by Nicola Haken
Sweet fucking hell.
“Uncertain?” Jared repeated nervously.
“Not about us,” I felt the need to assure. “We just have so much to sort out before they get here. We need to decide where we’re going to live. I need to find out what this means for work and Uni, and… I still need to tell Emily.”
“You haven’t called her yet?”
“I tried while you were in the shower but her phone was off. I’ll try Chris later.”
“And…” he began with a goofy smile that made me apprehensive. What was he planning? “We need to pick names.”
“Funny, I couldn’t help thinking about that on the way back from the hospital.”
“And?” he probed with a wide grin.
“And nothing. My mind went completely blank.”
“If we have a girl we could name her after my grandma. Don’t tell Jess but I’ve always been her favourite.”
“She probably feels sorry for you.” For a second I could almost see the cogs turning in his brain while he tried to interpret what I meant.
“Hey!” he said eventually, displaying an exaggerated pout as he bumped his shoulder with mine. “Will you quit it with the stupidity comments already?”
“So what’s your grandma called?” I asked curiously. I’ve never met his grandma. I don’t think he sees her much – I think they’ve got a Christmas and birthdays kind of relationship.
“Audrey.”
“AUDREY! Jared I am not calling my daughter Audrey!”
“What’s wrong with Audrey? My grandma’s cool for an eighty-year-old.”
“It’s an old-people name. We might as well call her Gertrude! That’s it, I’m picking the names.”
“You can’t do that! That’s not fair,” he complained before setting those cogs in motion again. “How about you pick out girls names and I’ll pick out boys?”
“No! What if you come up with something minging like Eric?”
“And what would you choose huh? Remy or Rash or whatever those dudes you read about are called.”
“Um, firstly – it’s Rush not Rash… and secondly, either one of those names is better than whatever you’d come up with.”
“Rachel! I’m offended,” he said, gasping like a high school girl. “I think Zanzibar is a great name actually.” I glowered at him, before wrinkling my nose up in disgust. “I’m kidding, Rach. Have a little faith will you?”
“Hmmm,” was all I could say with my lips pressed into such a tight line. “Will you hold me?” I asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. After what I’d seen today my whole body ached to be close to him.
“Don’t ask ridiculous questions,” he said, slouching backwards and holding his arms out for me. Smiling, I nestled into his chest and wrapped one of my arms tightly around his waist until my hand was clutching at the back of his shirt.
“Mmmm,” I sighed. “I love being so close to you.” And I did. It didn’t matter that we weren’t naked – skin to skin. Even through clothes I could feel the heat from his body coating my skin, and hear the gentle thrum of his heart beneath my ear. “You know something?” I asked, closing my eyes so I could concentrate completely on the feel of him.
“What, saffy?”
“I think we’re gonna totally fucking rock as parents.”
I could feel the vibrations of his laughter against my cheek, and that’s the last thing I remember before the heat from his body soothed me to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jared
One month later…
I had never felt so embarrassed, so gut-twistingly self-conscious… so utterly mortified, as I did the moment I stepped out of the hospital doors and into public view. After an MRI scan three weeks ago showed nothing abnormal, I was referred for an ambulatory EEG. That’s what I went for this morning and that’s why I had to make my way home on public transport with a maze of wires and electrodes attached to my scalp.
I had to lie down while they glued the electrodes to my head, and then they bunched the wires up and tied them behind my head. The wires feed a fairly chunky black box that attaches to my belt with a clip, and hanging off it is a small controller, like the ones the weather people on the telly use, and I have to press it every time I feel a ‘warning’.
That’s if I feel a warning. Four days I’ve got to wear this God-awful contraption, and if during that time nothing happens, I’ve got to get another appointment and arrange to wear it for even longer. For the first time in my life, as I walked out of those hospital double doors, pulling my hood up over my head in an effort to hide the wires, I prayed for a warning to come. I would welcome the heavy feeling in my limbs and the ache in my bones. I wanted to push that button so damn much.
