Fic - I Wept Not [16/24]
Jan. 30th, 2012 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arcadianmaggieSummary: Jasper is a war weary soldier burdened by the weight of eternity. Edward is an uncomplicated high school student content to hide his sexuality. Together can Jasper find something to live for and Edward discover some things are worth dying for? AU, slash.
Chapter 15 | Masterpost
"My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream."
- Dylan Thomas, "Clown in the Moon"
Chapter 16 – From the Rift
EPOV
I threw my notebook across the room in frustration, wincing as my ribs protested my aggressive movements. I blinked back the tears, determined not to cry again. This was the third time today I had attempted to complete one of my calculus problems, and it was just as futile this time as it had been the previous two. I couldn't concentrate and my head was pounding.
My broken leg and the resulting cast and crutches were extremely awkward and inconvenient; my chest still hurt every time I took too deep a breath, or coughed, or sneezed; but worst of all was my head which still ached, unbearably sometimes.
Well, worst of all was actually… I shut my eyes and lay back on my bed. I just couldn't think about that right now.
I was home from the hospital and preparing to resume my normal life. It wasn't going so well. I had been out of school for a few weeks now, mostly doing nothing but sleeping, or not sleeping, as the case may be. My head injury had me completely fucked up. I couldn't read; I couldn't even watch television. I'd have insomnia, even when I was dead tired from the painkillers.
Dr. Cullen had referred me to a neurologist, but he didn't have much of anything helpful to say, only some sort of useless bullshit about the brain needing time to heal. He couldn't tell me how much time, and his answers were always vague, stuff about every injury being different, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. His main focus seemed to be hitting on the right combination of drugs to counteract my issues. The first one we had tried was amitriptyline, but it had made me feel like I didn't even live in my own body, so I had demanded to be taken off of it. Now we were trying a combination of Ambien, for my fucked up sleeping patterns, and Topamax, an anti seizure medication that had an off label use for migraine prevention. I hadn't been on it long, and the only difference I could tell so far was that it made me lose my appetite, although that could still be from the head injury itself. I remembered how unbearably nauseated I had been initially. I couldn't even sit up without wanting to hurl.
My emotions seemed magnified; I was either angry or sad or frustrated. It was as if I had no control over them, like the filter which kept everything contained had been stripped away, and every feeling was raw and exposed. I had spent way too much time crying and I felt like I was a fucking lunatic some days. Like now, about to have another messy break down because I couldn't figure out my calculus homework.
Mike had visited me often and brought me my school work, so I wouldn't be too far behind when I got back. It was beginning to be obvious to everyone, however, that there was no way I would be able to resume the work in my classes any time soon. My mom had met with the Principal and the Guidance Counselor about how to handle the remainder of my senior year. Since I had taken so many advanced courses over the past few years, I really only needed my English credits to have enough to graduate. Though with the way I was mixing up words when I wrote and stumbling over the simplest sentences when I talked, there was doubt I'd even complete that course.
Mom wanted things to be as normal as possible for me, so I would be returning to my regular classes, but only expected to complete what work I was able. If I couldn't complete my English assignments, I would be given an incomplete and would finish over the summer. I would attend graduation with my class, but wouldn't actually receive my diploma until I had finished the requirements. All these details were too much for me to handle right now, but I was glad at least that it looked like the attack hadn't stopped me from being able to graduate high school with my class. It had taken enough away from me already.
I swallowed back the tears that threatened again. I couldn't think of that right now. I couldn't. I had enough to think about with me returning to school tomorrow.
Mom sat with me in the kitchen as I picked at my breakfast before school. Mike would be coming to pick me up any minute. She was staying home from work again, in case I wasn't able to make it through the entire day and she needed to come get me. I wasn't hungry, most likely because my stomach was a mass of nerves. Other than Bella and Mike, this would be the first time I had seen my friends since the article had come out in the paper. I knew everyone would be looking at me and talking about me when I showed up today. I wondered how differently they would treat me now that they knew I was gay.
Mike hadn't treated me any differently, once we got over our initial misunderstanding. Other than taking great pleasure in mercilessly teasing me about my previous unrequited crush on him. For whatever reason, he thought that was the greatest thing ever and loved to bring it up again and again. He said it just proved what a stud he was if not only all the girls, but also one of the most popular, good-looking guys in school thought he was hot. I told him Jessica hardly counted as "all the girls," but he was not deterred. Even though he could be annoying about it, all the joking made me feel like things would be okay. The subject matter of the jokes had changed, but the way he interacted with me had not.
I heard a knock at the door and grabbed my crutches leaning on the counter beside me to help me up. Mom had that concerned mom look on her face, a look I had seen her wear far too often in the past few weeks, as she watched me struggle to my feet.
"You know if it's too much, you can call me any time and I'll come get you," she offered.
"It will be fine," I said, although I wasn't at all sure I believed it would be.
"Your Principal's talked to all of your teachers, so don't worry about any of your schoolwork."
"Mom, I'll be fine," I repeated, not really wanting to go through this again. I might as well get it over with.
"Honey…" she said, her face worried, as she reached out to brush my hair off my forehead.
"Mike's waiting," I told her brusquely, not wanting to deal with an emotional scene. I barely had a grip on my own emotions these days; I could not deal with seeing the sadness in her eyes again.
She dropped her hand. "Okay, baby. Have a good day."
It was the way she had often said goodbye to me in the mornings. I felt a lump in my throat when I thought about how a little routine saying like that could sound so normal, but at the same time, how it could sound so completely and absolutely different.
I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek before heading to the foyer.
"Eddie!" Mike greeted me cheerfully when I opened the door.
"Hey, Mike," I said.
