What Remains

by Garrett Leigh

  Rupert asked his fair share of annoying questions, but he didn’t nag Jodi about stupid dirty boots. In fact, he didn’t nag at all, save his unnatural obsession with how much Jodi ate for dinner.

  On cue, Sophie disappeared into the kitchen to fetch “a snack.” Jodi curled up on the couch, hoping he’d be asleep by the time she came back, or at least look enough like it for her to let him be.

  “Eat.”

  Or not. Jodi sat up again and stared down at the plate she’d placed in front of him; Nutella on toast. His brain clicked. Nutella. Toast. Rupert. No, that wasn’t a blast from the past. That had happened last week, hadn’t it?

  “What’s the matter? Rupert said it’s all you’ll eat when you’re in a bad mood.”

  “I’m not in a bad mood,” Jodi said absently, shifting over as Sophie sat next to him. “Have you made me this before?”

  “Actually, no. The smell of that stuff makes me heave. Perhaps that’s why we turned out better as friends.”

  “Eh?”

  Sophie hesitated before her wry grin morphed into a reckless take on determination. “Nutella is your and Rupert’s thing. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but you always used to make him this when he came home from late nights at the club.”

  “The club?”

  “He used to moonlight on the doors at The Cube.”

  “But he doesn’t anymore.” It wasn’t a question this time. Jodi had heard Rupert and Sophie talking about this a few days ago.

  “That’s right.” Sophie seemed pleased. She put her arm around Jodi and coaxed him to lie down with his head in her lap. He went willingly. Sophie was soft and warm, and he found himself cuddling closer, absorbing her warmth until drowsiness swept over him and he fell asleep.

  He awoke with a jump sometime later. Rupert was home. Jodi couldn’t see or hear him, but somehow he just knew, though it could’ve been simple logic. At some point Sophie had disappeared, taking her handbag from the coffee table, which led Jodi to conclude she’d gone home, leaving him in Rupert’s care.

  ’Cause you’re too much of a doughnut to be left on your own, remember?

  As if he could forget. His lack of independence was the one constant.

  On cue, Rupert came out of the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea like it was the only thing keeping him upright, and judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, perhaps it was. “Morning.”

  “Is it?” Jodi glanced at the TV, which was playing BBC News 24. The clock read 5 a.m. Damn. He’d been asleep for over twelve hours. That had to be a new record for afternoon naps. “When did you get in?”

  “A while ago. Sophie’s got an early start, so I put her in your bed to get some sleep. That’s okay, right? Didn’t look like you’d be heading there anytime soon.”

  It was more than okay. Fuck that bedroom. Fuck the dark. Fuck everything. “It’s fine. How was work? You’ve been gone for ages.”

  “Long.” Rupert ventured a little closer. “How are you doing? Sophie said you were tired.”

  “I’m always fucking tired.” Jodi hadn’t meant to snap, but the harsh inflection in his tone made him cringe—Rupert too, if his backward step was anything to go by. Jodi thought about apologising, but the violent shiver that swept over him reminded him why he’d curled up on Sophie’s lap in the first place. “It’s cold in here.”

  “Is it? Do you want another blanket from the airing cupboard?”

  Jodi thought about it and shook his head. He wanted—craved—warmth, but hiding under a pile of blankets seemed wrong.

  Rupert took his headshake at face value and turned away to go back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen. A surge of panic drove Jodi to sit up and pretty much fall off the couch. “Wait.”

  “What?” Rupert looked over his shoulder. “What do you need?”

  For a long moment Jodi could do nothing more than hold out his hands, unable to articulate, or even comprehend what he was asking for. All he knew was the comfort Sophie had offered him wasn’t enough. That he needed that kindness from someone else. From Rupert. “I’m so cold. Will you sit with me for a while . . . please?”

  Rupert froze halfway to the kitchen. “You want me to sit with you?”

  “Um . . . I need some company.”

  “Really?”

  Jodi’s outstretched hands wavered. He dropped them and wrapped his arms around himself. “You don’t have to sound so fucking shocked.”

