I hope you cry when you read this, but I bet you won’t, I tried my best to make it sad.

PS - I just re-read the last chapter and I‘m so embarrassed to know me D: That smut really sucked. And not in a good way.

PPS - I hate Charlemagne the Great.



xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Keith’s such a horny little bastard. When I wake up in the morning, there’s a tongue in my mouth again. I smile against his lips, not feeling his body against mine, but I’m fine with that for now. I keep my eyes closed and kiss him back as a sort of good morning greeting.

But everything goes downhill from there. The longer the kiss goes, the more I start to realize as the sleep-fog clears from my brain. He tastes kind of smoky, I’d almost say that it was like cigarettes if I didn’t know better. Then there’s something about his tongue, not the same as it normally is, almost the wrong texture, but the thing that really sets me off is his teeth. His molars are different, and after having my tongue down his throat as much as I have, I should know. His front teeth, I think as I run my tongue over them, are less crowded than normal.

It actually takes me that long to figure out that I’m not kissing my boyfriend. I freak out and bite down with my back teeth as hard as I can on the tongue in my mouth, tasting a heavy gush of blood only seconds later. I put my hands on shoulders and shove backwards, pressing myself back against the wall behind me, spitting blood onto my sheets. My heartbeat’s thundering in my chest a mile a minute because that wasn’t Keith. That isn’t Keith. There’s someone in my fucking bed, there was someone’s tongue in my fucking mouth.

I calm down enough to take in my surroundings and there's a tall sallow looking boy kneeling on my bed, naked save for faded jeans. His left hand is clapped over his mouth, blood trickling between his fingers, and he's staring at me in a disturbingly passive way as if he doesn't even notice what's going on. I swallow hard with wide eyes, trying to sink into the wall. Damian's in my fucking bed, getting blood all over my fucking sheets, he kissed me.

He moves his hand and opens his mouth to say something, but I leap on him. I wind my arm back and punch him as hard as I can, right in the jaw. I've never really hit anyone before, not with an intent to hurt like I am now, I want to make him bleed even more, I want to make him scream in pain for coming into my goddamn room and tricking me into cheating on my boyfriend. I guess it’s partly my fault for being so dense not to realize earlier, but how the fuck should I have known? I just punch him once, wanting to see if I've really hurt him and when I do his body jerks backwards. I grab his hair in my fist and yank him back towards me, snarling into his face.

“I fucking KNEW it was you!” I hiss at him, so angry it's unbelievable, I've never been like this. He spits out a tooth that makes a glass-like ‘tink’ when it hits my floor (holy shit, I'm stronger than I thought) and does something I never expected him to do. He doesn't punch me back or shove me off his lap, he doesn't get mad at all. He grabs my hips and grinds up into me.

I almost spit in disgust and throw myself off him, but I don't let his hair go. I pull him sharply upwards, making him yelp in pain. “Were those notes from you?!”

He smiles that disturbing smile of his and nods carefully. “Yes.” he says simply, and I blink a few times ... I expected him to put up a fight at least. I let his hair go and scramble off the bed, not wanting him to be anywhere near me in case he tries something like that again.

“Why the fuck did you do that?! Why'd you do this!? Why the fuck are you doing here?!!” I say awkwardly, still shaking a little part out of anger, part out of fear. He wipes more blood from his mouth, now from the good sized chunk I took from his tongue and from his missing tooth on the top row.

Shuffling on my bed to sit on the edge of the mattress, he raises his hand and brushes his knuckles against my cheek only for a second before I latch my nails onto his forearm, digging in until he cries out and tries to pull away. I let him and take a perverse sort of happiness in the angry red nail marks on the back of his arm. He holds his arm against his bare chest and cradles it, still goddamn smiling.

“Answer me.” I say in a low voice, checking out the window, the sun hasn’t even came up yet, so I have to be quiet. Mom can NOT know he’s here, she’d call the police in an instant. Something tells me I don’t want that.

“I love you, Coy.”

All the air in my lungs disappears at his words and leaves me dizzy and faint. I think I glare down at him, but I hope my silence convinces him to explain. He drums his feet against the wooden floor, maybe to think, and I can’t help but notice the ashen blue marks under his eyes from lack of sleep. He finally speaks again.

“I’ve always loved you.” and he clears his throat for a second. “Since our first kiss … a-and I know you love me too! Don’t tell me you haven’t felt a thing!” his voice is different now, less smooth, almost desperate. He looks like he’s about to cry, and suddenly my shoulders are heavy with guilt. I sigh and carefully sit down next to him, not close enough to be touching but not far enough to show him that I’m scared.

“Damian … I’m sorry.” I say quietly, trying to look at him without fear or disgust in my features, I’ll just scare him off that way. He might do something irrational, I’ve decided, because he tasted like cigarettes, his skin looks almost yellow and those bags under his eyes can’t be healthy. Plus he‘s still bleeding and has a quickly forming bruise on his cheek. “… But … I don’t love you. I love Keith.”

I hear him make a dramatic inhale. His fingers brush gently against my knee and I let him keep them there as long as he doesn’t go any higher; I don’t care how strong he is, he’s not raping me. It make me uncomfortable, sure, but I don’t want to make him mad, the guilt is too much already.

