by Aiden Bates
“Go easy on him,” Camden said. “If I were your brother and I’d spent every day by your bedside while you were in your coma for nearly four years, I’d surely be scared of you hurting yourself, too.”
I groaned and bent down a little to rub at the back of one of my thighs, trying to convince it to not seize up and spasm on me right now. There was absolutely nothing as distracting as most of the muscles in my leg contracting to the point of pain.
“I know, I kn-n-n-n-know,” I groused through the stutter that had developed after I’d woken up from my coma. “He’s just, like, suffocating me, you know? I get that he was there taking care of me when I was practically dead to the world, but I’m awake now. And…”
“And?” Camden prompted, looking up from the notes he seemed to be finishing.
I shrugged. These days, I hardly ever left the house except to come to VA appointments. Most times I was around Marcos and his family or around my parents, so I could never really say what was on my mind, but I often felt that if I didn’t say something to someone, even an unrelated person like Camden, I was going to explode.
“And,” I said, making my mind up to finish my sentence. “I don’t know, man. I’m just in a weird place. Marcos was really affected by my time in hospital and I know, obviously, I was, too. But I don’t remember those years. There are babies who were born from relationships that even didn’t exist when I went under. Lives have changed, developed, but for me, it’s like I was in Malmur six months ago. I don’t know. I can’t keep up, man. I…” I swallowed hard. This was probably more talking, honest talking, than I’d done in a while. “I don’t know. I think I need space. Maybe I ought to move out.”
“No, sir,” Camden said over his shoulder. He was sitting at his computer, looking between his tablet and his monitor, typing away. His tone was light and didn’t match the heaviness of what I was saying.
I pursed my lips and shot him a look to let him know I was trying to be serious. Camden, though, just looked up at me and shrugged in response.
“What you need to be focusing on right now is recovery. I’m still not one-hundred percent on your balance, and you need work with your—”
“I know! I know. But how can I work on anything at home when both Marcos and Mami follow me around the house like mother hens whenever I try to be more independent?”
“They’re making sure you don’t fall. Anyway, none of this sounds like a living situation problem. It all sounds like a ‘Pedro is in a shitty mood and nothing is to suit problem.’ We all talked about taking things one step at a time. You can’t catch up to where everyone else is with their recovery because they’ve had more time.”
I didn’t need one more reminder of how everyone else had gotten to live the last few years. I couldn’t help but feel like all of this would have been ten times easier if I’d come back from Malmur with the kind of injury that hadn’t knocked me out. Or hadn’t knocked me out for so long. Every so often I caught myself wishing the squad could have done this together. Maybe we could have ignored medical advice and snuck out to a bar so that Long could cuss and hiss at his new prosthetic, Carpenter could bitch about his burns and how much the skin grafts sucked, and I could complain about…whatever was wrong with me in this made-up scenario. Then we could have knocked back more beers, talked about Jason’s death, and gotten to a place where we could all put it to bed and move on.
But that hadn’t happened. Or, maybe it had. I wouldn’t know. I was asleep after all. That was the problem.
I made some kind of noise to acknowledge I was hearing Camden, but I also got off the table as easily as I could and started for the door. The stiffness in my muscles after the treadmill threatened to cramp my calves on the way out so I made sure to be extra careful. The last thing I wanted was to tell Camden I could live on my own, and then immediately embarrass myself by falling flat on my face.
I was doing fine, ignoring the burn in my legs that only used to come after long, hard drills. Camden sighed somewhere behind me, but it sounded like the kind of sigh someone does when they’re throwing their hands in the air and giving up.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” I said to Camden, but without turning around, just focusing on the door. “I’ll still be here same time next week.” I made the promise as I left the combined exam room and gym that Camden and I had our appointments in.
Once I was outside of the clinic, I stubbornly decided against calling Mami to let her know I was done with therapy. Calling Mami to come get me after therapy felt too much like being thirteen and calling her to come pick Marcos and me up from school. It was one of those post-coma things I really, really hated. Instead, I texted her that I was going to find my own way home. I didn’t wait for a reply before I started walking toward the house.
Sure, my joints hurt every so often and my muscles sometimes felt like they were about to seize up, but if I stopped and took a break, it genuinely felt like the pain subsided more easily. That may have something to do with me letting off steam. Camden did say anxiety made physical therapy harder. He usually followed up with some kind of “mind-body connection” that I always rolled my eyes at, but he always insisted it was something worth paying attention to.
I made a mental note to be more understanding and grateful to Camden for helping me get back so much function in such a short time. I’d even tell him that, yes, calming down did seem to have a positive effect on my mobility. Maybe that could be a kind of peace offering for losing my temper in front of him today. If I remembered.
Since I was feeling so great I decided to go the long way home. Actually, maybe I’d make a detour, give myself more time to just…be alone. I wasn’t ever alone these days. I stopped to rest, and then fished my headphones out of my bag before making my way to Arlington Circle. Marcos could die mad about it if he wanted to, but I reckoned the walk would do me good, not just physically, but mentally too. I smiled, and then started trying to march along to the beat of the music.
