“I’ll have to check my contract,” I teased, “but I think there was definitely a clause about ‘when support is needed, I will provide that support’. It’s part of being boyfriends, and I’m glad I can be here when you need me.”
“Still.” He shook his head. “I would understand if -”
“Nope.” I cut him off with a slash of my hand, then pulled it back when he jumped at the motion. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m 99% sure it’s not something I’m going to do.”
He looked down at his lap and sighed. “I’m not saying you have to do anything. Just that, you know, if this was too much for you…I’d understand.”
I did him the courtesy of truly considering what he said for a few seconds.Wasit too much for me? Was it going to get tobetoo much, as we got further into this reality? I mean, probably? But at the same time, no. “It’s a lot,” I finally allowed. “It’s a lot for both of us, I’m not saying it’s not. But if the other option is for me to leave you…that’s worse.”
His eyes darted up to my face, then dropped again. “Worse for me, maybe, but you? You…this isn’t your problem, you know? It was my stupidity that got me infected, and it was my stupidity that put you at risk, and it’s my responsibility to take care of myself going forward.”
I suppressed the urge to growl, because a twink growling was too comical for this serious situation, right? “Ok first of all, you’re not stupid. It’s not stupid to trust your boyfriend to not fuck around, and it doesn’t mean you were stupid if he does. Second of all, we both participated in the risky sex. We’ve gone over this, Hen. If you were stupid, so was I. Honestly, I could be persuaded either way - that we were stupid or that shit just happens - but either way I’m as culpable as you are, and it’snot constructive to start assigning blame.” I paused. There had been something else, what was it? Oh, right. “And yes, you are ultimately responsible for your own health. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have support - thatIcan’t be your support.”
“But -”
“Look, I can’t tell the future,” I went on, talking over his protest. “Maybe this will end up being too much for one or both of us. Maybe we’ll eventually break up; maybe that’ll be because of HIV stress or maybe it’ll be because we just get sick of each other. But right now, I’m not interested in leaving you. Iamvery interested in making sure you’re ok in this moment. Or at least, as ok as we can get you.”
Another deep sigh that seemed to come from his soul. “Ok. I mean, honestly I’m finding it very hard to believe that, but I’m also not going to argue with you about how you feel.”
I offered him a smile. “There’s that emotional intelligence I love. Now, you should have something to drink. Throwing up and crying both dehydrate you.” Without waiting for his response, I stood up and fetched him a glass of water, bringing it back to the table. “Sip. Slowly.” He did. “Goood boy,” I crooned teasingly, as if to a dog.
He snorted something that might have been a weak laugh, and I internally cheered but carefully kept my expression neutral. “I think maybe I want to take another Xanax and just…be unconscious for a while longer,” he said quietly.
That…didn’t sound like the world’s healthiest coping mechanism to me, but what the fuck did I know; I wasn’t a doctor, and I didn’t have chronic anxiety. I reached out and stroked a hand over his hair. “Is there anything we need to do first? Call your doctor again, reach out to clients to let them know things will be delayed…?”
He shook his head. “I’m ok on work for now. And I kind of have a feeling throwing myself back into it will be a betteroption than sitting around feeling sorry for myself. At least, once I’m out of Xanax-land. Pro tip: don’t operate power saws while high.” Another weak laugh. I was calling it a victory.
I offered him my best smile. “Noted. Finish your water, and I’ll go get the Xanax, ok?”
Twenty minutes later, I tucked the blankets more tightly around Hen where he lay on the couch - apparently the bed was too much commitment - and eyed the cats, who had arranged themselves along the back of it. “You guys watch him, ok?” I whispered. Solo licked his paw; Curie just continued to regard me calmly. I grabbed my laptop and retreated to the bedroom to get a little more work done while Hen slept.
And maybe have my own little breakdown, now that he wouldn’t see me doing it.
20
Henry
Week 14 - Friday
Ihad walked like a zombie through the last week as we waited for my comprehensive re-test to come back. I alternately felt like I was sure it would come back negative - HIV happened tootherpeople, dammit - and like my life was over. Jamison hovered over me as much as he could get away with, an air of guardianship surrounding him like he was a mama bear and I was his cub.
Honestly, it got a little stifling. I mean, I appreciated his care, I truly did, and I wasn’t sure how I’d have gotten through the first few days without him taking responsibility for, well, just about everything. But he was so relentlessly, determinedly upbeat. He refused to truly consider whether it was a good - or realistic - idea that he would stay with me. All I kept getting from him wasIt’s not too muchandWe’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
He didn’t seem to understand that the fucking bridge was looming right in front of us and it had no end in sight.
So here we were, eight days after I got the “positive” message, back in the doctor’s office to receive the results of my re-test. I was simultaneously clutching his hand and trying to fight the urge to smack the calm look off his face.
Yeah, I was a mess.
“Ok,” my doctor said as she opened the file folder in her lap. “So I’m going to get right into it. Your viral load result was -”
Fuck. I sagged into my chair. Jamison’s grip on my hand tightened. I was pretty sure I missed her next sentence as my hearing greyed out.
“- which confirms that you have, indeed, contracted HIV,” she went on, either not noticing or choosing not to acknowledge either of our reactions. “I want you to know that this is not a death sentence.” She looked up and met my eyes. “I want you to understand that HIV is a serious chronic illness, but you also need to understand that you can live a long and relatively normal life while having it, the same as with many other chronic conditions. I fully expect you to die, after a long life,withHIV, notofHIV.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. This was nothing I hadn’t read, or had to listen to Jamison recite to me, before. It was easy for her to say; she wasn’t the one who would die if she ran out of medication or, hell, maybe still die even if she kept taking it perfectly.
“Our goal,” her monologue continued, “is to get your viral load to undetectable, since, as you probably already know, undetectable equals untransmissible. Your viral load right now is 250,000, which is typical for early HIV, and your CD4 - immune cell - count was normal, which is good news. I put you on Biktarvy last week; how have you been doing on that?”
