Broken Compass

by Jo Raven

  Whatever it is that got Kash this way… at least he’s back, and we’ll take care of him.

  “He didn’t walk away,” I say, standing at the bedroom door, watching Sydney fussing over Kash. “Those wounds, those bruises… someone put them there.”

  “He was living on the street, who knows for how long,” West counters. “Maybe he got in a fight with some junkie.”

  “I thought I was the one doubting he was kidnapped.”

  “Yeah. Well, it could be a mental illness,” he says. “Dementia.”

  “He’s way too young for that.”

  “Or something else. You never know.”

  I say nothing. West is right, we don’t know anything. Only he can tell us what happened to him.

  “Nate. West.” Sydney stands up from the bed and turns to us, eyes wide and fearful. “He’s confused again.”

  Shit.

  I stare at Kash who’s lying so still and pallid under the covers. He looks so frail, so thin, almost transparent, and fighting a shiver. “You were right. We’re going to the ER. A doctor needs to see him.”

  Kash seems half-asleep as we bundle him up in clean clothes, all long limbs and hot skin. He struggles briefly against my hold, then struggles against West, and only calms down when Sydney puts her arms around him.

  It does something to me, the way he lets her in every time, as if his subconscious can never forget her even when he doesn’t know who she is anymore. It’s not jealousy. I’m not angry that he’d let her in but not us, it’s more… a connection between us.

  Syd is our all, our true north. In his shoes, I’d probably react the same way, recognizing her for the important she is. The central, essential, and vital she is. Since the day I met her, she’s been hauling us along through our troubles and tragedies, this slip of a girl.

  A girl abandoned by her mother, left alone to fend for herself, yet she never complained. She never asked for anything from us, only gave. Gave her all.

  I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I barely remember the ride to the hospital. We’re told to sit and wait, so that’s what we do

  This visit will cost an arm and a leg. We’re still paying my visit from a few months back, but the state Kash is in… there’s no way around it. So we sit in hard plastic chairs, Kash fast asleep, his head on my shoulder, his hand in Sydney’s, while West goes to find us coffee.

  This night feels like a long dream. Not a nightmare, though Kash’s bouts of confusion, his frailty and pain make me wanna put my fist through a wall—but a dream nevertheless. Hazy, disjointed, with good parts, and fucking weird parts, with that strange disconnect from reality even as reality slams back into you every time you blink and find yourself in a hospital waiting room, the guy you thought gone forever by your side.

  We have to tell the police, I think as Kash shifts, his silky hair, now dry, tickling my neck. Tell them he’s back. But he has to remember what happened to him first.

  First, he has to get well, and get rid of this frightening confusion that’s got him in its claws.

  A nurse comes to tell us we can go in, and I jostle Kash gently, hoping he won’t fight me this time.

  Sydney wraps her arm around him, whispers to him, and he stares at her with a childlike wonder that makes my eyes fucking burn.

  Damn.

  He seems more awake this time, letting Sydney lead him by the hand into the examination room. West arrives with the coffee, which he promptly dumps into a trash container and follows us inside the room.

  Although we explain we are Kash’s family, that we live with him, that he’s confused, the doctor asks us to stay back as she examines Kash, so I only get glimpses of pale, abused flesh and hear his sounds of pain.

  When she’s done and turns around, she looks grim, and my stomach turns into lead. “I’m not sure I should be talking to you,” she says. “You shouldn’t even be in here, but if he has no other family, and you’ll take care of him…”

  “We will,” West says, nodding. “He’s one of us.”

  She gives him a quizzical look but doesn’t ask him what he means, who we’re supposed to be. “You said he’s confused?”

  “He sometimes doesn’t know where he is, or who we are,” Sydney explains. “He has known us for years. We’re roommates. But he was gone for three months, and we don’t know what happened.”

  “Is he withdrawn, drowsy, or difficult to wake?”

  “All of that,” I say. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’ll need to do a blood and a urine analysis. I’m suspecting infection. His temperature is up, and an infection, combined with dehydration, may be causing the confusion and other symptoms.”

