"I don't get it," John interrupted. "Why did you stay?" He recounted the first time he had been hit. He remembered all the feelings she explained. He remember running far away. It was raining and cold and he felt horrified and alone.
His figure was tiny, a little shivering fourteen year old crying on a bench. No one paid much attention to him. He remembered eventually going back home, submitting himself to more abuse.
The second instance was more severe. His father grabbed him by the hair, slamming him to the ground. He was called disgusting names, told how much of a disgrace he was. He was given a bloody nose and a black eye to last for two weeks.
After that time, he tried to tell someone. That ended badly too. It was just relayed back to his father. Oh, how angry the man had been. He remembered that attack vividly. He still had nightmares about it, still felt each burning sensation as his father broke not only his body, but his spirit.
Maria's facade faded suddenly. She wasn't brave and beautiful and distant. She was sad and alone and finally real.
There are two kinds of people in this world; authentic and those who lack any sort of passion.
Maria was the latter for most of her interaction with John. She was distant and uncaring and just a mystery. Now, here, as she recounted her biggest mistake, she was the very image of authenticity. She looked on the brink of tears, frustrated and surprisingly empty. There was no resolve, no idea of how to fix where she failed. She just told her story, her lonely take on a grim reality.
"I felt a high with James. I couldn't abandon that." She seemed simple and so breakable. "I felt a rush, like I was actually cared about."
John still didn't seem to understand, so she continued. "You know that fire in Alexander's soul, that passion he feels? I've seen it sparked on two things and only two." She said this with a certain calm, no hatred in her soul. "He has that flame about his work, his writing. He also has it about you, John."
She was in an alley. That was about all she remembered. James had been upset. The paperwork was taking longer that expected. It was blurs, but it was a reminder of the hours previous.
There was so much blood, everywhere. It was on her head, sticky and warm. She could taste the metallic flavor, overwhelming each time she swallowed. Her ankle was bent at an unnatural position and she couldn't move it. The sun was rapidly setting, and the color of the sky mirrored the bruises on her wrists.
She knew she was supposed to meet the lawyer nearby. Yes, that was it.
"You're a mess," he declared rushing towards her. Blood stained everything he touched, everywhere he looked. Alexander swooped her up in his arms carrying her far away. He didn't ask questions, didn't speak. He only watched after her, his brow furrowed in concern.
She had no way to know it at the time, but his thoughts were dark. They were full of blame and hatred, but not at the injured girl. No, he blamed himself. If only he hadn't been raped, it had to have been his fault. If that hadn't happened, Maria would still be his. She would never have been hurt like this. There was no other way to look at it, no other way to perceive the disaster.
"John, here's the worst part," she sighed. "I stayed. After all that, I stayed. Alexander begged me to come home, to fix everything."
"Why didn't you go back with Alexander?"
She practically whimpered, frustrated at the memory. "I filed the divorce because I had to. I'm the villain in this story, I know that, but our marriage wasn't perfect. He stopped looking at me like I was special and that's when I knew it was over."
John placed a hand on her's, shocked by his own actions. This sad creature had moved his heart to kindness and overwhelmed him with remorse.
"You're still with James."
She nodded. "Yes. After our first child, he cleaned up his act. He really is completely different now."
Alexander approached in the doorway and Maria avoided eye contact. She hurried, grabbing her things and departing without another word. It was as if she felt like she wasn't wanted here. John knew that wasn't true, however. Even if Alexander didn't still care for her, even if he did, he would never treat Maria badly. It wasn't in his nature.
Alexander eyed the door, waiting for it to close completely. It was interesting how many of their conversations took place in this hospital room. It was the meeting place for any concern about their relationship. John associated it with pain, needles, medication, and late night thoughts of emptiness. Yet, when Alexander entered, it changed into a safe place.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." His eyes, though dark and clouded with thoughts were sincere while he talked.
John was previously filled with rage by the lack of narrative on Alexander's part. Now, all he could feel was a strange sort of pity, one that didn't understand what the other man went through, but understood enough to empathize deeply.
"I don't blame you. It must be hard to talk about." He smiled tenderly, realizing how deeply he cared about Alexander. "I love you."
"I love you too, John." There was a silence, John basking in the moment, Alexander planning out the best way to say what must be said. He dreaded the information he carried, knowing it would destroy John completely. The weight had the potential to crush him, and Alexander didn't want to allow that possibility.
"John, they're releasing you tomorrow."
John's face turned to terror as he realized the full implications of that statement. He would be released from the safety of the hospital, the comfort of Alexander's arms. He would be shoved full force back into a living hell. The repercussions of his action would be horrific. His father would not forgive him for what had occurred.
He began to shake, tears filling his eyes, staining his freckled face as they slipped out. "Please don't send me away."
"John, I don't want to see you here again."
It seemed like the cruelest thing that could possibly be said. It shook John to the bones, the familiar empty feeling gripping him tight as panic set into his body.
"Visit me. Come see me again, but do not become a patient. Don't try to die again. I need you."
His little figure shook with each convulsive sob. "He's going to hurt me again."
"Then go to the Washington's. George and Martha will take care of you because they are kind people, and because you're mine."
He didn't go into further detail, didn't say what he meant by calling John his own. It wasn't, my boyfriend, my love, my friend. Simply mine and John felt a sense of calm in that.
"Alexander?" John asked, voice soft and gentle.
Alexander gave John his full attention and that was all he needed. John leaned in, closing the space between them. He was filled with a sense of warmth as he basked in the comfort of being Alexander's.
This would be the last memory he had of Alexander before leaving the hospital. He hoped more than anything it would be enough to get him through the oncoming storm.
YOU ARE READING
Dead or Destitute (Lams)
Fanfiction(Lams.) This had been the third time. His third time downing pills, his third time trying to meet death. If only he had succeeded. - It had been months since he had last left the hospital. He was bored. He was afraid that he was simply going to die...
