Chapter 40: Meltdown

January 13, 1983, McKinley, Ohio

"Mike?" I heard from behind me.

I was sitting on a bench under a tree while snow fell around me. I wasn't wearing a hat or coat or gloves because I hadn't put them on when I'd walked from my room. I'd wandered around for a bit, then sat down on a bench near the edge of campus.

"Mike?" the voice repeated, but I didn't respond.

I was still reeling from the pictures Jocelyn had sent me. It wasn't that she was having sex, apparently, with a bunch of different guys, but the intent was conveyed by sending me the pictures. She WANTED to hurt me. She WANTED to stab me in the heart and twist the knife. And that was something I simply couldn't understand.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.

"Deb?" I asked.

"Mike, you're going to freeze to death! What's going on?"

"Nothing," I replied. "Just leave me, please."

"Come on, Mike! Come inside."

I shook my head, "No. I want to stay here."

"Shit," she swore.

She left, and I continued staring off into space as I had been for the previous five minutes. Despite the snow, I didn't feel cold; I simply felt numb. I simply couldn't understand why Jocelyn had felt it necessary to stab me in the heart. If returning the gift had declared our relationship dead, the pictures she'd sent were the obituary. Again, not because she was having sex, but because the ONLY reason to send those pictures to me was to hurt me. And that was something I just couldn't get my head around.

"Mike?" I heard a voice say.

I looked up to see Milena with Deb.

"Mike, you need to come inside," Milena said. "Come to the music room, or let us walk you back to your dorm."

I shook my head, "No."

"Whatever happened, sitting here and freezing to death isn't going to help!"

I felt hands grasp my upper arms and pull me up from the bench.

"Let's take him to my mom's house," I heard Milena say. "It's just a few blocks, and we can get blankets and hot chocolate."

I thought about wresting my arms free from their grasp, but I didn't have the energy. I simply let them lead me along the snow-covered path. A few minutes later, they walked me up the steps and into Doctor Blahnik's house. Suddenly, I was cold and shivering.

"Deb, take him to the den. I'm going to get some blankets."

"What about his clothes? With all the snow, they're kind of wet."

"Get him out of them. He has underwear on, I'm sure."

"Bummer!" Deb laughed.

I let her lead me to the den, where she unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off, then unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. She drew down the zipper and pushed them down, then gently pushed me back onto the couch. She yanked off my sneakers, then pulled off my jeans. Milena was back by then, and they wrapped me in two heavy wool blankets.

"Mike, talk to me, please!" Milena said.

I shook my head and simply stared at the distant wall.

"Deb, stay here while I make some hot chocolate. It won't take long."

I had stopped shivering, but my hair was wet, and melted snow ran down my face. I felt a tissue wipe my face, but I didn't react.

"I think he's in shock," Deb said when Milena returned.

I felt a hand move under the blankets and grasp my wrist. There was a slight tug, and then a warm mug was pressed into my hand.

"Drink some cocoa, Mike," Milena urged, helping me raise the mug to my lips.

I took a couple of sips, then blinked, took a deep breath, and let it out.

"What happened?" Milena asked.

I shook my head, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Whatever it was, it had you sitting on a bench in the snow, freezing to death. I think you need to talk to someone."

"No."

"Can we help you? In any way?"

"I don't know if anyone can."

She encouraged me to drink some more chocolate.

"I'm going to put his wet things in the dryer," Milena said. "I'll be right back."

Deb sat down and put her arm around me.

"Mike, can we call someone? A friend? Your parents? A counselor?"

"I don't want to talk," I protested. "Not to anyone. I just want to be left alone."

Milena came back and sat down.

"He's still in shock, Mil. What should we do?"

"Let's get him to lie down and then figure it out."

She took the mug from my hand and set it down. The two of them then helped me up and led me to a room with a large bed. Milena turned down the comforter and sheet, helped me in, took the blankets, and then tucked me in. They left the room. I lay in the bed, dim light leaking through the curtains, trying to make heads or tails of what Jocelyn had done, and I couldn't.

