All The Ways We Touch [BxB]

seventy-five - no fun, only games pt. two

Once Timothy finished eating, he told Sarah to scoop out another bowl. The C.D. had been playing for well over twelve hours, and it was time to check in on Jamison and give him his therapy. "Elliot, if you like that, I think you'll really like Psalms," he said, getting up and taking the bowl from Sarah. "Maybe give it a go while I'm gone."

Elliot nodded and looked back down at the Bible, grinding up the inside of his cheek between his molars. Was it a good thing that Timothy was going to see Jamison? His heart ached for his boyfriend, and he hoped that something in Jamison was keeping him strong. He was a fighter, the bravest person he'd ever met, and his continued survival under these conditions was the most courageous thing that he could do.

Timothy strolled down to the facility and unlocked it, going directly to Jamison's room. He paused and bent over, turning off the portable stereo, then unlocked the door, swinging it open slowly to find Jamison cowering under his bed. It wasn't the first time he'd found him in such a way, and he doubted it would be the last.

"Jamie," he said firmly, standing in the doorway, "come out from there and sit on your bed. I've brought you food."

"I'm not hungry," he said, a tremble to his voice. It was clear that he was upset, and he was doing a poor job of hiding it.

Timothy couldn't help but think about Elliot studying alone when he should be there, helping guide him. "I don't care if you're hungry or not," Timothy said, growing impatient. "Come eat."

Jamison slowly pushed off the wall with his feet and slowly glided out from underneath the bed. He got onto the bed, his eyes cast at his lap, the C.D. still playing in his mind. It was so loud that he didn't hear Timothy cross to him.

"Here," Timothy repeated, shoving it further under his nose. "Eat up, Jamie. We've got work to do."

Taking the bowl, Jamison picked at it with the fork, moving it around the bowl but not taking a bite. It was especially cruel to make him eat something so acidic before he was going to make him puke, and if he had any tears left in him, he'd break right back down. "How's Elliot?"

"Will you eat if I tell you?"

"Sure."

Sighing, Timothy leaned back against the wall across from him. Jamison was acting like such a child. It was so nice that Elliot had the decency to treat him respectfully. "He's fine. He just ate and is studying the Bible."

Jamison looked up at him, unsure if he heard him correctly, his eyes narrowed in on him. "You're making him do Bible study?"

"No," Timothy said, grinning. "That's the beautiful part. That wonderful man asked me for a Bible this morning. He told me that he'd like to learn about Jesus Christ."

Jamison nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of the information. Was he sincere, or was he already undergoing some kind of Stockholm Syndrome? Or was he doing it for some other reason? It sure seemed to make Timothy like him. Maybe that was the plan: butter Timothy up. He just had to hope that's what he was doing. "Wow," he said, then shoved a tiny bite into his mouth if only to appease the increasingly angry-looking Timothy.

"You're going to finish that before we move on." What was the point of therapy if he had nothing in his stomach?

Squeezing his eyes closed, Jamison tried to wish Timothy and the spaghetti away, but when he opened them and glanced up at him and down at his bowl, they were both still there. The lack of rest was making him feel strange.

Suddenly, Elliot's scream cracked through his head as he tried to shovel the spaghetti into his mouth as quickly as possible. It was no less pleasant than eating it slowly, so he may as well get it over with faster. When he finished, he held the bowl out to Timothy, not wanting it to remain in his room, stinking it up.