Friends and Memories

by Alexi Wakefield

  “Leave me alone,” Francis bellowed. “Just leave me alone.” He had tears in his eyes and so did Edward as he ran down the corridor and out into the gardens.

  Edward sat on his usual bench in a shaded part of the gardens and sobbed his eyes out, bemused and lost. His phone beeped in his pocket, he fished it out with shaky fingers. It was a message from Francis: I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I reacted like that.

  Edward replied: It’s OK :-) Then he started crying again.

  He called George as he always did when he was in trouble and George listened carefully to a sob punctuated description of what had happened.

  George calmed him down, but then said firmly, “Ed, you can't go on like this. You need to find yourself someone who can love you back.”

  “I don't want anyone else, I love him. I can’t change that, I don’t even want to.”

  “Edward, he keeps hurting you and he always will. He doesn’t mean to, he just doesn’t have it in him to be any different.”

  “I think he does. Sometimes...sometimes I see past all the prickles and there’s a soft and sweet person under there. He’s full of water, George.”

  “What? Look, just leave the cranky bastard to me, I’ll take care of him. You’ve been through enough as it is. You've already taken out one loan because of all the time off work, you’ll need another before long.”

  Edward ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. I know. I just didn’t want to come in and not be able to concentrate. It’s not fair on everyone else is it?”

  “Work Ed. You have to.”

  “Okay.”

  “And have a month away from Francis. Get your head together.”

  “No way.”

  “Two weeks then.”

  “No.”

  “Ok.” George sighed theatrically. “One week. No less.”

  “A whole week?”

  “A whole week.”

  “But I’ll go mad without seeing his pretty eyelashes and his eyebrows and hearing the little noises he makes when he sleeps and-”

  “Ed?”

  “What?”

  “You are mad. One week. Promise?”

  “Promise,” Edward kept his voice sullen but felt much calmer as he always did after talking to George. “Thanks.”

  George just grunted; he didn’t do compliments, either giving or receiving them.

  They both hung up and Ed went home for a shower.

  Chapter Six

  “So why do you think you reacted the way you did when your friend touched your penis?”

  Francis squirmed with embarrassment at the question. The whole ward had heard him yell at Edward yesterday, including Doctor Ellis. He’d told her the truth; he couldn't allow Edward to take any of the blame. When she’d insisted on the counselling he’d just nodded.

  “Well?” Sandra raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I don’t know. I think it has something to do with him.”

  “Edward?”

  “No, him. The person I was before.”

  “You feel like a different person now?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” Francis was getting irritated with the questions. “I don’t remember, OK? You know that. How am I supposed to know if I feel different from him when I don’t even remember him?”

  “But you feel this... separation?”

  “Yes it’s like… like my body belongs to him. And I need it.” He sighed. “I wish I could talk to him, ask him why he was so…so cold. Why I’m so cold. I want to be happy but I don’t think he’ll let me be anything at all.”

  “Look Francis, I know it’s frustrating but your brain is still in the process of recovering and building new nerve pathways around the damaged areas. It’s a process which will take months so you have to be patient with it and focus on what you can do. The more you engage with your surroundings the quicker the new pathways will get built.”

  “But I was engaging yesterday,” he muttered. “That’s what caused the problem.”

  Sandra smiled kindly. “Just keep trying. Is your friend prepared to help you?”

  “I haven't seen him since yesterday.” Francis felt bleak. “I don’t even know if he is a friend anymore.”

  After Sandra left, Francis spent the rest of the day moping. When lunchtime visiting hours arrived he dared to get his hopes up but was left alone listening to the sounds of other people's friends coming and going. He listened to snippets of lively conversations realising that his could had been one of the voices if he hadn’t pushed Edward away. If he wasn’t such a horrible person. He was sure now he wasn’t like the old Francis, no one could live like this. Could he break free of a man he didn’t understand? If not he’d have to settle for a loneliness he didn’t think he could bear for much longer.

  In the evening George came in and dropped some grapes onto his table. “Thanks,” Francis greeted as George sat down in the chair with a grunt. “How is Edward?”

  “Edward,” George replied, “is in danger of losing his flat because he’s hardly done a full day’s work since you’ve been in here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because he’s got it bad for you, if you haven't noticed?”

  “I noticed.”

  “When you… When it happened he went to pieces. He wasn’t on that night so at least he didn't see all the blood and stuff everywhere. But he couldn't cope with working afterwards, he just wanted to sit here with you. Because for a start we didn’t think you’d make it and, well, he didn’t want you to die with no one there.” George shrugged. “But then it looked like you’d make it and he didn’t want you to wake up by yourself either. And the docs said you might be able to hear while in the coma, so Ed talked to you, told you stories, sung songs, all just in case you could hear some of it and it helped. Did you hear anything?”

  “No,” Francis replied sadly.

  George grinned, “You're lucky, his singing is terrible.”

  “Why did he do all that for me? I mean I’ve never given anything back have I?”