“That doesn’t make any sense, though.” he says, voice sounding more than a little confused. I stare at him incredulously.

“Y-yes it does … I told you that you were just to make Keith jealous … we were never really going out … You know that.”

He rubs his fingers a little more forcefully over my knee. “You didn’t mean that, I figured it was an excuse because you were too shy to ask me out …” and he does that creepy smile again. I resist the urge to scootch away.

“NO, Damian. I never wanted to ask you out. I wanted to ask Keith out. My boyfriend.” I say as if I’m speaking to a five year old. His expression sours and suddenly he looks very sad and shocked. This time I do move away, just a few inches to my left. I wait for him to say something else so I can correct him on that too, but he doesn’t. Before I can react, his hands are wrapped tightly around my upper arms and he’s leaning in, I try to get away but no matter how sick he looks he’s still stronger than me.

He kisses me again but I don’t kiss back, I keep struggling, mouth firmly shut. This is so foreign after two months of having only one boy’s lips on mine, one boy that isn’t this one. It’s different, his lips are bigger, he’s bigger, and I really don’t like that. He keeps trying with closed eyes to get me to kiss back, but the longer he tries the quicker my pity and guilt fades away to anger. What the fuck is wrong with him, doesn’t he get it?! After a few more seconds of his bloodstained lips on mine, I bring my knee up and whack him in the chest, for once he gets the hint and lets me go. I instantly stand up off the bed again, holding my own head in frustration. His hand’s over his bare chest where I hit him quite hard; I think he’s about to cry, and I might too.

“How the hell did you get into my house?” I try to stay calm, rubbing the back of my hand over my lips to get the blood and cooties off them. If he does that again, I’m going to have to punch him.

“When our love was in the open -”

“We had no love!!”

“- You gave me a key. Don’t you remember?”

I think back to the few times we were together and unless he stole it from me while he was feeling me up, I can’t think of how he would have gotten one. I sure as hell didn’t give him one.

“No.”

He sighs as if he’s tired of me not understanding. “You gave me your backpack to hold once, and your keys were just sitting there. It was obvious you wanted me to take them.” he smiles again and stands, following my retreat until I’m almost against my desk. “I love how shy you are …” and he gets too close, trying to kiss me again.

I punch him as I promised I would, but this time he collapses and starts crying. It wasn’t that hard of a hit, but he’s cowering on my floor with his face in his hands, sobbing erratically over his knees. Without a thought I’m crouching at his side, hand on his shoulder to calm him down and quiet him so no one hears. He shoots up and hugs me, crying into my shoulder as his calloused hands grab at my forearms.

Seeing him like this triggers something inside me and I start crying as well. Not as heavily as he is, but out of guilt and pity and frustration and fear. I don’t know what I’ve done to this boy to make him so sick and fucked up like this, but I couldn’t feel worse if I tried. What if I’ve ruined his life just because I was selfish and wanted Keith? Because I was too pussy to ask my best friend out, I might have done this to Damian. His tears and blood stain the shirt I‘m wearing, and I reach behind me to grab one of my tank tops off the ground and pull away enough to see his face before I press the fabric gently against his mouth to stop the bleeding. He sobs and nods slowly, taking it from my hand and opening his mouth to hold it over his tongue and teeth.

“I-I’m sorry Damian … But you have to unders-stand …” I say pathetically sadly, but I stop mid-sentence when I get a glance at the inside of his arm and I pull it towards me. He whimpers against my shirt as I stare wide-eyed at the expanse of skin from the inside of his elbow to his wrist … it’s cut up. Really really badly. I start crying again, feeling sick and sad at the red slices on his arm that ooze even now. I look into his face covered in tears and I choke when I try to talk to.

“… Why … why would you do this?” I ask, drawing him closer with one hand spread over his shoulder blades, not in a sexual way, but out of comfort. As mad as I am, as I was, no one deserves to be like him. “I’m not that great … why would you do something like this for me?”

He sniffles into the shirt that I’m going to have to throw out. “But you are.” he says shakily. “You’re amazing, Coy. You’re smart, talented and so beautiful that sometimes I don’t think you’re real …” and he raises a scarred arm to brush my hair out of my eyes, I let him. “You’re incredible …”

“No no no no no I’m not. I‘m pathetic and wussy and I cry during thunderstorms and what does it matter anyways? There‘s better guys out there.” I try desperately to convince him, but he just tucks my hair behind my ear, letting his fingers play with my earrings. “I’m n-not …” and I stand up, hauling him with me. I take a deep breath, stopping the tears down my cheeks. He lowers the shirt from his mouth, the bleeding having stopped as well. He drops it on the floor. “I-I’ll kiss you once … if you promise to stop this.” I compromise and stare at him. “Please, Damian. I care about you …” I swallow hard. “… But NOT that way. Please. I don’t want to see you to hurt yourself.”

He sniffs again and rubs the back of his arm over his nose before nodding. “I just want to make you happy …” he tells me, and I use that to my advantage, brain running erratically fast right now.

“That’s fine … Then go to a physiatrist, there’s a good place downtown near the orthodontist. Will you promise that you’ll make an appointment?” I ask him as nicely as I can, smiling serenely and trying to undo what I’ve done to this poor boy who deserves better.