  Rupert was shocked. He’d grown used to coming home to a silent flat, whether Jodi was awake or not, and that silence continuing until Sophie broke the stalemate. He said he was cold. Rupert took a few steps toward the couch. Stopped. What the hell was he going to do when he got there? Cover Jodi’s body with his own? Warm him from the inside out, then carry him to bed and love him all over again, like he used to?

  Jodi sighed. “You’re weird. You always look like you’re about to say something, then you drop off the edge of the earth instead. What’s up with that?”

  If only you knew. Rupert shook himself and closed the distance to the couch. He sat tentatively, leaving a big gap between him and Jodi. “I’m just tired, boyo. Long night.”

  “Yeah? What did you get up to?”

  “I was at work.”

  “Oh yeah, I knew that. Sophie told me. Why can’t I remember this shit?”

  “You will,” Rupert said. “You’ve come so far already. This time last month you couldn’t talk.” And I still had hope that you’d come back to me. How stupid was I?

  Like he’d heard Rupert’s bleak thoughts, Jodi shivered and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he revealed his eyes again, his frustration was gone, replaced by the apathy that broke Rupert’s heart anew whenever he saw it. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know who I am. All I know is, I’m so fucking cold I can’t think about anything else.”

  And that was without the constant pain Rupert knew Jodi was in. Even now the telltale signs of a headache lined Jodi’s face: the crease in his forehead, the slight droop of his left eye. “Then don’t think about anything else. Get warm and worry about the rest later.”

  Rupert said the words absently, his mind, as ever, on Jodi’s discomfort, mentally calculating which medication would be best to ease his pain. Jodi’s shoulder jostled his, and he jumped a mile. Somehow he’d missed Jodi shifting closer.

  “I’m stealing it,” Jodi said by way of explanation. “The warmth. You’re like a fucking radiator.”

  “Erm, okay.” Rupert swallowed hard, fighting the suffocating sadness filling his chest. The old Jodi had been so tactile they’d worn each other like a second skin, and this inevitably brief reincarnation was almost unbearable. Rupert slipped his arm around Jodi’s too-slim shoulders. The urge to pull Jodi close and crush him to his chest was strong—so fucking strong—but his head overruled his heart. Jodi didn’t want that. Couldn’t remember ever wanting that. He needed comfort, nothing more, and Rupert was all he had in this moment.

  Jodi’s soft moan broke through Rupert’s brooding. He leaned into Rupert’s loose embrace, half slumping into Rupert’s lap. “Why am I so tired? I just woke up.”

  “You’re still recovering. The doctors said it could take months for you to feel well again.” Or years, if it happened at all. But Rupert didn’t say it aloud. There was little point. In his stronger moments, Jodi seemed aware that his current state of physical health could be permanent, even with the gruelling therapy.

  “I want to sleep.”

  “Then sleep.” Rupert sat back to give Jodi room, though Jodi made no move to separate himself. “Get comfortable. You’ve got nowhere to be today.”

  Jodi met Rupert’s gaze with glassy eyes. “No buses or musty clinics?”

  “Nope. Not today.”

  Rupert waited for Jodi to snap his frustration at everyone else knowing his day-to-day life better than he did. For him to growl that they were smothering him. That he felt like a child. But today in the dim early morning, Jodi’s anger didn’t come. I
nstead, he let loose a rare half smile that claimed another crack in Rupert’s heart, laid his head in Rupert’s lap, and fell asleep.

  Rupert was spellbound. He’d spent too much time watching Jodi sleep, but this felt different. The more he stared at Jodi, the more the pain in Jodi’s face seemed to fade, and for a while, Rupert allowed himself to dream that nothing had changed, that the last six months really had been a nightmare . . . a nightmare that was over. He let his hands ghost to Jodi’s hair; his jaw, half hidden by dark scruff; and his neck. Jodi’s pulse was strong beneath his fingertips and with the weight of a long night shift pulling him under, it wasn’t long before he found himself drifting into that sacred place where his dreams were real.

  He woke to bright sunlight streaming through the living room window, a crick in his neck, and only a crumpled grey blanket to show Jodi had been there at all. Rupert raised the blanket to his face, inhaling its familiar scent. Indie missed the blanket almost as much as she missed Jodi.

  A thud and a curse came from the bathroom. Rupert jumped up and darted into the hallway to find the shower running and the door closed. He tried the handle. It was locked. “Jodi? You okay in there?”

