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While Gael sleeps in my arms, I relive everything we went through, until my body is restless and my mind reeling. Then, when I can’t stand my feelings any longer, I disentangle myself from around his body, and leave without looking back—knowing I’ll be here tomorrow, but wishing I could be strong enough to stay away.
One thing is certain in my mind. Once he’s out of here, and he’s well, I won’t be with him. I’ll go back to my ordinary life, but this time I won’t be asking myself where he is, because the only important thing to keep in mind is that he’s not with me.
I’m sure he won’t be staying here for longer than is necessary to recover.
Chapter Eight
Gael
The usual sounds of the hospital greet me when I open my eyes. I look around, hoping to see Cammy, but the room is empty, and my body deflates like those balloons when the plug is pulled.
It was only a dream. A beautiful, heartbreaking in the cold light of day, dream.
I thought the same last night. But the warmth of his body, his arms around me and the whispered words, everything seemed so real. I will my eyes not to fill with tears, because he’s not here with me. Because I’m here alone.
I pull myself to a sitting position and then throw the sheets off. I move around until my feet are on the floor and then push myself to a standing position. The room spins at first, and I grip the bed rail so as not to fall. When my head gets used to the new height, I’m able to stand on my own two feet. Then I hobble to the bathroom as slowly as a snail, to take care of business. I want to look a bit better than I did these last few days when Cammy comes to visit.
I don’t let the idea of him not coming back take root in my mind, because I need this ray of hope to keep going. To keep dreaming of a better life—of being with Cammy forever.
I was a bastard when I asked him to get out, but I couldn’t stand for him to see me like this. Broken and battered. Used and discarded. Like I was and am nothing.
The mirror shows a face that has aged too quickly, and my eyes scream of the pain, the hardship I went through, and of tiredness. A tiredness that’s expanded to my bones, making them buckle under the weight of the horror and filth I’ve seen and experienced.
Would Cameron’s touch soothe them and cleanse me?
A rough laugh leaves my mouth, echoing inside the small, empty room, and making my head ring. I take a paper towel and clean what I can without making things worse. When my face is cleaner, I’m tired and I want to hide, hoping it’ll help me forget everything but Cammy.
When I’m done, I’m nearly ready to pass out, and my return to bed is an even slower trip. When I reach the bed, I take a relieved breath and try to get on it, but before I can, the door opens, surprising me and making my heart thunder in my chest and ears. I freeze and my body trembles, while the hair on my body stands up. In my usual fight-or-flight response, I turn around so fast I nearly lose my balance. In my heart I’m hoping to welcome Cameron, instead a light blue sleeve appears, and I recognise the nurse’s uniform.
Only then do I remember, Cameron always knocks before entering the room. And my heart falls to my feet with the heaviness of the knowledge that Cameron might not come.
My desire for last night to be real and not a dream, crashes to the floor and shatters like glass. That piece of fantasy created by my mind, and by my need to have someone to care for me, love me like Cammy once did. He did it with all his heart and all his being. It’s just another illusion I fabricated to make reality better, but once again I failed to realise that losing that glimmer of hope would make my life not worth living.
“Mr Sullivan, glad to see you up,” nurse Selby says, fussing around me as I’m still halfway to lying back on the bed.
Slowly, so as not to upset my body further, I make myself comfortable and give her a chance to check my vitals and give me my pills. They won’t help with my bruised heart, but they’ll help my bruised body for sure.
“How are you feeling today?”
“I’m better, thank you.” I want to lie, badly. Because I don’t have anywhere to go but back to the streets. But I’ve never been that kind of person. Not even lying could have helped me, growing up in a family where lies were expected, and where hiding my sexuality meant staying alive for another day. I promised myself, once I was free from under my father’s thumb, I’d live a life where I didn’t have to hide the truth.
“Let me check the bandages and then I’ll leave you alone,” she jokes.
I smile, and she takes that as a free pass to chat away.
“Where’s that nice friend of yours?”
I force my smile to stay in place, even if I want to frown. Of all the questions she could have asked, I get the only one I don’t have an answer for.
“He’s probably at work,” I say.
See how long ‘I don’t want to lie’ lasted? Good job.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she says, patting my hand.
I don’t think so, because I’ve sent him away. That’s what I should say, instead I reply with another lie. There’s no stopping me today.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will.”
