Chapter 17

The weekly sessions with Dr. Kern no longer irk Dylan. He still thinks the doctor is an asshole, but he no longer throws a fit in the middle of a session. 

When Dr. Kern summons Dylan on a Tuesday morning, Dylan wonders if the doctor is changing his therapy schedule. He's convinced that there's nothing to worry about but his instinct tells him otherwise.

The impassive expression that framed Dr. Kern's face does nothing to hide the melancholy that floated underneath his mask. 

"I hate to have to be the one to break this to you," falls from the doctor's lips causing Dylan to hold the air in his lungs. "It's Bryan."

The doctor's words float on the surface of Dylan's ears, sounding muffled and distant. Or maybe… maybe Dylan just refuses to hear that the sweet boy who has somehow become his friend has taken a blade to his wrist, that Bryan has taken his life.

"His father came by earlier to drop this off. He said Bryan left this for you." Dr. Kern lifts a large manila envelope and places it gingerly on his table. Then he hands Dylan a small white envelope.

Dylan's fingers tremble when he takes the note out and read Bryan's message:

Dylan. You'll probably think that I'm such a loser for giving up, but there's no one left for me here. I envy you because you still have people who believe in you, you have Lance. Thank you for being my friend, even for a short while. It meant a lot to me. I hope you'll find peace soon. Remember me, Bryan.

Tears pool in his eyes but Dylan does his best to hold them back. He doesn't realize that the doctor is offering him the envelope until the doctor lays it on his lap. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I know he was a friend."

"You shouldn't have allowed him to go home. You…" Dylan refuses to meet the doctor's gaze, afraid that Dr. Kern will see through his vulnerability.

"Let it go, Dylan. Don't hold it inside. Let go of the pain," Dr. Kern wheedles and it snaps the last thread of Dylan's patience.

"Shut up," Dylan hisses, pressing himself deeper into the cushioned chair.

"Let go of the anger. You're hurting inside, Dylan. Let your grief flow. It's okay to cry for Bryan. It's okay to cry…" Dr. Kern's sudden pause drops a weight on Dylan's shoulders and his stomach twists in knots when the doctor mutters, "for Saxon."

"No!" Dylan springs from his seat, sending the envelope down to the floor, and bolts out of the doctor's office. 

It gets harder to breathe every fucking second that he wants to claw his chest open to release the pressure. Once he makes it to his room, he goes straight to the bathroom. The first thing he sees is his reflection — eyes bloodshot and tears streaming down his sunken cheeks. He slams his fist against the mirror and the glass shatters to his surprise. It's supposed to be fucking unbreakable. 

Dylan doesn't feel anything, just a slight sting on his knuckles. But he sees the blood trickling down his fingers. 

Blood, he thinks numbly as he sinks on the floor. His fingers clasp around a broken piece and he presses a sharp edge against his right wrist.

"Dylan no!" 

The voice snaps Dylan out of his trance and before he can stir, there are hands around his wrists and his arms.

"Dylan," someone else says and he looks up to see Riva, eyes shrouded with worry.

Dylan's gaze skips to Lance and he can't bear seeing the look on Lance's face so he clings to Lance's waist, buries his face on Lance's stomach, and cries. It feels like he's drowning, like air is being sucked out of his lungs. He blacks out. 

The next time he opens his eyes, he's curled up on the bed with Lance humming beside him, brushing Dylan's hair with his fingers.

"Lance?" Dylan's voice sounds thick and broken.

"Hey." Lance's fingers stop moving. He presses his palm against Dylan's cheek. "The doctors said I could stay and keep you company."

Silence is the only response Dylan offers. 

"Dr. Kern told me what happened," Lance says when Dylan doesn't make a sound. He takes Dylan in his arms, whispering words that Dylan finds consoling somehow. 

They don't leave the sanctuary of his room for hours. 

The entire room is cloaked in thick layers of tranquility with nothing but the beating of their hearts, the rhythmic sound of their breathing, and the chirping of the birds outside the window to disrupt the ambiance.

"Oh!" Lance jerks then he reaches out for something on the bedside table. Dylan's heart begins to pound violently when he sees the brown envelope in Lance's hand. "Dr. Kern says you left this in his office."

"I don't want that." Dylan shakes his head.

"Do you mind if I take a look at it, find out what's inside?" Lance's words dance around his head like some fucking temptation that can get Dylan to do anything.

Lance barely has an entire sheet out before Dylan realizes that the case contains sketches and paintings that bear Bryan's initials. What Dylan finds baffling though is the fact that most of them contain images of him in his catcher gears. 

*

The spur-of-the-moment decision to head over to Deertona made Dylan's head spin. His mom had been adamant in asking them to spend the fourth of July at her place. Dylan decided to drive all the way to Minnesota that weekend.

It was a particularly hot day, fucking unusual even for midwest summer. Saxon claimed he had only been in the States a handful of times so he enjoyed every stop they made and took lots of pictures. 

They had two days before his mom's Fourth-Of-July barbeque bash so Dylan decided to take a detour and drive Saxon around. 

Back home, Dylan never had to worry about public displays of affection. The community where they lived was LGBT-friendly. So Dylan turned a blind eye on the stares aimed at them when he and Saxon walked down the shopping district of the small no-name town hand in hand. They weren't planning on staying long anyway – just driving by to pick up some food and other stuff they may need on the road.

The girl behind the checkout counter of the convenience store was congenial enough to alleviate Dylan's worries. "You're not from around here, are you?" she asked while scanning Dylan's purchases.

"Nah. Just driving through."

"You look kinda familiar." The girl's eyes skipped between the cash register, the item in her hand, and Dylan's face.

"I was told I look like Brad Pitt," Dylan jested and the girl's resounding laughter eased the remaining agitation that thrummed throughout his body. Dylan dismissed the knob swelling in his chest as paranoia but his trepidation returned in waves when Saxon tossed a box of condoms in the basket. 

"Didn't we pack enough of that?" Dylan asked nervously. 

"We might need more," was Saxon's return and he planted a quick kiss on Dylan's lips.

There wasn't any visible change in the cashier's expression though. She was still smiling even when she scanned the barcode on the box.

Dylan could feel the stares from the other customers burning a hole on the back of his head. He could tell that Saxon was aware of it. And he knew his boyfriend well enough to sense that Saxon was simply adding fuel to the fire.

"Here you go." The girl handed him the paper bag and leaned closer to whisper, "You guys be careful out there. Try not to be intimate until you're out of this town."

It was pretty late and the parking lot was dark with only the faint glow from two lamp posts spilling light over the area. Dylan could hear footsteps behind them.

"Walk faster," he said but someone grabbed him from behind as soon as the words left his mouth. Saxon was ripped away from his side.

"Dylan!" was the last thing Dylan heard before he felt a sharp blow at the back of his head.