“O-okay.” he agrees and starts to move closer to me, then I remember what I agreed to. I shut my eyes tight as he breathes shallowly and his lips touch mine, I’m trying to think about other things. I kiss him back just a little because I promised I would and amidst all his sickness and injuries, he hums happily against my lips; I don’t let him use tongue. I don’t let it last too long either and I pull away really slowly, hoping I’ve helped because I don’t think I could live with that much guilt on my shoulders, he can’t stay like this.

“C’mon, you should go home. Did you walk here?” I say quietly, motioning for him to follow me out of my room. We’re sure to talk in hushed voices once we’re in the hallway.

“No, I drove. My car’s down the street.” he says, curling his fingers in the hem of my shirt in the darkness.

I nod in acknowledgement and creep down the stairs, skipping the sixth one because it squeaks. When we get to the linoleum at the bottom, I quickly look into the living room where Sasha and her friends are snoring in a pile of sleeping bags, making sure they don’t see; Sasha would flip if she saw me with a boy that wasn’t Keith. I open the door for Damian and he steps out. The wind is blowing just a little and the concrete’s still wet from last night’s rain, but it’s not too cold. He still isn’t wearing a shirt, but I guess he didn’t bring one. If he’s driving, he’ll be okay.

“I don’t think you should talk to me anymore.” I tell him, trying to be stern. “And I’d like my key back.”

He nods sadly and fishes into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling it out and dropping it in my outstretched palm. On one end of the chain is my Pikachu charm, and the other is my house key, with - Oh jesus. Covered in blood. I have to stop myself from crying some more.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks in a shy voice barely above a whisper, sickly orange eyes full of more tears and hope. I hesitate but end up holding my hand out for him, not letting him get near my lips. He understands and takes my right hand in both of his and places long kisses across my knuckles and fingers, then looks at me without letting me go. “I love you …” he says again.

I gently pull my hand away from him and step back into the doorframe, one hand poised on the latch to close it. I give him a quick, sad smile, looking right into his eyes.

“You’ll forget.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

After changing my bloody sheets and throwing up, I went to bed. I’m waking up now a few hours later for school with a pounding headache. It doesn’t help my sickly state when I step on Damian’s tooth on my way out the door, a painful reminder that it wasn’t a dream. I feel horrible and guilty for making him lose his mind and for cheating on Keith in a small way, and all I want to do is rush outside and run to his house and hug him until he can’t breathe. I miss his tiny little body and his cute smile and the way he says my name when he’s happy and the way he can’t think about anything when he’s horny.

I slouch downstairs, trying not to look guilty or upset like there wasn’t a suicidal boy sleeping next to me last night. I hear shuffling in the kitchen and put a small smile on, planning on getting fruit loops before showering, but I’m frozen in the doorway at the sight of Sasha crying at the table.

“Wha … what’s going on?” I ask, seeing that mom isn’t around … she usually doesn’t leave until later.

She looks up sharply, not having seen me come in. Her hair’s wet from a bath and her eyes are a heavy red, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks. The first thought that enters my mind is that we’re being evicted or something like that; it‘s not good. She fiddles with the phone in her hands and the longer she hesitates, the more dread creeps into me.

“Keith’s in the hospital.” she says so quietly I think I hear her wrong. I step right up to the table, right next to her chair. I can’t move and suddenly I’m really really really sick again. I pinch my own wrist to make sure I’m not awake. I think I am.

“You’re kidding.” I say in a monotonous voice, staring at her unblinkingly. She shakes her head with a sob.

“H-his older brother called a few minutes ago … he was hit by a car … j-just after he left here.”

My eyes widen further and my throat goes dry as I take in everything she’s saying, swallowing stomach acid rising in my throat. “When? L-last night? He … was here last night?”

“Y-yeah … you didn’t see him? I thought he stayed, but I guess not … I didn’t hear him leave.”

I can’t breath and I feel like there isn’t enough air in the world to fill my lungs. I don’t wait for her to tell me anything else, I turn on my heel and run, ignoring her protests. In the hallway I slide my shoes on and grab my keys from the hooks, dashing out the door into the rickety car that I’ve claimed as my own. Only seconds after I start it I’m pulling out of the driveway and speeding down the street.

I’m not crying and I don’t know why. Maybe I don’t believe it, for all I know that Damian stuff has brought on a bad nightmare. My heart pounds painfully and my sticky unwashed hair clings to my shoulders, my pyjama bottoms are covered in little cartoon mushrooms, but I can’t go home, I can’t go to school. I zoom down streets, pretty sure that I know my way to the local hospital after going so many times with mom, though I’ve never driven myself. I can’t think of anything other than Keith, a thousand scenarios jumble with memories inside my brain and spill out my ears, making me run a few stop signs and red lights.

I get frustrated when I get there at the lack of parking and end up parking on the street, risking the fucking ticket. I scramble down long paths and stairs and finally reach the front door, bursting inside like a mental patient. I walk as quickly as I can to the front desk, dodging kids and handicaps. When I ask the receptionist for the room Keith Carnovale is in, she says she doesn’t know or can’t tell me or something, I’m barely listening, just waiting for a number.

