I can’t believe you guys like this so much. You’re all psycho.
Crazy foreign bastards. And this is a boring chapter, so much
for dramatic endings.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx


“… Why was he in your bed …?” Keith chokes out, staring right at me, features impassive.

My throat refuses to cooperated and I just gape like a fish, my worst fears having been confirmed. He saw me in bed with Damian … I look to my left to see Jeff and Brandon eyeing me angrily. I look back to Keith, who isn’t pleased either. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“No no no no no no …” I stutter, kneeling once more next to his bed like a peasant at a throne. “I didn’t mean to, he snuck in, I had no idea …” I start to ramble desperately, scared as his one visible eye begins to close again.

“I’d rather have you just tell me that you hate me then to lie …” he slurs his words a little and his chest heaves quite badly once.

“Keith you dumb shit, listen to me!” I say quickly, starting to shake his shoulders but I decide against it, ending up just resting my fingers on them. He’s still warm. “I didn’t want him there, belie -”

“It’s okay …” he sighs, a quick fleeting smile across his lips. “You can go to him. I just want you to be happy …”

“I don’t WANT him!!” I start to say more, but he stops reacting. At first I think he’s dead, but when I call out his name several times and check his heartbeat, I determine that he’s back in that stupid coma. In everything I’ve read, I didn’t hear anything about slipping back into comas. I sigh dejectedly and crouch back down, shaking my head. “Well, this is kinda -”

“What the fuck are you doing to him!?!!” Jeff’s voice that I’ve seldom heard screeches, breaking the tranquil silence in the room. I try to look up, but before I can fully react, hard hands are around my throat, hauling me to my feet and then some, dangling me at least four inches off the ground. My eyes are wide and scared as I stare at Jeff from inches away, nose nearly touching mine. His thumbs dig almost painfully into my adam’s apple. I cough and kick my legs.

Brandon’s suddenly behind me and he pulls the tips of my hair back, eliciting a painful yelp from me. “You have no fucking idea how much he loves you, you ungrateful little whore …” he hisses at me, and I feel like I’m being raped.

“I’m not cheating on him-!” I gasp out as best as I can, but Jeff’s really starting to hurt me.

“Oh right, why the fuck would he say something like that, then!? WHO was in your bed?!” Brandon says again, accompanied by another tug and my throat starts to burn. Neither of them let up and just keep swearing and chiding me, asking me questions without giving me a chance to get a word in edgewise. I can’t believe they don’t trust me, why the fuck would I cheat on Keith … intentionally?

“WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON HERE?!!” A female voice I don’t recognize makes itself known over Jeff’s and Brandon’s; Jeff instantly drops me and I hit the end of Keith’s bed. Brandon jerks backwards a step and crunches the discarded oxygen mask under the heel of his sneaker. Standing just at the edge of the curtain is two nurses, one I recognize, one I don’t. The first one is dressed completely in purple and has an awful mess of curly hair while the second one, cowering behind the first, is the black-haired nurse from earlier. The purple one is obviously the one that yelled.

I gasp much-needed air into my lungs and my hands fly to my throat to make sure it’s still there, undented … I seem fine, but it hurts to the touch. Brandon and Jeff are staring at her a little fearfully; she’s a little overweight for a woman of her height and has a very frightening glare. Keith’s toes prod my lower back and I leap up with an irrational fear of breaking his remaining leg.

She looks at each of us in turn. “Wait in the waiting room.” she says coldly. “There’s no fighting near the patients, you‘ve already broken something.” she tells us and the other nurse gives a little nod and tries to look mad.

“What if he wakes up?” I say quietly, giving the sleeping boy a quick glance. He hasn’t moved, part of me expected him to.

“We can handle it, so shoo.” and she makes little wavey motions with her hands to get us out. Jeff goes first, angrily pulling the curtain back, keeping his etiquette and holding it for Brandon who steps through after him. No one holds it for me.

We make our way silently back to the waiting room, a basically straight hallway between us. Even when we’re seated in chairs between two different families, we’re quiet for at least ten minutes longer. Finally, it gets to a point where I can’t stand whatever they’re thinking.

“I didn’t cheat on him.” I grumble defiantly, slumping so far in my seat that my back’s nearly against the ass-cushion. Brandon whips his gaze to me; he’s in the chair right next to me and Jeff’s on the other side of him.

“Then why the fuck did he say ‘why was he in your bed’?" he snorts, obviously not believing me because something like that is hard to deny. I wouldn’t believe me either.

