BEN

Paul's overly helpful. Has been since the hospital.

Real needy.

He fills in where things need filling. It's a good shift from the quiet there's been for six months. J's schedule is just a bit busier and my mom can't always be at visits.

So, Paul helps.

He's nice to live with. Organized. Asks the right questions to the ortho, when I can't think of anything. Always knows where things are.

He fits it into his schedule, and most days I tell him it's okay if he's too busy. He isn't, and being dependable makes it easier.

It's a graduation, standing on my own. It's hard to stay positive when this is what I look forward to, but, a win is a win. It would suck to still be stuck in the anger.

I put on a smile, my joint is stiff, I ignore it. It's weird, pins and needles. A bum fucking leg. My bones are brittle. The bone kept breaking and six months into excruciating pain from the last reset, was recommendation for amputation.

I know it doesn't really hurt.

I muscle through, try not to be angry over medical neglect. I'm in pain and they send me home, the pain becomes worse they low-key call me an addict. It took six months for them to give me a fucking biopsy. Six more weeks in pain before they gave me a fucking X-ray, by then it's cancer. It's easy to walk when I tell myself it will be over soon, that sitting is seconds away.

My therapist says it doesn't have to be impossible if I don't let it and to not push myself if I can't.

But it's fucking bones. It's a nonstop dull pain on painkillers. I don't smile.

Paul's got an arm guiding me, still, spotting like I haven't been out of bed for six months. I lived, with pain, it's like they wanted me to want the pills. He's there when I hitch a step and have to glide my body back to balance and catch myself. I'm angry with myself for my pride being too big.

It's been a quiet six months.

And he's nodding, he's supportive, verbally, mentally, physically.

"Let me help you." Paul's reaching for my bag before I have the chance to disagree.

Peeling it off my shoulder, it helps balance the weight. I didn't realize how heavy it could be. It feels like dead weight, almost. Like I'm lugging around a leg that weighs thirty pounds and it's all phantom.

I know it's lighter than a leg, I know that, still feels heavy. Mentally, my chest is heavy.

His hand is on my back. My ears go out for a sec, slightly disoriented. I haven't had to do much of the talking, I nod in thanks.

I catch my breath cause the session's taken a lot out of me, the therapist said it's okay to be angry but I don't feel it, not more than what I've felt since the amputation. It isn't anger as much as it's sorrow, mournful... less about the missing leg but more so the time spent.

I wish it could've been a clean break. Just chop it off if you can't care for it.

I try to refocus my vision. I'm closing my eyes for a second, focusing on breathing.

He's patient.

Paul's patting my back when he directs me into the living room and onto the couch. And it feels like a mile, like the last hike we all went on. I hate that I won't be able to move like that again, I know it will be a while before I can think of trekking up another mountain, but I'm too thankful to feel it.

I'm too thankful I can't feel it, that the drugs are kicking into full gear until they're not. That it's not a goddamn sarcoma breaching into my blood vessels in my left tibia. The pain is the same but at least I won't die. Until it's been three hours since I took a Tylenol and I can't focus because it's white-hot where the metal meets my leg.

It's repressed energy, two months into PT and I'm still a walker. My mom said I need to come to terms. Read my tarot and smiled, said I was still as stubborn as the day they slapped my ass.

I'm at terms. Terms still suck.

"Sorry." He apologizes when his arm slips from under me and the Tylenol is starting to wear off. I don't want the fucking ketamine. It's so painful now but I don't sway.

I want to, I want to cry. I'm thankful my mom's not around to see me break.

He smiles.

"Thank you." I cough out once I've sat. I find myself readjusting in my seat a million times after, trying to avoid the feeling. He's reaching in my bag and grabbing a prescription. I can't tell which one it is but I know he's got it figured out.

He opens the little orange bottle, reads the side for the third time, doesn't give me the courtesy of letting me know but maybe it's better that way: not having to know. I'll have to do everything myself again when Jules finally starts giving him some attention.

He drops two pills in my extended hand and goes to the kitchen to grab water.

But the pills are already down when he comes back, with a small glass that honestly looks like a vase.

It's all colorful, printed on the side with pride and he's rolling his eyes when he sees the pills are gone, smiling small when he forces the glass into my hand and gestures for me to drink. Because he's scared I'll choke, because his role is caretaker and mom all in one.

I do it, just for his comfort, because he's been so nice.

And he's taking the glass back from me when I finish, placing it on the table.

He'd be a good nurse.

"Thanks." It's gritty. I clear my throat after and he's nodding.

