Dead or Destitute (Lams)

Chapter Nineteen

Neither spoke a word. There was an empty feeling surrounding the two, a space that no words could ever fill. Words lingered on their lips, unfulfilled talks and speeches that didn't belong to either or anyone else for that matter. There was not a place for them, no seemingless way to fill the void with spiels and proclamations to fulfill the other. There was a trepidation and awkwardness that neither could fix so what was the point in even attempting it? What would it possibly solve?

There was no doubt that Alexander had just gone through hell and back, but it was even more apparent that this bad patch of low strength had been a long time coming and it was an accumulation of waning health. His hair had thinned and was matted to his sweat streaked face. His skin was pale, like ice on the tip of a mountain, or dust on an old book. It was sickly and so discoloured that he almost looked grey. The flesh was pulled taut on his bones and his cheeks were hollowed out.

John placed a hand on top of Alexander's but immediately retracted it, his skin cold to the touch. He was like a corpse, breathing slowly and conversing awkwardly, but a living corpse none the less.

"I'm sorry."

"For?" Alexander questioned but was instead offered no response.

No speech. No offer of kindness or apologetics.

The monitor attached to his heart beeped melodically and the tubes running through his nostrils helped ease his ragged breath. The IV in Alexander's veins mirrored that of the one John once adorned and it reminded him of his first day in this damned hospital. John remembered the fear and anguish of waking up alone, the devastation in his heart upon realizing that not even death wanted him, that perhaps he would never succeed in anything, that he was cursed to this life of misery. He remembered that first night, meeting Alexander, finding some sort of odd solace in his presence. Now he stood before a stranger and that was the most disappointing part of the whole ordeal.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, this time more resolute in his statement.

Alexander stared blankly back at him, the only movement was the occasional blink of his dry and bloodshot eyes. The machine hummed, but the world stood still. The void remained untouched.

"Was there something here?" John felt a single tear trickle down his dotted face. He gestured flamboyantly around the room, waving his arms like a madman. He didn't mean something in the room, nor something in the hospital, but instead something between himself and Alexander. To a larger extreme, anything to their predicament, anything to do with their overlapping and complementary lives.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" John yelled, fury plastered on him like a black cloak shrouding his very essence. "The man who knows everything doesn't know the most important thing there is to know? It's a simple question," his voice rose. "Was there ever anything here? Did you love me?"

Alexander still said nothing and the fury grew in John. He was so frustrated that he shook, the his face contorted into a scowl, his glare so sharp it could cut glass. His hands balled into fists and he wanted to grab something, someone, let the growing anger out in whatever way possible. "Say something to me!" he yelled. "Alexander, am I nothing to you? Speak to me!"

"John," his raspy voice spoke and something inside John shattered. Alexander's voice, the voice which once sounded so perfect and gentle on his lips caused something to shatter inside John, and he felt all the anger simmer down. He began to weep, realizing how easy it almost was to indulge in his aggression, to sink into the same monstrous craze that moved his father to violence. The hatred and vileness had grazed his fingertips and it would have been so easy to grasp, to embrace as his own.

"John," Alexander continued. "I don't know what you want from me, but I loved you. I always have and I always will, but my days are numbered, and I don't know what you want from me."

John wept, standing on the brinks of something real and unearthly and special only to him and Alexander and he wept for it. "I want you. I always have."

"I don't think you do."

Pause. A heartbeat, a moment to relish in his statement, a pause from the storm brewing from his mouth.

"You like the idea of me, John. You like my passion. You like my desire to live and thrive and be remembered. You like everything about me that you've never liked about yourself. You don't love a person. You love a notion, and that's not the same thing."

"Kiss me," John commanded, surprised at the strength in his voice.

And so he did.

It was short as a result of Alexander's fight for breath, but it was sweet and perfect and everything he needed in that moment. Alexander's lips battled for dominance over his, but submitted to the tenderness of their passion. His chapped lips pressed against John's plump and smooth ones and it was more than either of them could fathom, the meaning so impactful and important that it was almost impossible for either of the two to grasp.

The kiss ended as quickly as it had started.

"Doesn't that declare that I love you?"

Alexander shook his head, unsure of what he expected, of what he even wanted. "It means nothing, John," his voice was cold. "It means that you're hungry for affection, and I'm the nearest offering. It means you're scared and deprived of touch."

"That's not true," John refuted. "Please, don't leave me. Everyone leaves."

"I'm not leaving until this fucking heart stops, which may be sooner rather than later," he joked, but John found no humour in the statement. "I'm going to try and get a little sleep. Surgery wears you out."

"I love you."

"Maybe."

A/N How are all of you? How many of you have seen Hamilton live yet? Watching it was amazing and I had this overwhelming feeling of, "wow. If I had killed myself, I never would have been here watching this now." It was amazing. Anyway, love you all! Have a great day!"