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Isaac pulled his Jeep into the parking lot, switched off the ignition, and worried at his lip ring. He checked his phone for the third time to make sure the address was correct and his appointment with Liz Park, licensed clinical therapist, was still at two thirty. He still wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he had to do something.
Everything checked out. He could see her sign on the door, so he had no excuse but to go in.
Except that your boyfriend will probably kill you.
The thing was, Isaac wasn’t sure he cared anymore if Laurent got mad at him. He’d tried bringing it up casually, and he’d tried having a conversation after blowing Laurent, when he was a little more receptive and less inclined toward asshole behavior, but to no avail.
With that thought in mind, Isaac got out of the Jeep, pocketed his keys, and headed into the office building. Liz Park’s door was the first one on the right when he walked in, and Isaac squared his shoulders and pushed the door open with aggressive intent.
Which in hindsight wasn’t a good idea. He wasn’t playing hockey, and he looked like a crazy person with blue hair and a facial piercing barging into a therapist’s office.
But Liz Park—if that’s who she was—just looked up from her desk with her eyebrows slightly raised and said, “Hello. You must be Isaac.”
Isaac nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry about the door, I... uh.” He didn’t know what to say, so he just shrugged. It was already awkward, and they hadn’t even started yet.
Liz smiled. “It’s all right.” She made a gesture toward a small room adjacent to the waiting area, with the stereotypical therapist couch and low lighting. “Would you like to have a seat? I’ll be with you in a moment. Can I get you any water?”
Isaac shook his head, went into the room, sat on the couch nervously, and looked around. He’d been in a therapist’s office exactly one time, when he first told his parents he was gay. It was a Christian therapist, recommended by the church, and there were biblical sayings and Christian books in the bookcase, in the vein of How to Renounce Satan’s Influence and Embrace God’s Plan for Heterosexuality.
Liz Park’s books were about coming to terms with your inner self, disordered thinking, and the value of meditation and journaling. Not a religious title or symbol in sight. He relaxed a fraction of an inch, but tensed as Liz came in the room and closed the door.
She was a woman in perhaps her midforties, with bright red hair and ginger eyebrows that suggested the color was either natural or only slightly enhanced in a salon. She wore a trendy, loose-flowing skirt and a lot of colorful jewelry, and as she settled into her chair, she gave Isaac the warmest of smiles. “So, Isaac. You said on the phone when you made the appointment that you had concerns about someone you know possibly having an eating disorder?”
There was no possibly about it. Laurent threw up way too much for it to be anything else, and he had weird rules about food and eating that went beyond mere hockey-player superstitions. But suddenly, confronted with the reality of saying that to someone else and betraying Laurent’s confidence, Isaac felt awkward and uncertain about what to do. “Umm. Yeah. It’s my... my boyfriend,” he said with his chin raised a notch. If Liz had a problem with that, he’d be out of there like a shot, and she could fuck herself with his $20 copay.
But Liz just nodded and waited for him to continue.
“I’m—we’re—hockey players,” Isaac started. “For the Spartanburg Spitfires.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh. I’ve been to a few games. Those are fun. What position are you?”
“The goalie. My boyfriend is the, uh, the other goalie.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That must be quite the story.”
He gave a slight chuckle. “You have no idea. And yeah. He throws up a lot.” Isaac winced as he realized how that sounded. “I don’t know. I feel kind of stupid, but he won’t talk about it, and he pretends like he has a reason when he totally doesn’t. I mean, getting drunk is one thing, but he hardly ever drinks. None of us do, especially during the season.” Isaac found that her warm and open gaze made it easy to talk, and he found himself telling her about all the little idiosyncrasies he’d noticed about Laurent when it came to food. But the final straw, as far as Isaac was concerned, was when Laurent passed out during practice the week before. “I tried to talk about it, but he’s... well, he’s not easy to talk to. He comes from a bad home.”
Isaac wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Liz all about Laurent’s home life, but it was hard to stop talking once he started. “I don’t know anything about eating disorders, but I looked some stuff up, and I think he has one.” Isaac cleared his throat. “To be clear, I promise I am talking about my boyfriend and not, like, me. I had a cheeseburger on my way over here.”
She smiled kindly at him. “People with eating disorders can eat cheeseburgers, Isaac. It’s less about the actual food consumption and more about the thought process behind it.” She handed him a couple of brochures. “Here’s some information you might want to look at, about how to talk to him and bring up your concerns in a constructive way. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like, at the very least, he has some disordered thoughts about eating.”
Laurent had disordered thoughts about a lot of things, but Isaac kept that to himself. He flipped through the little brochure and winced inwardly at how many of Laurent’s behaviors he recognized. The way Laurent refused to go out and eat with the team, his strict portion control when he did allow himself to eat, the lack of anything resembling a snack in the fridge in his apartment, the throwing up, the self-hate and the recriminations, even the absurd number of mouthwash bottles he owned—regular and travel sized. “Why would he do this?” Isaac asked, more to himself than Liz. “I mean, I always thought eating disorders were—” He blushed as he realized what he was about to say and how it sounded.
