Pieces of Him

Strings

Cory's POV

The nurse's eyes fell on Cory's fingers near Drew's pale ones, as if he brushed against them, Drew would dissolve. They traveled, focusing, as if through a camera's lens, up his rumpled attire of day-old jeans and a stained white t-shirt towards his messy hair. His face was tired, and harsh lines were cut into them, creating a carving of unmoving stone. 

With a sympathetic glance, she left the room, the sound of the closing door echoing in the bare room. 

Cory breathed a small sigh and bent over Drew carefully, checking that the heart monitor was normal. The very least he knew how to do was to make sure Drew was still breathing. He wasn't good at any of this shxt. He couldn't count the times he'd yell across the apartment for Drew because he'd gotten injured for the n-th time. Drew, the paramedic, stitching up every last fxcking bit of messed up Cory. Drew, lying here in this fxcking bed because of him. 

It was the absolute worst phone call of his life. 

-About 12 hours ago-

Cory sat in shock, Drew's words still ringing in his ears, a never-ending echo. My dead girlfriend. My dead girlfriend. It must have been a mistake. He'd heard about this girlfriend only a few times from an intoxicated Drew, but how could Cory not have known? 

After sitting in a frozen atmosphere, his mind not really processing what his ears had, Cory shot up and raced out the door after Drew. "Drew!" The sound of the engine started and Cory dashed towards the noise, trying, like a blind man, to catch up. The distant rumble eventually faded away, leaving Cory stranded at a crossroad, not knowing which way to go. After fruitless searching, he knew that it was impossible. The darkness had swallowed up Drew, as if claiming him as its own.

He'd jogged back home, punching in Drew's number multiple times as he went. 

Drew never picked up. 

Cory's worry, which was already near its peak- Drew had never done something like this before- went over the edge. After what seemed like 100 cups of coffee, Cory sat, waiting in anticipation, for Drew to come home. Fingering with his phone, he still tried, every five minutes for Drew's cell. 

He lay down on his couch, trying every so often to call Drew. When there'd been a call back, Cory had nearly yelled with relief, held the phone to his ear, and instead heard the voice of a policeman.

For the second time that night, he was frozen in shock. Drew. Drew Jackson had been in a car accident. His throat went dry. Drew could be dying. He was in a coma. Cory didn't know anything about comas. Drew was the medic in the house. Cory was just the dude who always needed patching up. Drew Jackson. In a hospital room. How could it be possible? Calm and steady and reliable Drew. Cory with some difficulty, swallowed. 

Here he was again, in a hospital, one of his phobias. The place where he'd lost his mom, his father, and Drew was, in all honesty, everything Cory would allow himself to call family. Everyone who would ever be deemed his family always seemed to end up here, in the exact spot: a twisted sense of deja vu. Cory's lips curled up in a bitter grimace. The montonous heart monitor drumming into his head reminded of the fact that this was completely his fault. Drew's dead girlfriend. Abruptly, he stood and walked out the door in a trance. 

A small head peeked through the window ledge, where she'd been crouching for a while. Breathing a small sigh, she clambered gracefully through the window, an action well familiarized. Crouching next to the bed, she perched her head lightly against his unwounded shoulder. Combing her fingers through his soft hair, she couldn't help but give a quiet, sorrowful laugh. He was here. Here, right underneath her fingers. That dreadful day hadn't been a hallucination at all. Torn between euphoria and immense worry, she settled herself in the seat the other boy had just vacated.