Heal the Heart

35.

The shrill sound of thunder woke me up with a start. My head throbbed as I rolled over to my stomach to see the time. The blurry red sticks cleared up slowly, and the clearer they became, the faster my hangover pressed down on me. That was what I got for spending an entire night getting shitfaced. But it helped to get rid of the swirl of worst-case scenarios swimming around in my thoughts for some time, so I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

The digital clock on Beck's nightstand said three o'three. I had managed to clear up some of the damage, which mostly meant throwing away all the things he broke, including that fancy lamp on my nightstand that I really liked. Another clap of thunder and lightning slammed against the windows, lighting up the room, and I caught the foreboding shape of a figure hiding in the shadows.

I sat up, scooting back against the headboard. "Shit, Beck?" I hissed, returning his stare as he watched me from the corner. How long had he been standing there? When did he even return?

He silently moved towards the door and left the room. I wordlessly followed him, tightening the drawstrings of my sweats. The smell of scotch hit me as I got closer. The bottle I had splurged on last night instead of the cheap vodka I had initially thought of buying stood empty on the coffee table. Half of it had remained when I called it a night just a couple of hours back.

Beck stood near the door of the apartment, just one step away from twisting the handle and going straight out. His fisted hands trembled by his sides, and when he noticed me staring at them, he stuffed them into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"Beck?" I took a step towards him. "Your unc—"

"We had to take him to the hospital again." I could see him fidgeting with his fingers in the pocket. "He was discharged when I landed. When I got there, he was fine. He was absolutely okay, and he was able to talk properly too, but then I don't know what happened this morning, he started screaming. He said he was in pain. Uncle Steph wasn't home, so I drove him to the hospital, and they had to admit him again." Beck blinked back tears as he worked hard to calm himself down. "Mom and Uncle Stephen are with him now."

"Oh, Beck." I reached for his arm, but he flinched and moved back like he was afraid I'd burn him. Like he didn't want me to touch him. I stood there as thunder rattled the windowpanes, my heart echoing the same way.

"I still can't believe he didn't tell me. He didn't tell anyone." Anger tugged at his emotions, slowly chipping away at the calm exterior he presented. "He quit his job, he started chemo, he had surgery, and nothing. He told none of us. And I got to know all this after raging at the doctors and nurses in that fucking hospital." Beck shivered under the weight of his hysteria.

My nails dug into my palms, fingertips craving for something to touch, and clearly, Beck was not that something. Though I was shirtless, sweat began to drip down my back, in anticipation for the other shoe to drop. There was something more here, and I prayed I was wrong. I prayed that I was just stuck in a dream, and soon I'd wake up to an empty bed with Beck still in Calgary.

I wanted to yell at him to let me hold him. Fuck the anger, fuck the pain, fuck my fear, fuck what he was leading up to. It didn't matter, we'd get through this. Together.

"You know when he finally opened his eyes, he thought I was someone else. A doctor, maybe. He said not to tell anyone. Especially not Marissa." He barked a mirthless laugh, wiping his cheeks on his shoulders. "Basically, that stubborn fucker didn't want me to know. Ever. He forgot I had even arrived the previous night."

My eyes welled with tears as I saw Beck breaking down bit by bit. His bright, beautiful eyes were filled with hurt and hopelessness and pain and, most of all, anger. Anger, I hoped he didn't direct towards something that would ruin us both.