"Where's your stuff?" he asked, pushing the door open and walking past me to get inside. He saw my backpack on the floor and reached over to grab it.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"Yeah," I responded, moving slowly through the doorway on my crutches.
Mike kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way to school, filling me in on all the gossip, even though he had told me most of it before, during his many visits. He had gotten into the habit of telling me things over and over after spending so much time with me; my short term memory was complete shit. I'm sure he could tell how nervous I was and I appreciated his efforts to take my mind off things.
After he pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine, he turned and looked at me.
"You ready for this?" he asked, a serious expression on his face.
I looked out the window and saw curious eyes already on me. I tried to tamp down that nervous feeling in my stomach. Then I caught sight of Bella who stood smiling near the entrance of the school. She lifted up her hand in a wave and I smiled back.
I took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm ready."
Mike ran around to the passenger side to help me out. He grabbed my backpack and slung it over his shoulder where it bounced against his own. Once I was situated on my crutches outside his truck, he reached over to shut the door behind me. Bella and Alice were making their way across the parking lot towards us, as were Ben and Angela from the next row of cars over.
Mike looked me in the eye and said, "We got your back."
I nodded in gratitude, swallowing another lump in my throat.
My friends stuck by my side the entire day. Mike walked me to my first hour prep with Alice, and she carried my bag to our English class from there. Since I was out of PE for the foreseeable future, I had another prep hour, this time with Mike. We already had Physics together and then lunch. Alice had Calc with me, then it was History for the final class of the day. On days Mike didn't have to stay for sports, he'd be driving me home; the other days either Alice or Bella would give me a ride.
That first prep period with Alice was the hardest. Not only because it was the first class of the day, the first chance for people to gawk, to whisper, which they did, but because it was Alice. As before, we sat in the back next to each other, our desks pulled close. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask so badly. And I thought if I could just get through this first period without asking, if I could just keep my mind off things, just get through the hour, I'd be okay.
"I missed you," she whispered, as we talked quietly, our heads bent close.
"I missed you too," I told her. And I had.
"How's your head? Bella said your headaches have been pretty bad. Are they better now?"
"I'm still having them a lot."
"Oh." She looked upset at my answer.
"I'm okay, Alice. The doctor says my headaches should continue to get better over time."
"Well, that's good, right?" She looked hopeful.
"Yeah."
"And your leg and your ribs? They're getting better too?"
"Yeah. My ribs are still sore, and it sucks having to use the crutches with them, but it's gotten a lot better."
"That's good…that's good," she said, almost to herself.
She looked at me as if she wanted to say something else. I stared back, trying my hardest not to ask, to just get through this period without asking.
As I looked into her eyes, I had a moment of recognition; they were so familiar. It was strange how I had never really noticed the color before, golden and beautiful.
I almost felt as though the words were being pulled straight from my chest. "Have you…"
My throat closed up and I felt the prickling behind my eyes. My mind screamed:
Have you heard from him?
Is he okay?
Did he ask about me?
Does he miss me?
Does he still love me?
When is he coming home?
I couldn't get the words out though. I was about to fall completely apart. I just needed to get through this period. If I could get through this first period, I would be okay.
We sat in silence while I tried to regain control of myself. I felt as if I were made of the thinnest glass, and a single careless jostle would splinter me to pieces.
I felt Alice's cool fingers on the back of my hand. I looked up into her eyes, drinking them in, wishing…
I couldn't do this right now. I had to get through the day.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I nodded, swallowing hard and shutting my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall behind me.
By the end of the day I felt like my head was going to explode. I was not prepared for how tired I would feel, and I had barely done anything. My mom took one look at my face as I walked in the door and hustled me off to bed, making sure I took some pain meds before I almost immediately passed out.
I didn't wake up until after dinner and my head was still throbbing. Mom could tell I was still in pain.
"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow, sweetie," she suggested, her eyes full on concern. "There's no need to push things."
"I'll be fine," I said, taking a small bite of the meal she had fixed for me. I wasn't really hungry.
I heard her sigh. "Edward," she started.
"Mom, I'll be fine," I insisted, putting another bite of food in my mouth and chewing slowly. I poked the rest of it with my fork, staring at the white sauce on the pasta.
My stomach did one of those weird clenching things. I pushed my plate away. "I'm sorry. I'm not really hungry."
"Honey, you have to eat," my mom said with that pleading look in her eyes that killed me.
I reluctantly picked up a piece of bread and start nibbling on it.
"I can make you something else," she said, a hopeful note in her voice.
"No, this is fine, Mom. Really, I'm just not that hungry. I ate a big lunch." I hadn't, but I hated having her worry all the time.
"Okay, baby. How about I make us some tea?"
"Sure. That'd be great."
The second day was even harder than the first. Mostly because I was still so exhausted from yesterday, and my headache had never really gone away. Plus, it was beginning to sink in how different everything was now.
Although my closest friends seemed to treat me the same as always, a lot of the other guys acted weird or uncomfortable around me. I would catch looks of pity from others, including some of my teachers. And every time I thought about being out of commission for baseball this season, I'd feel so fucking angry. I was hopelessly behind in all my classes and I realized there was no way I would catch up. I could barely even follow what they were talking about.
And my head hurt all the fucking time.
When I thought about how happy I had been before, it seemed like another lifetime ago, like those things had happened to some guy who didn't even exist any more. It felt like a black hole of grief had settled into my gut and sucked out all the happiness and joy from life, and all that remained of me was an empty hollow shell. An automaton who walked around like a zombie, just trying to go through the motions of another day.
My mom was pissed when I got home from school. I could tell from the tightness around her mouth. She got me straight up to bed again, gave me some meds and said, "You're staying home tomorrow."