“Coy.” a silvery voice says my name and I spin around in an instant, just in time to see a tall well built blonde boy advancing towards me. I instantly recognize him as Jeff Albertson, Brandon’s boyfriend, the dominatrix and giver of anal lube. He’s obviously upset, lips set in a thin line, eyes dark behind the glare of his glasses. It’s troubling but unsurprising.

“Jeff!” I cry out like we’ve known each other for years, but in reality the only thing he’s said to me was ‘don’t bother us for an hour or so’ before he went and fucked his boyfriend; we‘re not exactly best friends. “Where’s Keith? Oh god, please tell me he’s alright!”

The built up panic in me finally erupts now that I know this is all real. I’m not asleep, it’s true. The love of my life has been hit by a motherfucking car. He’s dead.

Jeff shakes his head and motions for me to follow him as he slowly walks back the way he came. “But what happened?!” I try, desperately trotting after him. “He’s dead, isn’t he …” and my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

“He was hit by a car two streets down from yours.” he tells me, staring at the sandals hooked around his toes as we walk down a hallways. The smell of sickness, antiseptic and linen hang in the air as we get into an elevator and he presses the fourth floor button. “A woman was walking her dog further down the street and saw it happen, he had his ID in his wallet and she called 911, the hospital called Brandy.” he tells me, voice still dull and quiet, but even in the face of danger he still calls his boyfriend by his pet name. He pauses. “… The driver who hit him sped off. I think he was drunk.”

“… But … is Keith dead?” I realize he didn’t answer me, which makes me feel even sicker. My throat hurts like mad and swallowing is hard to do. Jeff gives me no verbal response. “… Jeff?” I try again.

He shakes his head just a little, blonde locks swaying. His glasses slip down his nose a bit. “The doctor says he isn‘t. We haven’t seen him yet. Too soon.”

I’m so relieved but still having trouble breathing, the elevator is too small and I feel claustrophobic, but luckily it chugs to a stop and the very welcomed air whooshes in when the doors open, and I step out. Not-dead is fine, but safe would be a lot better. Jeff says nothing more, continuing to stare at his feet as we meander down two more hallways before reaching a large waiting room. Magazines are spread over a wooden table and green chairs line the walls, save for one corner where children’s toys are scattered on the ground. I can see Brandon twisted around in a chair staring out the window onto the street below, we’re high enough that you can see all of downtown, tiny streets webbing through tall apartment buildings and shops.

“Brandy.” Jeff says quietly from behind me, I’m in front of him, in front of Brandon‘s chair. Brandon turns around at the mention of his name, and I nearly gasp. He’s been crying a lot, I can tell by his eyes and face, and it‘s devastating … I never thought he could cry, he just doesn’t seem the type. His lips tremble for a moment before he stands abruptly and throttles me into a hug, sobbing heavily into my shoulder. His fists clench in the back of my shirt and the top of his head only reaches my nose since both the Carnovale children are small for their ages. I break down and wrap my arms around him, starting to cry brokenly into his hair.

xxxxxxxxxxx

A full hour of crying, a nurse comes in and taps Brandon on the shoulder. He takes his head out of his hands and I turn around from where I was staring out the window, opting rather to stare at her. Her hair is thin and black with auburn streaks, framing her face in a delicate way, accentuating her dark eyes and glasses. She has a small sad smile on her lips.

“Brandon Carnovale?” she asks (even pronouncing his last name close-to-properly), and all three of us stand up and stare at her expectantly. She recoils a bit at our gazes, she's very small, even ... Tears prick at the corner of my eyes ... Keith sized.

“Yes?” Brandon asks, wiping his eyes. She reverts back to her practiced nurse-smile.

“You can see Keith now, if you want to. He's going to be fine.”

I'm so relieved I almost hug her, but there's no time. Jeff and Brandon start walking as fast as they can without running towards the hospital rooms. The nurse calls out the number of his room behind them and Jeff whirls back to thank her and grabs my wrist, propelling me from the spot I'm frozen at. Keith’s alive. He isn't dead, he's going to live. I can tell him I love him.

We walk down the length of a long hallway to the right of the waiting room, checking each room number we pass. Keith is at 898, and we’re in the seven hundred’s right now. After what seems like an eternity, I turn sharply into room number 898, and the first thing I notice is how this room smells even more like sickness and soap than the hallway did, which is starting to scare me. There’s six beds lining the walls, three on each side, and all of them are empty except one at the end that’s blocked from our view by a plastic turquoise curtain. One wide window covered in blinds sits at the back of the room, showing slats of the side of another ward across the courtyard outside.

I whisper Keith’s name so softly that no one else hears me. We hesitate just inside the doorway and I’m listening for any sounds of him, but only silence and the quiet hum of machinery meets my ears. My feet feel like lead as I advance across the reflective white floor, coming to a stop with Brandon and Jeff just behind me when I reach the curtain. I find where it ends and carefully hold it in my fingers and jerk my hand back with a nervous twitch before stepping forwards, finding myself next to a hospital bed like all the others.

