Throwaways
by SalientLane
Chapter 6
Eli counted eight people in the therapy circle today. Nine if you included Dr. Chen, who kept checking her watch like she had somewhere better to be. Jamie sat next to him, knee bouncing in that way it did when he was bored. Group therapy at the crisis center wasn't exactly a highlight of anyone's week, but today the room felt different. Tighter. Like someone had sucked out half the air.
"Let's begin," Dr. Chen said, pushing her glasses up. She had dark circles under her eyes that her makeup couldn't hide. "Who wants to start with a check-in?"
Nobody volunteered. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
"Fine. We'll go around the circle. Ryan?"
Ryan, a lanky kid with acne scars and perpetually chewed fingernails, shrugged. "Same shit, different day."
Dr. Chen didn't even correct his language, which was the first real sign something was off. She just nodded and moved on.
Jamie's knee kept bouncing. Eli placed his hand on it, and Jamie stilled. Their eyes met briefly – a silent conversation in a second. Something's wrong.
The check-ins continued. Danny had nightmares again. Marcus was three weeks clean. Zoe hadn't cut herself since last session. The usual progress reports and setbacks that made up the patchwork of healing in this place.
When it was Eli's turn, he kept it simple. "I'm good. Been reading that SF book I mentioned last time." He didn't mention the nightmares, or how he and Jamie hadn't had a full night's sleep for a while lately. Some things were just for him and Jamie to know.
Jamie's check-in was equally brief. "Yeah, what he said." A few people snorted. Dr. Chen just nodded distractedly.
After the last person spoke, Dr. Chen took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. The room went quiet. Even the usual fidgeters stopped moving.
"I need to address something," she finally said. "Many of you have been here long enough to consider this place home, and I want to be transparent with you all."
Eli felt his stomach drop. Nothing good ever followed a sentence like that.
"The center is facing some significant budget cuts. Metro Vancouver is redirecting funds, and—" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "we almost had to close our doors this month."
A collective intake of breath filled the room. The girl across from Eli – Marlene or Marley, he couldn't remember – let out a small, involuntary sound like she'd been punched.
"Almost?" Jamie spoke up, his voice sharp. "What does that mean, 'almost'?"
Dr. Chen's expression softened slightly. "It means we received an anonymous donation that will keep us operational for now. But I want you all to understand that the situation remains precarious."
"So what, we could be out on our asses any day?" Ryan asked, his casual tone betrayed by the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the edge of his chair.
"Language, Ryan. But essentially, yes. The funding landscape is uncertain." Dr. Chen looked each of them in the eye. "I'm telling you this not to frighten you, but because you deserve to know. We're exploring all options to secure stable funding."
Eli felt Jamie's shoulder press against his, seeking connection. He pressed back, a wordless promise.
"What happens to us if this place shuts down?" Tori asked, her voice small. She was only fifteen, had nowhere else to go.
"Social services would work to find appropriate placements for each of you," Dr. Chen said, the rehearsed answer sounding hollow even to her own ears, judging by her grimace.
"Yeah, because that worked so well the first time," Marcus muttered.
A tense silence followed. The crisis center was the last stop for most of them – the place you landed when foster homes, group homes, and relatives had all failed or weren't options.
"Look," Dr. Chen set her clipboard down, a rare unscripted moment. "I'm fighting for this place. For all of you. The person who made the donation bought us time, and I intend to use it. But I can't promise anything, and I won't lie to you about that."
The rest of the session devolved into questions Dr. Chen couldn't answer, fears she couldn't soothe. Eli stayed quiet, turning the information over in his mind, planning. Next to him, Jamie was doing the same, his face a mask of forced indifference that didn't fool Eli for a second.
When the hour ended, everyone scattered faster than usual, as if lingering might make the center disappear around them.
"You okay?" Eli asked Jamie when they were alone in the hallway.
Jamie's laugh was sharp and short. "Fantastic. Just found out our home has an expiration date. Living the dream."
"We'll figure it out."
"Will we?" Jamie's eyes met his, the fear there so naked it hurt to look at. "Where do we go, Eli? We're not little kids anymore. Nobody's looking to adopt teenagers, especially not fucked-up ones."
