The Friend Across the Hall

Author's Note: This is fourth and final installment in the series, and it follows "The Ex-Girlfriends Across the Hall".

* * * * * * * * *

"Thank you for saving me. Thank you for trusting me. I'm so glad we get to be together like this, Chris."

I was glad, too. Bordering on ecstatic. But I've jumped ahead. Let me catch you up.

If you've ever been dumped by a girlfriend, you know it can be devastating. I hadn't experienced it before, but I had observed others for whom it was a heart-breaking experience. Having never had a girlfriend until recently, I had been spared both the joy of a relationship's intimacy and the pain of a relationship ending.

Having a girlfriend - three, actually - happened quickly and very unexpectedly. Losing all three happened abruptly, and although I was pretty sure it was my fault, I wasn't clear on why exactly. I'm sure it had something to do with the special circumstances that accompany my now ex-girlfriends. I met them when Sly moved in across the hall. Sly is a really great guy, and he had become a good friend. We were kindred spirits of a sort; both of us had a mental illness we battled on a daily basis. Mine is anxiety, which surfaces in social situations, particularly around women. This was not just shyness or social awkwardness; I would have full-blown anxiety attacks, complete with dizziness, elevated pulse, shallow rapid breathing - the works. I can function without anxiety - I avoid using terms like "normally" or "like a regular person" because it implies a judgment that is neither fair, nor necessary, nor accurate - when I am teaching or tutoring or even having a casual conversation. If the conversation turns personal, the walls fly up and I have to resist the urge to flee. And I do flee, a lot. I can't tell you why these situations set me off. Neither can my doctors, nor modern psychiatry for that matter. I take my meds, I go to my therapy, and I live my life.

Sly's condition is more complicated. Sly is gay, a fact with which he has no problem. He isn't ashamed, and he doesn't feel like there is anything wrong with being a homosexual. His condition is driven by fear. There are enough gay-bashers and homophobes in the world to make anyone feel unsafe (and disgusted), and I can only imagine how bad it is for someone who is gay. Sly had been the victim of bullying and physical abuse, for no other reason than he is gay, and that trauma sent him spiraling into episodes of panic, blackouts and time loss, and it prompted him to avoid any pursuit of a relationship with another man. He was a gay man, but he couldn't show it, enjoy it, live it out loud. To the rest of the world, other than having long hair which he wore in a ponytail (which hipsters and rednecks alike have been doing for years) Sly looked like any other guy you'd see on the street.

Sly's trauma also manifested itself in what might clinically be referred to as multiple personality disorder. After a particularly horrific encounter with some violent gay-hating neanderthals, Sly experienced an epic melt-down where he passed out from panic and exhaustion. When he awoke, there was another persona that had assumed temporary ownership of his body - this was Sylvia. Sylvia is a heterosexual woman; she believes she is a woman, she behaves like a woman, and she has the urges of a woman. The details of her body - which is Sly's - are not acknowledged or relevant to Sylvia. Sylvia is a beautiful redhead, with a killer smile, and tender personality. She is also a master (mistress?) at giving oral pleasure, a fact I learned after Sly - and Sylvia - shared the details of Sly's condition with me. Having become friends with Sly, something deep in the tangled wiring of my anxieties let me also accept Sylvia as a friend, rather than causing me the social paralysis I'd have had if I'd met an actual biological female. The miraculous part, for me at least, was that since Sylvia - a personality that had emerged from within Sly's traumatized mind - is a woman, I became strongly attracted to her, and that attraction did not conflict with my heterosexuality.

As it turned out, Sylvia - and several other personalities that I subsequently met - was created in Sly's mind as a safe way to experience intimacy and sexual pleasure. As a gay man, Sly risked persecution if he pursued men, a risk his psyche was no longer strong enough to take. As a woman, Sylvia could pursue men as often and enthusiastically as she desired. Lucky me, Sylvia enjoyed being intimate with me. It's not like I'm particularly good looking - average height, average build, average looks. I think I was at an advantage because of my relationship with Sly. And living across the hall didn't hurt either.

After Sylvia, I also met and experienced a variety of delicious sexual encounters with two of Sly's other personas: Felicia, a short-haired blonde whose businesslike attire belied her somewhat less demure bedroom manners, and Sandy the beach bunny, whose long blonde hair and sun-kissed freckles helped me overcome inhibitions and experience pleasures I had never dreamed of.