But it’s not like all the others because the boy I love is lying in it, if he‘s still the same boy. His left eye and over half his face is covered in gauze and his hair and bangs have been tied back into a short bootbrush ponytail with a cheap rubber band. His visible eye is closed and he looks tranquil and comatose with an oxygen mask over his perfect lips that are now free of piercings, as are his ears. A blue hospital gown covers his body and thin cotton quilts are pulled just above his waist. An IV needle is taped into his right hand and his left arm is in a light cast, lying folded over his chest along with his right like a corpse in a casket.

The tears come without warning after being able to hold them off for the last little while. I take everything in and start sobbing, I think Jeff tries to put his hand on my shoulder but I drop to my knees next to Keith’s bed and start kissing his arm, then his collarbone, then his forehead. Eyeliner free, he looks so innocent and young, so much younger than sixteen, but very unlike his usual self. It doesn’t matter, I love him so fucking much and now he’s … like this. Whatever that is.

“I’m so sorry …” I whisper against his skin. He even tastes like soap.


xxx WTF KEITH’S POV xxx

I’m walking on water.

I look down past the tips of my bare toes and see that I am, in fact, standing on water. It has a pearled quality like gasoline with a thousand different colors shimmering on the surface, rolling and turning with the gentle waves beneath me. I carefully raise a foot and drop it back down very gingerly but I don’t break the surface, so I try again, a little harder. I still don’t fall through, or even kick up waves, which I don’t understand either.

Looking at myself for a moment, I’m shocked to see that I’m wearing clothes that I don’t own. It’s a white dress that stops just above my boney knees and dips just below my collarbone, being held up my very small straps. The material is thin and drafty like a summer dress and it almost feels like I’m not wearing anything at all. It’s nice. My fingernails and toenails are no longer painted, much to my dismay, but I can still feel my lip ring pierced into my skin and it gives me a bit of identity security as it always does.

When I look up, all I see is sky. Acres and acres of inky blue sky the color of midnight, dotted with white stars thrown into constellations and swirls of sparkles, so complex and far away that even when I reach my hand towards them, I’m never close enough to touch. I’m amazed by it and my mouth falls open just the smallest amount. I feel so insignificant right now. The water stretches for miles beneath me and the sky stretches for light-years above me and I’m just a tiny speck lucky to be in it‘s presence. The most fascinating thing is that though the sky shows the night, me and the ocean are bright as if it were noon. Part of me thinks that the stars are painted on like a mural on a ceiling.

It’s beautiful, but I find my mind wandering. I think of how I got here, but I can’t for the life of me remember. I think as hard as I can, even going as far as grasp my head in my hands, yet there’s still no memory there. I try to remember where I live or who my friends are or who my girlfriend is, but -

When I blink, there’s a boy in front of me. He’s short, obviously a toddler, and he has a slightly large nose and messy brown hair, a little on the chubby side too. He blushes heavily and gives a small smile before he says only one sentence:

“Keith Lindé Michael Carnovale. I can remember that.” and he reaches his hand out towards me. I stare in shock and find my own hand stretching out to grab his, but the minute his stubby little fingers touch mine he turns to water and falls back into the ocean.

I’m not alone for long though, because I hear a noise from behind me and turn on my heel, greeted by the face of another boy only inches from mine. I gasp and stumble backwards as he giggles at me. He’s older than the last boy, at least thirteen years old, and he has dark, wet black hair. At first I think that he’s someone else, but he has the same blue eyes as the toddler as well as the same nose. He’s the same height as I am, yet physically younger.

“It’s permanent unless I shave my head.” and his fingers brush coyly against my chest, turning him to water, holding his shape for a moment before crashing into the ocean, cascading ripples beneath my toes. I spin in a full, wary circle, waiting for the next one. It comes up to the left of me, and it’s the weirdest by far.

It’s … me. The blue-eyed boy is with me, now with new hair, and snow falls from no where around the two of us. The other me is staring up at him with an expression of complete awe and I’m rambling words I can’t hear, but then I do something I can definitely understand: I lean up and kiss him. I can’t breathe as I watch my clone kiss the other boy, he kisses me back, curling his mitten-adorned hands around my hips. What the fuck is going on?! I step closer to the pair so absorbed in themselves and watch a look of bliss and need spread across my own face. The other me pulls away from the tall boy and breathes shallowly, breath visible in the air though it isn’t cold in the ocean.

“Stay warm.” the redhead whispers against my lips and takes his scarf off, wrapping it around my neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He leaves the other me and turns to actual me, beginning to walk forwards. Before I can say a word, he’s close and I think he’s going to kiss me too, but the second his lips are against mine, he turns to waves, sinking right through me along with my clone behind him.

My face is flushed and I keep turning around to spot the next one, but I don’t see him or me. I don’t know his name or who he is or why his hair is constantly changing, but that’s definitely the same boy, and I kissed him. Or, I have kissed him …

Someone calls my name loudly from behind me and I spin around so fast I almost topple over. Off in the distance standing on the ocean is a figure waving at me, so far away I can barely make him out. The voice was masculine but the figure is girlish, so I’m torn until I see that oh-so-familiar mop of crimson red hair. I start running. The water splashes beneath my feet as I go along and it gets me wet though it didn’t before. I start kicking up more and more water the closer I get to the boy, and before I know it I’m up to my ankles, slowly sinking me under. The water’s a sickly lukewarm temperature around me, like dirty bathwater left still for too long.