I take a deep breath and explain the whole Damian-fiasco, starting with the red-herring plan (that I haven’t even told Keith yet) and ending with my pikachu keychain. By the end of it, Jeff has an eyebrow raised and is looking very sceptical, and Brandon just looks a bit sick. They both have a glare to their expressions, though.

“That’s …” Jeff waves his hand, searching for the right word. The bracelets on his wrist jingle. “… dramatic.” he finishes.

I shrug but I guess he’s kind of right. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” I remind them, praying they’ll believe me. Brandon’s like Keith’s dad and he has the right to forbid me from seeing him. (Actually, if Brandon’s Keith’s dad, then Jeff’s his mom).

Brandon sighs languidly, turning in his chair to look back outside. His nose is pressed just slightly against the frosted-over glass, and his breath makes a small mark of white. His eyes close for a long time, but then he opens them again, not looking at me or moving. Even now he has a sturdy air about him, even when he’s curled up in a chair with red tired eyes. The stubble that’s always on his jaw is a little thicker now, just adding to his exhausted look. I’ve always thought that he was sort of handsome, not that I’d ever mention this to anyone or ever make a move on him, I love Keith far too much, probably more than I should.

“If you hurt my little brother, I’m ripping your dick off and feeding it to junkyard dogs.” he says quietly in an almost monotonous tone. I swallow hard and lean back in my seat a little, moving against the armrest to look at him, a little fearful that he might be serious. Lord knows I couldn’t fight him off, especially not if he’s backed by Jeff (which I’m going to assume that he is, since they’re attached at the hip).

“You don’t have to worry.” I assure him with a nervous laugh. “I love Keith more than anything, there’s no way on earth that I’d cheat on him. Not with Damian, not with anyone.”

Jeff gives me a small smile and leans his head against Brandon’s on the window, prompting Brandon to look at him, and I see them share a long kiss at profile. Giving a nervous glance to everyone else in the waiting room, I see none of their eyes are on us, so I don’t tell them to stop. When they pull away from each other, Brandon takes his head off the glass and turns to look right at Jeff, who raises his hand to tuck hair behind Brandon’s ear. I can only see part of his face from my current angle, but I watch him slowly fade from content to devastated within seconds, and before I know it he’s buried himself back into Jeff’s chest, crying once more.

I look at Jeff over the top of Brandon’s mop of hair to give him an odd look. “Your kisses make him cry?” I ask, confused.

He curls his arms around Brandon’s back, spine visible through his tshirt, and he rubs his hands over his skin in a reassuring sort of way, one coming up to hold the back of his head. “No.” he says simply, glancing down at the sobbing bundle in his arms. “They make him think.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I don’t cry anymore today, I’m not sure why. Brandon’s tears go on and off like a valve, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand the relationship he has with Jeff. They kiss when Brandon’s devastated, like earlier in Keith’s room, they kiss when it‘s completely inappropriate. Whenever they kiss, though, Brandon just cries harder but does it again, and I don’t know why Jeff’s kisses make him cry, or ‘think’ as Jeff put it. It’s all confusing. Their relationship is either very shallow or very complex, but I’m positive that it’s nowhere in-between.

About an hour later, I leave the hospital, feeling gross and dirty having not showered that day. I drive home quite quickly again, worried that Keith will wake up while I’m gone and just keep getting more and more upset thinking that I don’t love him. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but I guess I wouldn’t really believe me either, not when he saw me lying next to another boy.

No one’s home; Mom’s at the hospital and Sasha’s at school, so I have a really long really hot shower, leaving the bathroom door ajar with a giddy sense of taboo. I stay in the tub until I’m relaxed but pruned, then I shut it off and step out, rubbing furiously at my too-long hair with a thick yellow towel. After wiping a clear spot in the steam on the mirror with the heel of my palm, I vainly look at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, swivelling to look around and deciding that I need to cut back on all my cooking; I’ve put on a few pounds.

I get tired of myself quite quickly and wrap the towel around my waist to walk the few scant feet to my room. I rustle through my closet for the best clothes I have, wanting to look good for reasons I’m not sure of. Keith will still be out cold (no matter how much I wish he wasn’t), so I’m not sure who I’m trying to impress. Maybe I’ll scare people if I look extra gay.

I end up pulling a blue and yellow striped rugby polo on … one of the ones I screwed around with last year when Keith and I were going through a phase. I learned how to use a sewing machine in eighth grade and I sewed a little winged cross on the back … it looks pretty good, but obviously home-done. I find a pair of my favorite jeans with a red bandana sewn around the leg and I pull them on; a bit too tight, but they’re wearable.