Liz finished the thought for him. “For women?” She shook her head. “I’d say it’s not as common in men. But you know, I wonder often how much of it is because of that attitude right there. I’m not trying to criticize you for having it,” she assured him. “It’s a common one among most people. But it might be the thing that stops men—like your boyfriend—from getting help or even recognizing they have a problem in the first place. And most people with eating disorders don’t think of them that way. They think they’re not good enough at whatever it is they’re doing—restricting, purging—to consider it an eating disorder in the first place.”
Isaac closed the brochure and looked at Liz. “What can I do to make him stop doing it?”
“Well, you can’t make him do anything. But by coming here, by expressing your concern and learning more, getting information.... That’s a good step. You must care about him very much.”
Ugh. That made him blush so hot, he wanted to die. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do, though.”
“From what you’ve said, his restrictions and purging could lead to significant issues with his health, especially given the nature of your sport,” she said. She leaned forward. “I think you need to suggest he seek help. From me or a professional he might feel comfortable with.”
Laurent didn’t feel comfortable with anyone but him. He said as much.
Liz shook her head. “That might be true. But Isaac? As much as I can tell you love him and want to help him, you’re not responsible for fixing this for him. That’s a difficult burden for anyone to have to carry. And you can help him, and so could I, but he has to be willing to do the work. And to do that, he has to see that it’s a problem.” She smiled sadly. “But from past experience, I can tell you that this is going to be very difficult for him to hear. He’ll argue, he’ll rationalize, and he’ll turn it back on you.”
Isaac snorted despite himself. “Believe me, I’m used to that. How do I... I mean, what should I say? Just hand him a pamphlet and tell him to come see you?”
“You have to talk from the heart and hope he listens.”
Great. “I’ll try,” Isaac said. He stood up and shook her hand.
Back at home Isaac spent some time looking over the pamphlets and wondering how to bring up the subject to Laurent. The playoffs weren’t that far away, and more than that, Isaac wanted to help Laurent. But he was starting to think Laurent needed a lot more help than he had to offer. He needed someone who knew specifically about the kind of abuse Laurent had suffered, who might give him better ways of dealing with his stress.
The portion control was one thing, but the throwing up... how many times had Isaac heard him and just thought Laurent was being dramatic? How many times had Laurent done it when Isaac hadn’t heard him? That was the crux of the problem, because if he was doing it enough to pass out from dehydration, then he was hiding it from Isaac.
Isaac knew Laurent well enough to know how spectacularly wrong it could go, and how very angry Laurent was going to be at him. Because there was only one thing Isaac could think to do that would make Laurent get help, and he knew Laurent wasn’t going to like it.
––––––––
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”
Isaac knocked Laurent’s shoulder with his own. “No. This is our place. Remember? Where I gave you a blowjob for the first time? It’s supposed to be magical.”
Laurent looked sideways at him. “Magical.”
“Yeah. Remember the s’mores?” Isaac tried for a smile, but he was too nervous about the conversation they needed to have. Maybe coming there was a mistake, but he’d been nervous the last time about the whole turning-tricks-for-cash thing, and that had worked out all right.
“I remember that we couldn’t manage to make any. What’s wrong, Isaac? This is like the ‘Laurent, we need to talk’ place.” At Isaac’s guilty stare, Laurent stopped walking. “Can you just promise me that if we break up, you won’t do it here? I have nice memories, and I don’t have those a lot of places.”
“I told you I used to suck cock for money here,” Isaac reminded him.
“Yeah. And then you showed me why you made so much money doing it in the back of the Jeep. I don’t care that you did that. You know I don’t.” Laurent shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down. “What is it?”
He didn’t say what did I do, but God was it ever implied. Isaac flipped his lip ring around a few times and then cautiously said, “I’m worried about you.”
Laurent’s head snapped up. “What did I do this time?”
Isaac reached out and took Laurent’s chin in his fingers. He’d figured out quickly what sort of things he could do to get Laurent’s attention without signaling some kind of awful memory about his father’s abuse. “Saint? Stop talking.” Telling him firmly to be quiet was one of them. Strange that someone who had been silenced his whole life would like that so much. Isaac leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet. “I’m not breaking up with you, and I promise I would never do that here. I don’t want to do it at all. Okay? I love you.”
Laurent didn’t talk, but he managed to sigh with so much annoyance that it made Isaac smile against his mouth. He kissed him until Laurent’s rigid posture relaxed a bit more and his fingers slid carefully through Isaac’s hair.
When they pulled away, Laurent surprised him by putting his hands on Isaac’s shoulders, leaning in, and resting his forehead against Isaac’s. “You should—”
Isaac bit him on the mouth. “Stop. Be quiet. I have to say this now or I’m never going to.”
Laurent pulled back and gave him a wary glance, but he didn’t say anything.
Isaac took a deep breath and then blurted, “I think you have an eating disorder and you need to get some help for it.”
Laurent blinked. Twice. Then he laughed. “What?”
