Page 94 of Just Past Two

All right. If that wasn’t enough of a sign that something was wrong, he didn’t know what was. He searched the list of mental health professionals listed as part of his plan, then began to research each one on the Internet to examine their patient reviews. When he narrowed down his list to the best possible option, a doctor named Nancy Hillwater, he grabbed his phone and dialed before he lost his nerve.

The secretary on the other end of the phone sounded friendly enough. “Dr. Hillwater’s office,” she answered.

“Hello.” His voice sounded weak, so he tried again. “Hello,” he said with more authority. “I’m looking to make an appointment with Dr. Hillwater. I’m a new patient.” Figuring he should give context, he added, “I work for Wayscorp and I saw her name on the resources list for employees.”

“Of course, sir. Can I please get your name and date of birth?”

Silas gave the requisite information and listened to her type it into the computer.

“And what is prompting your appointment, Mr. Benson?”

Silas hesitated.

Perhaps hearing his reluctance, the secretary said kindly, “Something general is fine. All calls to this office are confidential, but if possible, Dr. Hillwater would like to know a bit about your reason for visiting before you arrive. If that makes you uncomfortable, I can write that you declined to provide the information, and she can ask you on your initial visit.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Silas exhaled. “I’ve been having increasing anxiety about work and it’s inhibiting . . . well, everything, actually.” That was only a small bit of his issue, but it was a start.

More typing on the other end of the phone. “Thank you. Dr. Hillwater has actually had a cancellation this week and is available on Thursday at one if you’d like to come in then.”

Silas felt a surge of relief and anxiety all at once, an odd combination. “Yes, thank you. That will be fine.”

“We’ll see you on Thursday then, Mr. Benson. Have a nice day.”

Silas hung up the phone and exhaled, low and shaky, feeling like he’d just finished a monumental project. Leaving the desk, he got up to pace the house. It felt like he was pacing the house a lot lately. He had set up a home office in the back room of the two-bedroom home, which he left to walk out onto the screened-in porch. The day was Florida-hot, even for this time of year, the low drone of cicadas constant in the afternoon heat, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead while he stood and looked out at his yard. While he enjoyed being outside, the weather precluded his doing so in the midst of the afternoon, like now. Storm clouds were already gathering on the horizon for a late-afternoon thunderstorm, and the air had an unsettled, charged quality to it that he’d come to associate with this kind of weather. The sky was as restless as he was. He couldn’t stay outside for long before the humidity drove him back inside, and he shut the sliding glass door against the approaching storm. The cool waft of central air refreshed him after the sweltering outdoor temperatures.

For a few minutes, he sat down on the couch and looked around blankly, at a loss for what to do next. Immediately, he remembered Matthew last night telling him he had to practice loafing, and he smiled despite his mood. Matthew was quite good at getting him to relax.

So how did Matthew relax? He played games. As a child, Silas had friends who were into games, but he only had the opportunity to play when he was at their houses. Those days were so distant, they seemed like they might have happened to another child as equally as they’d happened to him, like he’d watched someone else’s life. He tried vaguely to remember what video games were popular back then, but came up blank. Aside from some general comments about gaming to Matthew, he didn’t even know what Matthew played.

He did, however, know where Matthew worked, and he could find out what games they made. He returned to his home office and his computer desk and searched for PI Games, reading through the descriptions of their games. At first glance, it was all inane, and his impulse was to put it aside. But no, that was his mother’s voice in his head, telling him to find something more useful to do with his time. He would try to keep an open mind. The company had put out a number of games, and all the descriptions ran together in his mind, so he picked one at random: Bump. The cartoon protagonist of the game looked odd, with a bulbous head and abnormally large hands and feet, set against a brightly colored cartoonish landscape, but the trailer for the game looked simple enough. It was some kind of puzzle game. He clicked and downloaded the free trial from the website and set about installing it.

The game had a built-in tutorial, but he swiftly grew impatient with the pointing arrows and cheerful text boxes, so he exited. He didn’t need a tutorial on CAD; surely he didn’t need a tutorial on a cartoon game called Bump. He loaded the first level on normal difficulty and started to navigate his way through.