I also accidentally met Dixie, a domme whose company I'd happily avoid. All told, these ladies - who with the exception of Dixie I had dubbed the Girlfriends (note the capital "G") in my head as both a term of endearment and title of pride - were able to safely experience and share the pleasures that were inaccessible for Sly. And I was the very fortunate beneficiary of the Girlfriends' existence.

Right up until they dumped me. I was deep inside Felicia's pussy and had just exploded spectacularly (or at least I thought so). I was so very appreciative of this gift of pleasure and closeness that she had given me. I also recognized that, unlike another time with her, she had not cum. With only the best intentions and without really thinking about the implications, I reached around and began to fondle her crotch. As near as I could tell, after replaying the moment for the ten thousandth time in the month since the Girlfriends disappeared from my life, I must have crossed some boundary from which there was no coming back. Road to hell, good intentions, etc.

So, in the blink of an eye I went from social outsider who had been granted the miracle of a sex life and emotional closeness that would be the envy of the most accomplished stud, to a shattered and lonely grad student who longed for what he had inadvertently squandered. Having been to the top of the proverbial mountain, the fall was far worse than if I had never climbed.

Although the Girlfriends had vanished, Sly was still my neighbor. The exchange of information between the Girlfriends and Sly was not perfect or complete, but he sensed enough to know that the relationships had soured. This put us both in a difficult situation. Sly and I were friends. I had few enough friends that losing one would be a blow, which on top of everything else would have been devastating. It's not like I would look at Sly and instantly think of Sylvia or Sandy; their personalities were so different and complete that other than a passing "family resemblance" they were all unmistakably unique. What made it hard was the knowledge that a big part of my life had changed and that was in conflict with what hadn't changed at all. It just didn't compute.

Sly and I remained cordial. We even had a beer together once or twice in the weeks following the break-up. But there was no denying that we were growing apart as friends. Avoiding this would have been difficult under the best of circumstances, but for someone like me for whom stressful social interactions were like poison, it was inevitable. And that made me even sadder. Despite the meds and increased therapy sessions, I was in a funk.

Winter had arrived. I don't like snow, but the bleak chill and overcast sky suited my mood. Sunshine and flowers would have seemed inappropriate. I had started taking long walks to clear my head and get regular exercise and fresh air in my lungs. The campus had many long roads that wound between old buildings with narrow sidewalks in front. Even in the gloom, it was picturesque. With finals approaching, there were very few people out walking - most people were either in the libraries or at home studying for exams and finishing papers. That suited me fine.

Sometimes, though, things just happen.

It was a Friday in the late afternoon, and I was walking back from picking up a sandwich at a deli just off campus. I passed the campus gate and walked briskly, keeping my head down to shield my face from the cold wind that had kicked up. The wind did not, however, muffle the angry shouting I heard on the sidewalk up ahead on the other side of the road. Had I not looked up, or if I'd ordered a hot sandwich instead of a cold one, I'd have missed everything, and my life would be vastly different. Like I said, sometimes things just happen.

I looked across the street. A pick-up truck had pulled into a campus bus stop and there were three large men, probably late 20's or early 30's pointing and yelling at a small group of scared looking people on the sidewalk. I could hear words like "faggot" and "queer" and "butt-fucking homo" being shouted. As I drew closer, much to my horror, I saw Sly in the middle of the group, along with two women and a man. The two women I had met when I went to an impromptu pizza dinner with Sly and some of his theater arts colleagues: Alexandra the pretty ingenue, and Kelly with the tan skin and long blonde hair. I hadn't seen the man before. This was a nightmare scenario for Sly - being bullied and threatened for being gay was what sent him into the depths of depression from which his multiple personalities - the Girlfriends - had evolved as a safety net. He had managed to avoid any of that kind of abuse by remaining low key about his homosexuality and repressing any urge for a love life, outside the protective shell of Sylvia and the others.

The shouting escalated to pushing; the girls were screaming. The man I didn't know was holding his hands up, trying to placate the aggressors. In between was Sly, fists clenched, staring right at the biggest and loudest of the three men. I was terrified. I was about to see my friend get a beating under the absolute worst conditions imaginable for him.