I wanted this over with. For good.
Rachel was still at Uni when I got home but she was due back any minute. She is stopping at my place tonight but we have been talking a lot lately about moving in together permanently – we just need to decide where. My place only has one bedroom so that’s not really an option. Rachel’s place has two bedrooms but overall it’s tiny, and we don’t know when and if Emily’s coming back.
I’d literally just kicked my shoes off and hung my jacket up when I felt the buzz of a text message in my pocket.
Rachel: Be home in 10. Put the kettle on for a pot noodle I’m starving to death here xxx
Rachel: P.S. Hope hospital went ok. U no I’ll still love u even if u look like a twat ;-) xx
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I smiled. That is one of the many reasons why I love Rachel – she can be serious when a situation calls for it, but she would never allow me to wallow in self-pity. She makes everything fun. Normal. She was right of course, the wires did make me look like a twat, and hearing her say it helped trivialise what I had turned into a massive deal in my head.
Still smiling, eager to have Rachel home with me, I headed to the kitchen. I am a Pot Noodle connoisseur these days. I have finally mastered the art of preparing it to just the ‘right’ consistency, and cutting the bread into neat triangles with butter spread all the way to the crusts. Apparently leaving the edges dry is pure laziness on my part. Oh and hey, it has to be butter – none of ‘that margarine shit’. It also can’t be ‘hard’ butter. If it’s fresh from the fridge or the room is cold, it needs fifteen seconds in the microwave first otherwise it will spread too thickly, make her feel sickly and ruin the whole Pot Noodle experience.
Yeah, I never said she wasn’t fucking crazy. But she’s my crazy.
I’d just filled the kettle when I heard a knock at my door. I hadn’t buzzed anyone in so I decided Rachel must’ve gotten here quicker than expected. I was wearing a grey hoody and I instinctively pulled the hood up over my head. I guess I just wanted to see her smile before her jaw dropped open at the hideousness that was my wired up scalp.
“Why are you knock…” I started to say as I opened the door to who I’d assumed was Rachel. “Ben?” I pressed, stepping to the side as he stumbled through my doorway and then fell to his knees. He was drunk. The smell of stale whiskey oozed from his pores, his eyes were swollen and his cheeks beaming red. I didn’t have time for this shit. “Ben!” I snapped firmly.
Clambering to his feet, he let out a drunken giggle.
“She’s k-kicked m-me out,” he slurred. “C-can you fucking b-believe that?”
“Who’s kicked you out? Kerry?”
“Yup. You g-got a drink, mate?”
“I think you’ve had enough,” I scolded. Following his pissed-up arse to my living room where he flopped backwards onto the sofa. Then I nipped quickly into the kitchen before coming out with a bottle of water and tossing it his way. I wanted him sober. Fuck that, I wanted him gone. Rachel would be home soon, and after what he said about her last time he was drunk, I didn’t think it’d make for such a nice meet ‘n’ greet. “So why’d she kick you out? You know, it’s probably just a misunderstanding.” Then, remembering Kerry was six months pregnant, I added, “probab
ly just hormones, mate.”
“Nah. I fucked her best friend last week,” he stated calmly, as if he hadn’t just openly admitted what a despicable fucking lowlife he was. His wife is pregnant!
“Jesus, Ben. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. She’s been pecking my head all the fucking time lately,” he rambled, sounding more coherent with every gulp of water. “I’d had enough. I go to work and get yelled at by my boss, then I come home and get yelled at by Kerry or screamed at by the kids.” What a selfish motherfucker… that’s all I could think. “What the fuck is that?”
I followed his gaze and realised my hood had slipped slightly.
“Oh, um… nothing. Just having a few tests that’s all. Nothing serious.”
“Tests for wh-” He paused mid-sentence and produced a drunken hiccup slash burp slash pig noise. “For what?” he continued.
Fuck it.
