Chapter Fourteen

Dillian had been hiding in the hospital under a false name for the last few weeks. At first, Dillian thought about his career, his status, and his fans and decided that anonymity would be best. Later, as he battled with the cold medical facility, he just didn’t care if any one knew him or not. He gave up on life and laid limp as his doctor ranted about his condition.

“Mr. McNab, I’m telling you from a doctor’s perspective and someone who sees these cases all the time. If you don’t take your medication as prescribed, your visits will become more frequent and more serious ...”

Between his listening spells, Dillian knew he had to grasp the whole ordeal. He was HIV positive and there was no way to get around it. The only thing he could do was accept it or not. And at the moment, he had no intentions of accepting the diagnosis.

If he accepted it, that would mean taking many pills daily. Half of the names of pills were hard for him to even pronounce. A definite change in his life would come. Again, if he accepted that he was in fact HIV positive, there still wouldn’t be a cure. He would only be fighting a war he wasn’t sure he would win before the virus took over. In fact, he felt there would be only a slim chance for him to win.

If he continued on the path he was now on—not accepting that he had HIV—he would certainly get worse. Every day that he refused to take his medication meant another day for the virus to invade his body and destroy his CD₄+ cells. It meant another day that his body would continue to lose its ability to produce new cells to replace the ones that were being destroyed. This was only one of the results Dillian remembered the doctor listing if he didn’t accept his condition and deal with it.

He knew that most people would opt to take the medication, but he wasn’t like most people. As a well-known body builder, Dillian had won hundreds of awards, including winning Mr. Universe. It was hard for Dillian to remember those accolades and think that all that he had built could be destroyed so easily.

At least once every hour, Dillian’s life flashed before his eyes: shocking the fitness world by retiring at age twenty-five, starting up his own training business that earned him top clientele, and coming out of retirement just a year later to compete in the Olympics. He started a rigorous schedule to get his body into competitive shape, but he had help. He started with his steroid shots once again, never thinking that his secret needle would ever infect him; it hadn’t in the past ... but his past was not his present.

It wasn’t until this year that Dillian had started to feel ill, or at least his body felt different. It wasn’t until he was having sweats, the fevers, and the near-fainting spells that Dillian went to a doctor, and even then it was because of Gracie’s suggestion.

Dillian was stunned when the doctor asked if he’d taken an HIV/AIDS test before. HIV was the furthest thing from his mind. Dillian knew who he had been with, and for the last two years, he had only been with Gracie, and they had used protection. However, he got his test results, nearly four months before he left Gracie. The problem was that Dillian had no idea where the infection originated. He got the medication from a close friend, who got it from someone else, who of course, got it from someone else. At the time, Dillian was confident that the underground supply was a clean deal. It was as legit as it could be; but clean it wasn’t.

When he pulled his vehicle into the park, he didn’t even realize which neighborhood he was in and he didn’t care for that matter. Should have known better was all he kept saying over and over without any healing for the pain he was feeling.

Sitting deep into the cushion on the driver’s side, Dillian peered out the window and watched a family huddle around the swing sets afar off. Without knowing they were present, Dillian wiped away the tears that fled from his eyes. He thought about his own children that he would never get to enjoy at the park.

“How stupid,” he mouthed as he thought about the abrupt, as he thought, end to his life. Slamming his hand against the thick plastic on the steering wheel, Dillian no longer fought the tears. With his forehead plastered against the navigation device, Dillian reminisced.

He couldn’t help but grimace as he thought back on the many times he’d actually allowed needles to touch his backside, his arms, or his legs. In thinking on one time in particular, wondering if it had been the point in time when his blood had actually been diluted, Dillian became disgusted with his actions.

“Man, where’s it at,” Dillian hurriedly asked as he’d rushed into the unlocked door to Trey’s house. “I got a plane to catch.”

“That’s right,” Trey responded, walking out of the fogged kitchen. Holding his lips tight around the marijuana that was already housed in his lungs, Trey shooed Dillian into one of the back rooms. “You gotta go check in for the Olympics or something like that, huh?”

“Yeah, man. Which way?” Dillian didn’t pause for small talk. Making his way into the hallway’s restroom, he looked around for the medication. “Ain’t no vial in here, man,” he hollered.

When Trey stuck his head around the door and into the restroom, he pointed to where Dillian could find his medication. “It’s right there.” He pointed to the needle that lay on the back of the sticky sink.

