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14
The hospital is dark and drab like my mood. Heavy grey stones and dark windows that deflect the hot sun. Despite setting Amy in her place and fucking her in the shower afterwards, I’m unsettled, and this place amplifies that feeling. It’s the long white corridors and the faint smell of urine and medication, the artificial odours of chemicals that try to hide the things that keep bodies alive behind yellowing curtains.
The nurse points me towards the room and gives me a sad smile. “Wonderful news with your friend,” she says, and I see the empathy and compassion in her eyes. It’s totally wasted on me, but I purse my lips and give her a slight nod in thanks, hoping she buys it. “He doesn’t get many visitors, you know.”
I nod again. Why would he? Still, I’m both curious and cautious, so I ask, “Who comes to see him most often?”
“Just his wife.” She gives me a sad smile. “She’s very pretty, you know.”
I don’t, but I nod anyway. A tinge of guilt spirals up my spine as I wonder about his family. Then again, he gave them up when he started fucking Amy.
Each time I walk into the room I’m surprised by the amount of natural light that floods it. There’s a small bedside table, on it, a small bouquet of dying flowers whose brown, wilted leaves crumble like discarded crumbs on the white surface. One floats in the glass of half-filled water on the stand. My heart beats in time with the constant beeping of the monitor, and I look at the body on the bed. My heart stutters for a second.
He’s gaunt and drained of colour, and still. Just as I left him there on that grass.
Derek lies on the bed. His eyes remain closed and his breathing even. He no longer reeks of alcohol and cigarettes but of disease and desperation. A shiver runs along my back, and I take a few steps closer to the man. They told me he’s woken up. The nurse said how delighted they were, but when her face dropped, she gave me a whispered apology. She said she wished there was more that could be done for my friend, but the damage is too great, that the man I used to know is probably gone.
It takes me time to set up these visits. After the weeks of rummaging through John Doe cases, searching hospital rooms and keeping my ear to the ground, finding that news article in the library gave me direction. With so many drunken losers getting beat up every weekend and ending up in hospitals it wasn’t easy tracking him down, not to mention privacy laws and the fact that I can’t afford to leave a trail behind that might connect me to this man at all. I wasn’t entirely happy when they identified him, nor to hear he’s had other visitors, but at least knowing where he is means I can keep an eye on him.
He stirs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him move since I began to visit, and I take another step toward the bed. He moans, and for a second, I’m standing over his bloodied face in the darkness. I brush the thought away as I keep watching his face. His eyes flutter open.
The man on the bed looks at me. For a few seconds his eyes remain blank, but when he blinks again, I see recognition behind his eyes.
Derek makes a sad, desperate sound. It’s small and pathetic, and I see his body shivering beneath the thin greying sheet.
“Hello, Derek.” I smile at him, and his eyes bulge as he keeps staring at me. His face crumples.
I wait for him to speak, but all he can manage are a few weak sounds.
“Do you remember me?” I ask and step closer to the man. He seems paralysed inside his own head.
He keeps staring, only whimpering. His large body shakes.
“I’ve been coming to see you. I’m glad you’re finally awake.” I smile at him, and he whimpers. “I’ve been worried you might do something stupid when you wake up, but maybe all this time I’ve been worried for nothing.”
I slide onto the edge of his bed, and his eyes seem to grow even more, his breath ragged and strained. I lean over him, so that my mouth hovers inches from his ear. “She’s safe now, she’s with me.” I sit up and watch his face; something there has changed. There is no longer fear but something else I can’t understand, and a pathetic groan falls from his mouth. Whatever he wants to tell me is encapsulated inside his mind, blocked by broken wires in a broken brain.
I put my hand over his, the muscles becoming rigid and hard beneath my touch. “I’ll see you soon, Derek.” I squeeze the limp hand far harder than is necessary. His face creases and he moans. He might be damaged, but he gets my message.
I get up and walk out of the room without a backwards look. I need to get home.