I didn't argue.
-o-
I heard my mom rushing up the stairs at the sound of the crash.
"Edward?" she called frantically. "Are you all right?"
She burst through the bathroom door and stopped short when she saw me surrounded by shards of broken glass. Pieces of the broken bottle of after shave lay on the counter where it had landed after I had thrown it against the bathroom mirror. The smell was overpowering.
Her expression morphed from concern to sympathy. "Oh, honey," she said.
I just stood there, my chest heaving, my hands clenching in fists at my sides.
"Don't move," my mom instructed. "I'm going to get something to clean this up. I'll be right back."
I nodded in acknowledgment.
She returned a few minutes later with a broom and dustpan and some paper towels. She also had a pair of my flip flops in her hands.
"Here, honey. Put these on."
I did as she asked.
"Go wait in the bedroom until I get this cleaned up."
I sat on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. The neurologist had said that these wild mood swings were normal after a traumatic brain injury and that they wouldn't last forever. I hoped that was true. My cast was off and my memory had improved. I was finally able to fall asleep at night without the aid of drugs, but I still felt raw emotionally. Most of the time I did okay. I had fewer and fewer crying jags, thank goodness. They had been freaking embarrassing. When I had gotten overly frustrated, I had become unable to stop the tears from flowing. And I had gotten frustrated a lot those first few weeks. I had been a complete basket case.
The anger, however, was still in full force. It always seemed to be simmering under the surface, even though most days it didn't make its presence known. I went to class, ate lunch with my friends, came home, lounged around on the couch, then lay in bed trying to sleep. The next day I'd do it all over again. The weekends were harder, because I had more time to think, less time to be distracted by pointless shit. The weekends were when little bits and pieces of things I didn't want to think about would creep into my brain and cause tiny fissures in my apathy that would allow the anger to seep through. Sometimes when those tiny cracks appeared, the anger would burst forth like a volcano and I'd explode with rage.
Like tonight. I'd been in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower and images started popping into my head. That gorgeous dimpled face, smiling at me after we had raced up the stairs; those intense golden eyes locked on mine as we stripped off our clothes; his hands on my body, worshipping me as his velvety voice whispered words of love and longing in my ears. I tried so hard not to think about him, for when I did, the grief would well up inside me, drowning out everything but my own pain and sorrow. I missed him. So much.
I didn't understand.
Now that my anger was fading, I could feel the tears welling up. I kicked off the flip flops and pulled my legs up onto the bed, laying my head on my pillow and curling up on my side. I could feel the moisture leaking out from beneath my closed lids and sliding down my face.
I heard my mom enter the room and her deep sigh as she paused in the doorway. I had heard that sound from her far too often recently. I felt the bed dip as she took a seat on the edge. Her hand gently combed through my hair, brushing it back from my forehead.
"I want you to go see Dr. Goodwin," my mom finally said. She had been trying to get me to see a psychologist since the attack. I had refused.
I didn't answer.
"Honey, he can help you work through this," she said, continuing to push.
"No," I choked out. My voice was hoarse. I hadn't used it much lately.
She sighed again. "Please." I had a hard time refusing my mother anything, but I wasn't going to budge on this one. I wasn't going.
"I don't want to talk about it," I told her. I couldn't imagine trying to talk to some stranger about the huge black hole in my chest. I could barely even think about things without being overwhelmed, as the smashed glass in the bathroom could attest to. It wasn't going to happen, no matter how many times she tried to convince me.
"Edward, honey, you need to talk about it with someone."
I could feel the rage beginning to bubble. I brushed her hand away from my face in agitation.
"I told you I'm not going," I snapped. "Now drop it."
"Just think about it, honey…" she started.
I sat up abruptly. "I told you I didn't want to fucking talk about it," I yelled. God, I needed her to back the fuck off.
She got that look on her face. That worried, helpless look. Her hands rested limply in her lap, slightly curved, palms up. I felt a pang of guilt, but I pushed it aside. I couldn't deal with this right now.
My heart was beating rapidly again, fueled by my renewed anger. I was suddenly exhausted. I lay back down on the bed and shut my eyes, curling my arms and legs into my body.
"I'm tired," I told her.
After a long pause she said, "Okay, baby. I'll see you in the morning."
-o-
I sat in the lunchroom listening to my friends talk about the movie we had seen that weekend. I hadn't wanted to go; I would have preferred to stay home and lie in my bed, or veg on the couch in front of the television, but when I saw that hopeful look in my mom's eyes, I couldn't bear to disappoint her again.
Mike had picked me up in his truck and kept up a steady stream of one sided conversation. He never seemed to be bothered by my lack of participation. We all met for pizza before we hit the theater. I didn't say much at dinner, but they were all used to it by now.
It had been one of those stupid comedies, with lame slapstick jokes and broad humor. A real Mike kind of movie. I smiled as he reenacted one of the funnier scenes. He had everyone at the table laughing hysterically. I caught Bella staring at me with a strange expression on her face.
"What?" I asked her, curiously.
"It's… it's just really nice to see you smile," she said.
After lunch the group of us headed to the hallway for our next class. I was still watching Mike as he continued to act out scenes from the movie and not paying attention to where I was going. I slammed into someone hard.
I stammered an apology as I looked up into the angry eyes of Lauren Mallory.
"Watch where you're going, faggot," she hissed at me.
"What's your hurry, faggot?"
I froze in shock.
"What did you say?" Mike asked, his tone outraged. She didn't answer.
"What did you just call him?" He was angry, and his voice had increased in volume. I felt like I was standing in a tunnel. There was a loud rushing of sound in my ears and my heart started racing. I was frozen in place while commotion erupted all around me.