  “No,” George was serious again, “you haven't. But he’s a soppy little sod and can’t help it. So don’t upset him, because he needs to put work first for a while.”

  Francis nodded.

  The next two days passed very slowly with the usual stuff, and the physio which was still a battle to get through. Steve got quite irate when he realised Francis hadn’t been doing any of the exercises he was supposed to. “Look your whole recovery depends on this, you know that? If you're not careful you're going to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair, and at the rate you're going it won’t even be a self-propelled one.”

  Francis just sighed. At the moment it was tough just to raise his arm, walking seemed way beyond him.

  “Do you want to walk again?”

  “Yes.” Of course he did, but with his own legs. Not his.

  “Then do the exercises. And sit up in bed. And just…move, you’ll feel better for it.”

  Francis mumbled in agreement and sat up, but it still made him dizzy so as soon as Steve had gone he lay back down on his side.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Edward reading and singing to him for weeks on end, it may have been the only time in his life someone had done that for him. The fact that he didn’t even remember it broke his heart.

  He awoke much later. The room was dark with just a soft glow from the outside lighting to illuminate it: Night-time. But something was wrong. Different. He heard faint breathing noises next to him and turned to see someone slumped in his chair. It was a man wearing a smart uniform and a blindfold. It took Francis a few seconds to work out it was Edward. He was very attractive in uniform. Francis propped himself up and reached out a hand, brushing Edward’s with it. No reaction, definitely asleep then. Francis took in the shape of Edward’s chest and stomach through the uniform for a full minute. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again and reached for his phone first. He flicked the camera on and pressed the icon to take a photo. A blindi
ng light flashed and Edward jumped to his feet, “What, what’s going on?” Francis tucked the phone under his covers. “I can’t see, I can’t-”

  “Edward, calm down,” Francis whispered, not wanting to wake everyone with another drama.

  Edward felt his face. “Francis what’s-” He found the blindfold. “Oh, I remember now.” He kept it on and reached behind him to feel for the chair, sinking back down into it with a smile.

  “Edward, why are you wearing a blindfold?”

  “Because of George.”

  “George told you to wear a blindfold?”

  “No, George made me promise not to see you for a week. It was driving me crazy but then I thought of a way around it. Clever huh? I think it might be that lateral thinking thing.”

  “George told me that you haven't been working lately because of me.”

  “I am now. I’ve just come off a double shift. I’m doing them all this week so I’m a bit sleepy, hey was there a flash of light or something a minute ago?”

  “The lights flickered. How did you get in this late?”

  “I look official, don’t I? I didn’t put the blindfold on until I got to your door, otherwise it would have been a bit silly.”

  “Silly doesn’t begin to describe it,” Francis said with a smile.

  “Plus the nurses love a man in a uniform,” Edward nodded conspiratorially. “One of the male ones was looking at my butt.”

  “OK Edward, take your blindfold off.”

  “Can’t. George will kill me. Well he won’t kill me but he’ll give me that look which is nearly the same thing. You know the one? Oh, I suppose you don’t?”

  “I do.” Francis remembered George's last visit. “But I need to talk to you properly, please take the blindfold off.”

  Edward obeyed and blinked. “That’s better,” he grinned.

  Francis watched the way Edward’s eyes shone in the soft light from the window.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  “What? Oh... Sandra, my psychologist, thinks I’m phobic of being touched.”

  Edward's brow crinkled, “So it’s not just me then? I thought maybe I didn’t feel nice somehow.”

  “No of course it wasn’t you. I’m so sorry about that. Even when the nurses have to… Or when I touch myself. Sometimes it’s OK and other times I just... react. Sandra said I need exposure.” Francis took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out said, “So I wondered, could you touch me?”

  “Of course.” Edward smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling.

  “Not like that.”

  “Oh,” Edward’s face fell.

  “I mean, it doesn't have to be like that. I just need…non-intimate contact. To get used to it.”

  Edward smiled again, “I can do non-intimate. Just smack me if my hands wander a tiny bit.”

  “Will do.”

  “Then it’s a deal.” Edward reached out a hand and wrapped it around his fingers. Francis squeezed and Edward squeezed back. Francis felt better already, more settled and anchored to the world around him. But holding hands was easy, what would Edward think if he continued having violent reactions to anything more than that? How much could Edward take? He pushed all negative thoughts down with an effort and just enjoyed holding hands. Edward made no move to pull away and Francis wondered if Edward would stay there all night if he wanted him to.

  Aware he was being selfish again Francis let himself enjoy it for a few more seconds before reluctantly pulling his hand away. “Edward, you need to go home and sleep. You can’t let me affect your work anymore.”

  “I’m OK.”

  “No you’re not. You’re exhausted. Go home.”

  “But-”

  “No buts. And stay away for the rest of the week like you promised George.”

  “Stupid George.”

  “George is a good guy. And he’s right.” Francis had a sudden flash of Deja vu. He’d said those words before, he knew he had.

  “Yeah. But you need me, so I’ll be here.”

