the end of the fucking world; season 2

two; james

Where am I?

The room spins around me. I can hear voices and a quiet beeping of a machine but they're. . . far away. I blink and widen my eyes, trying to focus on something, anything.

The first thing I notice is the pain in my shoulder. I wince, grinding my teeth together and sinking backwards into whatever I'm laying on. This has to be the worst pain I've ever felt.

Where in the world-

Alyssa.

My eyes snap open. I frantically look around the room, the pain in my shoulder burning as I do. Where is she?

It feels as though my heart is about to stop beating when I remember. And suddenly, I realise where I am.

I'm in a hospital.

I look down at my hand, which has a small tube inserted into the back of it, near my knuckles. I follow the tube up, looping and winding, until my eyes meet with a bag of fluid I'm hooked up to. I look down at my chest and discover I'm also attached to a heart monitor.

Ah, that explains the beeping.

But where is Alyssa? Is she safe? I think back to earlier in the day, on the beach, and realise what the pain in my shoulder is.

I'd hit Alyssa with the gun to startle her and took off across the beach. I knew I'd be caught, or at least shot, or maybe even killed, but all I cared about in that moment was keeping Alyssa safe. And I don't know why. I've never cared about anyone this much in my life, not ever. I don't understand my feelings for Alyssa. I don't know if I ever will. I just know that I feel something.

After I'd taken off down the beach, one of the many officers chasing me had held Alyssa back. She was screaming my name, sobbing, and it took all of my strength to not turn around and run right back towards her. I hate hearing her in pain, which is something I've only just recently worked out.

As I was running towards the sea, a gunshot rang out and I knew. I just knew it would hit me.

And it did.

I must've blacked out, because I can't remember anything after that. I try my best to look down at my shoulder and notice that it's bandaged up, but blood is seeing through it.

"Ah, you're awake."

My head shoots up, and I make eye contact with a dark skinned woman who was short hair and a strict look on her face. My eyes trail down to her badge, which reads 'DC Teri Donoghue'.

"Finally," she says, walking towards the seat in the corner of the room and sitting down. "I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, James."

I open my mouth to reply but the door swings open and a tall, balding man with a suit walks in. He offers me a small smile. "Good evening, DC Donoghue, is it?" He says, and without pausing to let the officer reply, he continues to speak. "Our young James here is recovering from a very serious injury and I suggest we let him recover before having any officers speak to him."

I knit my eyebrows together. Is he trying to. . . help me?

"Doctor. . .?" DC Donoghue trails off, as if asking for the balding mans name.

"Goodman." He says, and although he has a smile on his face I can sense frustration in his voice.

"With all due respect, this man has admitted to the murder of Professor Clive Koch and I would very much like to interview him immediately," DC Donoghue says, with a stern look on her face.

But Dr Goodman doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Ah, but you see, DC Donoghue, James is my patient, in my hospital." He pauses, as if to let the words sink in. "You can show yourself out."

The short-haired officers opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it. I can see her force a smile on to her face, before she slips her jacket on and walks out the door.

I wait for her to get round the corner. "Why did you do that?" I ask.

"Let's check your temperature," Dr Goodman says, as if ignoring my question.

"Okay," I say.

He sticks a thermometer in my ear and waits till it beeps. "A little high, but not too bad."

"Okay," I say again.

"Are you alright, James?"

"Yes."

I don't know how else to answer. My mind doesn't register him. I'm like this either everyone. It's as if I can't register whether someone is kind, angry, upset. I don't understand emotions, no ones except from Alyssa's.

"Can I ask you something, James?" Dr Goodman says, dropping the volume of his voice.

"I thought you said you didn't want anyone to ask me questions. . .?" I say, genuinely confused. I'm surprised when he chuckles.

His lips move back into a straight line. "Why did you do it?"

I grit my teeth together, my mind bringing back an image of Clive Koch, grasping at his neck and stumbling around the room before finally falling to the floor. "He was going to hurt her," I squeeze out. "He was going to hurt Alyssa."

"I've heard the rumours about that man," the doctor says. "I always believed him. Did he rape your girlfriend? What was her name - Alyssa?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I say quietly, though I'm not sure why I say it. "He didn't. But he was going to."

Dr Goodman perches on the side of my hospital bed. "I spoke to your father earlier, James. He's still waiting. Do you want me to go and get him for you?"

"No," I say. "Tell him I'm still asleep."

I think I understand now. Why my father cares. I think I understand what people mean to each other. I don't particularly care about him. I don't like him, and I certainly don't love him. But I guess I understand him.

The doctor looks at me with his green eyes for a couple of seconds, then shrugs. "Okay. You should probably get some more sleep anyway." He rides to his feet. "I'll send a nurse through in the next fifteen minutes to change your bandages."

I nod, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of me.

"And if DC Donoghue comes back, I'll tell her you're asleep as well."

"Thanks." I say.

"You're welcome, son."

He walks out the door and closes it behind him. He lights in the room dull and I lean back into the bed. My shoulder throbs.

I think about Alyssa. I miss her hair before we died it blond. It was. . . not quite ginger, but not quite brown. Caramel. I imagine her smile in my head now, and I can almost see her lips saying, "Fuck off". She said that a lot.

I close my eyes and picture Alyssa's face, and I think somehow I drift off into some sort of unconscious state. Not quite sleeping, but not quite awake.