  Silence. Rupert readied himself to barge the door down, but then Jodi’s voice filtered through over the noise of the running water. “I’m fine. Just having a fucking wash. Leave me alone.”

  If only it were that easy. Jodi knew he wasn’t supposed to shower without Rupert or Sophie guarding the door. Rupert hovered, torn between kicking his way in anyway and taking the consequences, and retreating to the kitchen—a room Jodi rarely ventured into—and dealing with the fact that he’d fallen asleep with Jodi in his lap.

  He plumped for a compromise and backed away from the door, sliding down the opposite wall to sit on the floor, ears straining for Jodi’s every move in the bathroom, which struck him ironic, given that Jodi had shown little interest in personal hygiene since the accident, showering only when Sophie bullied him into it, or because he wanted to get away from Rupert.

  “You’re not my fucking mother.”

  Rupert drew his legs up close and rested his elbows on his knees, surveying the cluttered hallway. Before the accident, Jodi had driven himself half-mad keeping the piles of coats and shoes to his obsessive order, but Rupert had let Jodi’s standards slide. There were piles of shit everywhere, and he hadn’t been able to bear to dig Jodi’s once beloved Henry hoover out of the cupboard. Bloody thing never worked for him anyway. Jodi’s favourite boots caught his eye, the tatty brown leather ones he’d often worn with the skinny jeans that made Rupert’s head spin. Rupert hadn’t had a sexual thought in months, but those boots had always done something to him. Jodi had been wearing them when they met, a damp winter night that seemed so distant now that Rupert was almost sure it had happened to someone else. Not that it was appropriate to reminisce about that shit anyway. Perving over Jodi when he couldn’t even remember fancying blokes? When he was still so unwell he couldn’t shower alone? Nice one, dickhead.

  The shower shut off. Rupert held his breath as he listened to Jodi climb out of the bath, something that always set his nerves on edge. The thought of Jodi slipping and cracking his fragile skull on the sink kept Rupert awake at night. Usually, he stood in the doorway, averting his eyes to give Jodi privacy, while he tracked his movements, but now, with the door closed, he couldn’t even hear if Jodi’s feet had safely found purchase on the bath mat.

  A wave of nausea washed over him. Was this how it was going to be now? Or was Jodi just in an odd mood? There was no way of knowing. Jodi had become as unpredictable as a London summer, and Rupert was no more at ease when he heard Jodi turn on the tap and rattle in the cabinet for his toothbrush.

  It seemed like a lifetime had passed before the bathroom door finally cracked open. Rupert scrambled to his feet, his nerves still performing a painful dance in his gut. Jodi peered out. His eyes met Rupert’s, and he frowned, but it wasn’t his usual irritated scowl. Instead, he looked troubled.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rupert shifted awkwardly. “Waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure you’re okay.”

  “Why wouldn't I be?” Jodi edged out of the bathroom, dressed in the same clothes he’d slept in, and clutching his wet towel in front of him. “You don’t have to loiter in the hall when I go for a piss.”

  “You weren’t having a piss. You were in the shower.” Rupert kept his words mild, but Jodi’s tone grated him. How many times did he have to fucking explain himself? Like it wasn’t enough that the life they’d built together was lying in piles of unwashed clothes all around them. Like it wasn’t enough that Jodi didn’t give a shit if Rupert snapped at him or not. That he didn’t care if Rupert existed.

  “I’m going to bed,” Jodi muttered. “See you tomorrow.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

  “So? You’re always telling me to rest.”

  Rupert raised his hands in surrender. “See you later, then.”

  Jodi shuffled off. Rupert watched him go, wondering what the fuck he’d missed this time. Jodi hadn’t slept in his bed for days, choosing instead to sleep bundled up on the couch. What was so attractive about it now?

  As ever, Rupert had no idea. He drifted to the living room. The plastic box containing Jodi’s medication was on the coffee table. Rupert glanced at the clock. Jodi was due a dose of antiseizure drugs within the hour. He debated following Jodi into the bedroom, but his courage failed him. It could wait half an hour while he took a shower of his own and tried to get his head around the strangest morning he’d had since Jodi came home.

