"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."
-C. S. Lewis

The first few weeks at the ranch were relatively easy for Gus. He slept a lot of the time, ate like he'd never seen food before and hung out with a few of the other guys, forming fast friendships. He gained up to a healthy weight and lost his gaunt, skeletal look.

The ranch was open and vast, the air clean and cold. His new surroundings were nothing like the stench of Skid Row or the claustrophobic city. Gus particularly enjoyed being outside in the mornings with the cows and horses. He had always loved animals, but being so close to these gentle giants made him feel safe and protected. Sometimes he sat in the barn for a long time and just stared into their eyes and talked to them, his cheek pressed to their soft noses.

All of the animals at the ranch had been rescued from abuse, so Gus felt like he could relate to them and understand them in some way. Likewise, the animals warmed up to him quickly. They were skittish around most of the other residents but not him. Within days, they crept up to him first when everyone was out in the fields.

"Animals always like me," Gus told one of the residents who commented on their behavior.

"Why?" asked the girl, who had wide eyes and brown hair that was short and blunt. The cut suggested she'd done it herself.

"I don't know. They just do. I always make friend with animals. Even rats," Gus said, only half joking.

"Did you know animals are psychic?" the girl asked mystically.

"No."

"Well they are. If they like you, it's a good sign. It means you're a good person. They sense it."

Gus wasn't sure that was true, but he was grateful for the company of the animals.

Then around week four, something shifted. The easy days were gone. Gus felt it the way he'd felt the storm approaching on Skid Row that time. It was darkness.

For the first time in his life, he knew what people talked about when they described it depression. He had always been able to pull himself out of the slumps with drugs, sex or even drawing. Now he had no desire or energy to draw, and the other two distractions were beyond his reach.

After breakfast each morning he felt the intense need to go back to sleep. Whereas before he'd enjoyed the required chores, he now dreaded even taking the steps to get there. Everything felt like a monumental task for which he had to expend huge amounts of energy. Even things like showering or brushing his teeth or tying his shoelaces. After doing just one of them, he was completely exhausted.

Gus was used to running a hundred miles an hour on an endless supply of energy, mania and tweak. Now he didn't even feel alive. His nightmares were back with vengeance, and he'd even "snapped up" inside the closet a couple of times to a staff member shaking him, worried and confused.

"What's wrong? You were screaming!" they would say.

"Everything's wrong," Gus would reply, but in truth he really didn't know what was.

This morning he was supposed to be feeding the animals in the barn but had instead sat down on a barrel next to a horse named Mandy. He was leaning his head against her warm, sturdy body when Jeff found him.

"Gus, thought you were feeding these guys," he said, motioning to the empty feed buckets on the ground.

Gus didn't have the energy to respond. He could only shrug.

"It's time for your session. Come on, get up. I'll send someone in here to finish the job."

"I can't today," Gus mumbled.

"You say that every day. Come on. You can do it," Jeff said, kindly but firmly.

Gus kissed Mandy goodbye, pulled himself to his feet and trailed behind Jeff all the way to the ranch house.

Once inside the familiar office, he slumped down onto the squishy couch across from Jeff's chair. Gina walked in, smiled at him and took her usual seat in the corner next to the bookshelf with all the tattoo books.

"How you been?" Jeff asked him.

"Shit," Gus said.

"Depressed?"

Nod.

"It's normal. I promise. Meth dumps dopamine into your brain, so much that your brain figures it doesn't need to make it anymore."

"Don't know what that is," Gus said flatly.

"Dopamine is one of the chemicals in your brain that makes you feel good."

"Like dope?"

"Yeah. That's why they call it that. Anyway, when that dopamine supply is cut off, your brain has to catch up making it, which means there is very little of it in your head right now. Hence, the depression. It will get better with time, I promise."

Gus rubbed his face. "Can't you just give me meds?"

"You don't need more drugs. What you need is to feel what you feel, because you've spent years suppressing it."

Jeff was always using big words like that. Suppressing. What did it even mean? Gus was too embarrassed to ask. He felt so dumb compared to everyone else here. Sometimes Jeff defined the words he knew Gus might not know, but a lot of the time he forgot and Gus rarely reminded him.

"How do I do that?" Gus asked.

"Let's start by talking about what you're feeling."

"I don't feel nothin'."

Jeff grabbed his clipboard and pen to take notes like he always did during their sessions. "Tell me about last night."

Gus had snapped up again in the closet last night. He couldn't remember anything except going to bed and then the staff member shaking him, but they said he'd been scraping his wrist with his fingernails. The cuts on his arm proved it to be true.

