knows what. Not from James. Not really. I think I was walking away from myself, from who I really

am. And suddenly I don’t remember why I was doing that in the first place. Why I ever wanted to

change. Why the hell would I need to change? I was fine before I met James. I was better than fine. I

was myself. And even if being myself is being like Grazzo in some regards, so what? I am my father’s

son. And if that’s seriously screwed-up, so be it. I don’t need to justify myself. And if James can’t

handle the way I am, then screw that son of a bitch.

And before I even know what’s happening, it’s back just like that: my usual energy, flooding my

body in a heartbeat. Like it had never left me, like it was merely taking a nap. And this is it. Here, right

now. Live it. Love it. Do it. All I have to do is to let myself fall. All it really takes is for me to finally let

go off all that bullshit that’s been dragging me down. And then I simply do.

I can tell the difference immediately. I can tell from the submissive little moan escaping French

Boy’s lips as he gladly lets me take over. Hey there. I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready. Good ol’ Danny

Rizzo is back in the game.

Barely two minutes later, we’re fucking in a narrow bathroom stall with a broken lock. It’s got a

French quote written on its wall that makes me grin:

Mieux vaut faire, et se repentir,

que se repentir, et rien faire.

- It’s better to do something, and regret it,

than to regret, and do nothing.

How about that? A perfect motto for the new year I think has just started. Literally, with one hell of a

bang.

Chapter 3

Lost And Found

NICK: There is nothing more depressing than a bunch of addicts and crazies trying to make it through

the holidays. Trust me.

The doctors and nurses tried to get people to make decorations and hang them up in the main room,

but no matter how much they try, it still looks like a hospital. A hospital with pieces of sad paper on the

walls. It would have been better if everyone just ignored that it was the end of December and let us go

on with our lives.

But, like Doc told me one day when I was complaining about it, the point of being in here is to get

us ready to go back “out there”, or some shit like that, and if “out there” is having Christmas (or

Chanukah, or Kwanza, or whatever the hell people are having), then we need to have it in here too.

Nevermind the fact that it’s messing with everyone’s heads. Because who wants to be stuck in the

hospital for Christmas?

Not me, that’s for sure. I don’t want to be here no matter what day it is, but I don’t have much of a

choice. It doesn’t matter if I want to be at some holiday party, drinking eggnog with everyone else. Or

maybe just the liquor that goes in the eggnog. Finding a “present” from Marc and going off to share it

with some pretty girl or guy. It doesn’t even matter if I just want to be anywhere but here.

And as if the shitty decorations weren’t enough, we’re having a “holiday party” for families to come

and visit. They can bring presents (as long as the nurses check them first for “contraband”) and there’s

fruit punch and cookies, and everyone’s trying to pretend like it’s not messed up, like it makes sense to

have a holiday party where half the guests can’t wear shoes with laces and where doctors hover over

everyone. Like it’s normal.

But maybe it is normal. Because, just like normal, I’m sitting on the side watching everyone else

have a good time. Alone, of course, because who would come visit me here? Certainly not my family.

Not that I really blame them too much. Both Mom and Dad have their new families to be with.

“Nick.”

I’m slouched down in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, trying to hide from the rest of the room,

and I have to look way up to see Doc’s concerned face looking down at me. Concerned. Great.

Concerned usually means some sort of heartfelt discussion is in my near future.

She sits down next to me and watches the other guests with me for a while. There’s a group in front

of us that looks like they’re having the best time in the world. Laughing and joking and hugging. It’s the

dad that’s in here, and he annoys the hell out of me. He’s here because he was driving drunk and hit

someone. I guess the person’s okay, but this was part of his court sentence.

The only thing is that he’s all religious and shit, so he wants to save everyone else’s soul. Like

mine’s even worth saving. But he’s tried sitting me down three or four times in the two and a half weeks

I can remember to tell me that “God loves me” and that I’ll be able to leave all my problems behind if I

just turn my soul over to “Him”. Like that’s really helped him out of his problems. The nurses have told

him to stop preaching at people, but he still tries.

And now here he is with his family. His wife and his two perfect kids. And still annoying the hell out

of me.

I’ve completely forgotten that Doc’s sitting there until she clears her throat a little. She still looks

concerned when I glance over at her, and I just cross my arms a little tighter.

“I sent invitations to both of your parents. I’m sure they’re just running a little late…”

I can’t help laughing at her. I know she’s met Mom (I can sort of remember that if I try real hard), so

I can’t understand how she can keep thinking that my parents are just “running late”. I shake my head at

her and hear her sigh. I know she’ll bring this up at our next meeting, but she’s not going to talk about it

in the middle of a party.

Some party this is turning out to be.

***

The first time Doc mentioned “family therapy” I knew it wasn’t going to go over well, and the lack of

an appearance at our holiday “party” just reinforced that. My mother is not a woman that appreciates

being pulled away from her usual schedule. And my dad, well, he’d probably agree to come and then

forget about it. I’ve seen it happen before. Not with therapy, but with enough other things that I guess

I’m pretty much used to it by now.

Doc told me not to worry about it too much. That behind all the anger, parents just want their kids to

be okay. I told her that she’s never had to deal with my parents.

I was already warned, so it’s not a total surprise when I walk into Doc’s office and see my mother

sitting there. Also not a surprise is the fact that she’s talking on her cell phone. Doc’s not here yet, and

mom barely acknowledges I’m in the room, so I sit in my usual chair and wait.

Eventually mom finishes her call, closing the phone up with that little snap that I always hate. It’s

just plastic on plastic, but something about the sound gives me shivers. I should tell Doc about it. She’d

probably think that it’s “interesting.”

Apparently I have super powers now, because just thinking about Doc brings her into the room.

Pretty cool, especially since I was getting sort of twitchy just sitting here with mom ignoring me in

favor of her PDA calendar.

“Mrs. Bancroft, thank you for coming today. Unfortunately, it seems that Mr. Kell-”

“Is a no-show. I’m not surprised. Remembering things about his family never was one of his strong

points. I was always the one needing to rearrange my time. Speaking of, how long do you expect this to

take? I need to pick up Daisy from her Kinderplay group in half an hour.”

I have to smile a little, even given the situation. Doc looks completely stunned. I’ve seen mom do

this before, fly in and take everything over without any thought for who’s actually in charge. She’s a

force of nature. I probably should’ve tried to warn Doc a little more, but then I wouldn’t have the fun of