by Kallysten
Bryce had brought the divorce papers today. He hadn’t even come in. He’d just left the envelope with the mail.
“How long?” he repeated again, now turning his eyes to Calden.
Calden’s face was pale, bloodless, probably a better representation of how he felt than his expressionless features.
“If you’re implying I could have stopped your marriage from disintegrating, then you greatly overestimate me, as unlikely as that sounds.”
“If I’m implying anything,” Eli snapped, “it’s that you’re the reason it disintegrated. Calling at all hours, barging in on us whenever you pleased. And then you were ill, and who else was going to stay with you? Your mother? I can just see that from here. And then you woke up, and you asked if I’d help, and never even stopped to wonder how well my husband would react to that. That’s how good of a friend you are. You assumed I’d pick you over him.”
And I did, Eli thought bitterly. God help me, I did.
Granted, by that time Bryce had already decreed it would be best for them to separate and live apart ‘at least for a while.’ But it had still hurt that Calden had not even paused to ask about him. And after ten days of keeping it to himself, the rancor had finally spilled out of Eli.
“You could have just said no,” Calden said. His voice was stripped of all emotions. His eyes were blank as he stood and considered Eli for a moment. “You could still say no now. Call Lana. Tell her you’ve had enough. She’ll find someone else, and you can live your life free of me. Just change your phone number and you won’t even get those messages whenever I wake up and think I’ve missed our lunch.”
With that, Calden marched away, his back ramrod straight. His feet struck the staircase with enough force that each step echoed behind him.
It was only with great difficulty that Eli managed not to throw his glass at the wall. Closing his eyes tightly shut, he took a few deep breaths, but it did little to help him clear his mind. He felt a little unsteady when he stood and went to the upstairs bathroom, intending to wash up before turning in for the night. But when he splashed cold water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror, his stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.
“Damn it,” he murmured.
He hadn’t meant to rant at Calden, not like that. Some of it was true—and whatever Calden said, Eli refused to believe Calden hadn’t guessed his marriage was doomed, not when he’d heard about Bryce’s first marriage—but for the most part it was unfair to dump this on Calden. Maybe he could have helped, but Eli had hardly made anything better every time he’d answered Calden’s messages in the middle of dinner or even late at night. And like Calden had pointed out, Eli could have said no. He just hadn’t wanted to. He’d imagined Calden in a recovery house, with strangers who knew nothing about him, his habits, or what made him happy or sent him into sullen strops, and the thought had been unbearable.
Eli had chosen this, and he’d known exactly what he was getting into when he agreed. He’d known they’d have the same conversation over and over. He’d known he’d be all but tied to Calden. And he’d known exactly who Calden was. Who he’d always be: the same man he’d been the morning of June second. Expecting anything different was lunacy.
He stared at himself a little longer in the mirror and, deciding he was sober enough, made himself a promise. This was it. This was the last time he blamed Calden for any of it. He hadn’t chosen his illness or its consequences. What he’d done was entrust himself into Eli’s care, even after Eli had failed him by not figuring out right away what was wrong with him. Eli refused to betray that trust again. He hadn’t put up much of a fight to save his marriage. He couldn’t lose Calden on top of it.
He dried his face, then his hands, and went to knock on Calden’s door.
“Calden? Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
The lack of response wasn’t exactly a surprise.
“I’m coming in now,” he announced, and when Calden didn’t object, he pushed the door open.
Calden was curled up on the bed, his back to Eli, still in his dressing gown. He hadn’t even bothered getting under the covers.
“I’m sorry,” Eli offered, feeling a little awkward at talking to the back of Calden’s head. “It was my relationship, I’m the one who let it fall apart, and it’s unfair for me to blame you. I know it’s not like you’ll be able to hold me to this, but I promise I won’t repeat this outburst. It was uncalled for, and I apologize.”
He paused, then, waiting for Calden to lash out with a particularly cutting bit of sarcasm. Calden remained silent.
“I’m not going to go away,” Eli added, more quietly now. “I said I’d be there for you, and I will. It’ll get easier. I mean, it’s hard to see you like this. It’s hard to know you’re not going to get better. But if you and I think it through, if we make up… I don’t know, a script or something that’ll make it easier for you whenever you wake up, maybe you can find some sort of normality. And I think it’d make it easier for me too if I don’t have to see you upset day after day.”
Calden still didn’t answer. Sighing, Eli stepped up to the bed.
“Fine,” he muttered, tugging the bunched up blanket over Calden’s legs. “Just pretend you can’t hear me, it’s not like…”
The words caught in his throat when he noticed the pill bottle in Calden’s hand. He reached for it, and Calden didn’t try to hold on to it, nor did he stir when Eli pressed on his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed, his mouth parted, and a tiny snore rose from his throat with each breath.
Eli’s hand shook a little when he opened the bottle and emptied it in his palm to count the pills. Two were missing. No more than two, thankfully. Calden hadn’t been trying to make sure he wouldn’t wake ever again. He’d just made sure he’d forget this conversation as soon as it had happened.
“Not fair,” Eli mumbled, brushing the hair off Calden’s forehead. “How can I say I’m sorry if you don’t even remember what I’m sorry for?”
