I know how crazy this is. I know the feeling that I haven’t washed my face “right” makes no sense.
But like I said, knowing doesn’t make it better. It makes it so much worse. How can I explain it? If you don’t know, maybe I can’t, but as I wash my face yet again, I hate myself so much I want to stick a knife in my heart.
When Jared finally opens the bathroom door to see what’s going on, I’m actually crying. With fury.
With embarrassment. With hate for myself and this stupid thing I can’t stop doing. I’m doing it again even now, knowing all of those things.
Jared takes one look, disappears for a sec and returns with a dry shirt, one of mine I’ve left here over the years.
The simple act of taking it from him breaks the loop.
I bend forward at the waist and say a long, angry “fuuuuuuuuuuuuck” under my breath. I’m still crying, so Jared just puts his hand on my back until I’m ready to stand up again.
“There’s no shame in therapy, Mike,” he says, as I change shirts. “Or medicine. You shouldn’t have to go through this.”
The skin on my face is now so dry it stings. Jared fishes out some man moisturizer and holds it out to me. “Can you do it?” I say. “I’m afraid I’ll get stuck again.”
He doesn’t question me, just starts dabbing the goop on my face. “Is it going out with Henna tonight? You’re afraid it’s changing. That could be it.”
“Maybe.” I wince as the cream bites a bit. “Maybe it’s you.”
He pauses. “Me?”
I try to smile. “Who’s going to save me from these when I go to college?”
“You’ll work it out, Mikey. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll be there anyway.”
“It’s not just that. Where’ve you been lately, Jared? Where do you go on Saturday nights? What are you doing tonight that no one can know about?”
He puts more stuff on my face. And yeah, I know most people would think it weird that two guy friends touch as much as we do, but when you choose your family, you get to choose how it is between you, too. This is how we work. I hope you get to choose your family and I hope it means as much to you as mine does to me.
“I got some stuff going on, Mike,” he says.
“What stuff? I can help you with it.”
He smiles. “Not this stuff. But thank you.”
“You could talk to me about it. You can talk to me about anything.”
“I know.” He finishes with the moisturizer. “You’re going to be shiny, but you’ve known Henna so long, I doubt she really sees you any more.”
“Jared–”
“Here’s what’s important, Mike.” He takes a long time screwing the lid back on the moisturizer.
“What’s important is that I know how much you worry about shit. And what’s also important is that I know a big part of that worry is that, no matter what group of friends you’re in, no matter how long you’ve known them, you always assume you’re the least-wanted person there. The one everyone else could do without.”
All I can do at this is swallow. I feel like I’m naked all of a sudden.
“Even when it’s just you and me,” he says. “I know how you worry that you need me as a friend more than I need you.”
“Jared, please–”
“I’ve known it since we were kids, Mike. You’re not the only one who worries.” He play-punches me in the chest, leaving the flat of his fist there. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. I got my dad and I got you and I need you both. More than you know.”