Tyler stepped in front of Lauren and faced down Mike. "She called him a faggot. You got a problem with that?"
"Yeah, I got a problem with that, dickhead. She needs to fucking apologize." He was livid.
"Or what?"
"Or what?" Mike asked incredulously. "She called Edward a faggot! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not the one who spends all his free time with a queer."
I watched as comprehension slowly dawned on Mike's face. I could tell it was a complete shock to him that Tyler had a problem with me being gay. I already knew from the way he had treated me ever since I had returned to school. It had been subtle before. Now it was out there.
Mike dove at Tyler, punching him in the face, and then they were rolling around on the ground together, struggling to connect their fists with the other's body. I could hear their grunts and panting breaths as they fought.
"What's your hurry, faggot?"
My hands were shaking and I felt perspiration break out all over my body. I felt sick and out of breath and my heart was pounding. Images flashed before my eyes, a fist in my face, taunting words, my arms being pinned, kicks to my ribs. I saw Jasper, full of glorious fury, leaping for my attacker.
I couldn't breathe. I felt dizzy and black spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The noise in my ears roared. I couldn't breathe.
I hear Bella screaming, "Stop! Mike, stop! There's something wrong with Edward!"
I watched as if everything was happening to someone else as Mike gave Tyler one last angry shove before hurrying over to me.
"Edward? Edward, are you okay?" His hands were gripping my shoulders.
"Someone get the nurse," he barked.
"I'm calling my dad," I heard Alice say.
"Here, sit down, and put your head between your knees." I was shaking too hard to obey, and I couldn't breathe.
"Bella, help me," Mike said.
I could feel them both pulling me to the ground and I felt Mike's hand on the back of my neck, forcing it forward. I heard other voices clearing the students out of the hall.
Mike and Bella kept talking to me in low, reassuring voices, urging me to take deep breaths, to try and relax. The nurse arrived and checked my pulse and added her voice to those of my friends.
After a while, she asked, "Do you think you can stand and make it to the infirmary?"
I nodded yes.
I felt dizzy again as I stood up, but Mike and Bella were holding on to me, one on either side. I was still sweating profusely and I hadn't stopped shaking completely, but we made it down to the nurse's station okay.
Dr. Cullen was already there waiting for us. He helped get me situated in one of the chairs. After speaking with the nurse for a few minutes and with Mike and Bella, he shut the door so that only he and I were in the room.
He spoke in a calm soothing voice. "I'm going to check your pulse and your temperature, then listen to your breathing, okay?"
I gave a small nod.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
I tried to speak and only a croak came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I just felt dizzy and like I couldn't breathe, and I was all sweaty."
"Bella says it happened after someone called you a slur?" He asked it casually.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me more?"
"Lauren called me a faggot and then Mike and Tyler started fighting. It reminded me of… stuff and I guess I freaked out." I wasn't sure why I was telling him this when I wouldn't talk about it with anyone else.
He nodded. "I want you to come down to the hospital for some tests, just to rule a few things out, but it sounds like you had a panic attack."
A panic attack. Great. Crying jags, emotional outbursts and now panic attacks. I was so fucked up.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've been through significant trauma." He paused and asked almost hesitantly. "Your mother says you've refused counseling?"
I gave another small nod.
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
He sighed and he sounded so much like my mom then. "You may not want to, but I think this is an indication that you need to. I'd like you to reconsider. I think you're experiencing some post traumatic stress. You should really be treated for it."
"I'll… think about it."
"Good," he responded and I heard the smile in his voice.
"I remembered Jasper," I blurted impulsively.
"What?" He was surprised.
"When I was freaking out, I got these flashes of that night, and I remembered Jasper being there."
"Oh." He sounded as if he wasn't sure how to respond.
I looked up and found familiar golden eyes staring at me intently. I fleetingly wondered if that's why he had chosen Alice and Jasper to adopt, since they also had those unusual colored eyes. I felt a pang deep in my chest.
"When…" my throat tightened, but I had to ask. "When is he coming home?"
His face filled with sympathy. "I don't think he is coming home."
I nodded as I felt the black hole expand. My ears started ringing again and I couldn't breathe.
I lay on my bed again, exhausted and spent. Dr. Cullen had driven me to the hospital and my mother had met us there. After a few tests, including an EKG, I had been allowed to go home.
My mom was sitting by me on the bed, running her hands through my hair and massaging my scalp. It felt good.
"Dr. Cullen says you've agreed to go to counseling?" she brought up quietly.
"I told him I'd think about it," I corrected.
"Okay, honey. I know you've said you don't want to talk about it, but I'm here, any time you do. You know that, don't you? You can talk to me about anything. Anything at all."
I nodded and I felt my throat tighten. Again.
I crumpled. After all this time of holding it in, not thinking about him, locking the hurt down tight, I was suddenly split wide open. I had refused to even think of his name, and today, it had escaped from my lips, creating a breach I could not force back closed. I started sobbing into my pillow, my heartbreak washing over me in waves of pain.
"Dr. Cullen says he's not coming back," I gasped out in between sobs. The reality of it hit me full on. I didn't know how I was ever going to live without him.
"Oh, honey," my mom said, rubbing my back as I cried my heart out next to her.
"I don't understand. He said he loved me. I don't understand." My heart was breaking all over again. "Why did he leave? Why couldn't he love me?"
Mom pulled me into her arms and held me tight as I sobbed against her chest.
"He loves you. He does baby," I heard her say.
"Then why did he leave? I don't understand."
"It wasn't you, sweetheart. He has to learn how to love himself," she said gently.