"I don't know. Don't remember. I never remember," Gus said, looking at the scratch marks.

"That's what I thought. Gus, I'd like to try a technique with you called EMDR. It's a specific form of trauma therapy that helps you reprocess traumatic memories. These nightmares and flashbacks you have are classic PTSD symptoms," Jeff said.

"What's that? The PSD thing?" Gus asked, too curious to worry about looking stupid.

"PTSD. Stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It happens when a trauma, or a really bad thing, occurs in your life. It's usually an extreme trauma. Soldiers often experience it after war. You have flashbacks, memory loss, emotional instability or numbness, depression. Things like that."

"That's me," Gus said, suddenly interested and sitting up.

"It can be treated. You don't have to keep living in the fear you've always felt. You can reprocess those traumas," Jeff said.

"What's reprocess?"

"Basically, you relive the memory in a calm, safe setting while you're in a waking REM state. It moves the memory from the front of your brain, where trauma is stored, to the back of it, where it no longer affects your thinking and behavior. It won't make the memory disappear. You'll still remember it, but it won't bother you so much. Sort of like when you're numb and someone pokes you with a needle. You feel the pressure but not the pain. You interested?"

"I don't know. I don't wanna relive anything," Gus said.

"We'll both be here to support you," Gina said reassuringly.

"We won't do it today. What I'd like to do is discuss one of the traumas you've experienced."

"It's all in my file," Gus said.

"That file has general information about you and the things you've experienced. It doesn't tell me which traumas affected you the most. And I'm pretty sure it doesn't list everything you've been through, does it?"

Gus looked down and shook his head.

"Things happened to you on the streets when you were a runaway, huh? Things you never reported."

Gus nodded, wondering how Jeff knew and how much he knew.

"You've mentioned the name Adam a couple of times. Wanna tell me about him?" Jeff asked.

Gus shrugged. "He was my friend. My best friend."

"How'd you meet?"

"Why you wanna know?"

"I think it's a good starting place for our first EMDR session. It's definitely on your trauma list, but talking about it may not be as stressful as talking about the abuse."

Jeff had a point. Reluctantly, Gus began telling the story.

"I ran off when I was twelve. Made it all the way to Chicago. I met up with Adam the first week. He was older than me by two years, so he was fourteen. We had, like, the same life. Everything the same. It was like I met my long lost brother or somethin'. Anyways, he watched my back and I watched his. We were tight for three years. Then he died."

"What was he like?"

Gus could hear the blood rushing in his ears as long buried emotions began to stir deep inside of him. A thousand memories flooded his mind and heat began to build behind his eyes.

"Adam was cool. Funny. He always wore this blue beanie, and he was always laughin' with a cigarette in his hand. That's how I drew him. Just like that. He was one of the happiest dudes I knew, no matter what happened. Nothin' got to him. He was obsessed with Reeses. He was always stealin' loads of 'em. He always stayed up late makin' up scary stories and writin' 'em down in this notebook, and then he'd tell 'em to all of us and they was always the best stories. He'd add to 'em every night. He was really into scary stuff like ghosts and shit. He wanted to be a pro-normal investigator."

"You mean paranormal?"

"Yeah. That."

"Tell me more," Jeff said softly, as if he knew there was more.

Gus's heart was pounding. He still had not felt Adam's presence or dreamed about him since coming to the ranch, and that was a new grief on top of the old grief.

"I... we... would turn tricks together. He kind of, um, taught me how."

"Are you angry with him for that?"

Gus looked up, confused. "Angry? No. He didn't want me to do it. I asked him to teach me. He never wanted me to have to do it."

"Then why did you?"

"Money."

"You could have made money some other way."

"I guess." Gus shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah I know."

"Did you... like to be with him, that way?" Jeff asked.

Gus hesitated. Then he nodded slightly. Jeff continued.

"Maybe that was the only way you felt like you could... show him how you felt?"

The heat behind Gus's eyes became tears. One fell onto his lap with a heavy plop.

"I'm not gay!" Gus said angrily.

Jeff leaned back in his chair and looked at him for a long time before speaking. "Is being gay something to be ashamed of?"

"No. I don't care if people are gay."

"You just care if you are."

"Yeah. I guess," Gus said.

"Tell me what being gay is to you. If someone asked you to describe it in one word. The first word that comes to your mind."

Gus shrugged. "Pervy."

"What does pervy mean to you? Again, the first word that comes to your head."