  I sag against the wall. “So he’ll be okay.”

  “With antibiotics, serum and lots of rest… he should be. But first, the tests. Until we know what is happening inside his body, we can’t begin any treatment.”

  Of course. West also looks relieved, and Syd starts toward Kash, sitting on the narrow examination bed and taking his hand.

  The doctor observes this with a raised brow. “Are you his girlfriend?” she asks Sydney, who nods. “Okay. Then you can come with us for the tests, if you like. You two boys wait here.”

  “Boys?” I mutter as the doctor coaxes Kash off the bed and to his feet.

  He gives her a bewildered look that has my insides twisting with fear again, despite the doc’s reassurances, and he grips Sydney’s hand like it’s his lifeline. He stumbles as the doctor releases him.

  “Oh fuck’s sake, let me help him,” West snarls, pushing off the wall, and is at Kash’s side in two long strides. “To the lab, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Again the doc sends us a measuring look, as if wondering what our relationship with Kash really is, but says nothing as West and Sydney help Kash out of the examination room.

  I start after them, but the doc shakes her head.

  Dammit. I could make a scene. Yell and demand to go. He’s my boyfriend, I could say. I have as much a right to be by his side as West or Sydney.

  But that’s not what Kash needs from me.

  So I stand back, stuff my hands in my pockets and wait, my heart racing and my eyes scratchy from lack of sleep.

  He’ll be fine. That’s my new mantra. Kash will be okay.

  Kash is back, and the hole gaping in my chest, in our lives, in our bed, is now gone. Filled. Mended.

  We’re complete.

  The tests show infection in the blood. His kidneys are affected, hence the pain, and the low-level fever. Hence the confusion, too. The doc has him lie back down in an adjacent room with many beds, and starts an IV with fluids and antibiotics, then gives us a prescription for the treatment.

  “When he gets home, make sure he takes the antibiotics regularly and finishes the treatment, then we’ll check that the infection is gone, or else start a second round. Also vitamins and serum to drink, and don’t hesitate to come back if he still acts confused tomorrow. We actually want to keep him here for a few days, monitor him.”

  That’s when Kash finally stirs. “No.”

  “Mr. Graham…”

  “No,” Kash says, and that’s that. Guy’s stubborn like a mule and no matter how we plead with him, he won’t change his mind. “Home,” he says, and the yearning in his voice has Syd in tears. “Just wanna go home.”

  He signs a form stating he’s leaving against medical advice, though he agrees to stay until morning. So we take the prescription and wait, and wait some more. And hope is a terrible, wonderful thing as we watch over Kash and think over all the questions only he can answer.

  Too restless to stay inside, too afraid to walk far from Kash in case he vanishes back into thin air, I step outside, in the cool predawn light, hands shoved deep in my jeans pockets, and stare at the lightening sky.

  Inside my head, my heart, is a riot of emotions. Joy, so much fucking joy, but also worry, and fear, and a quite a bit of anger. Not at Kash, not really, but at not knowing his story, not being
able to understand, or protect him if he needs protection. At feeling so helpless. I hate that feeling. Been struggling with it for most of my life. It gets my hackles up, and makes my heart pound.

  Someone hurries across the street and for a second dread coils in my gut, cold and heavy. Is that dad?

  No, it’s not him.

  It’s not him.

  I wonder when I’ll stop seeing him everywhere. I’ve filed a restraining order against him and his buddies, for me and my friends, but I guess I’ll always be looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him there. Expecting his clients to come claim what they paid for.

  Does he know I relive it all in my dreams, night after night? That I sometimes want to scour the inside of my head with that damn bleach West likes so much to clean the filth?

  West. Sydney. Kash. Just speaking their names in my mind calms me down. It’s a magic spell that protects me and keeps me sane.

  Turning on my heel, I go back inside. Back to them.

  Morning comes, and we take Kash home. He doesn’t seem any more aware than he was last night, dammit.