"No problem." He's wiping his palms on his legs then moving to fluff my pillow, arches like a cat to reach. It makes me laugh, he's perched so high I almost have to look.

"You know, you don't have to be polite with me, right?" I offer when it feels too cold, after he's stepped so far away. The temperature's shifted and I know he doesn't know how to bring it up. "Like we can talk about my foot."

He doesn't want to be the first to broach the subject so I do. Everyone has a question about it, if it hurts, if I forget it's not there, if I get more than one prosthetic.

Keenan asked if it makes me a cyborg. I said the closest thing I'll get to superpowers. Below the knee amputation at 24 certainly makes me a badass. And they all call me Iron Man now.

But Paul's been going to PT with me for so long, and he hasn't asked me a single question. Like he's too nervous.

I hate nervous, makes my leg jump.

"I have one leg." I state. It's dramatic, considering the amputation is below the knee. It could have been worse. I can't handle it being quiet for too long, and the pitied looks. I'm good, I'm alive, it's all that matters. "It's fine, it's actually kinda cool with my bionic parts."

He smiles small, I can still see sad behind his eyes.

It was a good thing though, that I was discharged, that they kicked me from basic and I could find time to go to the hospital to explain the pain in my back... and the bone cancer is only stage II and chemo could shrink that one. My leg was not too lucky but I'm fine.

I'm alive and it's all that matters, even when it feels like my mom can't find peace with it, I'm grateful.

Still, "I feel kinda untouchable." Always do.

Paul must've misunderstood cause I didn't notice that he was holding the Capsaicin. It's topical, he gestures to my leg. It's an offer and I know he wants to help me out with the pain but I shake my head. It feels weird to let him touch there.

Or to take the metal off without pants.

"Cyborg shit." Jules chimes in from the door, he's lugging a sports bag behind him. It feels like he's always where he needs to be and the room's suddenly easier to stand in.

Even if I'm sitting.

I watch Paul's shoulders finally relax. Julian doesn't realize how calming he is, even if he is always the opposite, he brings a lot of light into a room. Pauls legs cross up on the couch, he bites his lip and puts the tube on the table. I can't take the piece off cause what if I wanna leave? The fact that leaving this couch is dependent on being uncomfortable until I can get to my room.

That is criminal.

"How was practice?" That's Paul, he's turning his head, and I close my eyes. It finally feels like I can relax, as kind as he is, it's overwhelming. My mind is still spinning with the pain but it's starting to subside. And I can grit it away with my teeth.

They're exchanging looks like I can't see them. I know that's about me. People tend to forget how observant I am.

But I know Jules is also looking at the pill bottle on the table, trying to figure out if it's worth being nervous about having pills near Paul. Like it was a pill problem not a drinking problem. It's weird that we're still in limbo, like Paul hasn't been sober almost two years.

It's been two years since their "breakup," and since Paul moved in... it's so cordial, it feels like it was always this way.

I know it won't last, that Jules will get his feelings hurt or that Paul will start keeping wine under the kitchen sink. I keep my eyes out for it, I know it's neither of their faults but it's so hard being in the middle.

"Good." He shrugs. He's sweaty and he doesn't care to change before he plops down on the couch.

My mama would have a heart attack. "We have a game next weekend. Dell finally started playing like a fuckin man."

It's funny how passionate he gets about it.

"Well, he's twelve." I remind. Cause I'm sure he wasn't so good at that age, at much of anything really. You're lucky if you are, and it makes sense that the kids he trains are afraid of getting hurt.

Jules hasn't been having a great time with the minor leagues, maybe he has and he's fronting about it, but he looks happy when he gets home.

And it's funny but it's good news, makes me excited, Paul tried to follow the conversation but I'm already standing, the pain is duller than before, I force myself not to stumble, making my way over to the recliner and leaning on it to open the window.

"He wasn't tryna pass to Kee because of some rivalry— Hey." Jules throws my way. "You sure you should be doing that?"

"Doc said medicinal marijuana can ease the pain."

Or something like that, it was more like a balm or something but that wouldn't get me high. Shit, why not? I'm avoiding the opiates, isn't that in good faith? I can't leave to put the topical cream on for some reason.

My body doesn't allow me to show that pain. It's weird and it's something I'm working on.

Paul's rolling his eyes now, he's leant over the couch arm and Jules turns to face him, I swear he sees God. "You said you had no pain."

His voice is annoyed.

I shrug. I don't know what to say to that when two sets of worried eyes are on me now and my legs doing that thing again.

It's fine. I haven't felt too bad, it's a little sore, a little throb, nothing that a friend can't fix and I'm already breathing her in.

