10:10 AM
On a Tuesday
Philadelphia, PA
Today is October 21, 2014.
He attempted suicide on September 26th, was hospitalized on the 27th, and then taken to the nut house on the 29th.
Dennis finds dates interesting. He guesses he never really noticed until he had absolutely nothing to do but think and die of boredom for three weeks straight. He enjoys the significance behind each number, each day, each month, each year. There's something comforting, soothing, about knowing the exact date; for a while there, Dennis couldn't register where he was, much less be able to think coherently about the importance of what day it was.
Dr. Nichols starts every session by saying "it's fill-in-the-blank day of the week." Dennis doesn't understand why he does it at first, but he knows it makes him feel oddly better. More in control. Less like he has no idea what the fuck he's doing, which is a nice thought. So, eventually, Dennis begins keeping track of the date with the help of a calendar and a two year personal planner Martha gave him. It has fucking unicorns on it, but Dennis doesn't care.
He knows Christmas is on a Thursday this year. He knows Mac's birthday is on a Tuesday. He knows Memorial Day is on Monday, May 25, 2015. He knows Halloween is on a Friday this year and a Saturday next year because 2014 is not a leap year; 2016 is, though.
Dennis is in the passenger seat of his Range Rover. Mac is driving, humming along to Bryan Adams, eyes bright even hind his sunglasses. It's a warm autumn day, and Dennis can't help but just stare at Mac. The whole world is outside in front of him, ready for him to explore, but Dennis feels as though Mac is his entire world, his entire reason for still being here.
Eventually, the 45 minute ride home from the hospital gets to him, and he drifts off with his head on the cool window. He's more serene and at peace than he's been in his life. He figures the combination of new, much stronger meds and therapy might actually be helping him. Yeah yeah yeah. He gets it. Dennis Reynolds is now a weak man, but, honestly, who gives a fuck? He may still crave perfection and control, but those compulsions are dwindled just by being with Mac.
Dr. Nichols called Mac Dennis' "savior," if one were to look at it from a more religious standpoint.
He laughed at first, especially because he doesn't believe in God or fate or Heaven or any of that bullshit, but maybe Dr. Nichols is kind of right about Mac.
Maybe.
"Hey," Mac whispers. "We're home."
Dennis doesn't flinch when Mac grabs his hand and soothes his thumb over his knuckles. Dennis yawns and flashes a small grin. He stretches, letting his aching limbs cleanse themselves from being in a cramped car. Usually, the Range Rover is a luxurious, amphibious automobile by many standards, but Dennis can't imagine spending another second in that thing.
He zips up Mac's leather jacket, the one he gave to him when he was signing a billion release forms, and stiffly walks beside Mac on their way into the apartment building. Mac's rolling Dennis' suitcase behind him, even though Dennis is perfectly capable of doing it himself. Fuck, he missed Mac so fucking much while he was locked away in a totally different world.
Dennis doesn't even think as he entwines their fingers together, his left tangled with Mac's right. He almost expects Mac to pull away, to claim this is 'too gay' or whatever the fuck, but he doesn't. Instead, Mac grins and beams like he's a third grader who just won the national spelling bee.
And, when they're finally in the elevator, Dennis may or may not place his lips on Mac's.
Mac kisses back, and it means literally everything in the universe to Dennis.
10:45 AM
On a Tuesday
"I missed you," Dennis whispers, his head resting comfortably on Mac's bare chest. He traces his fingers in patterns on his muscular bicep and wants desperately to fuck again, but he knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't have even done it this time. Dr. Nichols said it's important to regain confidence in his everyday home life and, specifically, that banging Mac the second they were utterly alone together probably wouldn't end well.
Dr. Nichols is right about a lot of things, most things actually, but he's not in this case. Not this time.
He doesn't want to live in shadows anymore, lurking and hiding and pretending to be someone he's not. He's fucked up his life enough as it is, and he knows what he wants. What he wants is Mac. He wants Mac and to go back to school to finally become a veterinarian. Those are his two main goals at the moment, but there are others in his personal planner as well.
"I missed you too, Den," Mac says quietly.
Dennis tries not to blush when Mac plants several kisses in his hair.
They're quiet for a few minutes. Neither of them move or speak. The only noise in the whole apartment comes from the heater that kicks on and off every now and then. Mac pulls the comforter over Dennis's shoulders, but that's it. He guesses now is as good of a time as ever to make amends. It's all a part of his rehabilitation process.
