Thread: Psychotic (for Liam Dale)

Lance, at his 25, was sitting at the passenger seat of his friend and the only person who had taken care of him in a long time. She told him she had found a place for him, a shared house, with some other unfortunate guy. Not that Lance cared about living with someone else, after such a long time living on the streets, the idea of going back to a real house and not a shelter was simply great. Coming from a rich family of absent parents that were never there for him, unless there was some kind of social event, in those times, they were the perfect model family, of course. His older sister was a doctor and his brother was lawyer, the family achievements, but Lance's hobby was swimming and he was training to be an Olympic swimmer. After years of begging, his parents finally allowed him to drop school to focus on his training. He was missed at school after he left for both girls and boys, seen as the perfect boy, the athlete, that also had good grades if he wanted to, but he didn't had any real friends. Being gay and hiding it from everybody wasn't easy for him and sometimes it kept him away from people. Only when was almost eighteen and after winning a competition, he decided to tell his parents. They seemed so happy and proud of him, that Lance thought it was a good a moment to come out and try to be himself around his parents and finally stop all the questions about why he didn't have a girlfriend yet. And so he told them that night, while they were coming back home, and he was never allowed into his home again, since that moment. Claiming it to be a sin and other religious bullshit, as Lance always saw it, his father kicked him out, and his mother just did nothing to stop him, or try to bring his younger child back home. Lance left with what he had on his backpack, a change of clothes and cellphone. More than leaving, at first what he did was waiting, hours at the door, hoping his parent would think about it, but they didn't. And finally Lance left them, walking the night from the suburbs to down town. He had little cash that kept him fed that night, and that was all. He ended up selling everything. One night, Dr. Linda Sanders found him, or the shadow of what he used to be. The young but well built swimmer body was gone, his face and arms tanned, his skin was dry and the cold of winter had cracked his lips. The ash blonde hair that once was short and always well styled was now a long tangle. His bright blue eyes had lost their shine, the red around them was bright though. But maybe the most distinctive was his coughing, that was what called Sanders' attention that night. Used to work with people in Lance's situation, she stopped by him and took a moment to study him, before saying or doing anything, but she finally decided to take him with her to the clinic. Lance answered all of her questions, thinking that she would only give him new pants and send him back to the street, but he was wrong. During that night, while Sanders, as he always called her, run some test on him, Lance told her his whole life. He learnt soon enough that he could get money, food or clothes in exchange for himself, a boy of his look wasn't common at all on the streets and there were more than one person interested in him. Lance met a drug dealer, and somehow he started working for him, selling for him and always finding a way to get tips from the clients for himself. And so he survived, until Sanders found him. She helped him a lot. First of all, she made him leave the dealer, but he still had his ways to get what he was into. She gave him clothes, shoes, let him shower at the clinic and cut his hair, she started buying him food almost daily and tried to make him to go to sleep at shelters. But Lance hated them, shelters were always crowded and he couldn't sleep without waking up to find out his stuff was gone. Once she had the tests back, and knowing he had chronic pneumonia, she took care of his treatment. But she could only give him the medicine once every month, and Lance turned to drugs to ease the symptoms. When he was high, there was no hunger, no pain, nothing, and having his mind out of himself, there was no way he could care about what could happen to him. As far as he knew, he was quite happy while being out. More than a year later, and seeing a yet slow but constant improvement in Lance, Sanders decided to call Jen, a social worker and friend of her, to try and help him. She made him promise to leave the drugs, knowing it was going to be so hard for him, but it was also the best. Lance glanced the house from the car and sighed, now that he had to leave Sanders, he wasn't that sure about the whole idea. Sanders pushed him a little, smiling at him and encouraging Lance to get down the car and knock the door. He showed her a small smile and took a look of himself at the rearview mirror, he definitely looked a lot more as he used to, he looked more like someone at least half ready to live at a house. He left the car, and walked to the door, carrying his backpack, a gift from Sanders along with everything inside of it. Lance knocked the door, and waiting standing out there felt eternal for him, his mind filled with questions about the other guy. He only knew that he had lost his home and family and spent years at a hospital, something about some mind issues, but nothing more, he didn't even knew his name. Lance looked back, only to see that Sanders smiled at him and left. He sighed again, tightening his scarf a little around his neck.