At first glance, the game seemed ridiculously simple. He just had to pass through the forest and find the crystals or eggs or whatever—the quest-giver at the beginning had described them, but he’d clicked through the whole conversation without reading it—and solve the puzzles along the way. He played through a few minutes before something attacked his character, some kind of large jungle snake, which he tried to attack back and ended up falling into a river and dying.

Well, that was just stupid.

The game started him over, and he tried again. And again. How was he supposed to attack the snake? He tried a few key combinations to no avail. Annoyed, he started over and actually read what the quest-giver said at the beginning, hoping it would give him some clues. Apparently the things he was looking for were in fact eggs, but there was nothing about how to attack. Why did he have this sword if he wasn’t supposed to attack anything? He felt his irritation growing and exited the game. This was ridiculous.

If Matthew called this relaxing, he had another thing coming. Silas didn’t have time to waste getting more frustrated on something that didn’t actually matter to any large-scale issues whatsoever. No, instead, he’d go run an errand or something. He needed groceries, so here was a ready-made excuse to get out of the house. As he got ready to go, he tried not to be angry at himself for getting upset at the free trial of an animated computer game, looking instead for the humor in the situation. At least he’d have something new to talk to Matthew about when he saw him again.

Seeing Matthew at the end of the week was the bright spot in what otherwise looked like a gloomy week. He wasn’t sure when Matthew had begun to become important to him as more than a sexual release, but it had definitely happened, and he didn’t know how to bring it up with him. What if the other man didn’t feel the same? This wouldn’t be the first time he’d misunderstood the tenor of a relationship. Throughout his life, he’d become increasingly more adept at reading nuance in facial expressions and tone, but he still occasionally misread people. He knew Matthew was his friend, and they both enjoyed sex, but that didn’t mean Matthew wanted to have a relationship.

As he pulled out onto the street, the rain started. First large drops, plunking down on his car as harbingers of what was to come, and then the steady all-over Florida deluge that required full windshield-wiper power. He drove carefully through the storm, navigating his way to the grocery store, the thunderstorm crashing down around him. Lightning struck nearby, thunder cracking loud and making him jump. Between that and the thunderous drone of the rain itself, he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t even hear his own thoughts in his head. The sound whited out everything. He knew these storms, having grown up here, and knew that this one would blow itself out in fifteen minutes or so. Once he arrived at the grocery store, he stayed in the car and watched the storm roll over the parking lot. In the moment, it felt overwhelming, awe-inspiring in the sublime kind of way that must have inspired the great painters and poets, some terror mixed in with the beauty. He had always loved the thunderstorms, how they came in like destruction and yet left everything washed clean in their wake. Okay, yes, sometimes they actually left street flooding and wind damage, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now. Right now, he was considering the way the wind was starting to diminish, and the raindrops were letting up from a solid sheet to a steady stream and then a light patter. Finally, the storm blew itself out, fading into the distance, the clouds still darkening the sky but the electricity in the air burned away.

Storms always passed, he considered, as he gathered his reusable bags and got out of the car. They felt insurmountable in the moment, but they always passed, and the world afterward was refreshed. Feeling minutely better, he went into the store.

Matthew’s original desire had been to call Silas every day that week to check up on him, ever since he’d driven him home on Monday night, but he had quelled that urge. People needed space, especially someone as introverted as Silas, and he didn’t want to infringe on that space. What he couldn’t deny, though, was his desire to see Silas again. A couple weeks ago, he’d found him neurotic and fun to tease, a potent combination that aroused Matthew and made Silas a great sexual partner for him, but somewhere in that time, he’d started to actually care about Silas’s well-being, and that caring was paired with a genuine enjoyment of his company. Work had been great that week, busy with plans for DiceCon coming up next weekend, but Silas had been on his mind more often than not. Now it was Thursday night, and he was sitting by the phone like a teenager anxious to ask out a prom date.

Matthew rolled his eyes at himself, telling himself to get a grip, and resolutely pressed Silas’s name, watching the call connect.

Silas picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Matthew felt himself smile just hearing Silas’s voice on the other end of the phone. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

A slight pause. “I’m . . . I’m pretty good, actually.” Silas sounded surprised at his own statement. “I had my first appointment with a therapist today.”

Well, that was surprising, but not in a bad way at all. For all his admissions that therapy would be beneficial, Matthew had thought Silas was giving lip service to the idea rather than genuinely planning to go through with it. “Good. I’m proud of you.” He meant it, too.