"Deception"
After a long and hard week, Tom decided it was now or never to confront Bill, who was still in the hospital, held in the psych ward. Ever since the incident and the overdose, Tom had been second guessing everything and everyone, even Bill. The changed attitude, the outbreak, the drugs, what was more to come if he hadn't sought help was probably the most terrifying to him. But he had held in his emotions for too long and needed to get things settled. For him to do that, he had to talk to Bill regardless of his mental stability.
It was a rainy Sunday, a cold one most definitely. Tom walked through the hall of the ward wearing a certain and strong facial feature and locked his fists at the sides of his legs. Frankie, a young broad of a nurse, had been one of the many people tending to Bill and directed Tom to his room. She seemed to be a boring and flat person by the way she walked. At the door, room 384, Tom grasped the "L" shaped handle only to hesitate opening it. He was scared, he was hurt, he was unsure, but his brother, his love was in there, someone who he needed to speak to greatly. He pushed open the heavy door slightly, eyes closed and body moving, to hear a familiar faint sound: "Tom?"
Bill was staring out the window when Tom came in. He was watching the birds when really he was jacking off again to Tom's picture. He didn't really care too much if anyone (or anything) walked in on him. He told himself they were just jealous that he had someone who was scorching hot for a brother/lover; usually when he did say that, he would look around the room to see if Bushido was around. But on that day, he didn't expect his visitor would be Tom, so he was slightly flustered. He hid the picture in the pocket of his gown he was forced to wear again.
Tom closed the door silently behind him, "Hey Bill. How are you feeling babes?"
Bill smiled at his pet name, "I'm alright. Well, better than before. If I was fine, I would be home by now."
You are home. Bill shuddered making Tom concerned.
"A chill," Bill cleverly covered up "this place is colder than Montreal." Tom nodded, but didn't buy the statement.
"Billa, we need to talk," Tom breathed a heavy sigh, "I love you with all my soul and I would die for you. But what you've shown me and acted was unforgivable and inhuman above all." He just called you an animal! Bill rose from the chair, unassisted since his leg was healed. Tom continued, "I didn't tell anyone how much you hurt me, you know me I never tell. But this was just outrageous Bill. Is this the thanks I get for saving your life? Popping pills, uncontrollable violent sex, barbaric frenzy; who are you? Is this Bill or Bill influence by Bushido?" Well, well, he knows I'm here. This can be fun.
As if a switch was flipped, Bill collapsed on the floor hysterically crying. He clutched Tom's leg and kissed his feet. Kissing the feet? Really? Tom went down to pick up his brother, shaking like a leaf.
"Oh Tomi!" Bill wailed, "It's him. It's his entire fault I'm like this. I'm so sorry I put you through this. You have no idea how hard it is for me to live with such trauma and a ghost on top of it all. Just…hold me!" He launched his head into Tom's stomach and continued to sob. Tom allowed it and petted his stringy hair. That was his Bill, his little brother, his heart, the one who he promised to love. It was all so right for those few minutes.
But just as quickly as his mood change, Tom felt a hand wiggling inside of his pants. Bill was fondling him as he unzipped his pants as well, trying to get a taste. You whore, you traitor.
"What the hell?" Tom yelped when a hand turned into a mouth with a playful bite, "Bill get off!"
"Why? I haven't had you in so long. I need it." Bill practically growled like a starved dog over a steak. It made him flashback to the incident in Spain and turned him catatonic, but he still released his brother.
Tom buckled up before the nurses got suspicious. He had to say it was a bittersweet moment, yet it just told him more of what he already knew and reminded him what he was there for.
"You see that?" he asked Bill, "that mood swing, it's going to get worse if untreated. And I can't handle that on my own." What a pussy. "So that's why I'm admitting you here for treatment, for you to get better, completely." Bill just stared at him blankly and made a grunt noise at him. Out of frustration, Tom slapped him across the face, waking him from his trance.
"What the fuck was that for?" Bill scowled.
"Because I'm sick of you shit and I'm giving you to the professionals to straighten you out."
It was Bill's turn to be hurt, "but, I thought you loved me?" Why don't you ever listen?
He sighed again, "The thing is I do, but I want you to be…you again. And if Bushido is making it difficult for that to happen, I want someone who knows what they're doing to help." He grabbed Bill's head and gazed, "do you understand? I'm giving you an ultimatum: stay here and I'll stay or leave and I'm gone." They hovered in each other's space, waiting for an answer.
"I—," Bill started, "—love you."
"I guess that means you'll stay." Tom grinned widely and kissed Bill, something he yearned to do for a long time. Bill answered him and let him inside. He was pleasure stricken, it felt really good. As he released, Tom stepped back from him.
"I'm gonna be right back babes," he said and left the room, happy that things might be looking up.
Seriously, that is love? Cats and dogs have a better relationship than that. It's not even a relationship, it's a dictatorship. And he's the leader over your poor little village. Bill shut his eyes to block out the world and see Bushido, "You're absolutely right…as always."
* * *
The apartment was quiet without Bill, a stiff silence that made the air stale. Tom lied in the bed, looking up at the ceiling fan. Spinning and cooling, drying off the tears on his face. How is this love? He pondered to himself, how can it be love? Sending off your partner because you couldn't deal with him anymore, how could that be love? After pulling him out of Death's arms, he hid a secret addiction, how could that be love? Feeling threatened by an outside force and letting it conquer over mortality, how could that be love? Everything felt like a flaw with them and felt irresolvable. His dear Bill had fallen apart and left him so alone.
Tom understood he was recovering from a personal kind of tragedy, but he lost himself on his road to revitalization. His greatest fear of all was that Bill would never be able to return to the one person he cared most in the world. They say that twins felt each other's emotions and heard each other's thoughts. For Tom, he knew it was all downhill because he couldn't feel a thing.
He got up from the bed and got himself a drink. Stepping out of the kitchen, he walked past the picture frames on top of a narrow shelf. Moving the can to his left hand, he picked up a basic silver frame with his right. It was taken while on tour in New York, in front of Times Square. He was wearing one of the few regular fitting shirts he had while Bill was in his leather buckle jacket he got him for their birthday. Bill had no makeup on that day. In another frame held a strip of photos taken at a booth in Los Angeles. It was black and white and unbelievably silly. The fourth photo was of him kissing Bill's cheek and Bill was lit up like the west coast sun they experienced at a beach sundown. That day was probably one of the happiest days they spent together.
Putting the frames back, he dropped down on the couch, nearly spilling his drink. Tom buried his face into his hands.
I love him, he thought, but I hate what he did and what he can do to me. And I promised I would be there if he pulled through, but I don't think I want to anymore. What does this mean? What do I do?
If thoughts could kill the thinker, Tom would be slaughtered. He felt every notion gnawing away at his body and mind. It was torturous. But Tom knew what to do. Reaching into his back pocket and retrieved his phone, hitting speed dial six.
"Andreas?" he spoke into the receiver, "Can you come over please? I need to talk."