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“He found a job making some pretty decent money under the table. It was a hotel and he told me he was hired as entertainment for some of their clients.”

“Sex?”

I shake my head. “No, just entertainment. Dinner, drinks, hanging around. I knew he’d tell me if there was any expectation of sex. I also knew it sounded too good to be true, but I trusted him and I wanted to believe it. With his earnings we were able to get a nicer place. Just a little one-bedroom in a shitty part of town, but we tried to make it nice. I loved him and he seemed so happy, so I ignored the warning signs.”

“Like what?”

“Pretty drastic mood changes. Very high highs and equally low lows. He would get quiet before each of his shifts, and he started to pull away physically. I ignored it for months, just focusing on making him happy when he came home. Making sure he knew he was safe and he could quit at any time; we’d make it work. But he insisted that he liked the job and it was good money and he wasn’t in any danger. He told me the men were respectful. I wanted to believe him so much, so I did. I accepted the money he made and the lifestyle it gave us while I picked up random jobs here and there.”

Blush reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing gently.

“I followed him one night to work. Everything he’d said was true. It was a pretty nice hotel, and he was in a room with other guys his age and much older men. They sat around drinking. Some of them did drugs, but not my guy. He nursed a martini while he sat on some old man’s lap, laughing at his jokes and looking at him adoringly. I watched all night and nothing bad happened. Nothing sexual. Then he got handed a stack of cash, changed his clothes, and left.”

“That’s good.”

Nodding, I chuckle darkly. “I thought so too. It gave me a sense of security I could hold on to.”

“But something happened?”

“He got more distant for a time, but then he would come home and he’d be himself again. We’d laugh and talk and make love. He used to call me Daddy just to be funny because I was a couple years older and he thought I was the more responsible one. I always made sure he ate and stuff.”

Blush screws up his nose. “I understand now.”

“We were okay for a while,” I continue, pressing on before I can’t anymore. “He got a few more shifts at the hotel and we were stable for the first time in years. I thought everything was good.”

Blush strokes my hand.

“I came home one night and found him on the couch. He’d bought some pills and taken them all with a bottle of tequila.”

“Oh god.”

“He left me a letter with the most beautiful, heartbreaking words I’ve ever read. He didn’t want me to know about the demons in his mind. About how they tormented him, day and night, how they used to go away when we were together, but then they started intruding again. He said he was tired of fighting them, tired of pretending he was okay, and tired of holding me back. He didn’t think he could ever get better, so he just left.”

My throat clogs with emotion as the pain of that day rushes back.

“Whisper. God, Whisper.” Blush wraps his arms around me and I sink into his embrace. “That’s awful.”

“I tried,” I mutter. “Tried to revive him. Tried so hard I broke his ribs. The paramedics came but they couldn’t do anything. He was gone.”

Blush rubs my back, shushing me like he’s soothing a baby. But I couldn’t cry if I tried. I used every tear I had that day.

“I couldn’t call anyone for him. I didn’t know where his family was. So I was the only one there to say goodbye, to tell him what a hole he’d left in my world, to be angry and hurt that he didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I shake my head, holding on tight to him as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. “I was blinded by the money and I wanted to believe he was okay, even when my gut told me he wasn’t.”

“What could you have done?”

“Been there.”

“You were there.” He sits up so he can see my face. “Mental illness is hard. Sometimes it fucks with your head so much it feels like there’s nothing you can do.”

“Is that how you feel?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Blush brushes his fingers across my cheek. “I’m solid, I promise, but I know people who’ve had trouble with it.” His brow creases. “Sometimes I do drugs to soften things, you know? To deal with what I do to people, to deal with the stresses of taking care of my family. But I’m not depressed or struggling.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”