Page 32 of Poolside

They’d dated secretly throughout their senior year, building a routine of sneaking around, spending all of their time together at Ethan’s apartment, where he’d lived alone. Occasionally they’d go out to one of the gay bars, but both of them had been too nervous to fully relax and enjoy themselves.

When Chuck first got his depression diagnosis, Ethan had been understanding. He’d wrapped his arms around Chuck and pressed soft kisses to his face, promising he’d be there with him through it all.

But their lives were both busy, each of them enmeshed in separate friend groups, and their time together was limited to one or two nights a week. They watched movies or sports, fucked, and slept with their legs tangled together.

It was all Chuck had ever wanted.

When they graduated, each of them got their own place, and they got into the habit of spending more time together. Things that hadn’t mattered before came to the surface: Ethan was terrible about cleaning the sink after he shaved, didn’t like to cook, and got frustrated when Chuck wasn’t in the mood for physical intimacy.

Chuck’s depression transformed over time. It would sneak up out of nowhere, tugging him down until he felt like he could barely get out of bed. There was an apathy that would settle over him like a weighted blanket, and he couldn’t muster the energy for anything beyond the minimum that kept him alive. Episodes would last for days, with questions likeWhat the fuck is the point of this?rattling around in his head.

Therapy had barely helped. Swimming helped, but he struggled to get his ass out of bed and to the pool when it got bad.

Through it all, Ethan retreated, overwhelmed in the face of dealing with someone in the throes of deep depression. For a while, he’d made the effort to ask how he could help, but when Chuck didn’t know what to say or what to ask for, his boyfriend grew more distant.

It all fell apart when Ethan found Chuck buried under his duvet in the middle of the summer, on a day when they were supposed to go to the beach together for a date—one Ethan had planned. But Chuck had been trapped inside his own head, stuck somewhere he couldn’t explain, held down by invisible hands he didn’t know how to shake, and Ethan lost it.

He’d tugged at his soft, black hair, cheeks flushed pink with frustration. “I can’t do this!” he’d shouted, pacing up and down the length of Chuck’s bed. “I can’t just sit by and pretend this is normal, Chuck. I can’t do it. I don’t know how to love you like this,” he’d said, tears streaking down his cheeks. “It’s just too much.”

And as he’d grabbed all the things he’d left at Chuck’s place—a sweater and flip flops, a graphic novel he was reading, and his to-go coffee mug—yelling all the while, Chuck had lain there, silent, unable to speak. He couldn’t think of anything to say to defend himself.

Not when he was pretty sure Ethan was right. Hewastoo much. His depression was too much for him to handle, much less a partner.

He’d started taking an SSRI soon after, the medication getting him to a place where he could get out of bed and go back to fully participating in his life. It leveled him out, shored up his defenses, and had worked, keeping him up and running for years.

Outside his therapist’s office, Chuck found a bench by a sidewalk, collapsing and burying his head in his hands.

His skin was clammy, the hairs on the back of his neck just damp enough to make him itch. It was one thing to go back and recount his breakup with Ethan, but then Dr. Anderson had asked Chuck if he felt like he was worthy of being loved.

“Sure,” Chuck had responded on autopilot. “When things are good and my depression isn’t?—”

Dr. Anderson had interrupted. “No, Chuck,” he’d said in his deep, warm voice. “I’m asking you if you think someone can love youandyour depression. On the days where it’s the hardest and it hurts the most, do you believe you are worthy of being loved?”

Chuck hadn’t known what to say. But his eyes had welled up, threatening tears. He’d clenched his jaw, trying to hold it all in, but still, wetness had tracked down his cheeks. Finally, he’d managed to choke out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

“Chuck, the medication can help level things out. It can help with getting out of bed in the morning and continuing to move through your life. And the therapy can help with things like acceptance and shifting your perspective.” He paused as he leaned forward in his seat, looking intently at Chuck. “But none of it makes the depression go away. It’s a part of who you are, just like your humor and your success as a coach and the fact that you are a caring friend. All of it is you, and all of you is worthy of being loved.”

Chuck sighed. He couldn’t shake Dr. Anderson’s words, haunted by the question.

Was he worthy of being loved?

Fuck, maybe it was the titrating getting to him. A month into reducing his meds and he was—well, he was fine. A little raw around the edges, like there was a sensitive bruise in his chest that never fully healed.

But there was also a bit more life in his body. He hadn’t even realized that there was a numbness he had grown accustomed to over the years, like a thick layer of cotton separated him from his nervous system.

Just the other night after watchingSpartacus, he’d actually come, the load shooting out of him so unexpected that he’d accidentally spilled all over his jeans.

He’d been so horny, so fucking hard listening to Tommy talk about asses and bodies and sex that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. His oblivious, hot, straight friend talking about asses with his strong arms crossed over his chest and his thick thighs splayed out on the couch had been too much.

Telling Tommy to get out of the house so he could jack off maybe wasn’t hisfinestmoment, but fuck, he’d been out of his mind.

Thank god Tommy hadn’t brought it up at swimming practice since then. He kept showing up, all jokes and big grins, and got to work. He was getting better, too, starting to keep his face in the water and rely more on his kick as his legs got stronger.

But sometimes, when Chuck stood up and demonstrated something on the side of the pool, he thought he caught Tommy watching him a little more closely than usual. He could have sworn he felt his friend’s gaze lingering on his bare chest.

He had to be imagining things.

CHAPTER9

---