“They’re thinking epilepsy. This shit should pick up whatever crap goes on my brain if I have a seizure.”
“Wow,” he muttered, his reddened eyes half rolling into the back of his head. “Didn’t know you still had those.”
Huh?
And how the fuck would Ben know ‘about those’?
“What do you mean still ‘have those’?”
“Um… n-nothing. I…um…”
“Ben what the fuck do you mean, still have those?”
“Fuck, Jared… I…” Ben started ripping through his hair so fast I’m surprised he didn’t pull it clean out of his head. The seriousness of whatever he was about to say sobered him up instantly. His red cheeks had paled and his half-closed eyelids had sprung wide open. “Back in college, the night you were…attacked…I was – I was there.”
“What do you mean you were there? I didn’t even know you when I was in college!” But how the hell else could he have possibly known? There were only two people beside myself who knew about that night – Mick and Rachel.
“I went to Saint James’ sixth form too. We didn’t have any classes together, but I’d seen you around.”
“Are you trying to tell me you were one of those motherfuckers?” I asked, remarkably calm. That didn’t last long though before my blood started to simmer. “ANSWER ME GODAMMIT!”
“Yes! Okay? Yes I was one of them!” I stumbled backwards as if I’d been punched in the gut. “But I didn’t want to be. I hung out with a bad crowd back then. I told him to stop. I tried to make him stop!”
Memories of that night came flooding back with unwelcome force. I’ve never been able to remember faces or specifics, and the foggy recollections I was experiencing now were no different. But… I’ve always remembered one of them being reluctant – maybe even suggesting they leave at one point.
Ben.
That was Ben.
My friend.
My oldest fucking friend.
“You’ve been my friend all this time,” I barely whispered – the air knocked clean from my lungs. “Who else?”
“What do you-”
“Who else was there?” I cut him off. “Who the fuck was it, Ben?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.”
“It matters to ME! Because in here,” I tapped my forehead with my finger, “in here it was fucking yesterday, you son of a bitch!” I started pacing. I couldn’t keep still. My fingers were twitching, my body on edge with adrenaline – every part of me ached to punch my ‘friend’ until I felt his bones crack beneath my hand. “So who the fuck was it?” I roared.
“Simon! It was Simon!”
“Simon?” I repeated. “Should that mean something to me?”
“He was my older brother.” Was? “ He died two months after… that night.”
“I’m sorry.” It spilled out of my mouth automatically. Someone says ‘died’ and you say ‘sorry’ – that’s how it works. But was I sorry? No fucking way.
“He got in a fight. He lost,” Ben explained, and a sick, twisted part of me hidden deep inside my mind felt a little satisfied.
“I need you to leave.”
“Come on, Jared. This shit is behind us. It was, what, eight years ago?”
“I’m struggling to comprehend how you think that matters.”
“We’re mates, Jared. I was a dick, okay? I followed Si around like a begging fucking puppy. I knew the shit he got involved in was wrong, but he was my big brother, you know?”
“Please, Ben. Just… go.”
“You heard him.” Rachel’s voice startled us both, causing our necks to jerk in her direction. “Get the fuck out before I call the police.”
Hesitantly, Ben rose from the sofa and made his way to the door. He paused briefly when he reached it and looked back.
“I’m sorry, mate,” was all he said before dropping his head and leaving. In that moment I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive, but I sure as shit knew I’d never forget.
“Jared?” Rachel asked carefully, reaching her hand out to mine. One look into her concerned eyes tipped me over the edge. Dropping to my knees in front of her, I laid my head on her lap and sobbed into her thighs.
**********
Waking up, sprawled over the couch, I knew instantly what had happened. I could tell by the ache in my bones and the rusty taste of blood in my mouth.
“I think you bit your tongue,” Rachel said, sitting in front of me and reaching out to dab the corners of my mouth with tissue. Instinctively I ran my tongue across my lips, trying to find the wound. “Fuck, tongues bleed a lot,” she added. “Would’ve been a vampire’s wet dream.”