I had no idea how long I was there when two girls came into the room.

"Mike?"

Clarissa!

"Hi," I said weakly, not having the strength or willpower to tell them to leave, which was what I thought I wanted.

"It's Clarissa and Angie. We found the pictures. We were looking for you when Milena found us."

"I just needed to be alone."

"It wasn't that!" Clarissa said firmly. "You were sitting on a bench in a snowstorm without proper clothes!"

She sat on the edge of the bed, and Angie went around and sat on the other side of me.

"Let us help you, Mike," Angie pleaded. "Please."

"How?" I asked. "You can't fix it."

"Maybe not, but we can fix you! I'm afraid you're suicidal."

"Whatever," I sighed.

"Mike," Clarissa said gently. "You can't let her hurt you this way. Why throw everything away?"

"Because she sent me pictures of her having sex to hurt me! That's why!"

"Uhm, those pictures were PG," Clarissa said. "They had shirts on and had the covers pulled up."

"So, tell me why she was in bed with them?" I growled.

"I have no idea, but even if she was with them, don't you sleep with Sandy and Sophia?"

"Yes, but I don't go sending pictures to Jocelyn to try to hurt her!" I declared crossly.

"Come back to the dorm, and let's talk about it," Angie said.

"I'd rather stay here, away from everyone. I just don't feel like talking about it."

"Mike, we care about you. Let us help."

I just shook my head and closed my eyes. I really didn't want to talk about it because talking about it made it hurt even more. I just wished the pain would go away, but I had no idea how to make that happen.

I felt the bed move and then whispered voices in the hallway outside the room. The only words I could discern were 'shock' and 'sleep', and actually, sleep sounded like exactly what I needed. Or maybe I was really hoping I was asleep, and this was simply a nightmare from which I would wake up. I turned to get comfortable, and a few minutes later, consciousness blessedly slipped away.

I stirred from sleep some indeterminate time later and saw a shadowy figure in the door.

"Mike?"

I blinked a few times and recognized Milena's mom.

"Hi, Doctor Blahnik."

"How are you feeling? Milena and Deb were very worried. They almost called for a doctor. Do you need one?"

"No, I'm just not in the mood to talk to anyone right now."

"I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. Feel free to hide out here for as long as you need to. Dinner is in about an hour, and you're welcome to join us."

"Maybe," I said. "I'm not hungry."

"My doctorate may not be in medicine, but even doctors of philosophy in music know you need to eat."

"Maybe a bit."

"I'll have Milena come get you when dinner's ready. Your clothes are dry and are on the chair by the door. Your friends also brought your jacket, a hat, and a pair of gloves."

"Thanks. What happened to my friends?"

"Milena said she convinced them you'd be OK, and they went back to the dorm. We can call them if you want."

"No."

"OK. I'll leave you be."

"Thanks."

She left, and I lay quietly in the soft, cozy confines of the bed. A few minutes later, another figure appeared at the door of the room, but this one was male.

"Mike?"

"Who called you?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Who?"

"Clarissa. She was very worried about you."

"She told you?"

"Yes. And she showed me what Jocelyn sent you. Are you ready to talk?"

"No."

"Wrong answer," he said, coming into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"Doc, please," I begged, half whining.

"Shall I send you to Moore Memorial Hospital on a psych hold? Think THAT would help or hurt your standing at school?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because you were found sitting outside in a snowstorm in your street clothes with no coat, hat, or gloves. Because you're responding to people as if you're not firing on all cylinders. Because your friends think you might be suicidal. Evidence suggests they might be right. You really only have two options, Mike. I have ethical and professional obligations. You can talk to me, or we can get you someplace. I'm sure you'll be safe."

"I'm safe here."

"Until you walk out and disappear into the snowstorm. Talk to me, Mike."

