“I was too busy being angry at everything and everyone, and sulking and feeling sorry for myself. And by the time I started showing signs, I didn’t think anything of it because, separately, they’re all such minor issues. They aren’t, like, glaringly obvious signs like you’d see with other diseases or infections.”
“Like what?”
“For a while, I had flu-like symptoms. A fever, chills, body aches. I was tired a lot. My throat was sore constantly. That didn’t go away for a long time. I had swollen lymph nodes. But not all of this happened at one time. Some here, some there. So, like I said, it wasn’t obvious. It just seemed like I was continuously sick, which checked out, honestly. I was working my ass off, drinking way too damn much, popping pills to numb the grief and anger over losing Lana.” Chancing a look at him, I add, “And you. I wasn’t taking care of myself, so it made sense that I was getting sick.”
Thinking back on that time of my life has always felt like watching from the outside. I was so lost and angry, my health on such a decline. Honestly, it’s a miracle I even survived that year of my life at all. And somehow, telling Josiah all of this, while terrifying, also feels… okay. Like, if I were going to share my deepest secrets with anybody, it would be him.
27
JOSIAH
It’s getting late, the sky dark by now, and the power is still out. I wonder if it’ll come back on any time soon. Part of me wishes it doesn’t, because it feels like under the guise of darkness, Segan’s able to be more open with me than he normally would had the circumstances been different.
I sift over everything he’s told me so far as we both move to sit with our backs against the headboard. There’s so much I want to ask, but don’t know where to start.
“So, how did you find out you had it?” I finally ask.
“I had been sick for weeks, and it just wasn’t getting better, so I finally made myself go to the doctor to see if there was anything they could do.” Segan runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes meeting mine as he continues. “He checked me out, had me get blood work done. That came back weird. My red and white blood cells were all over the place. He ended up sending me to an internist who did a full workup on me, and tested me for just about everything under the sun.
“Those results came back, and I tested positive for the antibody that fights against HIV. That by itself isn’t enough for a proper diagnosis, though. I then had to take a second test called the Western blot test, which in simple terms basically confirmed that I did, in fact, have HIV.” He clears his throat. I wonder if it’s hard for him to talk about. He mentioned he’s never told anybody this aside from his therapist, so this is probably the first time he’s voiced any of this out loud in years. “At the time of the test, I had over half a million particles of HIV in a single milliliter of blood—essentially just a drop. Which is a lot. My body was basically being invaded by HIV, and it was attacking my good T-cells. “
“Fuck, Segan…” Even though I’ve known about this for years, it’s still mind blowing to hear him talk about it. “What happened after that?”
He chuckles humorlessly. “Well, the day after I got the news from the Western blot test was the night you ran into me at Mickey’s, so…”
My throat constricts as memories flash through my mind of that night. Not only seeing him at the bar and having him punch me in the face, but also after. The eerie quietness of his house by the time I was able to break the kitchen window open and climb inside.
The blood. So much blood. There was a tangy, copper smell in the air inside his bedroom that was so strong, I could taste it.
How pale and lifeless he was.
How unresponsive he was.
That night is what my worst nightmares are made of. Being so utterly helpless in that situation. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing if I could do anything. I don’t even remember calling 9-1-1, but I did. And I know I had to have been frantic. I don’t recall talking to the paramedics when they arrived, or the drive to the hospital, following behind the ambulance so closely, one of the medics berated me for it.
The relief I felt when the doctor finally came to tell me he was going to be okay was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. And the bone-deep, heavy exhaustion that took over when I realized I could finally relax a little becauseSegan was going to be okay.
That whole week was one of the hardest of my life, and leaving the hospital and driving back to Nevada after he kicked me out was devastating. I remember thinking how leaving Utah the first time was hard, but it had nothing onthatfeeling. The feeling of knowing I was leaving him when he needed someone the most, but that I couldn’t make him want me there.
“Are you okay now?” I ask.
He smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. I was put on medication for the HIV upon leaving the hospital, but after I was discharged from my psych stay, I wasn’t very consistent with them. That changed after I had my second stay. I’ve been on medication ever since.”
“Is it a lot of medication?”
“Nah,” he replies with a shake of the head. “It’s a single pill that I take daily. I have to get blood work done every three to four months to check on things, and I’ve been undetectable for years now.”
“Meaning what? You don’t have it anymore?”
“I’ll always have it, until some scientist finds a cure for it. Being undetectable means that the HIV is unable to be picked up on a blood test. It also means I can’t transmit it. And it should stay that way so long as I continue taking my medication every day.”
Wow.My brows raise as I take that in. That’s something I definitely didn’t know. “And you’ll live a full, long life?”
“Assuming nothing else kills me first, yeah.” He chuckles, the sound one of my favorites. Segan isn’t much of a laugher—at least he wasn’t back then—so hearing him do so is like seeing the clouds clear and the sky shine after a storm. “Modern medicine has come far in the last few decades. HIV used to be a death sentence for those infected, and now it’s completely manageable. People go on to live long, healthy lives, and can have normal sex lives without fear of passing it on to their partners.”
“So, then why haven’t you…” I don’t finish the sentence, but he knows what I’m asking all the same.
The left side of his mouth tilts into a smirk. “Because, like I said earlier, to me, this conversation isn’t one I’m comfortable having with one-night stands. Especially not with as in the public eye as I am. I’m not ashamed of my diagnosis, but I would also prefer if the entire world didn’t know. It’s just never…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s never been an issue.”