“H-how long was I out?” I slurred.
“Six minutes. I’ll write it down on that diary thing the doctor gave you. Oh, and I pushed the button on your thingy.” Oh yeah, the button for ‘warnings’. A warning that didn’t happen this time. Again. It was changing – the pattern and the frequency. Does that mean it’s getting worse? Does that mean it’s something worse? “Water?”
Fuck yes.
I nodded and Rachel reached sideways, picking up a glass of water with a straw. Once I’d pushed past the embarrassment of having her see me like this yet again, my heart fluttered a little. She was taking care of me. She cares. God I love her.
Rachel held the glass in front of my face and angled the straw to my arid mouth. Craning my neck a little, I welcomed the icy liquid into my mouth and down my dry throat.
“It doesn’t mean anything you know. The fact you didn’t get a warning.”
Huh?
“I know it bothers you,” she continued. “But remember what the doctor said? About inducing factors? Well today, I’m sure as hell stress was the trigger.”
Stress. Understatement of the fucking century. Before I passed out I told Rachel about Ben’s accidental revelation. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to deal with it. My mind flits from wanting to cave in the fucker’s skull to feeling so hurt and betrayed that I want to wail like a fucking baby.
I keep thinking back to the first time we met – how we became friends. On reflection, Ben instigated everything. He took up the spot next to me in the library on campus and joined in with my immature ribbing of the librarian. Well, her name was Mrs Beaver. Come on, that name is a walking invitation – begging to be ridiculed.
Then I remembered how Ben first suggested we hit the pub after Uni. Once that became routine, we naturally progressed on to clubs and ‘who can pull the fittest skirt’ competitions. You know, just regular guy stuff. Soon enough, his friends became my friends… and the rest is history.
But he knew who I was. All along, he’d known what had happened to me – what he had stood back and watched happen to me. Is that why he struck up a friendship? His way of dealing with the guilt? Or maybe he just felt sorry for me. Either way, my relationship with someone I have always considered my oldest, closest friend, was based on a giant cesspit of lies.
“You look like a science experiment,” Rachel teased, snapping me out of my reverie and tugging gentl
y on one of the wires sticking out of my head. “Maybe I just start calling you Frankie.”
“And maybe if I wasn’t wired up I would just have to throw you over and spank the shit out of you for that comment.”
“Don’t let the wires stop you,” she goaded with a wicked glint in her eyes. “But you need to rest first. Get your energy up. You’re gonna need it for what I have planned for you.”
Fuck. My cock was having a seizure of its very own at the mere thought of what she had planned. The hospital hadn’t actually stipulated whether I could or couldn’t participate in anything ‘fun’, but I couldn’t help wondering if they would know what I’d been up to. Does sex stimulate electrical brain activity? Well, if it does… the guys reading my EEG report are in for an amusing discovery because there is no way in hell I will be able to resist Rachel for four days.
“I’m sorry about Ben,” Rachel added solemnly after a long silence. “I know it’s probably hard to imagine right now, but it doesn’t change the good times you guys have had together.”
“What?” I unintentionally snapped.
“Maybe he did latch on to you out of some fucked-up sense of guilt or whatever, but I don’t think your whole friendship is based on that. No one can keep up a façade for that long. People make mistakes,” she tried to convince me. “I just don’t think you should write him off until you’ve spoken to him. You need to find out his side of the story, otherwise you’ll just invent your own, probably worse version.”
“You think I’m overreacting?” I couldn’t help asking. I kind of understood her point, but I didn’t particularly like it.
“No, Jaz. I think you have every right to floor that motherfucker for what he let you go through that night. I’m just saying, if Ben was a heartless bastard you would’ve never been friends with him. You need to find out why before you cut him off. And if when you do, you can’t get past it, then I will back you all the way.”
Hmm, maybe.
Maybe not.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I admitted, rubbing my temples. “My head is killing me.”