I spend too much time on my hair before leaving the house again. My mind got weighed down when I saw a tiny silk covered choker on my desk that was too small to belong to me. The few carefree moments I had when I was too busy being gay are gone, replaced quickly by worry. I set back out again, but stop at Keith’s house, noticing his mom’s dark yellow beater isn’t in the driveway. I’m assuming that since he was hit by a car, his clothes aren’t in the best of shape. Being the hopefully-wonderful boyfriend I am, I decide to bring his clothes to him. I get all the way to his front door and realize I’ve never been in his house.

I stop and fidget … he’s never let me in his house, not even now that we’re dating. I swallow hard and search for a hidden key as most families have, I know mine is under a loose brick. I lift the threadbare rug under my feet, I check the brass mailbox stuffed to the lid with fliers, and I eventually poke my fingers into the small electrical lamp bolted to the pink-stucco wall near my head. My fingers touch against something jagged and metal, I manoeuvre it out.

I stare at the small silver key flat in my palm, edges rusted from time. It might make Keith mad if I do this … but I’ve wanted to see his house and room for almost ten years, and now I have my opportunity. Should I? He hasn’t let me, this counts as trespassing. But we aren’t strangers and I’m not going to take his TV …

I breathe in deep and put the key in the slightly dirty lock and turn, with a sharp click the lock gives way and it opens. I turn the knob and carefully let myself in.

Almost all the lights are still on; Brandon and Jeff must have left in a hurry, unsurprisingly. My first thought is how moldy the air feels, and a little muggy. I keep my shoes on, taking a few careful steps inside. To my left is an indoor window (no glass, just a ledge) showing the kitchen, and a few feet ahead, the wide kitchen doorway. To the right is a dark sunken living room covered in grey woollen carpet with only a few potted plants and a loveseat settled in front of a small, dusty TV. Across the armchair is a well-worn plaid blanket and four socks are on the ground, two pink, two white.

An odd feeling rises in me, a little like guilt, a little like pity. It’s a bit … poor. I didn’t think it would be, but I didn’t know what I was expecting either. Not this, to be truthful. Sure, I guess I always knew that Keith wasn’t very well off, I caught Lauren paying for a lot of his clothes when we went shopping and he never bought lunches from school. I should have known, I should have done something, god knows I’m a spoiled little rich boy.

I walk down the small dark hallway, stepping over a pair of shorts and a glass of something. I check the first door; a quiet white bathroom. The second one, a very dark bedroom with a dormant computer in the corner. Takeout food containers are littered across the floor along with earthy-toned heaps of fabric, pushed half-heartedly into the corner of a wall and a white dresser. This could be Keith’s room, I decide as I take a few careful steps across the floor, standing nearly on tip toe to avoid disturbing everything. My heel crunches on a fast food paper bag once, and I nearly jump.

I get to the dresser and open the first drawer: white socks and grey boxers. I close it and open the second one, still unsure if this could be Keith’s. I see a crumpled pair of heavy faded jeans and a dark brown tshirt with a white tribal design across the front, and I know this has to be Brandon’s room. On my way back out, I spot something shiny on the bed; curiosity gets the better of me, and I creep over. Among the dark green quilt, I see as I crumple them out of the way, is a pair of handcuffs and a leather gag. I blush beet red and quickly scamper out of the room, too many mental images flooding my mind at once, never more sure that that ISN‘T Keith’s room. I shut the door and I’m back in the hallway.

I’m about to check the door at the end of the hall, but something catches my attention on the door closest to me. Spread the length of the door is three gigantic swirls done in black paint, and in the bottom corner is a calligraphy butterfly. My mouth falls open a bit … Is this his? I’m almost scared to open it, but I do it anyways, stepping inside.

In the right corner is … a bed. A normal single bed with a plain red quilt. There’s a closet across the room with the doors ajar, showing rows of brightly colored clothes hung on hangers. The cream colored carpet is covered in books, more clothes and paper among other things, but it isn’t the contents of the room that makes it spectacular.

It’s the walls, making me dizzy just by looking at them. They’re covered , all four plus the ceiling, in swirls of paint. All colors are warm, red, oranges, yellows, golds, auburn, terracotta, peach, all flow together and mix. It creates a smooth look that feels like a sunset, like it might be warm if I touched it. Spanning the expanse of the ceiling along with this myriad of colors is thick black swirls that adorned the door, curling outwards from the wings of a second calligraphy butterfly as big as the bed opposite it on the floor. They spurt like fireworks out towards every other corner, curling down around the frame of a window covered with dusty grey blinds.