"Couldn't I love him enough for both of us?" I asked the tears continuing to fall as she hugged me tight and tried to explain that it didn't work that way.
I still didn't understand.
Chapter 17 | Masterpost | Poetry
Chapter 15 | Masterpost
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream."
- Dylan Thomas, "Clown in the Moon"
Chapter 16 – From the Rift
EPOV
I threw my notebook across the room in frustration, wincing as my ribs protested my aggressive movements. I blinked back the tears, determined not to cry again. This was the third time today I had attempted to complete one of my calculus problems, and it was just as futile this time as it had been the previous two. I couldn't concentrate and my head was pounding.
My broken leg and the resulting cast and crutches were extremely awkward and inconvenient; my chest still hurt every time I took too deep a breath, or coughed, or sneezed; but worst of all was my head which still ached, unbearably sometimes.
Well, worst of all was actually… I shut my eyes and lay back on my bed. I just couldn't think about that right now.
I was home from the hospital and preparing to resume my normal life. It wasn't going so well. I had been out of school for a few weeks now, mostly doing nothing but sleeping, or not sleeping, as the case may be. My head injury had me completely fucked up. I couldn't read; I couldn't even watch television. I'd have insomnia, even when I was dead tired from the painkillers.
Dr. Cullen had referred me to a neurologist, but he didn't have much of anything helpful to say, only some sort of useless bullshit about the brain needing time to heal. He couldn't tell me how much time, and his answers were always vague, stuff about every injury being different, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. His main focus seemed to be hitting on the right combination of drugs to counteract my issues. The first one we had tried was amitriptyline, but it had made me feel like I didn't even live in my own body, so I had demanded to be taken off of it. Now we were trying a combination of Ambien, for my fucked up sleeping patterns, and Topamax, an anti seizure medication that had an off label use for migraine prevention. I hadn't been on it long, and the only difference I could tell so far was that it made me lose my appetite, although that could still be from the head injury itself. I remembered how unbearably nauseated I had been initially. I couldn't even sit up without wanting to hurl.
My emotions seemed magnified; I was either angry or sad or frustrated. It was as if I had no control over them, like the filter which kept everything contained had been stripped away, and every feeling was raw and exposed. I had spent way too much time crying and I felt like I was a fucking lunatic some days. Like now, about to have another messy break down because I couldn't figure out my calculus homework.
Mike had visited me often and brought me my school work, so I wouldn't be too far behind when I got back. It was beginning to be obvious to everyone, however, that there was no way I would be able to resume the work in my classes any time soon. My mom had met with the Principal and the Guidance Counselor about how to handle the remainder of my senior year. Since I had taken so many advanced courses over the past few years, I really only needed my English credits to have enough to graduate. Though with the way I was mixing up words when I wrote and stumbling over the simplest sentences when I talked, there was doubt I'd even complete that course.
Mom wanted things to be as normal as possible for me, so I would be returning to my regular classes, but only expected to complete what work I was able. If I couldn't complete my English assignments, I would be given an incomplete and would finish over the summer. I would attend graduation with my class, but wouldn't actually receive my diploma until I had finished the requirements. All these details were too much for me to handle right now, but I was glad at least that it looked like the attack hadn't stopped me from being able to graduate high school with my class. It had taken enough away from me already.
I swallowed back the tears that threatened again. I couldn't think of that right now. I couldn't. I had enough to think about with me returning to school tomorrow.
Mom sat with me in the kitchen as I picked at my breakfast before school. Mike would be coming to pick me up any minute. She was staying home from work again, in case I wasn't able to make it through the entire day and she needed to come get me. I wasn't hungry, most likely because my stomach was a mass of nerves. Other than Bella and Mike, this would be the first time I had seen my friends since the article had come out in the paper. I knew everyone would be looking at me and talking about me when I showed up today. I wondered how differently they would treat me now that they knew I was gay.
Mike hadn't treated me any differently, once we got over our initial misunderstanding. Other than taking great pleasure in mercilessly teasing me about my previous unrequited crush on him. For whatever reason, he thought that was the greatest thing ever and loved to bring it up again and again. He said it just proved what a stud he was if not only all the girls, but also one of the most popular, good-looking guys in school thought he was hot. I told him Jessica hardly counted as "all the girls," but he was not deterred. Even though he could be annoying about it, all the joking made me feel like things would be okay. The subject matter of the jokes had changed, but the way he interacted with me had not.
I heard a knock at the door and grabbed my crutches leaning on the counter beside me to help me up. Mom had that concerned mom look on her face, a look I had seen her wear far too often in the past few weeks, as she watched me struggle to my feet.
"You know if it's too much, you can call me any time and I'll come get you," she offered.
"It will be fine," I said, although I wasn't at all sure I believed it would be.
"Your Principal's talked to all of your teachers, so don't worry about any of your schoolwork."
"Mom, I'll be fine," I repeated, not really wanting to go through this again. I might as well get it over with.
"Honey…" she said, her face worried, as she reached out to brush my hair off my forehead.
"Mike's waiting," I told her brusquely, not wanting to deal with an emotional scene. I barely had a grip on my own emotions these days; I could not deal with seeing the sadness in her eyes again.
She dropped her hand. "Okay, baby. Have a good day."
It was the way she had often said goodbye to me in the mornings. I felt a lump in my throat when I thought about how a little routine saying like that could sound so normal, but at the same time, how it could sound so completely and absolutely different.
I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek before heading to the foyer.
"Eddie!" Mike greeted me cheerfully when I opened the door.
"Hey, Mike," I said.
"Where's your stuff?" he asked, pushing the door open and walking past me to get inside. He saw my backpack on the floor and reached over to grab it.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"Yeah," I responded, moving slowly through the doorway on my crutches.