"Why did she hurt me that way?" I said as tears began streaming down my face.

"Good," Doctor Hart said. "Emotion is good. Let it out, Mike."

I started sobbing uncontrollably and curled into a tight ball, hugging a pillow as if it were a life preserver. I wasn't quite sure how long it was before I got control of my emotions again, but eventually, I reached over to the nightstand and pulled several tissues from the box. I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose several times, then sat up.

"Ready to talk?" Doctor Hart asked.

"I guess," I sighed.

"First of all, I think you'll be OK now. Your young lady friends said you were acting like a zombie, but zombies don't cry."

"I just don't understand why she would do something that would hurt me so badly."

"Mike, you're having sex with several different young women. Why hold Jocelyn to a different standard?"

"That's not it!" I protested vehemently. "It's that she sent me those pictures intending to hurt me!"

"You're sure you can judge her intent from three hundred miles away?"

"What's the point? I knew she might be having sex, and I'm no hypocrite. But why rub my nose in it? Why send me pictures of her with ten guys? I thought she made it clear it was over at Christmas."

"Did she know that?"

"So, what if she didn't?" I asked angrily. "Why do THIS? Why not just refuse to talk to me?"

"Didn't you tell me you felt she was unbalanced? And that your friend Dale agreed?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps this was the act of someone who is still in need of serious counseling. You said you thought that was the case, right?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Then don't assign a motive to what she did. SHE might not know her motivation."

"You don't think she might know it would hurt me?"

"If she's not thinking clearly? Who knows? She's not my patient. You are."

"Patient?"

"Right now? Yes. Until I'm satisfied, you aren't going to hurt yourself, either intentionally or by neglecting yourself or not caring what happens to you. You've been under quite a bit of emotional strain, and not just from Jocelyn and Katy or from what happened with Tasha. The changes to your fundamental core self have been pretty dramatic and may have occurred a bit too quickly. I know you made the point about it starting with your sister some time ago, but the real change happened fast. And that thing with your sister put you under severe emotional strain as well. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it might not just be Jocelyn who is unbalanced."

"Me?"

"No, the mouse in your pocket!" Doctor Hart laughed. "You've been under almost constant emotional strain for the last eighteen months, some of it external, some of it self-created. You've done a decent job of dealing with it, not perfect, but decent, until today. Today, finally, you cracked under the strain. My job is to repair the cracks enough so you can go to class tomorrow and not wreck your chances for medical school. I'll want to see you every day for the next week, at least."

I got out of bed and, pulled on my jeans and, put on my shirt, then sat back down on the bed.

"Will 9:00am work? My first class is at 10:00am."

"I can do that. I'll have to rearrange things a bit, but that's fine. I'll expect you at 9:00am every weekday, starting tomorrow. What do you intend to do tonight?"

"I suppose I'll eat dinner here, then go back to the dorm for study group."

Doctor Hart shook his head, "Don't study tonight. Take it easy. It's only the second week of the semester. Do you have any assignments due tomorrow which aren't finished?"

"No."

"And no quizzes?"

"Latin. We have our weekly quiz on Fridays. I do need to study a bit for that."

"Do that. Otherwise, no studying until Sunday. Catch up on Sunday afternoon if you need to. Doctor's orders. Also, no alcohol and absolutely no drugs."

"Come on, Doc," I sighed. "Me?"

"Yes, you. What exactly do you think it is that drives doctors to drink and abuse drugs? Owning a huge house, driving a Mercedes, having a wife and kids, and a gorgeous teenage mistress?"

"That last one might," I chuckled. "But no, of course not. Stress."

"At least I got you to laugh. That's a good sign. Yes, of course, stress. And easy access to uppers, downers, and anything else you can dream of. Who's going to hold you accountable?"

There was no doubt in my mind who it had to be. The one person I was sure would keep me on the straight and narrow. My current kindred spirit.

"Clarissa."

