Recount the Seconds (Muke)

Chapter 3

Present

I storm down the hallway of the ER, sick of sitting around. Peering through various doors, I pray to Ash’s God that I’ll find Michael. No matter how bad he is, I need to see him.

Glancing through another doorway, I see a man wrapping a young girl’s arm in green gauze. I immediately recognize his salt and pepper hair and his kindly brown eyes; he’s the guy who delivered the first bout of news: Calum would be fine, but Michael was in critical condition…and it didn’t look good.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he accuses me, but I continue down the hall before he can follow and stop me.

Instead, a few doors later, a nurse appears from another room. “Mr. Hemmings,” she scolds.

I duck in a doorway and shut it behind me. Whirling around, I see him.

*****

I knew I was gay in Year 7. There was a boy named Jake at my school. He had dark hair and grey eyes, and at first, I thought he was dreamy. Then I realized what that meant.

It took some time to come to terms with myself; I worried that I would be hated or teased (and that was when Michael was already being an asshole). But when my mom found out and held me and smiled and cried, I realized I would be okay.

Still, I didn’t tell anyone; it didn’t seem all that important after a while. Even when Mikey and I got over ourselves and he, Cal, and I became best friends, I staid silent. I didn’t want it to matter.

I knew I was in love with Michael on one of our first mini tours. We had been best friends for a while, so I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when things changed. I think it was slow at first.

Michael alternately teased and babied me. Sometimes he’d be critical, and sometimes he’d cuddle up against me on the couch while we watched movies or comfort me when I was down. We grew closer and closer, sharing a room while we traveled around on tour.

Every night, we’d play Nintendo and curse at one another under the white duvet, and later, we’d laugh and he’d whisper “Night, Lukey,” and I’d want to be annoyed that he called me that, but I wasn’t. Sometimes, when it was cold or one of us had a bad dream, we’d curl up against one another like kittens and fall asleep like that…

One such night, I woke up from a nightmare. We were performing in front of the biggest crowd yet and I looked at Michael and the stage collapsed out from under him, and it spread to Ash and Cal and me and we all fell and fell…and I woke up to Michael’s big grey eyes watching me.

“Lukey, you okay?” he whispered to me…

…and I realized I wasn’t because I imagined kissing him then, and all I wanted to do was to curl up in his arms, my lips pressed to his neck, and to entwine my fingers in his inky black hair and to never leave.

Instead, I grumbled that I was fine and rolled away from him; in that moment, I knew we had changed from a functional band of teenage dirtbags — in which I felt safe and at home — to a danger zone. I couldn’t jeopardize the band when everything was going so well…so I had to stay away.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed and poured myself a cup of coffee. As I flipped on the TV to look for some halfway decent cartoons, Michael walked into the room and stared at me.

His hair was mussed up with sleep, his hands wrapped around a coffee mug. Momentarily, I found myself admiring his hands, but I pushed that thought away. No.

He walked over and sat down next to me on the couch, whispering, “Morning.”

I sat silently, wishing he would leave me alone.

“Not enough caffeine in the system yet, mate?” He nudged me with his shoulder.

Instead of fighting back like normal, I made myself get up and walk back into the kitchen. “I’m fine,” I insisted before he could say anything.

Just then, the phone rang, and I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

A minute later, I dropped the phone.

“Lukey?” Mike called from the other room.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, beginning to pace about the kitchen. Suddenly, I stopped. “GUYS,” I yelled, out of nowhere. “GUYS, GUYS, GUYS-” I ran past Michael in the living room and toward the room Ash and Calum shared.

Michael followed me down the hall and Cal and Ash burst from their room.

“The hell?” Calum muttered, eyes heavy with sleep.

“One Direction wants us to open for them on tour.”

“Fuck…” Michael breathed.

My elation faded as quickly as it came. The news confirmed what I already knew; I had to get over Michael, fast.

*****

“Michael…” I breath when I see him laying against the stark white sheets of the hospital bed.

He’s wearing a flimsy, mint-colored hospital gown, and his skin is paler than ever. They’ve shaved away a chunk of his silvery hair in the front, and in its place staples run down an ugly gash. Several IVs hang above him in bags, their long needles tucked into his skin under bandages. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow.

I stumble over to his bed and collapse into a nearby chair. Taking his frighteningly cold hand in mine, I lay my head on the side of the cot and close my eyes.

Maybe it’s just a bad dream.

A nurse comes in eventually and lays a flimsy blanket over my shoulders, but I barely notice. Instead, clutching Michael’s hand, I fall into fitful sleep.