"I'm sorry, Mac. I'm really sorry for fucking with your head all these years. I'm sorry for being the world's biggest asshole. I know I should've been a better friend to you, especially since you've put up with so much shit from me," Dennis says, breathing quickly and trying not to choke on his own tongue. "I... I made a mistake that night. I just had so many negative thoughts swirling around in my head, and it... they kinda drowned the real me out. I'm sorry you had to find me like that. I'm sorry that I hurt you in a way I can never possibly imagine."
Dennis's teeth chatter, and his lips tremble as he finishes. His stomach tilts. His brain sways. He almost pushes himself away from Mac, just to give him space to register his emotions, but then he decides against it. Maybe he needs the comfort, to know that Dennis is here for him no matter what. He's never going to leave or fuck up like that again.
He doesn't even notice tears are streaming down his cheeks.
But, luckily, he doesn't really have to.
Mac wipes Dennis' tears away with his thumb.
"It's okay, Den. I forgive you. Everything's alright."
5:20 PM
On a Tuesday
Dennis barely cracks open his eyes at the sound of the bedroom door opening.
The excitement of this day has all but worn off, leaving Dennis shaking and desperately in need of rest. It's so different and new, and this is the start of a new Dennis Reynolds, but it doesn't make anything go away. The symptoms of his BPD are significantly lessened now; the dull ache of depression and anxiety is always fucking there, and it hurts, if he's being honest.
"Ready for dinner?" Mac asks.
Mac's been really nice today. After they banged and caught up, Mac napped with him for a while before kissing his forehead and quietly tiptoeing to the living room. It was such a foreign comfort to be wrapped up in his arms again, all solid and warm and here. Mac must know Dennis is exhausted, though, because he only comes back in twice to check in on him.
The constant check ins are still slightly irritating, enough to make Dennis groan internally, but he doesn't display any outward signs because he's more than used to it.
Fucking Martha or Sarah or sometimes this old hag named Ruth checked in on him every twenty minutes. At least Mac's only peaking in every couple of hours.
"Can I sleep for a while?" Dennis asks quietly, face hidden beneath his comforter.
Mac pulls the blanket away. "You can rest some more after dinner. I made spaghetti and meatballs."
Dennis frowns. If there's one thing that annoys him most about this rehabilitation process it's the Goddamn motherfucking meal plans. They're making him ridiculously fat. He no longer looks himself in the mirror because he just sees muffin tops and chubby cheeks and long, pink scars on his forearms. "Do I have to?"
"Yeah, dude. C'mon. We'll eat on the couch and watch TV."
"Can we watch Predator?"
"Of course, Den. It's Predator Tuesday!"
Dennis grins. He guesses that's good enough for him to manage a plate of spaghetti.
11:55 PM
On a Tuesday
Mac's kisses are slow and soft and sweet.
They're enough to make a dead man weep.
And, more importantly, they're enough to make Dennis's heart fill with warmth.
2:20 PM
On a Wednesday
"You sure you wanna do this today?" Mac questions. "I can always tell the gang to stop by another time."
Dennis nods, but he doesn't answer because his mouth is all toothpaste-y and shit. He avoids looking in the mirror and focuses instead on him and Mac standing shoulder to shoulder. Mac whines because Dennis keeps elbowing him as he brushes his teeth, and Dennis chuckles because no one in the world is a cuter whiner than Mac McDonald.
"Are you sure, dude?" he asks again.
Dennis spits into the sink and wipes his mouth with a towel. "I'm sure. It'll be nice to see them. I... I don't think I've seen any of them since..."
He grimaces and shakes his head furiously, trying to ignore the flashing, repeating images of bloody water and gushing veins and razor blades. The last one is kind of tough on him, though, considering Mac's shaving. Dennis hasn't shaved in going on a month. He looks like a fucking lumberjack. He rubs his beard and wants to drown out the bad thoughts.
"Do... Do you think I could... um, y'know, shave?" Dennis asks quietly, white knuckling the sink and biting his bottom lip.
Mac stares at him, eyes wide with... some emotion Dennis can't quite identify. "Yeah," Mac says, clearing his throat. "Of course, bro."
"Really?"
Mac nods. "Dr. Nichols said he wouldn't have let you come home if he thought you were a danger to yourself," he points out. "You're not gonna do anything with this razor other than shave, right?"
