When I Leave

Melting

Chapter Twenty- Eight

Melting

 Two weeks later and Fergus hadn’t even stirred. I watched his unmoving face. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. Voices were getting louder in the hall so I told him I’d be right back. I crept to the door and listened.

“I’m just saying, you need to think about it…” A deep voice said.

“You can’t expect me to make a decision like that!”

“You’re his legal guardian.”

“He’s- he’s not on life support- he’s just unconscious.”

“I’m saying, it’s quite possible he’ll have to go on it soon if this carries on.”

“So not yet?”

“No-”

“Then I’m not having this conversation.”

I stumbled backwards and into the chair that was getting my imprint in it. I put my face in my hands.

I felt like I was melting. My heart and my soul. I could feel myself slipping.

“Fergus, please just wake up.” I begged. “Please, please, I can’t lose someone else.”

Every day I had to fix his hair. They always did it wrong. I had to push it back a bit and part it differently, feeling his soft, short curls and shaking my head.

I went to his room where Pavel was sitting in silence.

“Alice?” He asked. I ignored him and reached under Fergus’ bed to grab his hat. It was stupid. It was a million different colours. I believe they’re called Peruvian hats. But his was woolly with balls at the end of the strings. I told him never to wear it again after he wore it one day, so he of course began to wear it to school every day. I hid it the day before we skipped, right under the mattress.

I pulled it out and smelled it, it smelled just like him. He always smelled so good, now he smelled like hospital. “What do you doing?” Pavel asked. I glanced at him, “Nothing.” I said, taking the hat.

I put it on my head and sat on my bed, fiddling with the strings and thinking about everything and nothing all at once.

 Another week went by and it was evening. A cold evening but I was still melting. Slowly, painfully melting. I was stirring a cup of tea that didn’t need any more stirring. But I was staring at the wall absently, my mind fuzzy.

I came out of the fuzz as Patty crashed into the room. “Alice!” She shouted, “Alice, come look!”

“Patty, I don’t really feel l-”

She grabbed my shirt and yanked me out of the kitchen. When she got so strong, I haven’t a clue. “Patty, stop.” I ordered. She didn’t respond, but took me to the front doors.

She opened it up and I looked out, snatching my arm back.

There were two figures walking to the Home in the light of a street lamp.

I saw the outline of Mrs. Dowries’ fluffy hair. And beside her…

“Fergus?” I breathed out. I couldn’t believe it. I looked to Patty, who looked back at me with a wide grin.

I ran.

I ran down the hill and onto the road to Fergus.

Mrs. Dowries saw me and sighed. “I wanted to surprise you.” She laughed, relieved. I stopped in front of Fergus. Mrs. Dowries must have brought him some clothes because he wasn’t in a hospital gown. He wore a long sleeved top with an orange body and black sleeves.

“Is that you?” I asked, feeling myself choking.

He nodded. He looked different, and I wondered if it was just tiredness. His navy blue eyes looked sad, filled with regret. I breathed out a shaking breath and pulled him in for a hug. He winced, in pain, but I couldn’t let go. I heard the crunch of Mrs. Dowries walking away.

Fergus pulled himself in closer to the hug, kissing my shoulder then resting on it.

I cried tears of shock and joy.

“I hate you.” I said, “I hate you, I hate you.”

“I know,” He responded soothingly, “I’m sorry.”

We stayed there for a good few minutes until I remembered how cold it was.

I linked his arm into mine to help him walk to the Home because I could tell he was hurting a lot, even if he refused to admit it.

We sat on his bed in silence. He hadn’t missed anything important.

“I hope I didn’ worry you too much.” He said.

I glared at him.

“Ouch.” He said, reaching out and touching my stitches. I flinched but let him examine them. “How’s Mitch doing?”

“Well, unfortunately.” I mumbled.

“How’d tha’ happen?” He asked, rubbing his thumb along the stitches.

“Mitch’s psychotic friend brought a knife to a fist fight. Again.” I said, and upon seeing the anger flush his face I grabbed his hand and put it on the bed.

“You would know, the kid stabbed you and cut your arm.”

Fergus looked confused, he couldn’t remember. He lifted his shirt to see a load of stitches on his stomach. He stared in awe. I looked from the scar to him. “They’re gonna pay.” He said quietly.

“No,” I said harshly, “No they are not. If you get in another fight-”

“Okay, I won’.” He put his hands up, not wanting to get into it with me.

“Good, because I’d kill you myself.” I said with a small smile. He laughed then winced and stopped.

“You were gone for three weeks Fergus. Three weeks. They were going to put you on life support.” I tried to express my concern.

He shook his head in disbelief. “It won’ happen again.” He promised.

I nodded, I knew it wouldn’t. Not on purpose.

After a few hours it was lights out and I had to go. I got off the bed, kissed him goodnight, never getting enough of twirling my fingers in his hair, and left.

 Last year, woohoo.