  Relax, I tell myself. Take it easy. Be patient. Give the medication a chance to work.

  It just… fucking grates that we found him, but he’s not really fully here yet. Grates and aches like an old break that hurts with the change in the weather.

  None of us goes to work today. I don’t even know what day it is. We haul Kash to the center of our extra-large bed, strip and drop around him, pulling the covers over us.

  I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.

  And awake what feels like a second later, though the clock on the nightstand says it’s midday.

  “Wha?” I croak, not sure what jostled me, and not giving a fuck. I throw an arm over my eyes. “What the fuck.”

  “Rise and shine.” West grabs my arm and shakes me, then grins down at me. “Lots to do.”

  “Like what?” I grumble, and then I remember. I sit upright. “Kash!”

  “Right here,” a quiet, tired voice says, and that jolts me almost out of my skin.

  “Kash.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in one of West’s T-shirt and sweats, blond hair so long it curls against his jaw, his smile rueful, and his eyes clear.

  Aware.

  Just like that. Just some antibiotics, some saline solution, and he’s back.

  Sydney shoots me a brilliant smile and I stare at her, transfixed. So fucking bright, that smile. Blinding. Fucking happy, without a shadow marring it anymore.

  I had forgotten what her face looked like when not twisted with worry, when her eyes were always sad and her laughter half-hearted before.

  “Morning.” I yawn, rub my hand through my hair, scratch at my chest. “Where’s West?”

  “Cooking breakfast.”

  Wow. That explains the nose-breaking smell wafting through the apartment. “Kash? How you doing, man?”

  “Better,” he says, tucking his hair behind his ear. Such a typical Kash-gesture. “Tired.”

  I’m staring at him, mouth open, but nothing forthcoming. I guess I hadn’t expected a reply, one that made sense. I hadn’t expected him to seem so… normal, after the night we had.

  And suddenly, I’m bowled over by the fact he’s here, and doing better, and that it wasn’t all a dream.

  “Come here, asshole.” I lunge over the mattress and grab him in my arms. Sydney squeals, Kash grunts, and then his arms are around me, too. “Fucking asshole. We looked for you everywhere,” I snarl against his shoulder, my arms too tight around his sharp ribcage, “gave up hope and found it again a hundred times. Fought with the police, thought up all sort of theories. Sydney cried.”

  “Nate!” She gets on the bed and puts her arms around us both.

  “What? You did. She cried for all of us, man. Because I couldn’t. I haven’t fucking cried since I was a kid, and I’m fucking crying now, you bastard.”

  He draws a sharp breath, and Sydney’s hand is in my hair, but there’s no stopping it, this goddamn flood, this burn in my eyes, in my throat, this rattling in my lungs, each breath coming out as a gasp that hurts my chest.

  “Bastard,” I say again, choked and broken, “fucking jackass. How could you do this to us? We need you.”

  Then West is climbing on the bed, too, and all I can think of is, thank fuck we got a bigger bed, and I hope the breakfast won’t be burned to a crisp, and nothing else fucking matters.

  Nothing else except the four of us together, here on this bed, our bed, our arms around each other.

  Chapter Fifty

  West

  We’re sitting in the living room, on the carpet around the coffee table, inhaling breakfast. I’ve cooked everything we had in the fridge—made omelets, and crisp bacon, and grilled cheese sandwiches, and pancakes.

  We’re all inhaling the food, even Syd who normally can’t compete with us in that department. Color has returned to Kash’s face, Nate’s eyes are red-rimmed but he’s grinning around a huge bite of food, and I feel… content. Centered.

  Not all the way, because maybe I’ll never be able to find that balance, but as close to that perfect equilibrium as I’ll ever come.

  I should call in sick to work. I should get off my ass and shower, clean the kitchen, clean the apartment. But I don’t wanna move, this feeling of completeness, of perfection too precious to shatter.

  Besides, I keep hearing Nate’s voice in my head with that cheerful sneer, saying, “we’re fine, West. We’ll be fine” and “you’re strong. So strong.”