  “I will need you, but not yet,” Francis lied. “I want to concentrate on physio for a few days; I’m finding it very difficult.” He pointed to the dreaded list of exercises.

  Edward picked it up. “You have to do all this?”

  “Four times a day now. Or I’m supposed to.”

  “Looks boring,” Edward said through a yawn. Yes boring, Francis thought and painful and tiring and- “You should make it into a dance,” Edward grinned.

  “What?”

  “You know,” Edward put the sheet down, “Like this.” He started wriggling his hips and moving his arms, incorporating some of the stretches and hand clenching from the sheet. He moved around the room as he said, “When you dance you make the same movements again and again and don’t even notice because it’s so much fun.”

  “I don’t think that would impress Steve.”

  “It would impress me.”

  “Go home, Edward.”

  “Okay,” Edward said still dancing. “See you in four days.” He blew a kiss and left, wriggling his hips as he went.

  Francis watched, then slumped back down onto his side. There was a hard lump underneath him which turned out to be his phone. He fished it out and looked at the photo of Edward in his uniform for a couple of minutes. Then on impulse he flicked to the video George had sent of Edward dancing. Before pressing play he sat up, pushing his pillows behind his back to support him. Once he’d recovered from doing that he rested the phone on his lap and pressed play. As the bright colours of the video lit the room with soft and ever changing patterns Francis focused in narrowly, ignoring the man in the corner and the other dancers on the table, he watched only Edward. He held his arms ready, being careful to give his IV line plenty of room, and copied Edward, feeling very self-conscious even with no one there. In time to the music he stretched out first one arm then the other palm down in front of him then turned each palm over. The next move was a hand on each hip, Francis winced but managed it. Then he needed to cross his arms to get each hand on the opposite shoulder, that was actually on the sheet so he’d been doing it under Steve’s supervision. Next he needed to hold his forearms parallel to his chest and rotate his hands around each other. It looked easy but he was unable to stop his hands bumping into each other, a problem which got even worse when he tried to reverse direction as Edward did. Francis frowned but battled through the discomfort and helplessness he felt by wriggling his toes in time to Edward’s hips swaying in the next bit. Then the dance repeated and he went through it all again.

  Francis was relieved when the video ended and slumped down against his pillow. He was panting and aching all over and resolved to do the same thing again tomorrow.

  Four days passed very slowly, but with the thought of Edward’s ever nearing visit spurring him onwards Francis made more of an effort, forcing most of the food they put in front of him down his throat and even trying his hardest with Steve and his list. Once a day he did Edward’s dance and between that, the food and the physio he was feeling a little stronger and more co-ordinated. They took the IV line out and plenty of boxes on Doctor Ellis’s sheet got ticked.

  Now, he was counting down the hours to Edward's visit. As the time approached he pushed himself up into a sitting position, relatively easy now that he was spending more time upright. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and dangled his feet down off of it, towards the floor which was a world away yet. He looked at it anyway. Then his phone bleeped and he had to shuffle himself along the bed to get it. A message from Edward: Really sorry, have to do a double shift as one guy ill :-( George can’t cover as he’s just off a double. See you tomorrow, I promise :-)

  Well that was perfectly reasonable; of course Edward had to put his job first. Unless Edward was sick of him; a few days off must have been amazing, like a holiday, or an escape from prison. And Francis didn’t really want Edward to return and become terminally infected with his misery, did he? To risk Edward losing all the fun and humour
that made him special, that made him Edward. Shit. He did. He was that nasty that he’d destroy Edward rather than be alone for another minute. He curled up into a ball and wept.

  He spent most of the next morning in a ball as well. Not that it was rational: His head told him Edward would be here today or if not then maybe tomorrow. Even if Edward had given up on him he’d still drop in occasionally. But his heart both ached and seethed at the same time. One thing, he had just one thing in his life to look forward to and it had been snatched away from him.

  He didn’t eat breakfast and swore at Steve, who told Francis that it wasn’t in his contract to be abused and to find another physiotherapist. Francis had scrunched the list of exercises into a ball by this point, and threw it after Steve on his way out, feeling pleased that he managed to hit the man with it. Then he’d lay there waiting for Doctor Ellis but she didn’t come either. Not that he cared. It was too painful to care. So he decided to feel angry instead. Angry but determined; he would fight the selfish side of his nature, Edward couldn’t be dragged down with him.

  Chapter Seven

  Edward hurried down the corridor, guilty. He’d tried to wriggle out of the double shift last night but no one was free to cover him and he couldn't leave them short staffed on a Friday night. At least he’d get to see Francis now. He was tired but he’d managed to snatch a few hours of sleep, he could have done with a few more but as he was on again tonight it had to be a lunchtime visit today.

  He walked into the room and saw Francis curled up on the bed asleep. Edward went for a closer look at the Francis ball and smiled. The IV line was gone and Francis’s cheeks had a tinge of colour now; adorable.

  He had an idea, so as usual when this was the case, he went to act on it right away. He returned with a wheel chair and touched Francis’s shoulder. “Hey,” he greeted.