  He stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it toward the basket overflowing with dirty clothes, then bent to peel off his socks. A noise from the doorway startled him. He looked up to find Jodi staring at him, his expression a dark molten mix of embarrassment and something Rupert couldn’t quite decipher. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing! Fuck’s sake. Stop bloody asking me that.”

  Jodi turned on his heel and stomped away, slamming the bedroom door. Rupert stared after him. Did that really just happen?

  Jodi lay stock-still in the bed, fists clenched at his sides, toes curled, gaze fixed on the ceiling. He counted the cracks in the Artex, the cobwebs around the light fitting, anything to distract him from the one part of his body that didn’t hurt. But nothing worked. Despite his best efforts, all he could think of was Roomie-Rupert’s bare torso and the resulting boner that just wouldn’t piss off.

  Groaning, he rolled over, skin crawling, sweat beading a path down his face, nausea churning deep in his belly. What the fuck was wrong with him? Most nights passed in a haze of dizzying headaches and infuriating coddling from Sophie and Rupert. In the morning it was usually hard to distinguish one from the other, but he remembered last night—morning, whatever it had been. Remembered the overwhelming compulsion to seek comfort in the warmth seeping from Rupert’s body, the hypnotic effect of his arms . . . the probing heat of Rupert’s erection digging into his cheek when he’d woken up in his lap sometime later.

  And the answering hardness of his own dick.

  Self-loathing shuddered through Jodi. Rupert had appeared to be asleep when Jodi had disentangled himself, even when he’d landed on the floor with a thud that had seemed to shake the earth, but what if he hadn’t been? What if he’d been awake all along? Awake and aware that his dick had carved a hole in Jodi’s cheek? And, worse, aware of Jodi’s cock holding its own parade? Oh God. Jodi covered his face with his hands and curled into a ball, like he could crush his wayward dick into submission. It didn’t work. In fact, the pressure of his stomach pressing his cock into his thighs made it worse.

  In desperation, he swung his legs out of bed and yanked open the top drawer of the bedside table. He had no clear memories of living in the flat before the accident, only vague, blurred scenes that didn’t make much sense, but he did remember where he’d kept his porn stash duri
ng his uni years—a pile of tatty magazines, loaded with images of long-legged women with brassy hair and huge knockers.

  The drawer revealed no wrist manuals, just a box of condoms, a laptop, and . . . Jodi reached for the bottle of what looked like lube, then jumped back as it tipped over, revealing the shiny, bare-chested man on the label and the swirly sub line printed under the brand name. Less sting for his ring.

  What the fuck?

  Jodi kicked the drawer shut like it had burned him, his heart beating so loudly his ears throbbed. What on earth did he have anal lube for? As far as he remembered, he and Sophie hadn’t explored that kind of sex in years, not since the first haze of initial attraction had faded and they’d discovered it wasn’t something Sophie particularly enjoyed. Besides, this lube was brand-new, and clearly for men, so what the hell was it doing in Jodi’s drawers?

  The grinding in his brain returned full force. He clutched his temples and tried to get a grip on it before it spread through every nerve in his body. “Don’t fight it. Act on it.” The voice of his occupational therapist filtered through the pain. He straightened his posture and reached for the codeine and bottle of water Sophie and Rupert insisted he keep close by. His prescribed dose was three pills, but that often sent him to sleep, and for once, he didn’t want that. Didn’t want his dreams to be filled with greasy lube and shirtless men.

  He took two and drained the bottle of water. His gaze fell on the ominous drawer again. The lube bottle seemed to call his name, and the momentary diversion of dealing with another fucking headache had done little to pacify his dick. He needed a distraction.

  With his eyes averted, he opened the drawer and grabbed the laptop, slamming the drawer shut before the creepy bottle jumped out at him. He crawled under the covers and booted up the MacBook. A box asking for a password flashed up. He searched his brain but inevitably found nothing. Instinct told him the password would have something to do with Sophie, but that logic had proved deeply flawed of late. He tapped the keyboard as his mind jumped from one notion to another too fast for him to keep up. What if it wasn’t even his computer? He was missing five years, after all, and he knew the shiny iMac in the room Sophie and Rupert called the office was his. Why would he need two computers?