"Did you eat?" That's Jules. "Do we wanna get food?" He's still looking over at Paul, I'm sure that was where the question was going. He throws one to my side to save face. "Ben?"

"Uh, I'm good." on spending the night listening to your PSA.

"We could go to Rumi's." He offers.

Of course they pick my favorite spot. The tapas place with the smash burgers on the brioche bun and thin sliced pickles not the circle. They have the best IPA in town and the waitresses are pretty and they know how to fucking get me.

"Actually yeah, I'll go."

•••

"I got it." I've already got the check in hand when Julian looks over.

It's been awkward the last ten minutes and I'm not good with awkward silences. It feels more like an interview than dinner with friends and Jules isn't good at making things not about my leg.

I just wanna forget it exists.

But he's fighting me for the check now and it almost feels normal.

"Ben." His voice is tense. Like I've crumbled his pride by offering to treat them.

"It's good." I shut it down.

The amount of visits Paul's taken me to, the amount of time I've taken from both of them, the worry, it doesn't add up. I don't want them to keep treating me like a charity case because it will be so hard to phase out of. And we're friends, I know where they live, after all.

"Y'all got me out the house. I can return a favor." It's not much. And with the Benjis I've saved on a fucking nurse... we could eat like kings.

"Thank you, Ben." Paul answers first.

It makes Jules' hand relax on the check and he settles for sipping his water. It's cute, watching the way he follows suit, like they're a unit. Really makes the heart sing, doesn't it?

"Anytime."

Jules makes a face. I know it bruises this hidden side of his ego. He's not good at hiding it, maybe I've just seen it too much.

I add two beers on the tab just in case, order them as I'm passing the check back to the cute waitress with a mole on her lip.

Paul smiles, grabs his glass and takes a sip of water. Just water, it's always water. I'm swallowing the last of my beer. Jules has been watching my intake for weeks now, in a small way I know it means he cares.

Cause it thins my blood, and they need to draw once a month.

Even if it pisses me off.

"Thanks for dinner, Ben." Julian forces through gritted teeth.

The beers are at the table quick as I'm putting my wallet back in my pocket and I gesture towards him.

He looks to Paul.

When he's spent too much time deciding, and Paul doesn't offer a look, he grabs for the Michelob. I'm sure it's to avoid a conversation, I've heard the same one too many times and it's reminding me that Paul will use this as an excuse to stay friends.

'because I can't ask you to be sober with me, Jules, that's not fair.'

Because I can't figure out if Paul is still in love with him some days but most days he's there. He's finding reasons to press up next to Jules, wearing his clothes to bed.

He's avoiding the feelings and they keep hitting him in the face and something about buying a beer seems like I'm conspiring but really, I'm sick of the quiet.

My best friend is sipping slow before he blurts, "Drew called."

"I'm not calling that nigga Drew." He can't just change his name a decade? in and expect me to accommodate.

"It's his name." Paul laughs.

"It's not his name, it's what he wants me to call him."

"That's not PC." Jules reminds. It feels ironic, almost.

"You right." I laugh. I know it's not that serious and the jokes lighten the mood.

"Andrew called." Jules concedes.

He bites a smile off his lips when I look towards him. He's leaning back a little more, stretches his legs a little, cowboy boot knocks against mine. I watch the lustful look Paul sends.

I try to see what he's seeing but it really just looks like Jules, with muscle. That muscle jumps in his cheek. "He's in town, needed a place to stay for a few nights, I said it was okay."

"Good shit."

I've been staring too long, at the chain on his chest, at his chest.

I'm looking into his eyes and he knows.

"Ben, are you-"

I can't say much to Paul, can't really show my face when I keep thinking how I'm thinking. "Im gonna use the restroom." I hate how awkward I've made it now. Cutting him off, I didn't think.

"Okay."

"Yeah."

•••

Even using the restroom is more complicated. I want to go into a stall but I won't give it that. I'm almost there when I swerve, choose the urinal in the middle despite how much I'd rather not. My mama calls me too prideful, it's stupid and she's right.

I'm balancing more on my right leg, oddly grateful that the good leg is on the side facing the door, that I can lean and no one would know. I'm twenty seconds into pissing when Paul's through the door. There's a rattle on his belt, he's undoing his fly.

And he's stood one urinal away. My cane stands between us.

This restaurant's weird. There's a mural above us,  a chandelier, at lip level is a skinny rectangular mirrored line. Too thin to grab attention but if you look at it the right way, you see the face of the other men.