For what seems like the thousandth time today, I can’t breathe and I feel like crying. This … is so gorgeous. There’s no other word for it, except maybe cozy, that can describe the sea-like qualities of this room that he’s painted. Or, at least I think he painted it. I walk to the closet that confirms this is Keith’s room, and it’s filled with all his clothes, all of which I recognize. I pick out some of his (and my) favourites, putting them into a plastic bag since I can’t find anything else. I turn off all the lights and leave, returning the silver key to it’s place in the electric lamp.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

My senses are broken. I can’t see a thing and my mouth is empty and dry, I feel nothing under my fingertips or feet, nothing on my face. But I can hear. I can hear wind all around me but can’t feel it in my hair or skin, I can hear it’s wolf-like howl and it’s deafening rustle as it makes it’s way through leaves somewhere nearby. I can smell too, stronger than normal, nothing but sandalwood and a sort of musky cologne that’s strikingly familiar, spicy sweet scent burning my nose.

But I shouldn’t have said my senses were broken, they’re just the wrong ones. I can’t feel cold or see anything, but I can feel my circulatory system. I can feel blood going through each chamber of my heart, oxygenated and flowing into veins in my chest and arms, down to scant millimetres below the rice paper skin over the inside of my forearm, capillaries blue so close to the surface as they are now.

Along with the blood, I’m very very aware of everything else in my body, things I shouldn’t feel. I can feel millions of nephrons working in each of my kidneys, I can feel the blood filtering through them. I can feel alveoli in my lungs filling with air, expelling carbon dioxide, I can feel everything, each cell expanding and dividing, moving inside me, making me whole.

Even with this revelation, I’m not pleased. I feel like I’m floating without touch, I have no body. The wind in leaves persists, a rough roaring noise surrounding me now, all I can hear alongside silence. That smell is still thick, suffocatingly so, that spicy smell that only makes me think of bare skin and shoulder blades, that smell that scratches at the back of my throat like a bad cough, that smell that makes me stupid with love. I know HE’S here, I know that scent can’t possibly belong to anyone else. Coy’s here, wherever here is, he’s in the trees and in the air. I open my lips, or I think I do, and I say his name once, loud and afraid.

White. Everything is white, that’s all I see now. From pitch black to stark white makes my eyes sting, makes me recoil in shock. The first thought that squirms it’s way into my brain is that something has happened to me to make black white and vice versa, but then I see something fuzzy to the bottom of my view. It’s … wool. That fateful monochrome scarf that I will never forget for the rest of my life, that scarf he gave me the week everything started to change. It’s pulled high over my nose and it’s what I’m drowning in, I can’t feel a thing but it’s woollen weave is pressed against the lower half of my face, wrapped around my shoulders.

Then … it hits me. It’s not white. It isn’t blindness. It’s snow.

I raise my head to see the sky is a luminous grey and everything seems desaturated, including the trees surrounding me row upon row, leaves and branches covered in snow, as far as I can see. The first thing I think of is … an orchard; or it looks like it at least. I blink a few times and pull the scarf down from around my numb face with equally numb fingers. I say Coy’s name once more, making sure that it wasn’t just the scarf that made that fantastic scent.

My own name sounds from next to my ear, it makes me wish I could feel his breath on my skin more than I wish for anything. I say ‘his’ because I recognize that voice, that slightly baritone voice that drives me wild with too many things to name. I spin around to see Coy, but along with a crunching of snow, he moves. I turn to the other side and end up spinning in a full circle, but he’s always pivoting so he’s behind me.

I say his name with a sob, pausing to stare at the ground. I ask him to stop in a choked voice, and I hear more snowy movements followed by … wet noises. Loud ones. It takes me a second, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see crimson wisps of hair blowing into my view. And as dense as I can be, I realize he’s sucking on my goddamn ear. I hear myself telling him to stop again with an agitated sigh.

He growls from deep in his throat, such a carnal noise that it barely sounds like it comes from his lips, but it finds it’s way. I open my mouth to say something but it comes out as a gasp because the snow is gone along with the red hair. I blink my eyes but it stays dark, and I let out a frustrated cry. A particularly sharp gust of wind rustles the leaves and it catches me off guard, but the sound is dull in comparison to the second growl that rips into me from my right ear, making me exclaim once again.

I hear Coy’s voice again, deep and almost husky, deadly serious. He tells me to follow him and I do so by sound, not bothering to turn around in case I spin off in the wrong direction. I carefully place my feet behind me one by one, shaky steps crunching the frozen snow, and Coy keeps saying things to direct me.