"Pedos."

"And what does pedo mean to you?"

More tears plopped onto Gus's lap. "Fear. Shame. Guilt."

"So what you're saying is, you were afraid of your feelings for Adam because they made you feel like you were the same as the men who hurt you? Like you had become them?"

Gus drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He felt totally exposed, desperate to hide himself. Jeff was right. He had worked so hard to hide from his bisexuality, to be something he wasn't. So much wasted time. The next few words seemed to spill out of him,

"Okay I was in love with him! He probably knew, but he never got to hear me say it. I wish I said it!"

"Maybe you didn't have to say it."

Gus wiped his eyes. "Even if that's true, it don't matter. He's dead now. I'll never see him again! I ruined it."

"What happened to him?" Jeff asked softly.

"He's dead," Gus repeated simply.

"How?"

"An overdose."

"Tell me about that."

Gus angrily swiped at the tears. "No."

"Gus, you can do this," Jeff said.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Gina said. She got up and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Gus shook it off and stood up.

"I said no!" he exclaimed.

"Stay with this, Gus. I know it's hard," Jeff said calmly.

Gus shook his head. "You don't know shit about this! I'm done. Let me go back to my room."

"I want you to stay here. Even if you can't talk about it. Just stay here in this room and allow yourself to feel what you're feeling."

"I DON'T WANNA FEEL IT!" Gus shouted.

A sob shook his whole body. He had to get out of here. He couldn't think about Adam anymore. He had to escape.

Gina stepped closer to him.

"Get back!" Gus warned.

To his relief, she did. He was feeling out of control and panicked. He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't get out of here. Would it be like that time with Dr. Paul? Would they have to sedate him again?

"Just breathe, Gus. Breathe through this," Jeff said.

"FUCK YOU! I DON'T WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE!"

Before he could think, Gus grabbed a lamp that was sitting on a corner table and threw it at the opposite wall. Gina let out a little squeak and ducked just in time as the glass exploded above her head.

"LET ME OUT! GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" Gus screamed. He slammed his fist into the wall, plaster dust spilling onto his hand.

"Gus, just breathe," Jeff said again.

"TOO FUCKIN' LATE!" Gus cried. He punched the wall again and again. His knuckles were bleeding, and streaks of red appeared on the white paint around all the holes he'd made.

Jeff remained calm and nodded at Gina, who cautiously took Gus by the shoulders. At her touch, Gus felt himself come back to reality, come back to Jeff's office. He allowed himself to collapse into her embrace.

"Shh... I've got you, sweetheart. It's okay," Gina whispered soothingly as he clung to her.

"I can't! I can't! Adam! Adam I'm sorry! I love you! I'm so sorry!" he sobbed brokenly.

"I know you're sorry. It wasn't your fault. It's okay," Gina murmured.

Gus crumpled to the floor, but Gina did too because she refused to let go of him. He cried against her arm, could feel his tears dampening the sleeve of her white blouse. When he felt it was safe enough, Jeff joined them on the floor and put a reassuring hand on Gus's back.

"Let it out," he said softly.

Gus did. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He cried and cried and cried for Adam. All the grief he had buried had risen to the surface and was flooding out of him at once. It felt like he was drowning inside himself. The pain ripped at him like a knife, slashing through all his defenses. There was no way to escape it. No drugs to hide behind. Nothing.

He stayed like that for twenty minutes with Gina holding him and Jeff sitting quietly nearby.

When Gina walked him back to his room, Gus was still crying. The grief Jeff had stirred up did not settle smoothly, and the pain was not something he was used to.

Gina told him someone would check on him in an hour, and Gus was left alone to try and make sense of the tremendous sadness and regret inside of him. If there had been drugs, he would have taken them. Even opiates. Anything to escape. The hour crawled by. The pain became physical; a throbbing in the center of his abdomen. He would do anything to escape it.

At night, when he couldn't sleep, Gus had been spending the hours picking at a loose nail in his bed frame. It was so loose now he could almost wriggle it free.

As soon as he had it in his hand he walked into the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he was planning to use it to cut himself, but as soon as he was in front of the mirror the pain stabbed at him again, and he knew it wouldn't be enough.

What was he waiting for? Everyone who mattered was gone. Before allowing himself to think or talk himself out of it, Gus held out his wrist, took a deep breath and stabbed the nail deeply into his veins and yanked it backwards to be sure he severed them. Blood from the long, jagged gash spilled onto the floor. Soon he would join Adam.