“How is Noah today?” Lawrence asked after too long of a pause.
Beckett thought of his lover laying in bed, the way Noah had gone through bouts of uncontrollable crying, long periods of sleep, and hours of lying still and staring at nothing.
“He’s ill,” Beckett managed to say, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
His friends didn’t seem to know how to reply to that.
“Are you sure,” Kelsey began quietly, stumbling over his words, “that…that he doesn’t need a…doctor?”
“Or perhaps a sanitorium?” Lawrence asked, quieter still.
Beckett shook his head. His friends meant well, but they did not understand the situation. Beckett had no intention of being like the others in Noah’s life. He would not toss Noah out like so much trash, or hoist responsibility for him onto someone else. More and more, he felt that the purpose of his formerly idle life was to care for his lover, because nobody else would.
He stood there, awkward and anxious, not saying anything and likely making his friends squirm, until Marcus stepped into the club a few minutes later. Then he marched straight over to Marcus, dodging a few patrons on the way.
“Marcus, I need to speak with you,” he said without greeting once he was in front of the man. “I need your help.”
Marcus sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s about Noah, isn’t it,” he said.
“He’s sick, very sick,” Beckett said, trying not to fidget or crawl out of his skin.
“Yes, I know,” Marcus said in a flat voice. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along. He should be in an asylum of some sort. He should have been for years.”
Beckett shook his head adamantly. “He doesn’t need to be locked away, he needs to be cared for.”
“What, and you think it’s my responsibility to do that? I have nothing to do with the man. I broke things off with him months ago, and now you know why. I did not ask him to come here.” Marcus’s voice grew increasingly loud and his frustration more palpable as he spoke.
“He ismyresponsibility,” Beckett insisted, his anxiety coalescing into anger. “I love him.”
That seemed to stop Marcus’s restless frustration. He froze for a moment, staring at Beckett, then dropped his shoulders as he said, “I’m sorry. The man is mad. If I were you, I would drop him at the nearest hospital and go on your way.”
“I will not do that to him,” Beckett said, nearly shouting. “That is what you did. That’s what his sister did. That is what everyone who should have cared for him has done, and I will not forsake Noah that way.”
Again, Marcus’s expression shifted, only this time, a thread of guilt wove its way into his frown. Marcus held his breath for a moment, then gestured for Beckett to follow him to the bar.
Once they were seated on stools at the end of the bar and Marcus had gestured to Alonzo for drinks, Marcus said, “No one has forsaken Noah. They’ve all tried their best to manage him, and he’s thrown that back in their faces.”
“And then they’ve thrown him out,” Beckett said, heartsick over the callousness of what Marcus was saying.
“We all reached the ends of our ropes with him,” Marcus insisted. “There comes a point when you have to cut anchor to save yourself, Beckett. Noah was dragging me down into madness with him. His poor sister exhausted herself trying to care for him. She nearly ended up in the sanatorium herself. Her beau couldn’t stand Noah, and when the man threatened to break off their engagement if she didn’t cut Noah from her life, well, what was she supposed to do? The life of a spinster caring for her mad brother is no life for a woman like Sarah.
“She’s married with a baby on the way now, if you must know,” Marcus went on before Beckett could say anything. “She has finally been able to live the life she deserves.” Marcus paused, his face pinching for a moment, then said, “So am I. I’m happy with Jasper. We’re in love.”
“And you don’t think Noah deserves his own happiness?” Beckett asked, his tone more miserable than angry. “You don’t think he deserves love?”
Marcus sighed heavily and reached for one of the pints Alonzo had put on the bar between them. He took a long drink before saying, “It’s not that I wish Noah ill. Not at all. But he cannot be cured. He lays everyone around him low, sooner or later. He’ll wring you dry and leave you as desperate and beaten as he has the rest of us.”
Beckett shook his head violently. “No. I refuse to believe that. I can help him, I just don’t know how.”
“You cannot help a madman,” Marcus said, emphasizing his words. “You can only keep them from doing themselves or others harm. That’s why asylums exist. They’re places to keep madmen from harming themselves and ruining the lives of others.”
“They’re hell on earth,” Beckett protested, clenching his hands into fists on his lap. “I will not encourage Noah to be kept in a prison like that and treated as less than human. He is a man, Marcus. He is an interesting, wonderful, vibrant man. Yes, he is also sick, but he deserves to live freely. He deserves dignity and someone who will be his advocate when he has his fits.”
“And you think that person is you?” Marcus said, frowning.
Beckett only had to think about it for a moment before saying, “Yes, I do think it’s me.”
Marcus shook his head. “Then I pity you. I know what the path you’re on looks like. You’ll destroy your own life trying to save his, and Noah cannot be saved.”