Isaac stood his ground, his heart hammering, and remembered what he’d read and what Liz had told him. “You do. I’m serious.”
“An eating disorder?” Laurent huffed. “Seriously? This is what you’re worried about?”
“You passed out at practice the other day,” Isaac reminded him.
“I was dehydrated. I told you.”
“You throw up all the time. I hear you sometimes, and I think—I think you do it a lot more. I think you always have.”
“I’m a nervous mess, basically every moment I’m awake,” Laurent said.
Isaac kept at it. “You know you only eat half of your food after a game if we lose. Right? You don’t eat before games. And okay. Fine. I get that maybe it’s a goalie thing, but you’ve lost weight since the season started. And this thing you do, where you throw up to feel better? I know you do it because of what happened to you, because of your father, and I know you think it’s no big deal but it’s... it’s a big deal. And I noticed. I think you didn’t want me to, but I did.”
Laurent’s face went from bewildered to pissed off in seconds, and he shoved Isaac like he had that day on the ice the year before. “Shut the fuck up.”
Isaac stumbled, but he quickly regained his balance and moved closer. “No. Listen to me. You can hurt yourself doing this. You play a contact sport for a living—”
“No. I sit on a bench,” Laurent snapped at him. “You’re the starting goalie. Remember?”
It was not the time to be reminded of their rivalry on the team, lacking in acrimony as it might be. “You know we both play games, and believe me, I’ve been on the bench more this season than any other. And it’s fine. The team is what matters. But I’m not talking about hockey, Laurent. I’m talking about you.”
“I’m not a girl,” Laurent huffed, dickhead mode out in full force.
“Yeah. I noticed.” Isaac took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of earth and growing things, the cool spring air that heralds that something new is right around the corner. “Would you listen to me?” He took a step forward and another, until he was back up in Laurent’s space. “You know I’m right. You know I am. You throw up after you have dinner at my house. You throw up after we hang out with our friends. You—”
“Your friends,” Laurent interrupted, and he sounded so vicious that anyone else might not get that all that hate was directed entirely inward. “I don’t have friends.”
Isaac crossed his arms and tried to tamp down his own frustration. “You do so. People like you. Is that what this is about? You can’t handle that people like you instead of hate you, for once?”
Laurent stared at him, and the openmouthed thing might have been comical if it weren’t for the fact that Isaac felt like he was tearing his own heart out of his chest.
“Fuck you,” Laurent said, his voice trembling with rage. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are—”
“I love you,” Isaac interrupted loudly. God. Could they be any more dramatic? “That’s who I think I am. Someone who loves you.”
Laurent stopped shouting, but he didn’t stop talking. “You shouldn’t. I don’t know why you would. Why anyone would.”
“Did you just hear yourself?” Isaac moved closer, but Laurent took a step away from him. “Listen to me. I went and talked to someone. A therapist. And I told her about you.”
If looks could kill, Isaac would be one dead, blue-haired, pierced, gay Spitfires’ goalie. But he wasn’t dead, and Laurent wasn’t talking, so Isaac didn’t stop. “I read some stuff. And I got some information you can look at. But I want you to call her and make an appointment. You have got to talk to someone about this shit, Laurent.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “That’s what I came here to tell you. That you need help, and I want you to get it. And she can help you. Not just with the—the disorder thing, but dealing with what your dad did to you.”
“So? Where’s the ‘or what’?” Laurent asked, and he answered before Isaac could say anything. “Is it either I get help for my teenage girl problems or we’re through?”
“Okay. One? It is not just girls, teenage or otherwise. And two? I thought you’d stopped reverting to jackass mode when I said something you didn’t want to hear. Also, you’re supposed to be being quiet.”
Laurent shut his mouth, but he still looked furious.
And that led to the last thing Isaac had to say. “There is an ‘or what,’ but it’s not what you think it is.” Isaac expelled a breath. “If you don’t call her and make an appointment, I’m taking my concerns to the coaches. I know that makes you mad, but I—I can’t lose you. I won’t.”
Make that a twice-dead, blue-haired, pierced, gay Spitfires’ goalie.
“I just want you to be okay,” Isaac said finally, with his heart in his throat. He’d fucked it up, but he’d done all he could. “I just want you to be okay, Saint. And you’re not.”
Laurent stared across the distance that separated them, anger in every line of his body, and tension radiating from him like heat. He was breathing too fast, and the cool air had nothing to do with the two spots of color on his cheeks. Isaac wondered if maybe Laurent would go ahead and end things himself, happy memories of the lake notwithstanding.
And then all the tension seemed to leave him in a rush, and his shoulders hunched as he stared down at the ground.
“You’re right,” Laurent said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not. I’m not okay at all.”
All around them birds chirped and newly budded branches rustled in the wind. Isaac breathed out slowly and nodded once. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He carefully moved closer, until Laurent went unresisting into an embrace. Neither of them said anything else.
What they had was every bit as tenuous as the nature all around them, but Isaac was as determined as spring to see that it grew.