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At age seventeen, David did something very stupid. Or, to be exact, several stupid things. He was too dosed up on drugs to remember most of it. Here's what he does remember.
He was on the train, alone. Everything was too bright and loud, and then someone started talking to him. He told them to go away. The person refused to leave. It was a man. He wanted something from David. Something he didn't have. "...going to have to ask you to get off the train," he was saying, but David couldn't really focus because the man kept multiplying.
"I'm staying here," David mumbled.
"Sir, you don't have a ticket—"
"You can't make me leave."
"If you don't, I'll have to call the police."
Right, that had been it. The word police activated something in David's brain. The rest was a blur, really.
He didn't really remember his fist flying out, but the newspapers did. He did not feel his bloody knuckles, he only got off the train and ran.
David ran, every breath making his lungs burn. He was so dizzy. He didn't bother to look where he was going. He ran right out into the street and barely glimpsed bright headlights before pain exploded in his left side and everything went dark.
The next two weeks were spent in a different kind of haze. The pain was no longer as strong, everything was just very floaty. David remembered bright lights, doctors, his mother and another man he did not recognise.
Two and a half weeks after he got hit by a car, David is finally moved out of intensive care. Now that they reduced his doses, the pain is worse. He can barely move. It's not quite like the pain he felt lying in his own blood on the concrete, but it's still pretty bad. At least he's alone in the hospital room. They gave him that much.
Maureen brought him some books to read. He struggles to hold them. The accident shattered his shoulder blade, he can barely move his arm. Every twitch is agonising.
David doesn't speak much in the weeks following the accident. He simply does not feel like it. He wishes they would give him more painkillers just so he doesn't have to be sober.
Maureen stops visiting so often, saying she's too busy in the house. Harold doesn't bother to show his face or make any excuses.
Then, one night, something happens. David pretends to be asleep, but he can hear fussing and someone moaning in pain. When the nurses leave, he knows that the second bed in his room is no longer empty.
The next morning, when the nurse brings in their breakfast trays, David chooses to ignore his new roommate. It will make it easier for them both, he figures. But out the corner of his eye, he observes the boy. He's pale and has brown curly hair that sticks to his head. He looks sick. Which is why he's in the hospital, David supposes.
There is not much food on his tray, only some rice crackers and water. He nibbles on them mournfully. Then the boy turns to look at him and David looks away. Too late. He saw.
"You have a candle."
"What?"
"In your porridge."
David looks down at his bowl of slop. Sure enough, there's an unlit and rather colourful candle in it. Seconds later, several nurses flood through the door. One steps forward to light the candle, and they start to sing. David wants to die. Or at the very least take some hard drugs. They clear out pretty sharpish, noticing his discomfort, and David finds he has lost his appetite.
After a while, the boy pipes up again. "It's your birthday?"
"I think that was pretty obvious," David grumbles, the horrible rendition of the birthday song still ringing in his ears.
"Happy birthday, David," he says quietly.
"How do you know my name?"
"...They sang it? Happy birthday, dear David?"
"Oh, right. I tuned them out, to be honest."
"It was kinda horrible," the other boy replies with a giggle.
David smiles weakly. "Yeah, it was."
"I'm Gabe." David realises he forgot to ask the boy's name. Gabe. He wonders why Gabe is here. "How old are you, then?" Gabe asks.
David needs a moment to remember. In truth, he had forgotten it was his birthday today. You forget the time when you're forced to stare at the same white walls for two weeks. "Eighteen," he says eventually.
Gabe smiles. "That's cool. I'm turning eighteen next month. We're the same age, then."
David nods. He doesn't really know what else to say. A part of him hopes Gabe will stop talking so that they can stick to their own devices.
And he does, for a while. But then the nurses come to do their regular checks, and the moment they leave, Gabe opens his mouth again. "So what are you in for?" The way he says it makes it sound like they're in prison. Not that that would be anything new, either.
David swallows. He's been dreading this question. "Punched a guy," he replies eventually, and doesn't elaborate.
Gabe raises an eyebrow. "And he punched you back so bad you ended up here?"
"Something like that." Gabe is silent for a moment. David realises with growing irritation that he is obligated to ask the same question. "You?"
"I have a stomach thing."
"How enlightening."
Gabe studies him. "You're not very chatty, are you?"
"You're too chatty. Aren't you supposed to be sick?"
"My intestine sucks, my mouth works perfectly fine."
"I'm sure it does," David mutters, realising too late that that did not come out the way he wanted it to. It seems to shut Gabe up, at least. David has a few hours respite.