He isn’t talking about anything specific, in fact, I think he’s singing. I’ve only ever heard him sing along to songs, and on his own he’s shaky and out of tune. I don’t recognize the song, if it IS one, but it’s nice. Not beautiful, but nice and comforting. I follow it blindly like sheep to a shepard, yet it’s slowly dying down, lost in the sound of the leaves. I call his name a few times, increasingly desperate the longer I’m alone.

“Behind you.”

I spin on my heel with a shocked scream and lose balance. Though my body is numb, I can tell I’m falling. I expect to land in hard packed snow, but the inside of my arm scrapes across the edge of something and I … keep falling. I smell smoke and that earthy smell after rain and the sound of the leaves disappears along with Coy’s beautiful voice. As usual, it takes me a moment to realize what just happened.

He tricked me. Coy lead me off a cliff. His voice, his singing, his lips. All distracting me. He did it again.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

When I get back to the hospital, I clunk around in the hallways on the wrong floor for fifteen minutes before I figure out where I am.

When I get back to that little waiting room with the green chairs, Brandon and Jeff are sitting more or less just as they were. Brandon’s crying again, elbows on his knees, hands covering almost all of his face and Jeff’s looking upset too, which is new and unsettling. I carefully walk up, boots making an obscenely loud noise in a room full of hushed voices, and I stop just in front of them. Putting a careful hand on Brandon’s shoulder; he jolts back against the seat of his chair at my touch and I lean away in shock.

“Are you alright …?” I ask, because with his hands off his face I can see that he looks shocked too, maybe because he didn’t hear me coming. He looks like he’s going to jump me again, but I don’t move.

“No.” he croaks almost silently and shakes his head just the slightest amount. Jeff isn’t saying a word, which is also off … suddenly it hits me …

“Oh god … Keith’s dead, isn’t he …” I flick my gaze between both of them, waiting with baited breath for an answer I know I’m not going to like; every time I think about Keith being dead, I start to feel physically sick, acid rising in my stomach, head heavy and sore.

Jeff shakes his head and I can breathe again. “No no no, that’s not it …” his voice lowers a little and I see his eyes shift to something behind me. “We were … kissing … and that woman over there …” he tells me, pointing behind me. I turn around as discreetly as I can to follow his gaze and I see him looking at a large blonde woman with curly hair sitting across the room. There’s a toddler that must be her son tugging at her pant leg but her focus is intent on her copy of People magazine. “… she came up to us and started saying all these things about parent-hood and disrespect and how much we disgusted her …”

He gets this look on his face that makes me so empathetic it hurts. “… Brandon’s really upset. No one’s done that to him before.”

“I’m not upset!” Brandon wails, burying his face in his palms again, completely disregarding what he just said. Jeff gives him a little look, but doesn’t say anything to him.

A question pops into my head and I ask it instantly. “People have done that to you before?” I say as I take a seat next to Jeff.

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I guess so. I don’t hide my sexuality and I’ve been … out … a lot longer than he has …”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Brandon snarls and glares at us, but Jeff reaches his hand out and rubs the side of his neck; Brandon quiets down without a thought, just as effective as putting a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry ….” Jeff mumbles, keeping his eyes on the woman still looking at her magazine for a moment longer before he turns to Brandon. “You just can’t let it bother you, you know all that stuff is complete shit …”

“… I know …”

“And you love me, don’t you?” Jeff asks so sweetly it shocks me.

“You know I do …” Brandon mutters, looking entranced and calm, eyes nearly closed.

“So does it matter what some useless hag thinks of us?”

“… No …”

“Good. So stop crying and kiss me.” he smiles and finishes his profound little speech as Brandon does as he’s told and leans forwards; I watch them kiss, knowing they don’t care if I do that or not. They kiss with such an amazing experience and familiarity, it’s like it’s completely effortless to them, and I guess it is.

I quickly snap back into my own chair when the small nurse walks up to us, one hand adjusting her glasses. Jeff and Brandon kiss for a second longer and she watches them, looking calm but uncomfortable, a light blush dusting her cheeks. They stop and lean back into their own chairs with a nonchalant kind of grace that makes me think that homosexuality isn’t as big of a deal as one might think. They smile at her and Jeff speaks.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice back to it’s usual quality that I’ve described as nothing other than ‘silvery’, like silk against steel.

She swallows before answering, a voice rivalling the ‘silver ness’ of Jeff’s, just in a much more tenor tone. “Karleane says you can come back inside if you calm down.” she tells us before scurrying off in the direction she came from, back behind the counter then wall of the nurse‘s station.

I turn to Brandon and blink a few times but he’s already standing and his hand’s on my wrist, tugging me back towards Keith’s room. I feel nervous and sick again, maybe he’s awake, maybe it’s worse now. Part of me doesn’t even care, I just want to see him again.