Mostly the lips, I can see his lips and he's whistling, they curl into an 'o', stache pressing into the quirked hole smile lines. Handlebar-y.

I hear it faintly.

I try not to laugh.

"Elevator music." I joke.

He bites his lip then and I watch it turn into a soft smile, then a forced frown and he's neutral again.

He snickers quietly, I hear his belt buckle and I remember to do mine up, too.

And we're at the sinks.

"I really appreciate you taking me today."

He smiles over. It's crazy how much it soothes me. "No problem."

He's asked for no more thank yous. I hear that loud and clear.

It's that puppy dog shit I do, really. It's genuine so I'm not mad.

And then, after he's washed his hands, he turns to me. He leans against the counter, back against the paper towel dispenser, it's where I need to be now, I have no choice but to lean on the sink, right next to him. "Has he talked to you about anything?"

I'm not surprised, half the conversations between us are about Jules, the other half are him trying not to talk about Jules.

I wring my hands dry before thinking better of it and instead choose to reach around him. My arms brushes his waist, he chooses not to move, slide a bit to the side only after I've run my arm over his body. It's the little game he plays and thinks I'm too straight to notice.

We're closer than we've ever been and he smells like J.

He's in Jules' shirt, it's this white long sleeve with black detailing, a black collar, three buttons undone. The sleeves fall over his hands and he pushes them up to lace his fingers together.

And it's easy to tell when his head's down that he really doesn't mean to be so aloof, that he just craves closeness, that it's apart of being his friend and I just have to keep my hands to myself.

"In the bathroom?"

He rolls his eyes, I catch it through the mirror.
Gives a moment of silence.

"He just seems off." He frowns. "A little quiet don't you think?" Julian's always been quiet in the house though, he keeps to himself until it matters... until the season changes.

He doesn't have much to say to Paul, they left it on a good note, it just seems like Paul doesn't know how to ask for more... or he doesn't know what he wants.

"It's been quiet a few months now."

That doesn't do much to explain and he doesn't seem to falter in confusion. He looks at me with a pout and it's actually kinda cute. I flick his bottom lip instinctively and he tugs it into his mouth.

I want to kiss him, it's fleeting and small and something I'll have to talk to Jules about.

Cause Jules is the only guy I've ever kissed and we only did it once and Paul doesn't seem too concerned with that so they must not have talked about it. Or maybe they did, maybe it doesn't matter much... maybe they think I'm straight.

It feels like I want to kiss Paul, I wanted to kiss Jules. I kissed Jules. I could kiss Paul.

I really could. He's making it obvious.

I step back.

"Yeah but, I don't know... it's not me, right?"

Of course it is. "It's just how it is." He should know that. I know he knows that. Paul asked for space, it's confusing what he wants from Jules.  "He's focused. I'm sure he'd tell you if something was wrong."

I try to see it from both sides, stay in the middle. It's the only way to navigate without stepping on toes. "Yeah."

"Not like you have anything to worry about?" I remind. Nothing that happens between Jules and I is deep, none of it, and he doesn't get that.

"How are you guys?" He doesn't get it.

"You wanna talk about that?"

He nods still, is too curious not to. "I do."

"Okay." I'm smug, can't help him, we're chest to chest and I'm crossing my arms. "Okay, we're fine."

"Just fine?"

"Paul." It's cute. They put me in the middle, I'm in the middle of him and a wall.

"I know it's weird."

"Yeah, we're fine." I said." He's my friend." I remind.

His hand is near touching my elbow the way he holds himself then. He's hugging his arms to his chest and I can't help but put him out of his misery. "We're having fun."

"I'm sure."

"We talk about my leg a lot."

He nods.

"But we're okay." I smile. I know people don't know what to say after that. "He's okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm good." He nods.

"Okay." I'm good too. "He'll tell you, you know? If it's something."

Jules has been spending his days in his journal or working out, no in between. When he's not, he's locked in the study room making calls for his online job. He hasn't spent much time in communal spaces but he's always been to himself, even before Paul moved in.

I know it's weird, that they're in a phase that feels like it'll never end of ignoring enough other and laying together.

I don't know how to ease his worry because he's the one creating the issues to worry about.

"Yeah." He nods. "Yeah, he's..."

"Blunt."

Paul laughs. "Yeah." I can tell something's still on his mind.

He leaves before I can ask. I splash cold water on my face and run back to this cat and mouse game, watch from the sidelines until they've distanced themselves enough to not sing along in the car.

They end up in bed together, they always do.

•••

"feel the ends of change, I don't wanna change but I gotta change."
w i l l o w s m i t h

jan. 07. 25