Eli grabbed Jamie's wrist, pulled him into an empty rec room. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and steady. "We've survived worse. Way worse. And we did it together."
"This place was supposed to be different," Jamie said, looking around at the faded posters about positive thinking and drug prevention. "Shit, I actually believed them when they said we could stay until we aged out."
"They're still fighting for this place," Eli reminded him. "And even if they lose, we're not separated. I won't let that happen."
Jamie's shoulders slumped, some of the fight leaving him. "You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
A small smile flickered across Jamie's face. "Your hero complex is showing."
"Whatever works." Eli nudged him with his shoulder. "Anyway, who's this mystery donor? Think it's some rich guy with a guilt complex?"
"Or someone who aged out and made it big," Jamie suggested, falling into their usual rhythm of banter, the panic receding slightly.
"Either way, we can't count on another miracle," Eli said. The weight of their situation settled over them like a physical thing. The crisis center had been their first real home in years. The idea of losing it made his chest tight.
Jamie nodded, his eyes suddenly distant. "Back to survival mode, then."
"We never really left it," Eli pointed out.
"True. But I kinda liked pretending."
They stood in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, facing the uncertain future together. The crisis center walls no longer felt as solid as they had that morning. But the one constant – the only one that mattered – remained: they had each other. And for Eli, that was enough to keep fighting for.
"'Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.' Damn." Jamie looked up from the book spread across his lap. "This is kinda intense." They sat on their pushed-together bed, backs against the wall, shoulders touching as they passed "The Song of Achilles" between them. Three days left until Steven's book club, and they still had almost half of the novel to go.
"Keep reading," Eli said. His huge SF novel lay abandoned on the nightstand. Alastair Reynolds could wait.
Jamie's finger traced the lines as he read. His voice changed slightly when he read Patroclus's parts, softened around the edges. "'I try to be worthy of his grief.'"
Something tightened in Eli's chest. He stole a glance at Jamie's profile – the sharp nose, the permanent furrow between his eyebrows, the small scar at his temple from a fight months ago. A fight Eli should have stopped.
"You think people actually love each other like that?" Jamie asked suddenly. "Like, ready to die without each other and shit?"
"Maybe," Eli shrugged, but his mind screamed yes.
"It's messed up that they had to hide it, though. Being together."
"Some things don't change," Eli muttered.
Jamie closed the book, keeping his finger between the pages to mark their place. "You think Steven picked this book on purpose? For us?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Like maybe he sees something." Jamie's cheeks flushed slightly. "Forget it. It's stupid."
Eli nudged him with his shoulder. "It's not stupid. I'd say, maybe he did, but they started reading it before we ran into them."
Jamie reopened the book, smiling slightly. "I think I'm Patroclus in this scenario."
"Nah. I'm definitely Patroclus."
"Please. You're totally Achilles. Best at everything, never shut up about it."
Eli shoved him lightly. "Asshole."
"Your asshole," Jamie grinned, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean—"
"I know what you mean," Eli said quickly. "Keep reading."
By Thursday night, they'd finished the book. They walked to the library together, breath fogging in the cold evening air. The crisis center wasn't far from the East Hastings Street branch, a modern building with too much glass and not enough soul, but at least it was warm inside.
Steven waved them over to a corner where chairs had been arranged in a loose circle. Five other teens were already seated, looking various degrees of bored and interested. Steven's smile was genuine.
"Glad you guys made it," he said, handing them each a paper cup of hot chocolate. "We're about to get started."
Eli sat next to Jamie, their knees almost touching. The hot chocolate was cheap powder mix, but it was hot and sweet and someone had made it for them, which made it better than most things they'd had lately.
"So," Steven said when everyone was settled, "The Song of Achilles. Thoughts?"
A girl with pink hair and too many earrings to count spoke first. "The gods were assholes."
"Thetis was the worst," added a boy with glasses. "No offense, but helicopter moms from hell are still helicopter moms."
The conversation flowed around them. Eli watched Jamie's face, the way he seemed to want to speak but kept stopping himself. Finally, Steven noticed.