"No way, Mac. I'm done carving up my beautiful skin for kicks."
Mac smiles briefly, and Dennis applies soothing shaving cream to his facial hair.
Neither of them says anything, but Mac stays the entire time.
3:05 PM
On a Wednesday
"I see you still take 12 million years to get ready," Mac says.
Dennis rolls his eyes. "It takes time to look this great."
Mac kisses him softly. "I'm glad you're back."
Dennis gently rubs Mac's back as their lips collide. Dennis is breathless and dizzy and weightless. His dick hardens in his semi loose fitting jeans. Okay. They're going to need to solve this problem right now before Dennis explodes all over the place.
Mac's moaning loudly (he's always so fucking loud, and Dennis loves it) when there's a knock at the door.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Dennis whispers, readjusting himself.
Mac reaches over and refastens the first two notches of Dennis's shirt. "We'll finish this later."
"Yes we will, baby boy," Dennis breathes out. "How's my hair?"
"Wonderful as always, Den."
Mac opens the door to their apartment, and the rest of the gang floods in. There are only five of them in the living room, but Dennis' skin crawls, and he suddenly feels much more claustrophobic than he's ever been before. Even during group therapy when twenty-something people are huddled in a close-knit circle of chairs, Dennis manages to keep his calm by fiddling with his hospital bracelet or staring out the window at the world he chose to leave behind.
His hands shake as Dee approaches him. She wastes no time hugging him, and Dennis has to admit that he missed her. Sort of. In a bird kind of way. But, no, seriously, Dee is his twin sister, and it was so strange not to have the person he shared a fucking womb and everything with not by his side. Mac's a constant in Dennis' life, but Dee's like a constant-constant, the one person in his life he firmly believes would never leave him no matter what he does.
"Holy shit!" Dee screeches. "I can actually hug you without being afraid I'll snap you in half!"
Dennis shrugs and pulls away from her grasp. "New meal plan," he says nonchalantly.
"Good for you, Den." It's incredibly sincere, which he appreciates coming from his sister.
Dennis hugs Charlie next, who smells surprisingly okay. Not great, but not awful like dog shit or bird barf or something absolutely beyond disgusting. It's more like chocolate and some kind of citrus, so, yeah, it's alright, and Dennis doesn't mind when Charlie keeps holding on to him.
"I'm happy you're alive, Dennis," Charlie whispers.
Dennis pats him on the back. "Me too, bud. I'm sorry for scaring you."
He can't help but let the embrace continue as Charlie sniffles against his chest. He hasn't been out of the hospital for all that long, but Mac's filled him in on a few things, one of which is Charlie's own declining mental state. Dennis knows his suicide attempt scared everyone, but Mac told him that it definitely terrified Charlie the most.
Eventually, Charlie shrinks away and wipes his eyes with his jacket sleeve. Dennis hands him a couple tissues.
"You look good," Frank tells him from his claimed position on the couch, already bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. "See any titties while you were locked up?"
Dennis glances over at Mac, who's rubbing the back of his neck. "Tons," Dennis replies sarcastically. He extends his hand out to Frank.
"What the shit is this?"
Dennis closes his eyes and sighs internally. "Thank you," he manages to say. "Thank you for not letting me leave the hospital."
Frank nods and takes Dennis up on the handshake. For once, he doesn't say anything gross or disgusting immediately after.
6:50 PM
On a Wednesday
Dennis doesn't drink anymore.
He went through killer withdrawals while in the hospital, and he honestly doesn't think he can survive something like that again. He firmly believes it's worse than slicing up his arms. He spent days and nights shivering and sweating and shaking. He couldn't eat and lost consciousness every time he so much as blinked the wrong way.
As much as he loves booze, Dennis can live without it.
That, however, doesn't mean the temptation to crack open a brewski isn't there. No, his addiction lies in the pit of his stomach, waiting to be awakened by the monster that is alcohol. Dr. Nichols advised him that giving up drinking altogether would be the best option for him. After first, Dennis thought he was nuts, that he could handle a can or two of beer a day, but alcohol is a destructive force in his life, and he doesn't want to go down that path again.
Fucking self-awareness.