It occurred to me once I got to the edge of the park that I didn’t really have any plan for what I was going to when I actually reached it. Sitting on a park bench and observing ducks wasn’t really me before I deployed, and it didn’t feel like me afterward.
So…what? Sit on a bench to rest up, and then immediately turn around? Was that the plan? I guessed that was the plan. Nothing better really seemed to be coming so I tried to make a beeline for a bench behind the fountain in the middle of the park.
Fuck.
Instead of finding the park bench usefully unoccupied, sitting on the bench I was barely going to make it to was someone familiar.
Charlie. Charlie Zimmerman. Jason O’Rourke’s ex-fiancé. Could I call him an ex? It wasn’t like they broke up. Maybe more like former fiancé?
He didn’t seem to be looking up yet, so maybe he hadn’t seen me. Maybe I could just turn around and pretend I hadn’t seen him. We hadn’t spoken since my homecoming party just over a month ago. He was fine to talk to then, but we didn’t really know each other. Whenever we happened to run into each other previously, he was always with Jason. We talked, obviously, but it was mainly about things like when the squad was deploying, where we were going, how long we were going to be there, what kinds of trouble we got up to on base or on tour. That kind of thing.
I definitely knew Jason better than I knew Charlie, and now, without Jason, I didn’t know what I’d possibly say to Charlie in a one-on-one conversation. I’d managed to tell him I was sorry at the party, but I wasn’t able to really express my sincere apologies because someone else interrupted us, and then things had kind of become awkward after that. I guess neither of us knew what to say about the other’s circumstances.
Anyway, Charlie had probably heard the same things over and over the past few years. He wouldn’t want to hear it again from me, and I didn’t have anything else I could possibly say. Other than how much Jason mentioned him when we were in Malmur.
But that felt really stupid. Really, really stupid.
“Pedro!’
3
Charlie
I was happy to see Pedro out and about. The last time I saw him, he was still using a cane, but now he seemed to be walking steadily on his own. He came over and sat beside me, and though he seemed a little stiff, I was impressed he’d come so far since he’d woken up.
“W-w-w-what are you working on?” Pedro asked, peering down at my tablet.
Generally I didn’t show anyone my work until it was complete, but for some reason I tilted the screen toward him. I was wrapping up a few of the panels I’d been working on, but to be truthful, I was just fiddling around with them. I really needed to start on the next set of panels where Rig was meant to meet his new alpha, the same ones I’d been struggling with the night before, but I still couldn’t move forward with them.
Pedro was quiet as he flicked through a few more pages and then went rigid.
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s about a war. Well, the fallout from a war, I guess.”
He handed it back and gave me a tight smile.
“You don’t like it?” I asked.
“Sorry, it’s just… I don’t really like the idea of romanticizing a war, especially after Malmur. I’m sort of surprised you are.”
I bristled at that, but tried to remember that Pedro had just seen a few panels and didn’t know the full story of what I was trying to achieve. However, it felt too personal to share, especially with one of Jason’s squadmates. It also felt a little bit like Jason disapproving of it. So, thinking fast, I lied. “It’s just a commission. I don’t get a lot of choice in it,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Pedro studied me with light brown eyes. Apparently, I hadn’t done a very good job at keeping my thoughts off my face. Pedro must have realized I wasn’t comfortable talking about it because he had the awareness to look mildly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I get it.” It wasn’t Pedro’s fault really. He didn’t know how personal it was for me, and he was entitled to his own feelings about the war and the injury that had taken away so many years of his life.
“So, what’s got you out here?” Pedro asked gesturing to our surroundings.
“Ugh. My other job today is to try to find an apartment. I’ve been looking around all day.”
“Find anything?” Pedro asked.
“Not a thing. Well, nothing I’d actually live in.” All morning I’d trucked around looking at anything I could possibly afford. There weren’t a lot to start with and the ones that were there were awful.
Pedro snorted and shot me a wide smile. “That bad?”
“There’s just not a lot out there in my budget,” I said, shrugging. “Well, at least not many without roaches for roommates. I just feel like after all this time with my parents, I need to find my own place. I love them, but Jesus, I need my own space, you know? I can’t just keep spinning my tires, going nowhere, not living my life anymore.”
Pedro nodded as I talked. “I get you. Completely. I’ve been living with Marcos, Oliver and Mitch.”
I smiled, remembering all of Mitch’s good natured grumbles about the chaos at their house. Between the three of them and a baby, it was a lot on its own. Poor Pedro was probably overwhelmed with all of that.
“They love me, man. I know Marcos was stressed out to the max over me, and I know he means well, but it’s hard to be reminded every single day about losing out on all that time. I appreciate everything they’ve done for me. I do. But it makes it hard to move on.”
It was my turn to nod along with Pedro.
“I just don’t need it in my face twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five. That’s too much bullshit,” Pedro said.