My friend.

Without thinking, I bolted out into the street, narrowly missing getting clipped by a bicycle, and ran up to the shoving match that was about to become a full-on brawl. As I got closer, I realized that the three bullies were not shouting the slurs at Sly; they were accosting the other man, and Sly was trying to place himself between him and the increasingly agitated thugs.

"He's a fucking faggot and we don't want any fucking faggots in our town!" This was the first time I'd ever seen or heard this kind of hate up-close and in-person. It was terrifying and nauseating.

"Look, just leave him alone. He's not bothering you, this can all end without anyone getting hurt," Sly said.

"The only one getting hurt is that fairy, unless you don't get out of the way." The big man pushed Sly.

And I caught him before he fell backwards, much to his surprise. He looked back at me, and he had rage in his eyes. I'm sure he recognized me, but his mind was elsewhere. Sly got up in his attacker's face and said, "Back the fuck off."

Things happened pretty quickly after that. Or so I'm told; some of it's still blurry.

The big man took a swing at Sly, who ducked, the blow landing against his upstretched arm instead of his head. I tried to step between the other two men and Sly and got pushed to the ground for my trouble. Alexandra was screaming but Kelly rather fearlessly pushed the guy who'd thrown the punch in the back, which threw him off balance, making even angrier. I think at the last second he realized he was about to punch a girl roughly half his size, because instead of landing a punch he slapped Kelly on the shoulder with his open hand, sending her tumbling off the sidewalk and into the street.

And into the path of a campus bus which had veered around the pickup truck in the bus stop. To this day I don't remember what happened next; others had to fill in the details. Apparently, I saw Kelly lying in the street with her back to the oncoming bus. I jumped off the sidewalk, threw myself at her, and shoved her out of the way. And then, apparently, I was hit by the bus.

Physics question: if a bus traveling 15 miles per hour hits a 170-lb. object moving perpendicularly to the bus, how far will the body be thrown?

The correct answer is: OUCH.

I was unconscious or sedated for the rest of that day and most of the next. The bright fluorescent lights in the hospital ward made my eyes water and either the drugs or the thump to my head (or both) made my vision blurry. I had an oxygen mask over my face. The first cogent thought I had after I woke up was about how much it hurt to breathe. The alternative wasn't very appealing, so I tried to count my blessings, but, you know, OUCH.

I could feel a brace on my neck, so my range of vision was pretty narrow. I could hear talking out in the hallway and a variety of hospital sounds. I could feel my chest tightening and I started breathing more rapidly, which made my chest hurt even more, increasing my anxiety even further. Not good.

Then I felt a hand on mine. "Hi. Nice to see you awake." Female voice. I could just make out her silhouette. Long straight blonde hair. My breathing slowed down. Sandy. I smiled beneath the oxygen mask, and I'm sure the drugs helped, but I immediately felt safe again. One of the Girlfriends had returned. Maybe life was going to be OK again. I tried to squeeze her hand, but my fingers were hard to move. "You relax," I heard her say. "Sleep. I'll be here." I closed my eyes and felt a sticky kiss on my forehead. Sandy and her shiny sticky lips. Maybe everything would be OK. And then I drifted off to a drug-induced sleep.

I awoke the next day and, true to her word, Sandy was sitting by my bedside. And standing next to her was Sly.

Wait.

What?

Sly was standing next to Sandy. Clearly, I was still asleep. I tried to blink my eyes a few times, but my vision was still blurred.

"There he is," I heard Sly say. "Man, you sure can sleep." I tried to speak but could only grunt, which was further muffled by the oxygen mask. "Relax, don't speak. They have your jaw partially wired shut. You took quite a shot." I had no recollection of what he was talking about. "That bus is driving around with an impression of your face in its grill." He laughed, a little uncomfortably. And Sandy smacked him on the arm.

But it wasn't Sandy. I tried to focus my eyes but was still having difficulty. "You be nice to him, Sly. He saved my life." Her voice caught in her throat as she said it. Some of the pieces were beginning to fall together. Kelly. The friend of Sly's from theater arts, with the blonde hair and chapped lips that she kept putting gloss on. She had been tossed into the street and I pushed her out of the way. And got hit by a bus. I winced at the vague memory.