We get to his room as quick as we can, but without looking frighteningly determined this time. I’m upset when I don’t hear anything from behind the curtain, and my pace slows with lost hope. Sure enough, when Brandon pulls the curtain back, he’s just as we left him. AGAIN. I sigh and haul a chair up to his bed from the empty bed next to Keith’s, letting Jeff and Brandon take the other two.

We sit there for an indeterminable amount of time. I try not to take my eyes off Keith, though his face is almost entirely covered in that damn gauze. I’ve decided that he’s still gorgeous, one leg or not. Now I can make pirate jokes. But, thinking of peg legs makes me think of …

“Brandon?” I ask, and he looks up from where he was … I don’t know what he was doing, but by the look on Jeff’s face, it was something inappropriate. He gives me a small noise of acknowledgement, and I keep talking. “What are you going to do about the prosthesis?”

He sighs long and laboured. He looks like he thinks about it for a second, raising the hand that isn’t curled around Jeff’s to scratch at his ear. “No fucking idea. We don’t have a choice, those things are expensive as hell …”

My shoulders slump a little, I rest my forearms against my thighs. “Shit.” and I was really worried about that. Even pirates had peg legs, and having a stump would mean limited mobility or crutches … or even a wheelchair, if they could pay for that …

“I know.” Brandon nods. “But we really don’t have a choice …”

“You know what? Fuck that.” I rub my forehead, leaning back impatiently in my seat. “Fuck that. He’s not having a fucking stump, I’m paying for it.” I decide as if I had any other choice.

Brandon perks up, eyebrows raising, sitting up in his chair. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“Thousands of dollars?”

“He’s worth more than that.” I smile crookedly, mood lightened a little now that I know he’ll be okay. Mom can’t say no, she’s wickedly overpaid and I’m spoiled anyways. So I sacrifice Christmas presents, my boyfriend’s well being is more important. Even if I have to tell mom that we’re dating …

“God, I can see why he loves you.” Brandon snorts and to my horror (and surprise), Jeff winks at me, and I realize that they’re clearly saying different things. Implied innuendo and oddly placed love makes me blush, and I look away. They both start giggling and I stand up with held back laughter of my own.

“Screw you guys, I’m going to the vending machines.” I tell them, going by Jeff to leave, and I leap a foot in the air because when I pass him, he grabs my ass.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

When I get back, they’re sitting just as they were … well, almost. Jeff’s leaning over in his chair, face pressed to the crook of Brandon’s neck. I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, and part of me doesn’t want to.

“HEY!” I shoo my hands at them as if they were cats scratching the furniture. “Don’t do that here! Aren’t you worried about him?!” I say with a bit of annoyance, plopping into my own chair with the remains of a kit kat sticking out of my mouth.

Brandon tips his head back a little and raises a hand to the back of Jeff‘s head, which makes me blush to a human-firecracker degree. “Not really, give him some credit …” he mutters. “… He can deal with this, he isn’t dead, he isn’t retarded, he’ll be able to walk … He can handle it.”

I chew the kit kat stick thoughtfully: He definitely has a point. But should I be more upset? I was crying earlier today. I’m still sad, fuck yes, but I’m not crying … is that bad?

“I guess …” I mumble defiantly. I let my eyes leave Keith’s tranquil face for a moment to look at Jeff and Brandon, blush still going strong.

Jeff beats me to saying anything else. “Buuuut, he’s right …” he says, leaning back a little, much to Brandon’s obvious displeasure; I can see teeth marks and redness from his chin to his shoulder. “… If we’re gonna fuck, we should probably go somewhere else.”

Brandon blinks at him and rubs his own neck, cheeks tinting an embarrassed pink. “Like … home ‘somewhere else’ or janitor closet ‘somewhere else’?”

With a small chuckle, Jeff stands, smoothing his shirt down. “Home ‘somewhere else’.” he states, hauling his boy toy to his feet. He turns back to me a with an irresistible grin. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

I mumble something in return and slump down in my seat, looking back to Keith. I lean forwards and brush my fingers tentatively again his, giving his ring finger a small squeeze. I get no response, but I curl my fingers into his anyways as I sit in wait.

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Mom makes me leave at eight pm when visiting hours end. Jeff and Brandon never came back, and I don’t blame them; if they love each other half as much as I love Keith then they wouldn’t want to waste time here, so I’m not mad.