I scream for his help as loud as I can, begging in a desperate tone for him to help me, but he’s close enough that I can see his face, and he’s smiling. I sink until the water’s around my knees, soaking my dress as I try to claw for him. I’m almost at his feet now, scared to touch him in case he’ll leave me like the last ones. I’m slowly getting lower and lower, feet now kicking up bubbles underwater, useless in getting me any further; it’s futile now, I know it.

With the water at my neck, everything comes back to me with an amazing clarity, all the memories of this boy, every touch and every word, our first kiss at the junction of our streets, my rambled confession in the freezing cold, how his voice sounds heavy when it’s so close to my ear, that odd feel of his lip ring against the underside of my cock.

“COY!!” I shout, knowing that’s this boy’s name. He’s Coy Russel, how could I forget, I can’t believe I forgot, I’m sorry I forgot; don’t leave me, I remember now. “COY! PLEASE!!” I beg brokenly, water starting to splash into my mouth with the tangy taste of warmth. “HELP ME!”

He smiles down at me, looking right into my eyes, that peaceful tranquil smile he uses when I‘m too worked up. For a second, everything just stops. I’m not moving, the water is frozen, suspended like crystals around me. Coy hasn’t stopped though, I can see him blink his icy blue eyes ringed with dark makeup and he smiles some more, lips parting just slightly for a long moment before he speaks.

“I love you.” he tells me and the pause button is lifted, he raises his scuffed leather boot to the crown of my head and pushes me under, filling my ears with silence.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

The little nurse with the black hair followed us into the room not long after and told us he was in a very shallow coma. I started freaking out when she told me that and started spouting everything I knew about comas in a flurry of tears, things like how they could cause brain damage and that some people never woke up from them. She assured me that it was too minor to cause any lasting damage other than short memory loss. I was upset and relieved at the same time, but she went on to say that he should be conscious in the next few days. Her and other nurses habitually check in on him or his respirator, but leave without a word.

It turns out that mom’s his doctor. She heard about it even before Sasha did and she was the one that bandaged him up and such, which I suppose I should thank her for. After an hour of kneeling on the linoleum, having offered the two chairs to Brandon and Jeff, she comes in. I’m still crying, but silently now, staring at my boyfriend’s face, willing his single eye to open and look at me, willing his lips behind that mask to curve into one of his sweet little smiles for me, but he doesn’t move. It’s fucking devastating, after only half a day I’ve almost forgotten the cautious tenor tones of his voice.

To my own surprise, every so often my emotions whip towards anger, then back before I can even blink. I go from sobbing to gritting my teeth, cursing who ever I can that this happened to someone so close to me. Out of all the fucking people on earth, why did it have to be this boy?! I know that’s selfish and childish for me to think, but I don’t fucking care anymore. Keith did absolutely nothing to deserve this, he’s been nothing short of amazing to me, amazing to everyone, the best thing I’ve ever had. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time, and it might have been my fault if my suspicions are right and he did see Damian and I. I sigh languidly as my emotions fluctuate back to their previous depression.

With a quiet ‘pssht’ of plastic against metal, mom pulls the curtain back, her hair twisted into it’s usual bun at the base of her neck. She’s dressed in her white coat, looking so much more pristine than she does at home, and she’s carrying a clipboard as all official seem to. Up until now, every few minutes I’d raise my hand and tuck hair behind Keith’s ear (even if there isn’t any to tuck) or press them to the pulse in his neck, just to make sure he’s still here. I stop doing this when I see mom, drawing my arms back against my own body, sitting back on my heels to look at her.

Her eyes settle on mine first, and I hope she isn’t wondering why I’m sitting so close to Keith. If she is, she says nothing, eyes looking sympathetic and caring as she looks at me. I don’t smile but I rub my tears away with the back of my arm, smearing remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want her to see me cry … almost like she’ll know why I’m crying; not for a friend, but for a little more. Though that’s impossible, right?

She notices the expectance in my gaze. “You’re his doctor, then?” I ask, throat hoarse after such a long silence. Brandon and Jeff (who had been sitting intimately close) move back into their own chairs and watch my mother as she checks someone of the machines attactched to Keith; I don’t even pretend to know what she’s doing. She nods at me in response to my last question.

“I’m sure …”she turns back to us, still very regal and official looking in her workplace. “… That you’re all wondering what’s going on, am I right?”

Our chorus of ‘yes’ isn’t a surprise, mine being the quietest, Brandon’s being the most frantic. Jeff’s is just there, and while his intentions are good, I’m pretty sure he’s just here for Brandon more than Keith, which I’m fine with; if it were Brandon in this bed, I’d be doing the same for Keith. I’m not mad that he doesn’t seem too moved, I know he might be on the inside.

“Are his parents present?” Mom asks. Brandon answers her; I would have, but I’m not sure of what to say. I would have liked to seem in control, even a little.

“Mom’s gone again. I left a message on her cell phone, but I doubt she got it.” he stares at his hands for a moment, then at Keith’s slumbering face. “I’m his guardian.” he says quietly, voice betraying how much he really cares for his little brother.