A doctor - tall, balding, neatly trimmed beard, holding a clipboard with a nurse in tow - walked into the room. "How are you doing today?" Given that he was probably the one who wired my jaw shut I assumed he wasn't waiting for an answer. "We're going to start lowering the meds today. You'll be more alert, but it'll hurt more. But just for a few days. There's no reason you shouldn't be healed up and ready to go home in four or five days, a week tops."

A week?!? What the hell happened?

As if reading my mind - probably not difficult right then - the doctor said, "This could have been a lot worse. The bus hit your shoulder first, which was dislocated, and threw you on to your back. The impact broke your collarbone and when your head hit the pavement and knocked you out, you suffered a concussion." I didn't want to imagine what "a lot worse" would have been. "There was no internal bleeding and your CT scan looked good, all things considered."

As the doctor finished reading the summary of my injuries, Kelly started sobbing. She covered her mouth and fled the room. As she left I noticed her left arm had a cast on it.

"There's a call button by your right hand. Just push it if you need anything, need to pee, whatever. It seems like you're pretty well taken care of, though," the doctor said with a smile. "Your girlfriend's barely left your side since you got here." I winced at the term. She wasn't my Girlfriend. My Girlfriends are gone. And I'm stuck here in the hospital, with probably months of pain and rehab in front of me. And for what?

For Sly. He was in trouble and he needed help. And you're his friend. I felt my heart slow down a bit. I was no happier about my situation than I was before, but at least now I knew why I was laid up here.

"Try to get some rest," the doctor said over his shoulder as he walked out. Decent suggestion.

Sly and I were alone in the room. He put a hand on my good shoulder and said, "Seriously, Chris, I'm glad you're OK. I was really scared. I'm glad ..." His voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say; I wouldn't have either. Fortunately, with my jaw wired, I had a good excuse. We sat together in silence like that for a few minutes, when Kelly returned. Her eyes were a little puffy, but she had a brave smile on her face.

"Sly," she said. "Could I talk to Chris for a second? Alone?" The jump in my heart rate on the monitor was almost comical. Why does she want to be alone? I don't want to be alone with her. I was praying that Sly would realize that, but Kelly's look was imploring him to step out of the room. He smiled kindly, turned around, and walked out.

Kelly sat down on the bed and took my hand in hers. My chest was tightening, and my pupils were dilated. Sadly, I was in an ICU and was in sorry shape but, happily, any reaction I had to Kelly could easily be interpreted as something medical. "I want you to know that I can never thank you enough for what you did. I owe you my life." She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead again. Sticky.

And the blood pressure alarm went off. She giggled. She thought the kiss must have gotten me excited. She had no idea I was having a panic attack. Sly heard the alarm and figured out the problem pretty quickly. He raced back in and gently nudged Kelly off the bed. "Hey, let's not get our boy too worked up. He's gotta rest." He left out the part about "He's physically unable to withstand you being affectionate and you'll do more harm than the bus if you don't stop." Probably for the best.

"OK. I'll be back later then, after you sleep." She hugged Sly and left.

"Sorry, I should have known." He paused. "She really feels horrible about what happened, and she can't stop talking about how brave you were. After you stepped in, pushed Kelly out of the way of the bus and got hit yourself, the three guys bolted. If you hadn't shown up, we'd have gotten pummeled. Sorry to tell you, you're becoming the stuff of legend around campus." Awesome, I thought to myself, now I have to transfer somewhere else. "Get some sleep, man. I'll come back tomorrow. I brought your clothes and your meds from your apartment. I'll leave them in the bag and tell your nurses to check the scripts, so you don't, you know, wig out." From anyone else that might have seemed insensitive, but Sly and I were fellow sufferers, so he could get away with it. He turned to leave. "And, Chris? Thank you. You didn't have to step in like you did." I did, though - I really did have to. Sly walked out and I fell asleep.

The lights in in the ICU were dimmed a little. Nighttime. Even at night it was bright enough that you couldn't sleep well unless drugged (which I was but not as heavily) but still dark enough that you needed to squint to see well. I didn't really need my sight right then. I smelled familiar perfume in the air.