His pinches his arms hard enough to leave bruises as Frank burps and Charlie cackles and Dee downs her third shot in a row. They're drunk as shit, and it's gross. It's disgusting, and it pisses Dennis off. He counts in time with his quick pulse and taps his heel relentlessly on the hardwood floor. He doesn't want to get angry. He doesn't want to go on a rant about being a Golden God and the master of the universe and all that shit because he knows it isn't true.
Yeah, he's still amazing and cool and awesome and everything, but he is, by no means, a God.
Dennis scowls and tries to keep his breathing under control. He switches from pinching his arms to biting the skin around his fingernails because he doesn't want to hurt himself, not even a little bit. Purposeful bruising can eventually lead to purposeful cutting. Purposeful cutting can lead to him nearly bleeding out in a bathtub and letting his best friend find him unconscious.
Mac is the only person not drinking. Instead, he sits beside Dennis on the couch, being the physical buffer between him and Frank. Dee is sprawled in their chair, and Charlie is on the floor, still laughing at some stupid shit Dennis hasn't been paying attention to. He clenches his jaw. He wants to ridicule them for their outrageous behavior, but he doesn't.
He doesn't because Mac is talking to him about his newest Project Badass video. He doesn't because Mac is holding his hand beneath a blanket he settled over Dennis' lap hours ago. He doesn't because Mac's eyes are golden and sincere, and it makes all the difference.
3:20 AM
On a Thursday
"What're you doin' up?" Dee slurs.
Dennis nearly jumps out of his Goddamn skin as he quietly clicks the bedroom door closed. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and running a hand through his tousled hair. "I'm just getting a glass of water."
He stumbles over to the sink, narrowly avoiding accidentally stepping on Charlie's arm. He grabs a glass, drops in ice cubes, and pours in the water, listening to the liquid crackle due to the coldness of the ice. The water is soothing as it streams down his dry throat. Mac put his personal favorite flavor of Gatorade (blue) on Dennis' bedside table, but Gatorade tastes funny to him when it's warm, and he craved water like an ultra thirsty camel, so here he is.
Dee takes a seat at the tiny kitchen table, staring at him with drunken, hazy eyes. "You're wearing Mac's shirt," she points out.
Dennis' eyebrows furrow, and he glances down. She's right. He's adorned in Mac's RIOT t-shirt. "I know," he says quietly, taking another sip of water.
"You know I know, right?"
Dennis shrugs. "It wasn't a secret."
"Pssh. Try telling that to Mac."
"Things are gonna be weird for a little while," Dennis informs. "But I don't want to push Mac too hard about this."
"About him being gay? About you admitting you're gay?"
Dennis sighs. "I... I like to define myself as bisexual because I still like women. I find them very attractive, both physically and sexually," he admits. "But I like Mac, Dee. I really really like Mac, and I don't want to scare him away."
"He won't talk about it," Dee says.
"Not yet. But I'm gonna talk to him... I don't wanna hide anymore. I just finally want to be myself."
Dee smiles. It's a real, genuine, sincere smile, one that spreads from ear to ear. "You deserve to be happy, Dennis. You both do."
"Listen, I know I've been a really shitty brother, but I just want to say –"
His sister stops him. "I know. Me too."
Dennis grins briefly before hugging Dee for the first time in his life without being prompted or trying to manipulate her.
9:15 AM
On a Thursday
Today is October 23, 2014.
He's been out of the hospital for two days, and it's been a whirlwind emotionally. He's reconciled with the gang and is trying to form healthier habits and relationships. Charlie is still terrified he's going to do something stupid again, so Dennis tries very hard to stay close and keep Charlie busy, whether it's watching cartoons or reading out loud to him, which is nice because Dennis likes the sound of his own voice, and it can possibly help with Charlie's illiteracy.
Or maybe he isn't illiterate after all. Maybe he's dyslexic or something? He doesn't know for sure, but he's done making fun of Charlie for it. Dennis doesn't want to be like his old self, not even in the slightest. He wants to right his wrongs and be there for his friends.
Not everything is about him; Dr. Nichols used to say that all the time, especially when Dennis's vanity and narcissism was particularly bad on some days.
Today is his first appointment with Dr. Nichols, and he's up and dressed early. He's tugging on his socks when Mac enters the room.
"Wanna get some breakfast? I'm starving."
He glances at his watch. There's a little less than two hours until his session. "Sure. That sounds good."
Dennis pulls on a jacket, and Mac kisses him gently before they head outside into the world.