Calden, of course, didn’t reply.
It was a long time before Eli left the room. When he did, it was with the repeated promise that things would get easier if not better. They had to. If they didn’t, what was the point of it all?
(next chronological chapter)
October 29th
It’s only a guess that brings Calden to a small tattoo parlor on the west side of town. The owner, a soldier until he lost a leg to the demons, was a friend of Riley’s, and Riley was one of his first paying customers, demanding that a sword be inked on the inside of her left arm. Calden was there with her, though at the time he wouldn’t have dreamed of marking his skin in a permanent manner. Today, though… Necessity changes things.
He pushes the door open and walks inside, his eyes sweeping the shop. The tattoo artist—Leon—is at work in the back, bent over the arm of a client. He stops for a second to wipe off the excess ink, glancing up at Calden and smiling.
“Hey, Doc. Nice to see you again. Another one?”
Does he know? Apparently not. He seems to be assuming that Calden remembers his last visit. Irrelevant. He knows why Calden is here; that’s all that matters.
“Do you have time to do it tonight?” he asks, peeking from afar at the tattoo in progress. A bird? No, a dragon. It has to be tonight. Calden isn’t hallucinating yet. It’s only been three days, but he is tired, and if he’s not working or busy, it’s hard not to let sleep claim him.
“Gimme fifteen minutes, half an hour tops,” Leon says, already back at work. “We’re almost done with this beauty. There’s paper on the desk, just go ahead and write what you want this time.”
Calden finds paper and a wide marker. He knew at the very second Eli slammed the front door behind him which lesson was to be remembered today, but it still feels odd to see the words written out, black on white.
Be better or Eli will leave you.
He thought of writing ‘good’ rather than ‘bett
er’, but ‘good’ isn’t enough. He has to be better than his normal self. He has to try harder. He could avoid doing those things that make Eli’s lips turn to a thin, angry line, like talking about soldiers as though they’re little more than pawns in Lana’s hands. He could make coffee for Eli instead of always waiting for Eli to make it for him, even though coffee made by Eli always tastes inexplicably better. Mostly, he must avoid references to drugs and suicide.
Really, that last one should be a given. He truly knows better. He learned long ago that the topic is not one to be treated lightly in front of Eli. But today Calden was annoyed at some silly thing, and the words came out of their own accord. He didn’t mean to argue with Eli. He certainly didn’t mean to anger him, or send him striding from the house for ‘some fresh air.’ And it all happened anyway.
Eli’s reaction is not unexpected. It’s not the first time he’s walked out because Calden did or said something that upset him. The thing is, Calden has no idea how many times it has happened since they’ve become more than friends. For all he knows, it happens once a week, and every time Eli has more and more trouble finding a reason to come back. It’s even possible it’s always the same argument.
In a normal relationship—not that Calden ever had one of those, but he can infer from observation—the parties involved in an argument either learn to compromise, one of them changes their position to satisfy the other, or they run the risk of antagonizing each other until the relationship dissolves. But how is Calden supposed to compromise or change when he can’t learn anything new?
He likes to think he knows Eli and what makes him tick. But the truth is, he knows who Eli was back in early June: his best friend, a man with a jealous husband, a field surgeon who was injured on the front line and doesn’t trust himself to hold a scalpel anymore. But that isn’t who Eli is anymore, as Calden started to realize when they woke up in the same bed three days ago. Lover rather than friend, divorced, back in the operating room at Calden’s side as an observer… What else is different? Calden could write entire notebooks about Eli, but Eli asked him not to write anything at all, and so Calden only has a few short notes in his diary. That, and the words on his skin. It’s frustrating how little he knows.
One thing is obvious: if Eli left, Calden would be lost. So he’ll have to do his best not to make him leave.
Assuming Eli comes back tonight, and that thought is enough to render Calden deeply uneasy.
The half hour feels like ten times longer, but finally Leon’s customer stops exclaiming how happy she is with the dragon now curling around her forearm and leaves. Leon gives Calden a slight frown when he first reads the words, but thankfully he doesn’t ask about them. With any luck, he won’t ask while he’s working, the way he chatted with the customer who just left.
“So where are we putting this one?” he asks as he starts tracing the letters. “Chest again?”
Calden strokes his chest absently with two fingers. He’s noticed he’s been doing that a lot in the past three days.
“Correct. And inverted, like the others.”
A few more minutes, and Leon has the stencil ready. The letters transfer easily to Calden’s skin. Settling down in the tattoo chair feels absolutely foreign to Calden, and he eyes the tattoo gun with something akin to wariness, his body tensing against the first assault of the needle.
The sensation is sharper, more intense than he expected… and yet, it immediately feels familiar. Calden doesn’t remember getting his previous tattoos, but his body, it seems, does, and soon relaxes into the flowing lines Leon draws on his skin. It’s odd and somehow comforting to realize that, yes, he can remember new things—just not with his mind.
“You’re a weird customer,” Leon says after a few minutes of work, never breaking his rhythm. “You and your boyfriend both. Just words, with you two. Nothing fancy. Not much fun for me.”
Calden closes his eyes and doesn’t answer.