“Well, I shouldn’t really say anything without the official guardians present …” Mom hesitates, and I’m almost angry at her presence of protocol at a time like this. This is KEITH. She knows him! Shouldn’t it be different?! I force myself to shut up nonetheless.

“I am his guardian.” Brandon says, and I wonder if she knows they’re related. She’s never met Brandon, but I guess she’d know if she remembers Keith’s eyes. “Our mother isn’t a guardian of any kind, biological maybe, but nothing else. I’ve been watching over him since he was little.” he pauses and looks at me, I recoil a bit. “Well, me and your son. He has a right to know what’s going on too.”

I smile just a little, happy to hear that despite the less than perfect situation. I never thought Brandon liked me that much, which is just a stupid insecurity of mine because he’s never done anything to show that he hated me. I thank him for not mentioning that I’m Keith’s boyfriend, that wouldn’t go over well.

Mom sighs and fidgets. “I suppose you’re right …” she takes a deep breath. “First off, should I just list all his injuries? To give you an idea of what we’re working with.”

We all nod and the ‘all’ makes a lump of dread rise in my throat.

“Alright.” and she looks down at her little board. “Well first off, his body for the most part, is covered in scrapes, most severe on his chest and cheeks. The car hit him on the side and he skidded on the pavement, it was a little off center so he was not run over.”

I feel sick already, the word ‘skidding’ disgusts me and sends horrible mental images. I still need to know this.

“… His vision is in his left eye is extremely impaired, going from almost 20/20 to 10/20 after the accident. His right one is only 15/20, which is still worse than it was. Three of his ribs are broken on the left side and one on his right … um …” she checks her clipboard again, looking up at Keith then back down to whatever paper she has clipped on there. “There are several particularly bad lacerations on his thighs near his penis that had to be stitched, about five inches to the left and children would have been out of the question …”

I almost make an inappropriate comment but I cover it up with a cough. Though it’s really superficial of me at a time like this, I cannot BELIEVE my mom’s seen Keith’s dick; it’s a mortifying thought. She better not have touched it, not that I’m jealous, I just don’t want her going where I’ve been.

“His left arm is suffering from minor fractures, the cast won’t be on for long. Right now he’s in a very light coma, as I’m sure you’ve heard. He had close-to-severe head trauma on impact, but there will be little to no long term damage in his brain.” she huffs and flips a page on the clipboard. “Besides some respiratory problems, I believe that’s it.”

I sniffle a little and look over at his face, still so peaceful, he hasn’t moved. I start wondering what the future will be like, and if he’ll get over this. Maybe he’ll have a fear of cars or roads or travel or something, or maybe he’ll have anxiety problems … Whatever it is, I hope I can calm him down …

“Um …” Jeff makes his presence know by raising his hand like a guilty schoolboy in class. “I believe you forgot something Dr. Russel …” he says politely.

And with that, he brings his raised hand down onto Keith’s bed, flat palm hitting his shin with a linen ‘ploof’.

Waitaminute. It doesn’t hit his shin. My eyes travel upwards around the FLAT plane of the blanket until it jerks sharply upwards at the body beneath -- but only at his knee on his left leg.

I scream.

“Oh, right, fuck.” My mom swears, which is unusual but permitted in t
his situation. “Sorry. His left leg had to be amputated just below the knee, the bone was shattered too badly to be repaired.”

“MOM!!” I stand up, towering over my slightly elderly mother. “How could you FORGET that he’s missing a fucking leg?!!”

“Watch your language, Coy.” she warns, glaring at me. “We only decided to amputate at the last minute, and I wasn’t the doctor that did it, so just sit down.”

For someone so small, she has a lot of authority in her voice. I crumple back to the ground, kneeling on the floor next to his bed again, and I cross my arms over each other and sob into his bed, just next to his arm rather than on it, which I might have wanted to do if she wasn’t here. I can’t believe he doesn’t have a leg, and I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier.

I’m such a fucking retard, how could I think that he might get out of this okay, that would be too simple wouldn’t it. People die every year from car crashes and drunk drivers and stuff, and Keith didn’t. I thought he was just lucky to get out of it so well, but this isn’t exactly so well. I should be happy that he’s alive, but I’m NOT, I’m upset because he has a stump of a fucking leg. I’m so selfish.

I feel a hand on my shoulder that’s too small to be Jeff’s. Besides, I can hear him consoling a sobbing Brandon on the other side of the bed. I guess he hadn’t noticed either; I wonder how long it took Jeff.

“Don’t worry, honey.” Mom says in that motherly way, so perfected over the years. “He’s getting a prosthesis …” she hesitates and turns to Brandon, seeing him curled into Jeff’s chest, crying so bad his body’s shaking a little. I can tell she was going to ask if they can pay for it, but her words die down at the sight of him. I guess she knows even from seeing him that he doesn’t cry that much, it‘s in the way he looks and talks and carries himself. Jeff’s eyes meet hers and he gives the smallest of shrugs accompanied by a half smile and I watch him, amazed at how he can convey such platonicness between him and Brandon. If I didn’t already know about them being together, I’d think they were just friends, one comforting another. It’s impressive, such a simple gesture like that. Not even a blush.