She also makes me go to school the next day and it’s horrible. No one’s heard about what happened yet, but it’s still a bad day. I’m not used to school without him. It started out sunny so I didn’t wear a coat, but twenty minutes after I left home, it hasn’t let up yet. I nearly failed two tests and cut the side of my hand in woodwork, probably because I’ve been worried and twitchy all day. What if Keith’s awake right now? And just getting madder and madder because he doesn’t understand. Maybe he’s crying because of his leg, or lack there of. Or his eyes, and I’m not there to comfort him.

I saw Damian in the hallways a few times, he looks like hell. His jaw and cheeks are bruised and he has that same sallow look to his skin, but he doesn’t even give me a second glance when I smile at him. I only saw him in the smoking pit at morning break today (I was checking) instead of at lunch, both breaks and sometimes during class. So I hope I’ve helped … even if I had to hurt him to do it.

As soon as we’re dismissed, I run outside and all the way across the fields, not letting up for a second until I’m in the front seat of my car. I’m out of breath as I drive, getting more used to it, even beginning to like it. I’m not as nervous as I was, even though I’m definitely not supposed to be out of the roads on my own. Cops never pull you over for that, it’s not like I’ll do anything else illegal anyways.

When I get to Keith’s room, none of the other beds are filled, just that same blue curtain blocking him from my view. When I pull it back, the first thing I notice is that he isn’t on his back anymore, he’s curled on his side, facing away from me. In the chair that I occupied yesterday is the nurse with the curly hair and the purple outfit that told us to ‘shoo’.

“Hello …” she greets me warily, and I’m kind of pleased at her apprehension. I hope I look gay. “Who’re you?” she asks.

She’s barely out of high school by the looks of it, so I feel a bit more calm around her. “Coy Russel.” I tell her. “His best friend.” And I sit in Brandon’s chair. She blinks at me a few times with large doe-like eyes framed by lenses, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Maybe she heard me telling Jeff that I wasn’t cheating on Keith, so maybe she knows I’m not just his friend.

“So what’s going on with him?” I ask, looking at him, and she looks too.

“He woke up,” she says in a hushed voice, I almost don’t hear her. I guess we shouldn’t wake him up.

My eyes widen. “How long was he up for?!” I say, trying to be quiet despite the excitement bubbling in my throat.

She shrugs. “Long enough to complain about his throat being sore, ribs being sore, eyes being sore … then he actually asked where you were, if I remember right. Then he just fell back asleep, those sedatives he’s under his powerful.”

I nearly laugh, I don’t know why. It just seems so like him. “Does he know about his …” I hesitate. “… lack of leg?”

She shakes her head. “Probably not.”

I heave a sigh of relief, because I need to be here when he finds out, he might need comforting. I know I would if I woke up without a shin. I agree fully with Brandon, he’s strong enough to handle it, but I want to be here to protect him. As stupid as that sounds.

Then something dawns on me … “Why’re you here?” I ask the nurse, who’s name I think the little nurse mentioned … Karleane sounds right. I might sound a bit rude but she’s just a nurse. She slumps back in her chair, planting her feet firmly on he ground as she tents her fingers over her stomach.


“I have to tell Doctor Russel when he wakes up again.” she says, sounding very bored, and I understand. If I wasn’t so desperately in love with that poor boy, I wouldn’t be spending my day here either, nor would I want to. I give her a sympathetic smile and she gives me one back.

“Doctor Russel is really nice, though. Up until now I’ve just been cleaning things and it gets really tiresome. She let me do this, at least. But I suppose I’m not being very professional right now.” she ponders, and I chuckle.

“She won’t mind, she isn’t very professional most of the time.” I say back quietly but holding back a giggle, thinking of times when she eats dropped food off the kitchen floor, even if it’s covered in Trixie’s hair.

Karleane gives me a very skeptical look. “She’s very professional, how do YOU know if she isn’t?”

She sounds a bit hostile, but I don’t blame her. I smile again. “She’s my mom.” I say simply, and she laughs in that delicate way girls have with a hand over her mouth.

“That makes sense … God, you could have told me you know, saved me the trouble of making an ass out of myself.”

I laugh half-heartedly and stare at Keith’s back since it’s the only part of him that I can see. That annoys me to no end, so I stand up and walk around the foot of his bed to stand next to Karleane’s chair. Now I can see him, unwashed hair, smudged eyeliner on his one visible eye, chapped lips … but he’s still beautiful, and still mine. I perch on the edge of his bed and touch his bangs with my fingertips. His hair’s nearly slimy beneath my touch but I’m not disgusted in the slightest and I keep touching it just a little as not to wake him up.

For a moment I stop looking at him and turn to the nurse. “Is this making you uncomfortable?” and I brush my fingers over his lips, as if making a point. She blinks a few times with wide eyes and focus them on Keith’s lips.