Mike kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way to school, filling me in on all the gossip, even though he had told me most of it before, during his many visits. He had gotten into the habit of telling me things over and over after spending so much time with me; my short term memory was complete shit. I'm sure he could tell how nervous I was and I appreciated his efforts to take my mind off things.
After he pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine, he turned and looked at me.
"You ready for this?" he asked, a serious expression on his face.
I looked out the window and saw curious eyes already on me. I tried to tamp down that nervous feeling in my stomach. Then I caught sight of Bella who stood smiling near the entrance of the school. She lifted up her hand in a wave and I smiled back.
I took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm ready."
Mike ran around to the passenger side to help me out. He grabbed my backpack and slung it over his shoulder where it bounced against his own. Once I was situated on my crutches outside his truck, he reached over to shut the door behind me. Bella and Alice were making their way across the parking lot towards us, as were Ben and Angela from the next row of cars over.
Mike looked me in the eye and said, "We got your back."
I nodded in gratitude, swallowing another lump in my throat.
My friends stuck by my side the entire day. Mike walked me to my first hour prep with Alice, and she carried my bag to our English class from there. Since I was out of PE for the foreseeable future, I had another prep hour, this time with Mike. We already had Physics together and then lunch. Alice had Calc with me, then it was History for the final class of the day. On days Mike didn't have to stay for sports, he'd be driving me home; the other days either Alice or Bella would give me a ride.
That first prep period with Alice was the hardest. Not only because it was the first class of the day, the first chance for people to gawk, to whisper, which they did, but because it was Alice. As before, we sat in the back next to each other, our desks pulled close. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask so badly. And I thought if I could just get through this first period without asking, if I could just keep my mind off things, just get through the hour, I'd be okay.
"I missed you," she whispered, as we talked quietly, our heads bent close.
"I missed you too," I told her. And I had.
"How's your head? Bella said your headaches have been pretty bad. Are they better now?"
"I'm still having them a lot."
"Oh." She looked upset at my answer.
"I'm okay, Alice. The doctor says my headaches should continue to get better over time."
"Well, that's good, right?" She looked hopeful.
"Yeah."
"And your leg and your ribs? They're getting better too?"
"Yeah. My ribs are still sore, and it sucks having to use the crutches with them, but it's gotten a lot better."
"That's good…that's good," she said, almost to herself.
She looked at me as if she wanted to say something else. I stared back, trying my hardest not to ask, to just get through this period without asking.
As I looked into her eyes, I had a moment of recognition; they were so familiar. It was strange how I had never really noticed the color before, golden and beautiful.
I almost felt as though the words were being pulled straight from my chest. "Have you…"
My throat closed up and I felt the prickling behind my eyes. My mind screamed:
Have you heard from him?
Is he okay?
Did he ask about me?
Does he miss me?
Does he still love me?
When is he coming home?
I couldn't get the words out though. I was about to fall completely apart. I just needed to get through this period. If I could get through this first period, I would be okay.
We sat in silence while I tried to regain control of myself. I felt as if I were made of the thinnest glass, and a single careless jostle would splinter me to pieces.
I felt Alice's cool fingers on the back of my hand. I looked up into her eyes, drinking them in, wishing…
I couldn't do this right now. I had to get through the day.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I nodded, swallowing hard and shutting my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall behind me.
By the end of the day I felt like my head was going to explode. I was not prepared for how tired I would feel, and I had barely done anything. My mom took one look at my face as I walked in the door and hustled me off to bed, making sure I took some pain meds before I almost immediately passed out.
I didn't wake up until after dinner and my head was still throbbing. Mom could tell I was still in pain.
"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow, sweetie," she suggested, her eyes full on concern. "There's no need to push things."
"I'll be fine," I said, taking a small bite of the meal she had fixed for me. I wasn't really hungry.
I heard her sigh. "Edward," she started.
"Mom, I'll be fine," I insisted, putting another bite of food in my mouth and chewing slowly. I poked the rest of it with my fork, staring at the white sauce on the pasta.
My stomach did one of those weird clenching things. I pushed my plate away. "I'm sorry. I'm not really hungry."
"Honey, you have to eat," my mom said with that pleading look in her eyes that killed me.
I reluctantly picked up a piece of bread and start nibbling on it.
"I can make you something else," she said, a hopeful note in her voice.
"No, this is fine, Mom. Really, I'm just not that hungry. I ate a big lunch." I hadn't, but I hated having her worry all the time.
"Okay, baby. How about I make us some tea?"
"Sure. That'd be great."
The second day was even harder than the first. Mostly because I was still so exhausted from yesterday, and my headache had never really gone away. Plus, it was beginning to sink in how different everything was now.
Although my closest friends seemed to treat me the same as always, a lot of the other guys acted weird or uncomfortable around me. I would catch looks of pity from others, including some of my teachers. And every time I thought about being out of commission for baseball this season, I'd feel so fucking angry. I was hopelessly behind in all my classes and I realized there was no way I would catch up. I could barely even follow what they were talking about.
And my head hurt all the fucking time.
When I thought about how happy I had been before, it seemed like another lifetime ago, like those things had happened to some guy who didn't even exist any more. It felt like a black hole of grief had settled into my gut and sucked out all the happiness and joy from life, and all that remained of me was an empty hollow shell. An automaton who walked around like a zombie, just trying to go through the motions of another day.
My mom was pissed when I got home from school. I could tell from the tightness around her mouth. She got me straight up to bed again, gave me some meds and said, "You're staying home tomorrow."
I didn't argue.
I heard my mom rushing up the stairs at the sound of the crash.
