Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

thirty one

so i was going through all the reads on each chapter (because i'm an egotistical little hoe like that) and i noticed one chapter had more reads than the one before it.

guys. stories don't work that way. you have to read them in order; you can't just skip to all the sexytime parts.

who am i kidding, that's what i do.

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"Anything?"

Mrs. McKinnon gives me a sad smile. "Go on in, Damian."

I clench the sheet around me tighter and leave Teddy in the hall. Something inside me didn't just want to leave my bed at home, so I brought the dirty covering with me.

Timmy hasn't changed since I left him. The beeping machine does it's best to remind me that this isn't really my little blue haired boy I'm in the room with, but just his body. His mind is somewhere else at the moment.

"I hope it comes back soon," I whisper to the cheap hospital blanket. "I hope you do. Your mom really misses you. She's sitting out there now and just waiting for me to finish up so she can sit with you I bet."

Despite his lack of reaction, I continue to speak.

"She's really great, as far as parents come. She might not always be your favourite person in the world, but she cares and that really matters. A lot of parents are too busy to do that. And I'm not just talking about for a couple of months while this whole divorce thing is happening, but parents who spend years ignoring their children. She's trying her best. She really is."

I sigh and lean back in the chair. There's nothing I really have to say to him, because I don't think yelling at the unconscious is appreciated.

They say when we're uncomfortable, we resort back to things we find familiar.

"I saw Andrea on the drive here. She looked pretty fucked up, but maybe that's just because I was pretty far away. And Teddy drives like a maniac when he's nervous. You should have seen him, he was basically a rocket ship the other night. I bet you would have had your hands up and been pretending it was a roller coaster. I would have.

"I should have.

"I miss you." I pause a moment to swipe at the tears beginning in the corners of my eyes. "I really do. I know most of the time I act like a total indifferent dick, but I get lonely sometimes. I actually get lonely a lot. Before Justin died, I was never alone. It didn't matter where I was, as long as I was with Justin, I was okay. And when he died, I didn't know how to deal with it all. It's so fucking hard to even get out of bed in the morning and know I'm going to have to face the hallways knowing that no matter how badly I want it, Justin isn't going to be there. And I'm never going to see him again."

I'm forced to take another break to dry my face. Tears aren't quite at the point of rainstorm yet, but they're trickling out at a steady flow. Already two rivers have created beds along the creases in my face. I'm such an idiot, crying to a boy who's just seconds from losing his life. "How low can you fall, Damian?"

"And then I found you," I mumble, unwilling to admit this boy's importance to the preservation of my life. "I guess you were just in the right place at the right time, even though at that moment, the only thing I could think of was the horror of having someone hear me speak. I didn't know whether you were judging me or taking my words and planning on using them against me or anything. You don't know anything about what a person is thinking unless they choose to let you in. When I was exposed like that, I basically let you in without an invitation and that's terrifying for someone who's spent months trying to build a fortress against the world. But you just...didn't. You didn't laugh or judge or anything. I tried so hard to just block you out until I'd be alone again but you just kept talking and talking. I figure that's probably an immature trait-- a lack of self-awareness-- but it all fit you so well. You knew what you were doing better than any child because you'd had years of experience.

"I don't fucking know what I'm going to do. I'm probably jinxing myself into losing you by admitting this, but I probably wouldn't be able to survive it a second time. They tell you what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but not while you're still in the process of healing. Whoever is up there, whoever's keeping you alive, I really hope they don't have a heart so overcome with cruelty to take you from me too."

Slowly, I ease myself onto the bed beside him, taking his cold palms into mine. His hands are heavy, like no effort is being made to keep blood-flow to his arms, but his energy is probably being used for something else. However, right now, I can't think of a better way for them to be, because the fact that they're attached to Timothy Edward Richard McKinnon makes them the best hands in the entire living universe.

"I'm not so sure he counts as living."

"Oh great, you're back. I've missed you so much."  I roll my eyes as I reply.

"You know you drive yourself crazy without me, Damian. You get lonely."

"Technically, you are me. So I'm not any more or less lonely with you around than when you're choosing dormancy."

"But I release all those bad thoughts out into the world. That way, they aren't cluttering up your mind."

"You release them back into my mind where nobody but me can hear them anyway. And even if that was accurate, that way, I can make more. You thrive off negativity."

"Someone like you would understand. You're just one big rain cloud."

I ignore him. There's no amount of witty comebacks that would send the voice into embarrassment. Anything I say can and most certainly will be used against me.

The door's handle wiggles and turns. Shortly after, a blue scrubbed nurse pokes her head into the room. It's the same one from before.

"Sorry love," she tells me with a smile. "I gotta get Timothy cleaned up for the doctors to look at. You're welcome to wait outside until I'm finished."

I feel my voice in my throat before my brain thinks of the words to say. It's an incredible sensation. "Timmy," I correct, "and Damian."

"Pardon?"

"His name is Timmy, not Timothy. He hates Timothy. And my name is Damian."

She hesitates a moment, embarrassment registering across her features. "Oh, yes. Of course. My youngest's a Dominic."

I nod.

"However, if you could still wait out in the hallway for a bit, I'd really appreciate it."

Okay. I scoot to the edge and swing my legs over to touch the floor. Standing is a lot less comfortable than lying down, but it's also a lot more solid. The floor is an anchor, but then what is the blue-haired boy? A child's toy? I let my feet lead me out of the room where I'm sealed off from Timmy with a gentle click. But I don't stop there.

I keep walking. I walk past the half asleep Mrs. Rachel McKinnon, sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, head resting on the shoulder of her soon to be ex-husband. I walk past number after number of matching doors, the people inside reduced to nothing but three digits and a diagnosis in ink. I walk past frame upon frame of excellence awards, outstanding patient care and cleanliness, customer satisfaction and nutritious diets, none of which guarantees the revival of room 483. I walk past the shaky receptionist, probably on her third cup of coffee for the night in struggling to stay awake. I walk past rows of parked cars until I reach my brother. And then I stop walking for a moment to collapse to the ground, exhausted, terrified, and insignificant.

"You won't lose him," Teddy whispers but all I can hear is Justin.