"Jamie? Any thoughts on Patroclus?"
Jamie's hands tightened around his cup. "He's, uh, kind of a fuckup, right? At the beginning, at least. Cutting classes, almost getting himself flogged. But then he finds this... purpose, I guess. With Achilles."
"He finds himself," Steven nodded. "What about you, Eli? Thoughts on Achilles?"
Eli hadn't expected to be put on the spot. "He's not as perfect as everyone thinks. He acts tough, but really, he's just scared of being alone."
The boy with glasses snorted. "Dude, he's the greatest warrior who ever lived."
"Still scared," Eli insisted.
Steven leaned forward. "So we have a 'fuckup' and a scared warrior. But together, they're something else entirely. What do you think that says about relationships?"
"That sometimes you need someone else to see the parts of yourself you can't see," the pink-haired girl said.
"Or won't see," Jamie added quietly.
Steven nodded encouragingly. "And what about the idea of a therapon? Patroclus becomes Achilles' companion, his loyal friend."
Jamie sat up straighter. "It's more than that, though. It's like... he pledges himself to Achilles. Not because he has to, but because he wants to." He looked at Eli then, a flash of something vulnerable in his eyes. "If I were Patroclus, I'd choose that too. Just hang out with me and I'll keep you safe. Be my buddy and nobody will hurt you." He mimicked Eli's deeper voice, but there was no mockery in it.
Eli's throat felt tight. "And I'd say yes."
The room seemed to fade away for a moment as they looked at each other, some unspoken thing passing between them.
Someone cleared their throat, breaking the spell. The pink-haired girl was smiling at them. "You guys are cute."
"Super cute," agreed another girl with a purple streak in her hair. "You two together long?"
Jamie blushed. "We're not—"
"We are," Eli interrupted, surprising himself. "Together, I mean. Not long. Always."
His words didn't make sense, but somehow Jamie seemed to understand. His smile was small and private.
"Jesus, get a room," muttered a guy in the back corner, his face twisted in disgust, or maybe jealousy. "Thought this was a book club, not the pride parade."
The room went silent. Eli felt his body tense, ready for a fight.
"Actually, Alex," Steven's voice was calm but hard-edged, "this is a book club where we discuss literature with respect and openness. The novel is literally about the love between two men. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to check out the military history section instead. I hear they've got some new books on tanks. Very straight. Very metal. Not a feeling in sight."
A few people snickered. Alex's face reddened.
"Also," Steven continued, "Eli and Jamie are welcome here exactly as they are. If anyone has a problem with that, the door's right there." He pointed, not looking away from Alex.
Alex stood up, mumbled something about "whatever," and left.
"Now," Steven said, turning back to the group with a smile, "anyone else have thoughts on the epic friendship and love between Achilles and Patroclus?"
The rest of the session passed in a blur. Afterward, as people were gathering their things, Steven approached them.
"Sorry about Alex. He's working through some stuff."
"Thanks," Eli said. "For what you said."
Steven shrugged. "Just the truth. You two planning to come back next month? We're reading 'Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.'"
Jamie laughed. "You are picking these on purpose."
"Good books are good books," Steven said with a wink. "And good company makes them better."
Walking back to the crisis center, their hands bumped together once, twice, before Eli caught Jamie's fingers with his own.
"So," Jamie said, "you're my Achilles, huh?"
"And you're my therapon," Eli replied, mangling the pronunciation.
"That sounded dirty," Jamie laughed.
"Maybe it is."
Their laughter floated up into the night sky, momentarily louder than their fears. They had a new friend in Steven. They had each other. Life wasn't so bad.
The common room smelled like burned cheese and desperation. Eli poked at the macaroni on his tray, counting the peas someone had mixed in like they were trying to sneak in nutrition. Across from him, Jamie had already finished his portion and was eyeing Eli's. The TV blared some game show nobody was watching while eight separate conversations happened at once around the room. But underneath it all ran a current of whispers, of darting glances, of fear.
"You gonna eat that?" Jamie asked, nodding at Eli's tray.