"Edward?" she called frantically. "Are you all right?"
She burst through the bathroom door and stopped short when she saw me surrounded by shards of broken glass. Pieces of the broken bottle of after shave lay on the counter where it had landed after I had thrown it against the bathroom mirror. The smell was overpowering.
Her expression morphed from concern to sympathy. "Oh, honey," she said.
I just stood there, my chest heaving, my hands clenching in fists at my sides.
"Don't move," my mom instructed. "I'm going to get something to clean this up. I'll be right back."
I nodded in acknowledgment.
She returned a few minutes later with a broom and dustpan and some paper towels. She also had a pair of my flip flops in her hands.
"Here, honey. Put these on."
I did as she asked.
"Go wait in the bedroom until I get this cleaned up."
I sat on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. The neurologist had said that these wild mood swings were normal after a traumatic brain injury and that they wouldn't last forever. I hoped that was true. My cast was off and my memory had improved. I was finally able to fall asleep at night without the aid of drugs, but I still felt raw emotionally. Most of the time I did okay. I had fewer and fewer crying jags, thank goodness. They had been freaking embarrassing. When I had gotten overly frustrated, I had become unable to stop the tears from flowing. And I had gotten frustrated a lot those first few weeks. I had been a complete basket case.
The anger, however, was still in full force. It always seemed to be simmering under the surface, even though most days it didn't make its presence known. I went to class, ate lunch with my friends, came home, lounged around on the couch, then lay in bed trying to sleep. The next day I'd do it all over again. The weekends were harder, because I had more time to think, less time to be distracted by pointless shit. The weekends were when little bits and pieces of things I didn't want to think about would creep into my brain and cause tiny fissures in my apathy that would allow the anger to seep through. Sometimes when those tiny cracks appeared, the anger would burst forth like a volcano and I'd explode with rage.
Like tonight. I'd been in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower and images started popping into my head. That gorgeous dimpled face, smiling at me after we had raced up the stairs; those intense golden eyes locked on mine as we stripped off our clothes; his hands on my body, worshipping me as his velvety voice whispered words of love and longing in my ears. I tried so hard not to think about him, for when I did, the grief would well up inside me, drowning out everything but my own pain and sorrow. I missed him. So much.
I didn't understand.
Now that my anger was fading, I could feel the tears welling up. I kicked off the flip flops and pulled my legs up onto the bed, laying my head on my pillow and curling up on my side. I could feel the moisture leaking out from beneath my closed lids and sliding down my face.
I heard my mom enter the room and her deep sigh as she paused in the doorway. I had heard that sound from her far too often recently. I felt the bed dip as she took a seat on the edge. Her hand gently combed through my hair, brushing it back from my forehead.
"I want you to go see Dr. Goodwin," my mom finally said. She had been trying to get me to see a psychologist since the attack. I had refused.
I didn't answer.
"Honey, he can help you work through this," she said, continuing to push.
"No," I choked out. My voice was hoarse. I hadn't used it much lately.
She sighed again. "Please." I had a hard time refusing my mother anything, but I wasn't going to budge on this one. I wasn't going.
"I don't want to talk about it," I told her. I couldn't imagine trying to talk to some stranger about the huge black hole in my chest. I could barely even think about things without being overwhelmed, as the smashed glass in the bathroom could attest to. It wasn't going to happen, no matter how many times she tried to convince me.
"Edward, honey, you need to talk about it with someone."
I could feel the rage beginning to bubble. I brushed her hand away from my face in agitation.
"I told you I'm not going," I snapped. "Now drop it."
"Just think about it, honey…" she started.
I sat up abruptly. "I told you I didn't want to fucking talk about it," I yelled. God, I needed her to back the fuck off.
She got that look on her face. That worried, helpless look. Her hands rested limply in her lap, slightly curved, palms up. I felt a pang of guilt, but I pushed it aside. I couldn't deal with this right now.
My heart was beating rapidly again, fueled by my renewed anger. I was suddenly exhausted. I lay back down on the bed and shut my eyes, curling my arms and legs into my body.
"I'm tired," I told her.
After a long pause she said, "Okay, baby. I'll see you in the morning."
I sat in the lunchroom listening to my friends talk about the movie we had seen that weekend. I hadn't wanted to go; I would have preferred to stay home and lie in my bed, or veg on the couch in front of the television, but when I saw that hopeful look in my mom's eyes, I couldn't bear to disappoint her again.
Mike had picked me up in his truck and kept up a steady stream of one sided conversation. He never seemed to be bothered by my lack of participation. We all met for pizza before we hit the theater. I didn't say much at dinner, but they were all used to it by now.
It had been one of those stupid comedies, with lame slapstick jokes and broad humor. A real Mike kind of movie. I smiled as he reenacted one of the funnier scenes. He had everyone at the table laughing hysterically. I caught Bella staring at me with a strange expression on her face.
"What?" I asked her, curiously.
"It's… it's just really nice to see you smile," she said.
After lunch the group of us headed to the hallway for our next class. I was still watching Mike as he continued to act out scenes from the movie and not paying attention to where I was going. I slammed into someone hard.
I stammered an apology as I looked up into the angry eyes of Lauren Mallory.
"Watch where you're going, faggot," she hissed at me.
"What's your hurry, faggot?"
I froze in shock.
"What did you say?" Mike asked, his tone outraged. She didn't answer.
"What did you just call him?" He was angry, and his voice had increased in volume. I felt like I was standing in a tunnel. There was a loud rushing of sound in my ears and my heart started racing. I was frozen in place while commotion erupted all around me.
Tyler stepped in front of Lauren and faced down Mike. "She called him a faggot. You got a problem with that?"
