Page 35 of Puck Me

This is how things were meant to be. I never had a disorder. I’m just gay.

I’m just finishing up with the forms when Chester arrives. He lets himself in. We’ve exchanged keys at this point, and both have drawers at each other’s places.

I hurry to the door to greet him, pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss.

“Hello, there. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’ve got a present for you.”

“Ooh, sounds exciting.”

I hold up the stack of papers.

Chester gives me a bemused smile. “Not a normal present, but I’ll take it. What is it?”

“Read them and see.”

As he reads, Chester’s jaw slowly drops. “You… Do you think this could fix me?”

“If their results on humans are anywhere near the results they’ve had on rats, I believe that you could get your leg to playing fitness again.”

Chester drops the papers to the table and flings his arms around me. “Thank you, Storm. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You still need to apply, and they will have to let you know if you get into the trial. Even if you do get in, it’s standard practice to give some patients a placebo; there’s no guarantee you’ll get the actual treatment.”

This doesn’t seem to bother Chester. “It’s a chance, which is more than I had before.”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too much. Even assuming you get in and get the real treatment, it may not work.”

I can see that it’s already too late. Chester’s hopes are already so high that they’re too far up for me to reach them and pull them down to a more reasonable level.

“It’s a chance,” Chester repeats. “I’ve had so long with no hope… You can’t blame me for jumping at any chance I’ve got.”

“I suppose I can’t. Just know that if this doesn’t work out, it’s not the end. We still have other options available to us.”

“Therapy and medication, right,” Chester mutters. He has made some improvements, but not enough that he’s able to recognize them within himself. I decide not to argue the point with him right now.

“You just need to sign here. I’ll send these in today. The sooner you get your name on a list, the better.”

“Agreed.” Chester readily signs and hands the papers back tome.

“I’ll write a personal note on the application. My word as your previous psychiatrist may carry some weight.”

“It’s certainly worth a shot.”

I send in the papers, and Chester and I spend the evening staring at my phone while trying to appear not to do so.

Of course, it’s silly. It’s after hours. They’re not going to respond right now. It’ll probably take them a few days to process Chester’s application.

So, we wait. Three days pass, and nothing. Surely, they will at least have the courtesy to tell him if his application is declined.

On the fourth day since sending in the application, Chester and I are scheduled to meet for lunch at the hospital cafeteria. Sometimes, my days are too busy to go on a proper date, so we hang out when and where we can.

He never shows up. Ten minutes pass, then twenty. This is extremely unlike him. If he’s going to be late, he always texts, and he never simply fails to come.

I call him, but the phone just rings until it goes to voicemail. Now seriously concerned, I ask Melody to see about rescheduling the rest of my day and drive over to Chester’s house.

“Chester?” I call softly as I step inside. There’s no response. My heart is beating so loudly in my chest that it drowns out almost everything else. Chester hasn’t had a really bad day in a while, but I know how brutally random depression can be.

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