Eli pushed it toward him. "All yours."
Jamie didn't need to be told twice. He started shoveling food into his mouth, a habit from years when the next meal wasn't guaranteed. Eli had the same habit, but tonight his stomach felt too tight for food.
"I heard they're shutting us down next month," said a girl at the next table. Marlene, that was her name. Not Marley.
Her friend leaned in. "My case worker said they're shipping some of us to Westside, and the rest are getting put back in the system."
"Bullshit," a boy countered. "They can't just dump us."
"Watch them," Marlene replied.
Jamie's fork paused halfway to his mouth. His eyes met Eli's.
Across the room, Ryan was holding court with his own theories. "The money guy who saved us? Probably some perv looking to score points. When that doesn't work out, he'll pull the funding."
"Shut up, Ryan," Tori snapped. "Not everything is a conspiracy."
"You think the system gives a shit about us? Wake up."
A staff member walking by shot Ryan a warning look. "Language."
The conversations dropped to murmurs as the staff member passed, then rose again like a tide.
"My brother aged out last year," said a kid Eli didn't know well. "He's living in his car now. Says it's better than the group home they tried to put him in."
Jamie pushed the half-eaten tray away. "I'm done."
Eli nodded. They bussed their trays and headed for the hallway that led to the boys' rooms. Behind them, the rumors continued to swirl, each one darker than the last.
Their room was small – two pushed-together twin beds, a dresser, and a desk. The walls were institutional beige, but they'd tacked up pages ripped from magazines, a movie poster someone had left behind, and a map of Canada that Jamie had found in the trash. It wasn't much, but it was more privacy than they'd had in a long time.
"You think it's true?" Jamie asked, sitting on their bed. "About closing down?"
Eli shrugged, but his shoulders felt stiff. "Dunno. Maybe."
"Ryan's full of shit, though."
"Usually."
They fell silent, listening to the muffled sounds of the center – footsteps in the hallway, a door closing somewhere, the distant hum of the industrial washing machines in the basement.
"Come here," Jamie said suddenly, moving over to make space.
Eli didn't hesitate. He crossed the small room and lay down next to Jamie, their bodies finding the familiar arrangement – Jamie's head on his shoulder, Eli's arm around him. They'd slept like this on park benches, in abandoned buildings, under bridges. It was comfort. It was home.
"If this place closes," Jamie said, his voice quiet against Eli's chest, "what do we do?"
"We stick together."
"Yeah, but how? They'll split us up, send us to different places."
Eli's arm tightened around him. "We leave before that happens."
"And go where? Back to the streets?" Jamie's voice had an edge of fear that made Eli's chest ache.
"If we have to. Or we find someplace else. Steven might help."
"We barely know him."
"He stood up for us."
Jamie was silent for a moment. "You think he'd really help?"
"Maybe. Better than nothing."
The ceiling had a water stain that looked like a map of somewhere else. Eli stared at it, trying to imagine a plan that didn't end with them hungry and cold and afraid again.
"I'm not going back to my dad's," Jamie said firmly. "I'd rather die."
"That's not an option."
"Which part? My dad or dying?"
"Both, asshole." Eli poked him in the ribs, and Jamie squirmed.
"What about your aunt? Would she—"
"No. Not an option." Eli cut him off. Eli hadn't told Jamie everything about that living situation. What his aunt's boyfriend had tried to do to him. Some things were better left unsaid.
They lay in silence for a while, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them like a physical thing.
"We could get jobs," Jamie suggested. "Save up enough for a crappy apartment."
"With what ID? What address? Who's gonna hire two homeless kids?"
"Fine, we'll rob a bank. Is that what you want to hear?"
Eli snorted. "You'd make a shitty bank robber. You apologize to vending machines when they eat your change."
"That was one time." Jamie's laugh vibrated against Eli's side.
The brief moment of humor faded, leaving them back with their reality.
"I'm scared," Jamie admitted, so quietly Eli almost didn't hear it. "I got used to this place. Beds. Food. People who don't completely suck."
"I know." Eli turned his head, his lips brushing against Jamie's hair. "But we survived before. We'll survive again."
