Forty-One.
LUKE'S POINT OF VIEW
It was almost getting dark by the time we got back to my apartment. It took forever to get back to the city, because I pulled over about every ten minutes to check your heart rate and breathing were still strong. You seemed fine, and your leg had stopped bleeding. I knew I should probably get you to a hospital, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I decided if you hadn't woken up by midnight I'd take you to hospital. I parked the car and decided to carry you inside through the back door rather than through the bar. No need to attract attention of that sort.
I made my way up the fire escape at the back of the building.
"Tom!" I yelled as I got close to the door.
Nothing happened. I reached the door and tried to knock by kicking it with my foot. I didn't want to let you go, even the slightest bit.
"Tom!" I yelled again.
"I'm coming!"
I heard a key turn in the door, and Tom hit the rusty lock. It popped open and he pulled the door open. He paused and stared for a second, his eyes going back and forth between you and me. Then, the cut on your leg.
"Shit. What happened?"
"I don't really know. But care to step aside so we can get Bec inside?"
Tom stepped aside, holding the door. I carried you through, and he shut and locked the door behind us. I took you to my room first, to change your bloody flannelette pyjama pants to a clean pair of boxer shorts. Making sure your heart beat and breathing was still strong, I picked you back up and put you on the sofa. Tom turned the lights above you on so we could see the cut, and we knelt down on the floor.
"That's pretty bad..." he said.
"Yeah."
He got up to get a small bowl of water and some disinfecting spray. I ran my hand lightly over your hair, brushing a strand from your face. I took your hand in both of mine and brought it to my lips. I kissed it before Tom came back and I rested it back on your side, keeping my right hand on top of it. I watched Tom carefully wash out the cut.
"Any idea how this happened?"
I explained to Tom how I found you. I heard him curse under his breath a couple times throughout the story. He finished washing the cut, and then wiped some disinfectant on it. He got up to get a bandage from the bathroom cupboard. It was moments like these when I thanked my roommate's mother for making him take countless first aid courses until he was about as good as half the GP's around the place. He returned to wrap the bandage around your leg, then realised I wanted to be alone with you.
"If she doesn't wake up in a few hours, take her to hospital yeah? You can have the car."
"I will. Thanks." I managed to produce a wry smile.
"She'll be alright." Tom tried to comfort me.
"I know." Or I hoped, at least.
Tom shut his door behind him.
I don't think I've ever had so much trouble fighting tears. You lay so still. You didn't blink. Your face didn't twitch. No part of you did. You didn't move, you didn't sigh, you didn't grunt. You didn't mumble in your sleep, you did nothing. But you were breathing, at least. I decided to sit up on the couch. The timber floor was getting uncomfortable. As I got up, I realised you probably wouldn't be feeling too good when you woke up, and, in a way, I was kind of hoping you'd throw up your guts just to get all the alcohol out of you. So I got a big bowel from the kitchen, along with a bottle of water, and placed it next to the couch.
I carefully lifted your upper body and sat down, letting your head rest in my lap. Deep in thought, I ran my fingers through your hair. As I moved to get comfortable, I felt the piece of paper that was in your hands when I found you, in my pocket. Trying to move you as little as possible, I pulled the envelope out of my pocket. I turned it around. "Bec" was written on it in a strange, boyish, childish sort of handwriting. I took out the crumpled piece of paper. The ink had gone a bit blurry- I think the paper got a bit wet. I unfolded it carefully to not rip the moist page. The A5 piece of paper was covered in that strange half-print, half-script on both sides.
Guilt overcame me as my eyes began to focus on the letters, but I just had to know what happened to you. So I started to read.
"Dear Bec,
I would have said all this to you in person, but you left before I could. And as I'm writing this, I know I won't be seeing you again. And that's okay; I just wanted you to know. Because I love you, and I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I put the ring in here for you- keep it. I gave it to you when we were little, and it's yours. Forever- or until you throw it out, I guess.
I don't want you to be afraid to fall in love anymore. I want you to fall for someone, so hard. Because if that makes you feel remotely the way it made me feel when I first fell for you, you will be on top of the world. I want you to let yourself go. I want you to dive into the unknown, I want you to trust. Promise me that, if nothing else. I want you to find someone that brings out every little bit of you, that loves your flaws and will always appreciate the amazing things in you. I want you to find someone that will tell you you're beautiful every day, someone who makes you feel alive. I want you to find someone who makes you feel like time stops, and nothing in the world matters but you and him. I want you to find someone who will take away the fear. I want you to find someone who will make you feel invincible.
You'll tell me that no one in the world will ever be good enough in my eyes, but if they love you without question and make you believe in miracles and love and the idea of something unconditional- then they are good enough, in my eyes.
Just promise me you will find someone that would promise me to take care of you, and that could promise me they will be all of what I've said for you.
Love always,
Benn."
Wow. That was one hell of a post break-up letter. I looked down and noticed you weren't just wearing your usual silver necklace with the little pendant, but also a golden one with a tiny ring with some fake jewel on it hanging off it- that must've been the one Benn put in the envelope. It seemed sort of unlike you to actually wear it, but I suppose you liked to remember him in some ways. I wanted to shrug it off, but something bothered me about this letter. It just didn't seem right. So over the top, so final. So deep and loving, like he'd really never speak to you ever again- which, considering how close everyone in Stretford was - I highly doubted. I shook my head. He would be okay, wouldn't he? He had to have woken up from his coma to write this, I thought.
I put the paper and the envelope down on the floor next to the sofa, and lowered my head to kiss your forehead. Then, I leaned back and rested my head against the couch, and closed my eyes. I didn't want to sleep- I didn't want to take my eyes off you. But I was tired. So I dozed, consciously keeping attentive to your every breath. It was steady, and your heart beat kept strong too. I was relieved that you seemed to be okay, and lost myself in trying to figure out Benn's letter. The letter alone didn't seem enough to get you drinking as much as you had. To get you as upset as you must've been. You didn't over-react, that just wasn't you. There had to be something more, something worse.
I jumped as I felt you twitch and realised I'd nodded off. Your eyes began to move and your hand twitched a few more times. I tried to talk to you.
"Benn?" You mumbled.
"No, it's me. Luke."
Your breathing became uneven and heavy.
"What happened with Benn?" I asked softly.
I had a feeling I wouldn't get anywhere with you, or figuring any of this out if I didn't find that out pretty soon. But then I felt your heart speed up, and your face heating up. You had trouble catching your breath, but still didn't open your eyes or move much.
"Shh, it's okay." I stroked your face softly. "It's okay."
You slowly calmed down, but entirely lost consciousness again. This really wasn't good. And I had a really, really bad feeling about Benn...