  So I resist, even if the itch is there. Because finding Kash is fucking amazing, it’s a miracle—but it’s been a stressful couple of days and nights, and seeing Kash so battered, so out of it, it just… flipped that switch.

  The switch I’ve been fighting to forget about.

  I wipe my hands on my sweats and rest my gaze on Kash. Sydney is sitting beside him, her hand over his. His hair is so long it looks like it hasn’t been cut in months… He has some scraggly blond hairs on his chin. Probably doesn’t grow a beard, or it’s so fair it barely shows. So fucking thin, as if he has been starved.

  I fucking hate to see him like this. He’s quiet, munching on his sandwich, his face strained with exhaustion. I’m dying to ask him about where he’s been, and what the hell happened, but I realize he’s falling asleep where he’s sitting.

  Nate takes the sandwich from his hand when his chin dips forward. “Nap time,” he intones with a faint smile, and lifts him to his feet and guides him to lie down on the sofa.

  Sydney covers him with a blanket and we stand guard around him for a while, just looking at him, silent sentinels. His face is relaxed, one arm flung behind his head. He looks so fucking young like that. I have to remind myself he’s my age, and my height, and when he’s well again, he’ll be able to take me down single-handed and blind-folded. Seeing him so vulnerable is opening closed boxes inside my mind I don’t want open.

  I don’t wanna be vulnerable. I don’t want to open up all the way. If that happens, I’ll fall like a house of cards.

  So I make myself move away and busy myself calling work, washing the dishes, cleaning the counters and avoiding the sponge and bleach, telling my brain to suck it.

  Not that it works, but then Nate and Syd are there, dragging me away from the kitchen, distracting me.

  “I’m gonna go grab his medicines,” Nate is saying, and I’ve no idea why they’re hauling me to the bedroom, seriously. Not that I’d complain. Not now. “It’s almost time for the antibiotics, and we should have grabbed the vitamins for him to take with the food.”

  “He’ll be fine,” I mumble, dropping on the bed and stretching out with a groan.

  “I’m going to take some of his clothes and get them washed,” Syd says. “You’re staying with him, right? Until we’re back?”

  “I took a day off work today. I’ll be here but...” But don’t leave me now, please, not when I’m so damn jittery I can’t stand myself. But I stop the plea
from leaving my mouth, replace it with something else as I sit up. “Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

  Besides, Nate won’t be long, I tell myself, Sydney either. Kash is here.

  And I can’t control myself. I’m an adult. No need for fucking babysitters.

  Why the hell am I so strung up? I close the door behind Nate and Syd and lean against it, closing my hands into fists to control their shaking. Everything’s fine now. Everything will be just fine.

  Kash sleeps peacefully and I can’t keep watching him like a creeper. I go tidy up the bedroom, then the bathroom, thoughts crowding in my head, a warning pulsing about bad things about to happen and leaving, and somehow I find myself on my knees, scrubbing the shower and whispering under my breath.

  I’m cursing, and repeating Kash’s name like a charm against evil, over and over. I match the chanting with the circles I scrub over the tiles, and

  I can’t stop. If I stop, it will fall apart.

  If I stop, I’ll leave. If I stop, something will go wrong.

  Kash.

  Kash.

  K—

  “West.” Kash is standing behind me, one hand braced on the wall, cheeks paling. His voice is soft. “What’s wrong, mudak?”

  It takes me long seconds to process that I’m on my knees, stinging suds clinging to my hands and forearms.

  And that he’s there and looks about to fall over.

  Shit. The chant is still going on inside my head, but I put the sponge aside, wash my hands and drag myself to my feet. “You should be lying down.”

  “I couldn’t find you,” he whispers. “Any of you. I thought… I thought I had dreamed it all.”

  His gaze is haunted.

  “Sorry, I…” I rub at my forehead. I’m shaking. I’m not the right person to hug and comfort him right now, the tug in my head telling me to go back to cleaning so strong it almost throws me back to my knees. “Had to clean. Come on.”