"Yeah, I got a problem with that, dickhead. She needs to fucking apologize." He was livid.
"Or what?"
"Or what?" Mike asked incredulously. "She called Edward a faggot! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not the one who spends all his free time with a queer."
I watched as comprehension slowly dawned on Mike's face. I could tell it was a complete shock to him that Tyler had a problem with me being gay. I already knew from the way he had treated me ever since I had returned to school. It had been subtle before. Now it was out there.
Mike dove at Tyler, punching him in the face, and then they were rolling around on the ground together, struggling to connect their fists with the other's body. I could hear their grunts and panting breaths as they fought.
"What's your hurry, faggot?"
My hands were shaking and I felt perspiration break out all over my body. I felt sick and out of breath and my heart was pounding. Images flashed before my eyes, a fist in my face, taunting words, my arms being pinned, kicks to my ribs. I saw Jasper, full of glorious fury, leaping for my attacker.
I couldn't breathe. I felt dizzy and black spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The noise in my ears roared. I couldn't breathe.
I hear Bella screaming, "Stop! Mike, stop! There's something wrong with Edward!"
I watched as if everything was happening to someone else as Mike gave Tyler one last angry shove before hurrying over to me.
"Edward? Edward, are you okay?" His hands were gripping my shoulders.
"Someone get the nurse," he barked.
"I'm calling my dad," I heard Alice say.
"Here, sit down, and put your head between your knees." I was shaking too hard to obey, and I couldn't breathe.
"Bella, help me," Mike said.
I could feel them both pulling me to the ground and I felt Mike's hand on the back of my neck, forcing it forward. I heard other voices clearing the students out of the hall.
Mike and Bella kept talking to me in low, reassuring voices, urging me to take deep breaths, to try and relax. The nurse arrived and checked my pulse and added her voice to those of my friends.
After a while, she asked, "Do you think you can stand and make it to the infirmary?"
I nodded yes.
I felt dizzy again as I stood up, but Mike and Bella were holding on to me, one on either side. I was still sweating profusely and I hadn't stopped shaking completely, but we made it down to the nurse's station okay.
Dr. Cullen was already there waiting for us. He helped get me situated in one of the chairs. After speaking with the nurse for a few minutes and with Mike and Bella, he shut the door so that only he and I were in the room.
He spoke in a calm soothing voice. "I'm going to check your pulse and your temperature, then listen to your breathing, okay?"
I gave a small nod.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
I tried to speak and only a croak came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I just felt dizzy and like I couldn't breathe, and I was all sweaty."
"Bella says it happened after someone called you a slur?" He asked it casually.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me more?"
"Lauren called me a faggot and then Mike and Tyler started fighting. It reminded me of… stuff and I guess I freaked out." I wasn't sure why I was telling him this when I wouldn't talk about it with anyone else.
He nodded. "I want you to come down to the hospital for some tests, just to rule a few things out, but it sounds like you had a panic attack."
A panic attack. Great. Crying jags, emotional outbursts and now panic attacks. I was so fucked up.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've been through significant trauma." He paused and asked almost hesitantly. "Your mother says you've refused counseling?"
I gave another small nod.
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
He sighed and he sounded so much like my mom then. "You may not want to, but I think this is an indication that you need to. I'd like you to reconsider. I think you're experiencing some post traumatic stress. You should really be treated for it."
"I'll… think about it."
"Good," he responded and I heard the smile in his voice.
"I remembered Jasper," I blurted impulsively.
"What?" He was surprised.
"When I was freaking out, I got these flashes of that night, and I remembered Jasper being there."
"Oh." He sounded as if he wasn't sure how to respond.
I looked up and found familiar golden eyes staring at me intently. I fleetingly wondered if that's why he had chosen Alice and Jasper to adopt, since they also had those unusual colored eyes. I felt a pang deep in my chest.
"When…" my throat tightened, but I had to ask. "When is he coming home?"
His face filled with sympathy. "I don't think he is coming home."
I nodded as I felt the black hole expand. My ears started ringing again and I couldn't breathe.
I lay on my bed again, exhausted and spent. Dr. Cullen had driven me to the hospital and my mother had met us there. After a few tests, including an EKG, I had been allowed to go home.
My mom was sitting by me on the bed, running her hands through my hair and massaging my scalp. It felt good.
"Dr. Cullen says you've agreed to go to counseling?" she brought up quietly.
"I told him I'd think about it," I corrected.
"Okay, honey. I know you've said you don't want to talk about it, but I'm here, any time you do. You know that, don't you? You can talk to me about anything. Anything at all."
I nodded and I felt my throat tighten. Again.
I crumpled. After all this time of holding it in, not thinking about him, locking the hurt down tight, I was suddenly split wide open. I had refused to even think of his name, and today, it had escaped from my lips, creating a breach I could not force back closed. I started sobbing into my pillow, my heartbreak washing over me in waves of pain.
"Dr. Cullen says he's not coming back," I gasped out in between sobs. The reality of it hit me full on. I didn't know how I was ever going to live without him.
"Oh, honey," my mom said, rubbing my back as I cried my heart out next to her.
"I don't understand. He said he loved me. I don't understand." My heart was breaking all over again. "Why did he leave? Why couldn't he love me?"
Mom pulled me into her arms and held me tight as I sobbed against her chest.
"He loves you. He does baby," I heard her say.
"Then why did he leave? I don't understand."
"It wasn't you, sweetheart. He has to learn how to love himself," she said gently.
"Couldn't I love him enough for both of us?" I asked the tears continuing to fall as she hugged me tight and tried to explain that it didn't work that way.
I still didn't understand.
Chapter 17 | Masterpost | Poetry
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