“My cousin’s gay-!” she blurts out and blushes. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just …” she breathes in. “… not used to it.”

I smile serenely and turn back to my boyfriend to trail down his neck, stroking gently under his chin like you would to a cat. He murmurs in his sleep, but I know he won’t wake up, he sleeps like a log.

“Don’t be nervous,” I tell Karleane. “It’s not like I’m contagious. I just like men.”

I see her fidget out of the corner of my eye. “Well … I’m gonna leave you alone, the nurses station is just to the right if he wakes up …”

I frown at her, drawing my hand off Keith. She doesn’t look me in the eye as she pulls the curtain back and leaves, tacky white shoes fwapping on the linoleum. I sigh and look down at Keith, still sleeping soundly. I crawl back into my own chair, pulling it close.

Not all people are that accepting, I realize. Our town isn’t too bad for homophobes or hate crimes, but there’s always those few ignorant people out there that shun. I smile down at Keith, even if he can’t see it. He’ll wake up soon … hell, I could make him up right now … I move my fingers over his closed eyelid, deciding to be a bit selfish for a moment. As I expected, it flutters open. His eye, just as green as ever, looks at me as he tries to get up but only succeeds in rolling over.

I’m so relieved that I feel flighty and sick, I smile down at him but he doesn’t look too happy, perpetual pouty frown on his little cherubs lips. I look down at him wordlessly, waiting for something, anything. His beautiful lips part and he tries to talk but only croaks then coughs hard into his hand. At first I’m worried about the respiratory problems that mom mentioned yesterday, but after a moment’s contemplation, I dash to the small bathroom across the ward to get him a paper cup full of water. With only a little complication, he drinks it, then coughs once more.

“Are you alright?” I ask him quietly, trying to gauge his mood.

“………… No.” he answers, voice just as cute and serene as I remember it, even if it isn’t saying something good. “I got hit by a car ” he says, but it goes up at the end, as if he’s asking me if he did. So, I respond as such.

“Yeah … I’m really really sorry.” I’d like to stare at my hands right now, but I can’t look away.

“Why? Unless you were driving the car, you shouldn’t be sorry.” he says disdainfully, hiding his mouth behind the styrofoam cup.

“No, um …” I hesitate and finally lose courage, dropping my gaze. “… I mean about Damian.”

“Oh.” he says like an old blueblood talking about a commoner. “That.”

A silence hands between us, thick and uncomfortable. My hips between to slip off the edge of my chair and part of me wants to let myself fall, scrunch up in a ball on the floor. But whatever pride I have left stops me and I just stare at him.

“I can explain if you promise to listen.” he lowers the cup when I finally talk, cracking it in his hand before tossing it onto the little night table next to his head. “Please …” I finish desperately, wondering if he knows just how much this means to me. He keeps his head tilted down but his eye flicks up to mine. I swallow hard because even if I can’t convey emotion in my eyes, he certainly can. I fidget with my nails, waiting for a response.

I hear him take a deep breath and it’s raspy. He coughs.

“Fine.” is all he says and he doesn’t move. His gaze drops back down to the thin hospital blanket, covering his body and the thin patterned gown covering his skin. Why is everything in hospital’s so flimsy? Including the patients. “I’d leave, but I can’t move.”

I feel like crying just from that one statement, I never ever wanted him to feel that he has to run away from me, that’s horrible. I start wondering if he still loves me, but then he coughs again and I realize he’s waiting.

“Okay … I still love you.” I start on a good note. “I never stopped, you have to believe me. I’ll always love you, you …” I trail off when he gives me an odd look and I realize that this isn’t what he’s looking for. “So, um, anyways, I was really tired so I went to bed and Damian got into my house with a key he stole from me … off the pikachu keychain I got in fourth grade, remember? Anyways, so he got into bed with me and I thought he was you, so I let him stay and then you must have seen us. I beat the hell out of him in the morning, but he really has some -”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” he says with an iciness in his tone that almost makes me shiver, and my mouth hangs open a little.

“It’s TRUE!” I say desperately. “Keith, I swear I never wanted him there!”

“Shut up, don’t say that …” his voice has changed a little, I’m not sure how, but it sounds pained.

I quickly realize what he’s talking about. “No, I love you.”

“No you don’t, stop it.”

“I love you.”

“Stop it!”

“I love you.”

I expect him to yell again, but he just … stops. He lies back against his pillow and covers his face with both his hands. I can see his chest tremble, and I think I’ve made him cry.

“I never want to see you again.” he sobs.






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