“This needle right here?” Dillian pointed without touching the made up concoction. With his eyebrow questioning the air, Dillian’s answer came after a misplaced Trey yelled from the next room over.

As he looked down at the needle, it was only half of a second that Dillian second-guessed his decision to continue with his plans. Shrugging his thoughts of wondering who put together the needle, Dillian pulled down his workout pants, picked up the unfamiliar injection device and commenced to ready his aim.

Not knowing or even feeling the trickling of blood that ran from the injection spot, down his skin, Dillian reappeared in what should have been the living area of the house. Seeing five unfamiliar faces squeezed together on one loveseat: one shooting up a substance into his vein and the others smoking from a shared glass pipe, Dillian shook his head in disgust.

Not being able to stand the sight of the addict thrusting the needle so hard and deep into his veins, Dillian walked toward the exit yelling out Trey’s name, waiting to see if he would appear. When he didn’t see or hear any footsteps coming down the hall, Dillian opened the door and scurried from his friend’s property.

Oh my God, what have I done?, Dillian thought as he grabbed the thin hospital covers, pulling them up to his shoulders as he turned to his side, avoiding his doctor all together.

Once diagnosed, Dillian contemplated many ways to cope. He didn’t stay around long enough at the doctor’s office to get information about the serious virus. He only linked his new life with the life he had heard about in the movies he had seen. All he knew was the diagnosis, taking medication that made you sick if you weren’t already, and then dying.

He figured he’d just speed up the process and put an end to something that hadn’t meant any good for anyone. Dillian played with the idea of suicide on different levels, but none stood.

“Your life doesn’t have to end now,” was all he remembered the doctor trying to convince him as he sat in disbelief in the cold room. How could he believe that coming from someone who only gave the information and didn’t have to take it in for himself? He couldn’t shake the idea of his body, the body he had worked so hard on over the years, becoming thin to the bone.

Dillian knew that if he decided to come out with his infection and take his medication, he could lose everything. Honest or not, most people would shun him. Eventually, he would lose everything he had worked so hard for, including Gracie.

The night he found out about his infection, he told Gracie he had to leave on a business trip. Without going home to gather clothes or any personal belongings, Dillian drove as far as he could. He knew he couldn’t just run away, but he had to air out his thoughts. He had to decide which way to turn.

If he had only gone to the doctor one month earlier—one month—he would never have surprised Gracie with the engagement ring of her dreams. Just one month earlier, he wouldn’t have confessed all of his love to her only to end up breaking her heart. Her heart would be more than broken if somehow, some way she contracted the virus. But in Dillian’s memory, there was no possibility ... or was there?

When he thought of sitting Gracie down and explaining the situation to her, he tried to keep in mind that she was a God-fearing woman and that she would forgive him and stand by his side. Then reality hit him hard. It wasn’t like he was bringing home a baby from an affair. The “baby” he carried would never grow older and leave home; it was there to stay.

He wasn’t perfect, but he never did anything intentionally to hurt Gracie. He knew that, in her eyes, he was close enough to perfect. To him she was perfect. They were friends first, which allowed them to successfully transform their relationship into an honest, trustworthy companionship. He had broken her trust. Now he was too afraid to let her know.

As he lay in the hospital bed, he realized that it wouldn’t be long after he was released that he would be coming back. He had no plans on taking medications or making anything “seem” okay. Drinking had become the only way of coping. Drinking was his therapy.

He didn’t want to believe his new life; however, he wasn’t far enough into denial to continue hurting others. Dillian knew he just wouldn’t be able to have sex again. He knew he would never have a serious relationship with a woman because he would always think she was pretending to love him out of pity. He knew he would never have kids to carry on his name. The faster I can get this over with, the faster everyone can move on.

As he thought about wasting away, he felt guilty. Guilt ran through his veins as he sat in a hospital room without his family or friends knowing his whereabouts. He’d ditched his pager and cell phone the day he left the apartment. He had his personal assistant call his clients and let them know that he wouldn’t be able to make appointments and didn’t leave a date when he would return. The road he was traveling down was that of destruction.

On top of all that, the health department hotline had gotten in contact with him to let him know that they had yet to get in touch with Gracie to give her the information that she needed. He had no idea what else could go wrong, but he knew there was more to come. Letting Gracie know was only the beginning.