“Thanks for coming, Bas.” Tommy waved at Dane. “The friend I mentioned in need of help. You have my number. Call me when you’re done here, and we’ll go out to dinner or something.” Tommy waved good-bye to them both as he walked out.
Bas nodded. “Sure thing.” He waited for the door to close and smiled at Dane. “So you’re Dane. Nice to meet you. I’m Sebastian. Everyone calls me Bas.” He held out his hand.
Dane took it for a moment without doing more than briefly touching it and pulling away. No wonder Ru had no room for him in his life. He was surrounded by these beautiful people. Everything about Bas said confidence, and Dane instantly hated him for being everything he could never be.
“You’re queer too? Did you turn Tommy queer? Are all you Minnesota boys gay?”
Bas lowered his hand, his expression becoming a mask. “Tommy and I are just friends. I thought the two of you were friends as well, but seeing as how you don’t know him at all, I wonder if he should be made aware of his mistake.”
“Fuck you,” Dane swore. “I’ve known him for almost seven years. What do you know? You’re just some fag who wants in my friend’s pants.”
There was a long moment of silence. Dane waited for a hit, or something. But Bas seemed to be building up walls inside himself, and none of the words changed his expression.
Finally Bas said, “I know that boy is straight but doesn’t care who any of his friends fall for. I know he’s worried sick about you, is terrified his presence is somehow damaging you, which is why he called me. Yes, I’m the gay boy all the homophobic idiots warn you against. I like makeup, ballroom dancing, chick flicks, and I have the funny lisp when I talk. Unintentional, I assure you, but there it is.” He walked across the room, accentuating a sway to his hips before stalking back. “Youhave a severe body dysmorphic disorder, major depression, and anorexia. When you were admitted you weighed less than one hundred thirty pounds and are listed as so unstable you’ve been on suicide watch for months. Who do you think has more problems? The queer studying psychology or the ex-boybander who can’t eat and tries to exercise himself to death?”
Dane flinched. “Get out. I don’t need some queen telling me how to live my life.”
“Fabulous. That just means I got an all-expenses-paid trip to California over spring break for nothing.”
“Fuck you, using Tommy like that. He doesn’t need hangers-on like you.”
“And you can kiss my royal white ass, Mr. Soon-To-Be-Six-Feet-Under. I’m out.” The man turned and left without another word.
Fuck. Dane glared at the door, feeling tears sting his eyes again. He really was the more fucked up of the two of them, wasn’t he?
* * *
Bas had never been so mad. He’d promised Tommy he’d try. And he had tried, hadn’t he? That man was a prick of the not-nicest sort. Someone must have shit in his Cheerios one too many times. If there was something Bas shouldn’t be sensitive about, it was being called queer or fag or queen. He’d embraced those terms years ago. Or so he’d thought. They really bothered him coming from that man, though. And so did the judgments of Tommy, who had only been trying to help, and had in fact given up a great deal just to be there for his friend. It made him mad enough to spit, and Bas wasn’t the spitting sort.
He could kick himself for leaving, though. He knew better. How many times had they drilled into his head at the crisis center never to lash back when someone unstable lashed out? It just reaffirmed that they were hated by the world just like they thought. And the last thing Dane needed was another bout of self-pity.
Sad. He looked terrible. Truly like he was walking death. Too thin.
Bas remembered pictures of the band. Knew what Dane should have looked like. The handsome blond with a great body had always photographed well. Only there was no sign of him in the guy that was at the rehab facility. He was emaciated, thin to the point that his skin seemed to barely cover his bones. Sagging muscles in his arms and shoulders told the tale of a man who worked out compulsively. The off color of his skin and dark bags around his eyes said he was malnourished. His face was covered with so much hair he could have doubled as Jesus in a low-budget Bible flick. How long before his organs stopped working due to lack of nutrients? And when had the eating problem gotten so bad? Tommy didn’t know, and that was the problem. No one knew.
The world trained everyone not to look too closely at men, especially not for an eating disorder. They had to magically have six packs, Vs in the hip bones and defined arms. No one talked about how all of those things had to be someone genetic, and required hours in the gym to maintain.
Vocal Growth had broken up when Tommy had left it last November, but Dane had already been missing dance practice and vocal sessions. Bas had spent the plane ride reading everything he could find on eating disorders and Dane Karlson.
Tommy filled him in with as much as he knew via e-mail, but Bas was far from a trained doctor yet. His meltdown was proof enough of that. He should never have insulted Dane. Dane was already severely depressed. Emotionally, he had been on suicide watch for months. Months. It was insane.
Statistically speaking, men succeeded in suicide more often than women did. But Dane was still here, and still in medical care when technically he could walk out at any time. That had to be a good sign, right?
Bas took a cab to the hotel. He wasn’t ready to tell Tommy he’d failed yet. He didn’t want to sit and wallow in his own self-pity either. Instead he began wandering the shops around his hotel. He needed to clear his head, to think outside of the miserable pool of Sebastian for a few minutes to ground himself in what Dane was going through.
He had just turned nineteen. Like Ru and Tommy, Dane had lived for Vocal Growth. No record of family, no lover, no one other than the band and his manager had ever gotten close, which meant that Dane had no one but the band. Without it he was lost, likely feeling his life over. Could that have caused the ED? Maybe. Likely it started a long time ago and all this chaos had made it worse.
Bas wandered into a toy store, just for something to do, as he thought through all he knew about EDs, depression, and former singers. Tommy said Dane had never eaten with them. He’d always made excuses when they went out to eat. Of course, no one had noticed because they were taught to stay out of each other’s business. And men didn’t get eating disorders, or so the media would have everyone believe.
Ru’s problems stemmed from AJ’s abuse. As the head of the band, AJ had spent years verbally abusing his fellow musicians about their appearances, so much so that Ru still had trouble eating anything sweet even though he worked out with Adam every day and was perfectly healthy. But Dane’s case was severe. AJ might have exacerbated the problem, but Bas was sure that it went back further. Years even.
“He won’t eat anything that’s been processed. Just fruit or vegetables. And no meat,” Bas told himself as he wandered down the many aisles of toys. “Could stem from childhood abuse. Eating disorders often come from a lack of control in other aspects of their life.”
He stopped in front of the My Little Pony section, grinning at the colorful menagerie of winged and horned ponies. His grandmother had loved the show, and he had to admit a guilty pleasure in watching it. He picked up a large plush rainbow pony and tucked it under his arm. He was thinking Dane could use some sunshine, rainbows, and glitter in his life. Isn’t that why Tommy had asked Bas to come?
“Pull up your big-boy britches, Axelrod. You’ve dealt with meaner boys than that sick blond. And he needs someone to help him pull his head out of his ass. Might as well be you. Everyone knows you’re an ass man.” He headed to the checkout to purchase his find and decided to make his way back to the facility. He needed to repair what he could and let go of the rest. Dane would either be a survivor or the next victim. Only Dane could decide which, but Bas was willing to point him in the right direction.