"But I don't want to just survive anymore. I want..." Jamie trailed off.
"What?"
"I want normal shit. School. Stupid jobs at the mall when we get older. Movie nights without worrying if we'll have somewhere to sleep after."
Eli swallowed hard. "We'll get there. Maybe not now, but someday."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I know I'm not leaving you. Whatever happens – if this place closes, if they try to split us up – I'm not leaving you. We go together or we don't go at all."
Jamie pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at Eli's face. "Promise?"
"Promise."
In the dim light from the hallway that filtered under their door, Jamie's eyes were serious. "If we end up back on the streets, it'll be worse this time. We're softer, used to being comfortable. Different dangers."
"I know." Eli reached up, brushed a strand of hair from Jamie's forehead. "But the one thing that doesn't change is this. Us. Together."
Jamie nodded, lying back down, his body warm against Eli's.
Outside their room, the crisis center hummed with uncertainty. Rumors spread like wildfire, fear building with each retelling. But in their small room, on the pushed-together bed that they had begun to take for granted, Eli and Jamie had made their decision. They'd faced the streets before. They'd face them again if necessary. As long as they had each other, they had the only home that really mattered.
The elevator climbed with a smoothness that made Eli's stomach drop. Twenty-four floors. Who lived twenty-four floors above the ground? He glanced at Jamie, who was staring at the brushed steel doors like they might bite him. Steven stood between them, casual in jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than everything Eli owned.
"Mark's excited to see you two again," Steven said, breaking the silence. "He's been cooking all afternoon."
"You didn't have to do that," Jamie mumbled.
"He likes cooking. Gives him an excuse to show off."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a hallway with actual artwork on the walls. Not posters or prints, but real paintings in frames. The carpet looked clean enough to eat off.
"This way," Steven led them to a door at the end of the hall, keys already in hand. "Home sweet home."
The apartment opened up like something from a movie – all space and light and a view that punched Eli in the chest. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Vancouver spread out below, the city lights just beginning to twinkle as dusk settled. The furniture looked comfortable but expensive, nothing like the threadbare couches at the crisis center.
"Holy shit," Jamie whispered.
"Language," Steven said, but he was smiling. "Come on in. Make yourselves comfortable."
Eli couldn't move. His eyes darted from the view to the bookshelves that lined one wall, to the massive television, to the kitchen where Mark was chopping something on a wooden block.
"Eli! Jamie! Welcome," he called out. "Shoes off if you don't mind. Dinner's almost ready."
Eli toed off his sneakers, suddenly aware of the hole in his left sock. Jamie did the same, his movements stiff like he was afraid of breaking something just by existing near it.
"Check this out," Steven said, leading them to a corner of the living room.
Albums. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, arranged on wooden shelves. A fancy modern turntable sat on a stand, connected to an amp and speakers that looked like they could blow out the windows if turned up high enough.
"You collect records?" Jamie asked, his voice revealing the first hint of genuine interest.
"Since college," Steven nodded. "Mark thinks I'm crazy, but he's addicted to synthesizers, so he can't talk."
"I heard that," Mark called from the kitchen. "And I prefer 'passionate about electronic music,' thank you very much."
Steven rolled his eyes fondly. "Twenty years together and he still corrects me."
Twenty years. Eli tried to imagine knowing someone that long, loving them that long. He snuck a glance at Jamie, who was carefully flipping through one of the LP shelves.
"You like music?" Steven asked.
Jamie nodded. "Never had money for albums though."
"Well, you're welcome to listen to any of these whenever you visit."
Whenever. Not if. The word hung in the air like a promise.
"Dinner's ready," Mark announced. "Hope you boys like vegan meatball subs on sourdough baguettes with arugula salad."
The dining table was already set – actual cloth napkins folded next to real plates, not paper or plastic. Steam rose from a dish in the center, the smell rich and complex.
"This looks amazing," Eli said as they sat down.
"It's my mom's old recipe," Mark said. "With a few improvements she would probably call heresy. Cruelty-free meatballs."