“I understand. I love my parents, but they hover. They’re always worried about me. And they deserve some time to themselves. I feel like we’re just constantly getting in one another’s way.” I fell back against the bench, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Now, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
Pedro frowned a little, as if considering something, his arms crossed. All at once, he came to life, leaning toward me.
“Wait. What if we lived together?” he asked.
“What?” Move in with Pedro?
“Yeah, I mean it could work. You need out of your parents’ house and I swear to god if I hear Oliver, Mitch and Marcos or Marcos and Mitch or Mitch and Oliver—or whatever combination—fuck one more time, I’ll go crazy. Mitch does this thing, where he fucking howls—”
“Please, Pedro. If you finish that sentence, I’ll never talk to you again,” I said quickly.
Pedro laughed. Really laughed, the sound travelling up from his belly. Pedro and Marcos were forever cutting up and making everyone else laugh, but at the party, Pedro had seemed somber, more withdrawn, which was understandable. It was actually good to see him laugh. He wiped his eyes and looked at me.
“It could work,” he said.
“I don’t know, Pedro…” I hadn’t expected to share with anyone. The idea was to get out on my own. Also, an alpha and omega living together who weren’t seeing each other? It wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly wasn’t normal. The complications of an omega’s heat when in close confines to an alpha often caused trouble.
“Look, I don’t take up much space, and I’m sort of in the same boat you are. My benefits aren’t bad, but I don’t think I make enough every month to strike out on my own either. I wouldn’t get in your way or anything,” Pedro said.
“I’m not sure, I—”
“Look. I need this, and you need this, right?” Pedro asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then we’ll figure it all out. It’s not like I’m some stranger.”
I considered for a moment more, putting myself in Pedro’s shoes. Marcos and the others were wonderful, but the house was already full with them and the baby. I remembered how drawn and obsessive Marcos had been when his brother was in a coma, and I had a feeling it hadn’t really gone away just because Pedro was awake now. Pedro was used to doing things for himself, being independent. Even if it was well intentioned, having that many people constantly focused on him was probably exhausting. Hell, I knew it was, firsthand. My friends, my family, had been my bedrock when Jason had died. I don’t know where I’d be—if I’d even be here at all—without them. That said, even now, they sometimes treated me like I was fragile, liable to break apart at a moment’s notice.
Pedro sighed, and it looked like he was resigning himself to me saying no.
“Well… I have to admit, it’s weird, but it’s not the craziest idea I’ve ever heard, and it would make it easier for both of us.”
“Really? I mean, really?” Pedro asked. It was hard not to smile at his enthusiasm.
“Yeah, I mean, you’re right. Who knows when either of us would be able to afford it otherwise? Besides, I know what you’re talking about with all the attention.”
Pedro’s answering smile was wide. “Alright then, roommate, what’s the next step?”
“Well, we should probably start looking at some places together. There were some that were decent that we could probably afford between the two of us.” I talked Pedro through some of the ones I’d seen that were reasonable. As we came up with a game plan, I was feeling more and more hopeful, like a weight I didn’t even know what there was lifting from my shoulders.
And, then it happened.
God, when would it stop happening?
I could always tell. I was an old pro at this point. First there was a softening of the eyes, looking away for a moment, face twisted in an expression of deep concentration and settling into that all too familiar mix of pity and sorrow. Sometimes, it was mixed with other things, too. Sometimes, people
were in shock in the face of mortality and death. Sometimes, they were morbidly fascinated and curious at the gruesome details. Sometimes, most hurtfully, they weren’t any of these things. They were simply ticking off a social nicety. “Crazy weather we’re having?” and “So sorry for the loss of the person you thought was yours for the rest of your life” were practically the same sentiment, after all.
But it always started the same, just as it was now with Pedro. It had been a while since I’d had this response, but here it was again, a flash from the past.
Suddenly, that weight on my shoulders returned, and it had doubled.
“Charlie, I’m so sorry…”
Pedro said a great deal of things, I’m sure. How sad he was, how unfair it was, how he hoped I would find peace or solace or some-god-forsaken-thing with time. Time. Jesus, they always landed on time eventually. Time would wash it away, somehow make all clean and bright and fresh again. That wasn’t true. Time was a thief. There was nothing particularly healing about it. All it meant was that you missed the sound of a person’s voice even as you forgot it, and was left longing for a thing you could no longer name.
“…Jason and I were close, and he talked about you all the time, Charlie. Every day. God, I miss him so much. Well, I mean, nowhere near as much as I’m sure you—”
“Gosh, would you look at the time. Pedro, I’m so sorry, but I really do have to run.” I couldn’t take it. Not now. Sometimes I was able to sit through all the platitudes, but sometimes it was just too much. I started gathering my things and shoving them back into my messenger bag, and then felt a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, Charlie. Look I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay? Honestly, I just…”
I shook my head. “No, no. It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, trying to downplay this. I definitely didn’t want to get off on a wrong foot in all of this. “I’ll pick you up at Marcos’s tomorrow, okay?” I looked up at him, hoping he would decide to let this go.