"Then I'll speak to her before you go back to your dorm. She'll have strict instructions to call me if you come within twenty feet of a bottle of liquor or anything stronger than aspirin or Tylenol."

"After what happened in Chicago last September, I'm not taking Tylenol, for sure. I'll stick to aspirin!"

"That was crazy, but it was limited to a couple of stores in Chicago despite the nationwide recall. But that aside, I'm serious. I'm also going to instruct Clarissa that if you try to deceive or co-opt her, she's to call me."

"My own personal «Комитет государственной безопасности» (Komitét gosudárstvennoy bezopásnosti) officer! Turning my friend into a «стукач» (stukach)!"

"I take it that first one is KGB?"

"Yes. The other word means 'snitch' or 'stool pigeon'."

"I could send you to Moore Memorial Hospital until I was sure you wouldn't do those things. Work with me, and I'll work with you."

"«Доверяй, но проверяй» (Doveryai, no proveryai)," I said.

"What's that?"

"A Russian proverb — 'Trust, but verify'."

"That hits the nail right on the head. I'm going to ask Milena to walk you back to the dorm after dinner and ensure she hands you off directly to Clarissa. For tomorrow, I want you to think about all the stressors in your life and make a list of them, no matter how minor. We're going to develop a plan to deal with them which doesn't involve sex."

"Sandy might just kill you," I said.

"That's HER stress relief, Mike, not yours. You're just along for the ride, so to speak."

"Ouch."

"Is there more to it that you aren't letting on?"

"There was, which, of course, induced some stress. But then I figured out what I was doing wrong."

"Put it on the list, then. Be thorough. If one of your professors has a voice that annoys you, I want it on the list."

"Well, I know what goes at the top, then."

"What?"

"A VERY annoying counselor!"

Doctor Hart laughed, "If I wasn't at or near the top of the list, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"I thought you were going to help me reduce stress," I said.

"Yes, but in the process, we're likely to induce more as we come up with ways for you to deal with it. In the end, your overall stress levels should go down. I think it's safe for me to go, but you need to come out and stay with Doctor Blahnik or Milena and her friend."

"Maybe I'll just invite Milena and Deb to come in here and work off some of my stress!"

"That would be a singularly bad idea, Mike. It's one of the reasons I said what I said before. Sex can be an addiction, too. And doctors have access to plenty of willing flesh."

"Hmm..." I smirked.

"Tomorrow, 9:00am. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good. You'll be OK, Mike."

"Thanks, Doc."

We shook hands, and I followed him out of the bedroom. After he spoke briefly with Doctor Blahnik and Milena, he left, and a short time later, dinner was ready.

"Are you feeling better, Mike?" Doctor Blahnik asked.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," I said.

"You did have us a bit worried. I'm glad your friends called Doctor Hart. He's a good man. He can help you through whatever it is that happened."

I took a deep breath and let it out, "A serious falling out with my oldest, dearest friend. It finally came to a head today, and not in a good way."

"Next time, find someone to talk to," she said. "If not Doctor Hart, come find me. For the most part, I'm either here, in my office, or in class."

"Or me, Mike," Milena said. "I'm usually either here or somewhere in the music department."

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome here any time, too," Doctor Blahnik said. "If you just need to escape or hide out or whatever, we have that spare room. And I can promise you a good, home-cooked meal.

"Thanks."

I ate sparingly because I still wasn't very hungry, but I made sure to eat enough so as not to have Doctor Blahnik be concerned enough to call Doctor Hart again. When I finished eating, I offered to help clean up, and when we finished, I retrieved my jacket, hat, and gloves, and then Milena and I ventured out into what had become a serious snowstorm.

"We haven't had a storm like this since around '78," Milena observed.

"I remember that one. We were off school for almost two weeks because the entire county was snowed under."

"McKinley wasn't quite so bad, but it took a few days to get the roads cleared in the city. The county roads took more than a week."