Mom turns back to me, looking a little more upset, and just past her elbow I see Brandon raise his head just a little to kiss Jeff’s neck and the underside of his chin, still crying. Jeff’s eyes are squarely on mine now, and I can tell he’s telling me to look away or mom’ll turn around … he’s very expressive with such small movements. I instantly look down at my knees (even though part of me doesn’t want to … they’re kind of hot doing that, but I’d never tell Keith, that’s his brother for god’s sake) but it puzzles me why they do something so sexual at a time like this, Brandon’s still crying. Sometimes they don’t make sense to me …

“Well … I should probably leave you alone.” Mom fidgets just as I would before turning around; Brandon buries his head back into Jeff’s chest and Jeff gives mom another one of his innocent smiles. She walks out and shuts the curtain once more, giving the three (four) of us privacy once more. I hear her sneakers squeak on the floor, and I don’t speak until I hear the door click shut again.

I let a deep breath out of my lungs, resting my chin on Keith’s arm, looking up at his perfect little face again. He has no idea what’s going on, I really want to tell him. I wish he’d wake up …

Brandon and Jeff are talking quietly, the only words I catch of Brandon’s are ‘he’s my fucking brother’ and I just hear a lot of peaceful ‘shhhs’ from Jeff. I almost feel bad for not being as upset and Brandon … I look back up at Keith, deciding to watch like a guard dog.

“So will you still love him?” I hear that silver-like voice after a few minutes, and I look up momentarily, just as tears start pricking at my eyes again. I wipe at them with the back of my hand. Jeff’s looking at me, having hoisted Brandon into his lap while I wasn’t paying attention, and the smaller boy (can I still call him a boy?) is cuddled into his chest, legs drawn up and being held in one of Jeff’s thick arms.

“How do … I mean …” I stutter, caught extremely off-guard. “… Who says I love him?”

I do, of course I do, but my curiosity and obnoxious nature get the best of me. Jeff chuckles a bit, shifting Brandon on his knee. “Because it’s obvious. I’ve barely looked at him since I’ve been in here, and you’re just transfixed on him.”

I have the decency to blush, sitting forward and nuzzling my nose sheepishly into Keith’s cloth-covered shoulder. The fabric is a little scratchy. “I do. I love him a lot.” I admit, never having said those words to another soul. I look into his hair, part of me not wanting to see Jeff’s reaction; I know he’ll be okay with it, but it’s still … weird to admit that, we didn’t even say that to Lauren.

I hear him sigh. “That’s pretty cute. I bet you’re worried sick right now.” he says, so simple again at a time like this. I look up at Keith and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, then over at the two boys across the room. Brandon’s crying has slowly receded, and now he’s just clinging to Jeff like a burr, obviously exhausted. I offer a small smile since Jeff’s looking right at me.

“I am.” I tell him in response to his last question. “They can pay for the prosthesis … right?” I ask, because it’s been gnawing at my mind ever since Brandon didn’t answer mom.

Brandon sniffs loudly into Jeff’s shoulder, then turns around to look at me, obviously still seconds away from tears. He rubs his eyes. “No.” he says shakily, and my heart sinks to a region below my knees; I was really counting on him getting a fake leg. Really. “T-there’s no way, we barely have enough money to pay bills … even with Jeff’s help …” and he receives a small kiss on the temple that temporarily quiets him.

I grit my teeth in a last ditch effort not to cry, emotions wavering again. If Keith had fucking told me that he had no money, I would have given him some, I would have given him anything. But no, he didn’t say a word to me while his brother told his boyfriend. Why did I have to get the stubborn Carnovale …

I’m mad at him and mad at myself and mad at god, and I just start crying in a burst of tears as abrupt as a PMSing little girl. I cry against the bare skin of his arm, moving up his body to bury my face in his chest. I say his name with a shaky breath, swearing to give him all the money he needs, mom gets overpaid anyways, she HAS to help him, prosthesis are thousands of dollars.

I can’t help it, I raise my head just a little and kiss the gauze over his cheek, just to the right of that damn mask.

He groans.

I leap backwards in shock as Brandon’s eyes go wide, he climbs off Jeff and stands next to the bed, peering incredulously into his brother’s face. I watch Keith’s visible eye flutter open, so bright against his weak skin. He coughs a little, so I reach up and snap the oxygen mask off him, throwing it to the ground more carelessly than I should have. He’s obviously disoriented, features far from happy, even when obscured by bandages.

“Keith …?” I whisper quietly, leaning a little closer. “… You awake?”

He tries to sit up and can’t, I swoop in and brush the back of my hand over his neck to let him know I’m here, I don’t know how out of it he is.

“Nnngh … eeyeah.” he mutters, not giving a single glance to Brandon (who looks a little happier), his eye is locked solely on mine. “… Coy?”

“Yeah?” I reply shakily, curling my hand around his jaw, giving him a sad half-smile.

He goes to say something but is cut off by his own hacks and coughs. I remove my hand and let him raise his un-bandaged hand to cover his mouth as his gags slowly reside. He looks at me again, face sunken and sullen.

“… Why was he in your bed …?”





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