He opens them again after only a second. It’s unlikely he’d fall asleep while getting a tattoo, but better not to tempt fate. Waking up as a blank slate in a tattoo chair he wouldn’t remember getting in doesn’t sound like it’d be all that fun—especially for Leon.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you in making it a bit cooler?” Leon insists. “Some nice shading? Small designs between the letters?”
“It would defeat the purpose of having it in my handwriting. I wouldn’t put decorations on there, so I can’t have them. It’s that simple.”
Leon gives him a look like Calden isn’t making sense, but he doesn’t argue the point any further.
When Leon is finally done and Calden looks at the new line of text in the mirror, some of the worry nagging him abates a little. Eli won’t leave. Not this time. And not ever, not if Calden has any say in it.
“Do you remember how to take care of it?” Leon asks as he tapes a bandage over the design.
Calden lies and says he does. He can look it up later, or, more probably, Eli will remind him.
Stepping out into the street, Calden rolls his eyes at the camouflage-colored jeep waiting by the sidewalk. He hasn’t been in contact with Lana since waking up, but he’s not surprised she would keep an eye on him. The diary warned him that his mother is as annoying as ever, if not more.
As Lana gives him a questioning look, Calden considers not getting in, but the alternative is going home and worrying if Eli hasn’t come back. A few more minutes of distraction will be welcome.
He climbs in, and crosses his arms over his chest before remembering the fresh tattoo. He can’t hide a grimace, both from the pain and from giving himself away to Lana. Then again, seeing what establishment Calden just walked out of, there isn’t much mystery here.
“And what does this one say?” Lana asks, foregoing greetings.
“It says ‘my mother is a pain’,” Calden replies, eyeing her sideways. “Do you really have nothing better to do? Even if there’s no attack going on, you always like to pretend you’re in charge of everything in the city.”
Lana’s eyes remain firmly on the road.
“It’s comforting to know you’ll always be such a warm son. There are so few things in life one can count on.”
Despite himself, Calden feels the beginning of a smile pushing at his lips, so he turns his face to the window. If his mother coddled him about his condition, it would be absolutely unbearable. But this? This feels right. This feels normal. And normal is the very thing Calden needs.
“Any reason for the car ride?” he asks. “I am quite capable of walking home. I haven’t forgotten how to do that.”
“I’m sure,” Lana drawls. “Can’t I just want to see you?”
Calden snorts. “Eli called you, didn’t he?”
She doesn’t even try to deny it.
“That is part of our arrangement. We try not to leave you alone. Especially when you’ve been awake for three days.”
Swallowing back the protest that he needs no minder, least of all Lana, Calden watches the city on the other side of the glass. For him, days ago it was spring; now the city is firmly settled into fall, with autumn leaves swirling everywhere. It’s disconcerting.
“How often do you swoop in when he can’t stand me anymore?” he asks after a little while, whispering.
“Not as often as one would think.” Lana’s reflection in the window starts to reach out for Calden’s shoulder, but apparently she thinks better of it and lowers her hand again. “Certainly not as often as I expected when we sat down and talked it out back in June.”
‘We,’ Lana says. Who is covered by that word?
“Was I there?” Calden asks.
“Of course you were there.” She snorts quietly. “It was about your life, wasn’t it?”
Lana doesn’t sound like she’s lying or obfuscating, but Calden turns to her anyway, looking at her properly since the first time he climbed into the car. She looks older than her six decades. Or maybe she’s just tired.
Or maybe Calden is proj
ecting.
“What’s the contingency plan?”
Lana raises an eyebrow at him. “The contingency plan?”
“Don’t play with me. What’s the plan for the day Eli tires of all of this? I know you, and I know myself. There’s a contingency plan.”
An odd smile tugs at Lana’s lips. “Maybe it’s Eli you don’t know as well as you should.”
“Meaning?” Calden demands, frowning.
“Meaning he insisted there was no reason to plan for that eventuality. He was quite convinced of it, even back in June, Calden. Right in the middle of a messy separation, he was certain he wouldn’t leave your side. It was very telling.”
Calden’s throat tightens. He can’t help but raise a hand to his chest. Even covered, it hurts when he brushes his fingers against the tattoo, but the pain is welcome and helps clear his mind.
“But there is a contingency plan,” he says, pushing the words out so they sound a little rough. “I’m guessing Eli left the room at some point, and you and I—”
“—made plans, yes,” Lana cuts in smoothly. “Of course.”
She stops there, as infuriating as ever.
“So?” Calden asks, annoyed.
Lana gives him a surprised look. “What? You want to know? Why? It’s not as though you need that information now. The man needed a moment to himself, Calden. That’s hardly anything surprising. Anyone living with you would at some point.”
Calden grinds his teeth. “Just tell me.”
“You wouldn’t live with me, obviously,” Lana said. “I’m quite aware how you’d feel about that. Besides, I’m rarely home. So, familiar surroundings. Your grandparents’ house is ready, should the need arise.”
His grandparents’ house… The place where he and Riley spent their summers and every school vacation when they were growing up. Out in the hills, far from everything—including demons—with a garden and orchard, although they must need some serious tending after all this time.
