncomfortable. I didn't know the location very well, and beyond the cabin and my room, I had trouble talking almost anywhere. Or maybe it was Kris, now that he was here. I knew he'd have cleaned everything ahead of time, or at least ensured the turn down service had taken care of the sheets. I felt safe. But uncomfortable.

"I made you something. While you were asleep. It's a list. Do you wanna read it?" Sidney pouted a little and looked away, so I used my hand to guide his gaze back to mine.

"I asked a question, peach." He eventually nodded, and I got up off the bed and fetched the yellow legal pad, handing it to him. It contained a list. A list of quirks and habits and oddities, ranging from 'will go out of the way to turn a toilet paper roll around if it’s not facing frontways' to 'won't let the car fuel gauge go beneath half full' and 'have to have tv volume on a multiple of five'. There were dozens, too; maybe close to a hundred. They were my quirks. My little habits and oddities as far as I could recall them; I didn't know if he'd clicked to that fact as he read, but I let him read all the same.

I sighed and felt the same sense of unhappiness I felt before, the same that encouraged me to go out and touch things. But this was different. This time, I knew I was defeated. I just put the pad down on the bed and turned away, facing the wall. There was no way I could help him understand. Not without talking. And even if I could, how would he take it when I told him the truth: that I could never see him again after today.

He rolled over and I set my phone down in front of him, along with the little package of wipes. "Type to me? You can clean the screen as much as you like. But type to me. So we can talk." It was an inelegant solution, and one that couldn't be indefinite. It was workable, though, to a degree. I'd hoped he'd try.

I took a wipe and rubbed the screen clean as well as the back and sides of the phone. Finally, I started to type.

"I know. But it's not the same. You have to und" I sighed and closed my eyes. This was a huge pain. I hated typing things out. I hated writing them out. "erstand. I know you call them quirks, but they aren't. You don't have panic attacks and black out if your car goes below half tank. You don't wish you were dead if the volume is on 12. I like that you think the way you do. But this isn't the same. This is something I can't control. Something that destroys me." I couldn't keep this up. Typing on the phone was impossible. My thoughts were too fast for my fingers. "This phone thing isn't working."

Seeing words come from the boy, even if I couldn't hear them was... marvelous. I knew it frustrated him, so I smiled and nodded understandingly.

"You don't have to type a lot, I promise. I'll keep it succinct. Can you tell me who you've ever let touch you, skin-to-skin, without being upset by it?"

I sighed and went back to the phone. "Since I was ten, only people with clean hands. Or gloves." It was the best answer I had. I didn't know where he was going with this, though. I wished he'd listen. I wished he'd understand. But he was Kris. He never listened. He never gave up. Stubborn boy.

"You let me touch you. You let me kiss you, on the cheek, twice. And I know you cleaned up right away after. But I bet it was habit... I bet you didn't feel nearly as anxious as usual when it was me. Be honest."

"You were clean." I sighed, typing into the phone. He wanted a particular answer... and that answer I didn't have for him. But I had to make the truth known. "When you kissed my cheek, or when you weren't clean, it was just as bad as anyone else." I didn't like this typing. I didn't like this not talking. Why did we have to do this here?

"You trust me to be clean, though. You take it for fact that I am. With everybody else, you assume they're unclean up front. With me, it's different. You trust me." He looked at me, frustrated, as if trying to figure out if it was worth replying and so I added on.

"If you can learn to trust someone, someone who has so many variables... isn't it a sign that this is manageable?"

I shook my head and turned to the phone, but gave up. He wouldn't stop. I knew that. I didn't know how else to explain it to him. I didn't know if it would even make a difference, if I could. This would just be one of those things. I didn't expect him to understand. I wasn't even sure if I did. So I just typed out, "I'm sorry. I'm going to leave when my mom gets here."

"I learned a lot. About OCD. About what you have, I mean. I read about uh... behavioral therapy and stuff. I don't understand a lot of it... I mean, it's all in the books and stuff but a lot of it goes over my head."

If he was trying to get me to stay, he was doing a crappy job of it. But if he was trying to confuse me, he'd certainly managed. I looked at the phone in my hand and typed out, as precisely as I could, "What are you talking about?" He wasn't sitting on me anymore though, so I had to point the phone up toward him so he could read.

"Um. Okay. So the idea is that you... try and make your rituals less needed. Like, it takes time. But for example... you let someone touch something. And then you let that touch something else, and then you touch that. You know that it's been contaminated, but you resist washing your hands. You try and break that ritual. And then, once you're okay with that level, you move up to touching something someone else has touched, directly. Like both touching two sides of a plate. And then you don't wash your hands. You can't jump straight into running around touching dirty things, because the anxiety is way too much. You'll have a panic attack. But if you start small and work up to it, soon your mind starts thinking 'well, I did x without washing my hands after. Maybe I can do y?'. Does that make any sense?" I hoped that it did - I'd memorized the entire chapter on that particular topic, hoping to one day be able to use it to help him.

Again, I erased the text on the screen with a couple hits of the "enter" key and typed out, "What?" just before a knock happened on the door. I shook my head, holding up the phone, but Kris was already climbing out of bed. I followed him. I needed to know what he was talking about. I held it up to him, again, almost pushing it in his face without touching him in any way as he made his way to the door.

"Hey." I opened the door, and the woman standing there with the trunk in her hand smiled at me. "You're Sidneys Mom?" She nodded and set the trunk down.

"You must be Kris? It's so nice to finally meet you. I'd tell you that Sidney's talked so much about you, but you know.”

She laughed, but I didn't. I smiled and nodded. "You shouldn't make light of it, you know. Sidney. He tries really really hard." To say that Linda looked taken aback was an understatement, and she laughed a little more before tapering off in thought. "Thanks for coming down, though. Sidney, are you going to stay with me tonight, or going home with your Mom?"

I huffed, holding the phone back up to Kris's face. What? What? What? What? What? Why wouldn't he just tell me. I shook my head and pointed to my mom, then back to the phone, holding it closer to him. I wasn't sure if he'd understand. I barely understood. I was going home with mother. After he told me what he was talking about. After.

"Actually, you know, Sidney mentioned earlier that he'd love to show me his room. Do you think it would be okay if I came over for a while?" The woman’s eyes lit up and she nodded, practically beaming that her son was going to have a friend over, and then gushed her response.

"Of course, Kris! That sounds lovely. I'll make pasta for dinner."

It was late, probably too late for dinner; but I didn't turn down the offer. I looked at Sidney with a smile and winked.

I was furious. Absolutely furious. I kept holding the screen up to Kris until he answered me.

“We will talk about it later".

Emphasis on the we. He wanted me to talk? Oh. Right. My room. He knew about that, didn't he? I looked onward with a little frown, nonetheless. As much as I wanted to be able to talk, this took precedent. He said something about fixing me. Something about some treatment. I didn't understand it. Was something actually wrong with me?

-------------

Thank you for reading.  Like & Comment!  Consider supporting us on Patreon! 

[Chris Robin]

Wait, has no one ever said anything about OCD to Sidney? I was going to say something more about how Kris' White Knightyness is making me slightly uncomfortable (and I know he is probably just doing what he thinks is best but the last chapter could have ended worse and this chapter begun less perfectly) but the fact that no one has tried to give him an accurate diagnosis or take things beyond his normal doctor to a specialist has slightly blown my mind. He really has been failed by quite a few people.