The first bite made Eli close his eyes involuntarily. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something made with such care. Next to him, Jamie made a small sound of appreciation.
"So," Mark said once they were all eating, "Steven tells me you two are real bookworms."
Jamie almost choked. "I wouldn't go that far."
"They're being modest," Steven cut in. "They had excellent insights on 'The Song of Achilles' at book club. Connections I hadn't even considered."
Eli felt his face grow warm. "We just read the book."
"And understood it better than half the Honors English students I teach," Steven countered.
The conversation flowed easily after that. Mark told stories about his primary job as an architect, designing spaces that "didn't make people want to jump out the windows." Steven shared funny anecdotes about his students. Neither of them asked prying questions about the crisis center or why the boys were there. Instead, they treated Eli and Jamie like normal teenagers, like guests whose opinions mattered.
After dinner, Mark insisted they leave the dishes for later. "Let me give you the tour," he said, leading them through the apartment.
Besides the spacious living room and kitchen, there was a study lined with more books, a bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in, and two bedrooms. The master bedroom had the same incredible view as the living room. The second bedroom had been converted into a music room, with synthesizers, a keyboard, and more audio equipment than Eli could identify.
"This is where Steven tolerates my noise-making," Mark explained.
"It's not noise when you do it," Steven said, the affection in his voice unmistakable.
Back in the living room, Steven put on a record – something jazz-like that filled the space with warm brass and piano. Jamie wandered back to the record collection, fascinated.
"He's never had much chance to explore music," Eli explained quietly to Mark while Steven was showing Jamie how to handle the vinyl properly.
Mark nodded. "The center doesn't have much in the way of entertainment, I imagine."
"It's better than nothing."
"That's a low bar, Eli." Mark's eyes were kind but serious. "You two deserve better than 'better than nothing.'"
Across the room, Jamie was smiling as Steven explained something about the album cover he was holding. The apartment lights caught his profile, made him look softer somehow. Happier. Eli felt something catch in his throat.
"You care about him a lot, don't you?" Mark asked, following Eli's gaze.
"More than anything in the world. He's all I've got."
Mark seemed to consider this. "Not necessarily. Not anymore."
Before Eli could ask what he meant, Steven called them over to hear a particular track. The moment passed, but Eli felt it lingering – the sense that something important had just happened.
As the evening wound down, Steven pulled out a photo album. "Mark and I have been together since we were twenty," he explained, showing them pictures of two much younger men with bad haircuts and hopeful smiles.
"Did you always know?" Jamie asked suddenly. "That you'd stay together, I mean."
Mark and Steven exchanged a look laden with history.
"Not always," Mark admitted. "But we chose each other, over and over. That's what matters."
"We wanted a family," Steven added, turning a page to show a more recent photo – the two of them with an older woman who had Steven's eyes. "We thought about adoption for years."
"Why didn't you?" Eli asked before he could stop himself.
"Timing, mostly," Steven said. "Our careers were demanding. But lately..." He trailed off, sharing another meaningful look with Mark.
"We've been reconsidering," Mark finished.
The photo album closed. The implication hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.
When it was time to leave, both men walked them to the elevator. Mark handed them a container of leftover meatballs and baguettes.
"Next Thursday?" Steven suggested. "We could make it a regular thing, if you want."
"We want," Jamie said quickly, then looked embarrassed at his eagerness.
"Good," Mark smiled. "Because we were hoping you'd say that."
"I just had a thought," Steven said. "Give me five minutes, guys. I'll meet you down there. It's late. I'm going to drive you guys home. I know the DTES is home and you can navigate it well, but humor me. Let me drive you home."
In the elevator going down, Eli felt lighter somehow. The crisis center might not be forever. The future was still uncertain. But tonight, they'd glimpsed something they hadn't dared hope for – not just a safe place, but a home. People who might want them. Together.
"They're cool," Jamie said, clutching the container of leftovers like it was gold.
"Yeah," Eli agreed. "They are. They care about us."
They reached the ground floor, and Eli and Jamie waited for Steven. When Jamie's hand found his between them, Eli held on tight. Whatever came next, they'd face it together. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't be alone anymore.
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