Haunted

From Where You Are

All Maddox knew at first was that he was tired. So tired he couldn't bother fighting to stay awake for more than a minute at a time. Every time he opened his eyes his mom was there, sometimes his dad and sister too.

Finally Maddox figured he was hungry enough to wake up and this time he looked right into Brent's worried eyes.

"Hey," Maddox cringed when he heard his voice crack. It felt like his throat was full of sand.

"Hi," Brent gave him a sad smile.

"What's wrong?" Maddox tried to reach for his hand but it was too hard to move his fingers. Brent's hand closed over his.

"You don't remember anything?"

"No, but," Maddox looked around and pieces of the day came back to him. "Wait...maybe I do. That doctor said...meningitis?"

"Yeah," Brent nodded and bent over to kiss his forehead. "It was so scary, Dax, you just passed out."

"I'm sorry," Maddox tried to squeeze Brent's hand but he honestly couldn't tell if he'd done it or not.

"Do you want some water?" Brent asked. Maddox nodded because talking was really a lot of work. Brent put a straw in his mouth and Maddox tried to drink.

"I'm sorry," Maddox told Brent when he'd finished drinking. "I don't know why I'm so tired," he closed his eyes so he could go back to sleep.

It took him a week to stop falling asleep when he didn't want to and by then he almost wished he could just keep sleeping. They had every kind of therapist Maddox could imagine visiting him between his naps. He had to learn to walk all over again which took him so much longer than seemed fair. Then he had to learn the stairs.

At least the physical activities were kind of easy. It was the other stuff that pissed him off. Suddenly he couldn't even lift a fork without his arm shaking so hard all the food fell in his lap. Texting was impossible. Jeans were impossible. Buttons were impossible.

"I look like a fucking hobo," Maddox decided when his occupational therapist decided it was time for him to learn how to do his hair.

"One day at a time," she reminded him.

"I'm not wearing sweatpants for the rest of my life," Maddox huffed. He leaned against the sink.

"Are you leaning because you're tired or because you're trying to get closer to the mirror?"

"I'm fucking tired, okay?" Maddox didn't mean to yell at her but he was tired. His leg muscles burned from standing too long. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion though. Maddox was tired of always being the one who got fucked over. Everything had finally been perfect and now this? It was just ridiculous.

"Okay, I'll get the chair," his therapist disappeared for a second. Maddox sighed and looked at himself again. It just wasn't fair.

He was allowed to leave the hospital a week later when everyone knew he could handle going up and down stairs. That didn't mean he got out of working with his rehab therapists, it just meant they came to the house to torture him.

"Fuck," Maddox sighed as his fork fell out of his hand for the third time that night. He looked at it on the floor and tried to decide if he felt like bending over to get it.

"Just leave it," Clara said. Maddox looked around and realized everyone was giving him the same worried look. It was like the only way anyone really looked at him anymore.

"Here," Brent scooted closer. "You can share my fork."

"Thanks," Maddox gave him as much of a smile as he could. If only most of his meals didn't seem to end with someone feeding him he might have thought it was cute.