He'd been raked over a good one lately -- his mind playing tricks on him due to stress. Tomorrow he was to see a doctor, just in case any physical impediment or chemical imbalance was also playing into his current depression

I found him earlier, sitting on the floor of the shower, exhausted from crying. He had one hand clenched in his hair and the other delicately holding his flaccid penis.

Joey thought he was dying.

He had become paranoid. He thought his hair was falling out, and he wasn't getting erections as often as normal. He also told me that he thought his teeth were going to fall out. I remember watching him meticulously brushing his teeth many a morning. After flossing and rinsing with Listerine, he'd still rant about how they still didn't feel clean.

And insomnia. He'd have occasional bouts of insomnia, then swing the other way and sleep too much. That I had just chalked up to our hectic schedule -- on tour you slept when you could, or stayed awake longer due to the adrenaline produced almost nightly by performances.

I found him helpless, the water flowing over him becoming cold, and didn't know what to do. I suppose that if I hadn't had the urge to check on him, he might have allowed himself to freeze. Or, god forbid, make use of the razor that was perched precariously on the soap dish.

After turning off the water, I pulled him up off the floor and wrapped him in an extra big towel. He leaned on me, practically unable to support his own weight, and cried and apologized.

"Joe, don't say you're sorry," I said. "It's not your fault."

"But Chris, I didn't want you to see me this way," he said, his wet arms wrapped around me, his wet eyes buried in my chest. "I thought I could handle this on my own."

"You don't have to handle it on your own -- I'm here," I said, pulling him up and looking him in the eye. "Shit -- we're here. I'm sure any of the other guys would understand."

"Are you kidding?" he said. "Justin has kicked into Mr. Self-Absorbed again, Lance can't think of anything but FreeLance, and JC, he's the poster child for happiness -- Yippy Ky Yay, I'm all happy and gay."

"What about me Joe? You didn't think you could turn to me?" I said. He always confided in me before when he had problems, why would he keep this from me now.

"It's....I don't know," he said. He had calmed down a bit, but I still rubbed the towel over him, trying to stop his shivering.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything right now," I said. "Let's just... get you warmed up." I handed him his shirt and boxers, and turned my back as he slipped them on.

When he finished dressing, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Can I ask you something?" he said. "Does my hair look thinner?"

I reached up and ran my hands through his damp hair. "No, it doesn't. I looks great."

"You're not just saying that, are you?" he said and looked at the bathroom floor.

"No, I'm not," I said. I led him out and into the bedroom, where I tucked him under the slightly scratchy, but sill comfortable, hotel blankets.

I sat down next to him and he reached for my hand. I let him take it, and with the other hand he gently rubbed it, as if he needed constant confirmation that I was a living and breathing being and not just some manifestation of his strained mental state.

He sniffled, and proceeded to spill his guts about what had been happening to him. He felt like his body was falling apart, and it was worrying him into actual sickness. He had been experiencing some sexual dysfunction, but was reluctant to get into the details of it. From what I gathered, he had developed elephantitis of the imagination -- the elephant manifesting itself as a sickly, tusk-poached corpse.

He fell asleep talking, still clutching my hand, still lightly stroking it in semi-consciousness. When his grip loosened, I got up from the bed and plopped into the chair opposite.

I placed my head in my hands and sniffed away a few tears. I suddenly felt guilty. Guilty for not noticing his apparent anguish, guilty for not holding my shoulder out everyday for him to cry on. Most of all I felt guilty for not having told him how much I loved him, always and everyday.

I fell asleep in the chair, dreaming lightly. Images of Joey and memories I've had with him flitted across my consciousness like butterflies. I woke up confused, and felt extra warmth on my lap.

I opened my eyes to another set of equally brown eyes. Joey kneeled on the floor between my legs, his arms around my waist.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." I ran my hand through his messy hair. He rested his head against my thigh and allowed me to pet him.

After a few minutes, he stood up, and climbed back into bed. I got up and laid next to him. "How are you today?" I asked.

"Probably still the same," he said. He suddenly smirked, and redness crept across his cheeks. "I woke up with an erection though, so maybe I'm a little better."

I laughed. He grabbed my hand and played with my fingers a bit before locking them with his own. I felt better, that I knew. Whatever Joey was going through, he wouldn't have to do it by himself anymore.

End.

Originally written as an *Mprov on 12/4/00, with the words rant, elephantitis, Yippy Ky Yay.