Manhattan

12.

WARNING: The themes in this chapter can be considered mildly triggering as it deals indirectly with (the results of) child abuse. If you are uncomfortable with such themes please read at your own discretion.

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THE LAST TIME he'd been in a hospital had been the day his father died.

That had been nearly three years ago.

He remembered rushing in with his mother in the middle of the night, remembered the sympathetic looks the nurses had given him, remembered the doctor shaking her head, saying I'm sorry, he's gone, there was nothing we could do, remembered his mother crying, broken sounds that pained him, an empty bed, the sterile smell of bleach, and one thought in his mind - I didn't get to say goodbye.

At least that time, he didn't have to see how his father must have looked like. Didn't have to see the tubes they'd stuck in him, the heart monitor beeping unsteadily, his chest barely rising with every breath, on the verge of death, the way Benji looked right now.

Benji's hand was warm in Aidan's, the only indication that he was even alive. It reassured him, gave him faith that Benji was going to be okay, despite the bruises and gashes that covered his best friend's body.

It's going to be okay, he thought, because that's what people always said when things weren't okay. And then he thought, I'm sorry, because really, he blamed himself for this. He could've done something to stop it, he should've known better, he shouldn't have left Benji when he needed him most.

If he had been a better best friend, this might've never happened.

"It's my fault," he said out loud. His voice came out hoarse. 

There was only the steady beep of the heart monitor to answer him. He sighed, squeezing Benji's fingers tightly, as if that would awaken him. He'd rushed to the hospital as fast as he could, hailing a taxi with Leah. The nurses had been to hesitant to let him in to see Benji, claiming that only family members were allowed in first. Aidan had been ready to yell his head off, to demand they let him in, but a reassurance from Benji's mom that Aidan was family enough was all it took to convince them.

Seeing Benji like this had reminded him too much of another day, a day he'd been so desperate to forget. He didn't think he could stand to lose Benji like he'd lost his father.

The door to the room opened and Aidan looked up to see Benji's mother and Leah, two cups of coffee in her hand. He moved aside as Benji's mother rushed to him, and took a coffee from Leah, murmuring a quick thanks.

"How is he?" she asked.

He took a sip of his coffee, wincing as it burnt his tongue. He sighed, exhausted. "The same," he replied. "There's no sign of him waking up." 

Leah took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "He will wake up, Aidan. He will." 

He swallowed, hoping beyond hope that she was right. He turned to Benji's mom, forcing himself to ask the question that had been nagging at him since he'd seen the bruises, the question that he feared he already knew the answer to. "Who did this to him?"

She looked up at him, startled, then swallowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but Aidan cut in, sparing her from it having to speak the words. "Was it him? Was it Jeremy?"

She closed her eyes, then nodded slowly, a tear making it's way down her cheek.

Aidan sat down at the foot of the bed, trying to keep his emotions at bay. His assumptions had been right. Aidan had known, he had known, and instead of acting on that knowledge he'd waited until it had been too late. He'd never forgive himself for it.