In the afternoon, people David can only assume to be Gabe's family come to visit. David does his best to blend into the background and ignore them. It hurts a little, to watch Gabe be coddled. It's been a while since his mother came to visit. His father still hasn't bothered to show his face. David swallows his jealousy and it makes him bitter.
Afterwards, he can feel Gabe's eyes on him from across the room. He doesn't look up. He hears a soft intake of breath as though Gabe wants to say something, then seems to think better of it. When the lights are switched off and they settle down for the night, Gabe whispers: "Good night, David." David pretends to sleep.
The truth is, he can't sleep. The pain keeps him up. That and the fact that Gabe keeps tossing and turning in his own bed, clearly unable to sleep either. David's shoulder throbs. His thigh aches. He should have asked for more pain meds. Whenever the doctors ask him how bad the pain is, he makes it sound as bad as possible. He doesn't care if it's not entirely true. He needs something.
The next day, a nurse parks a wheelchair by his bed. She tells David he has an appointment of some sort. Does he need help getting in the chair?
"I'll manage," David mutters. Gabe is watching him. He does not manage. It still shocks him, sometimes, to throw back the covers and see the stump where his left leg used to be. David hates looking at it. He hates the way the pain shoots through his shattered shoulder as he tries to lift himself from the bed. They have to help him into the chair. It's humiliating. And of course, he can't wheel himself, either. Someone has to help him with that, too.
David hates the way Gabe looks at him. He can't see the boy's face, but he can feel his eyes. He can imagine the pity in them, or maybe even the disgust. It makes him nauseous. When David returns, he notices Gabe eyeing the chair. Gabe turns away when David is helped back into bed, likely not wanting to embarrass him, but David can tell he's curious. "Go on," he says eventually. "Ask me."
"Huh?"
"I know you want to ask. Ask me how it happened."
Gabe meets David's eyes. "How did it happen?" he asks quietly. David stares at him intensely. Gabe doesn't wither.
"I was on a train without a ticket. The ticket inspector threatened to call the police, so I punched him and ran onto the platform. I was high out of my mind." Gabe's eyebrows raise a little, though his face doesn't betray him any more than that. "I ran without any plan of where I was going," David continues. "Unfortunately, I ended up right in front of a car." He closes his eyes. He can still see the bright headlights. The driver didn't even have time to honk, let alone hit the brakes. It was the worst pain he had ever felt. "And now I’ll probably never walk again," he finishes quietly.
Gabe's eyes go down to the bedsheets where David's leg would have been. Then he forces them back up and says something like an apology.
David shakes his head. "It was kind of my own fault."
"Still."
After a while, they find themselves opening up more. David tells Gabe stories about all the stupid shit he did when he was drunk or high. Gabe tells David about his chronic illness and how he's been in and out of hospitals all his life.
The problem is, Gabe has figured out that David asks for more painkillers on purpose. The nurses have caught on too, being aware of his history, and now he's off them almost completely. David is in pain constantly, and he forces himself to talk to Gabe as a distraction. Gabe proves to be a pretty good distraction, at least.
Although it is not entirely of his own will, David learns more about Gabe and in return shares little things about himself. They spend all their time together, after all. It's inevitable that they should at least take an interest, right?
One night, when Gabe is tossing and turning as usual, David finally grits his teeth against the pain and speaks into the dark. "Stop that."
The rustling stops. "Sorry."
"Can't sleep?" David asks.
"No." The darkness makes the silence louder, somehow. "...Sorry for keeping you up."
"It's fine. I can't sleep, either."
Gabe is silent for so long David wonders if he fell asleep. But then he whispers. "Can I come over there?"
"Well, I can't exactly stop you."
Gabe creeps barefoot across the room to David, dragging his IV with him, and perches on the end of his bed. David manages to push himself into a sitting position with his good arm, propping up a pillow behind him. Gabe watches silently. "The nights are the worst," he says eventually. "I can distract myself during the day, but at night it's just me and the pain."
David nods. He can relate to that, at least. "Can I help?" he asks quietly.
Gabe shrugs. "Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Literally anything."
"You'll regret saying that."
"Try me."
So David talks. He talks about how he tried to learn German one time and attempts to teach Gabe some swear words. He talks about his favourite philosophers. He asks Gabe who his favourite band is (David likes the Sex Pistols), and proceeds to talk about how the music industry is falling apart because of capitalism.
Gabe nods along, occasionally humming his agreement, until he eventually gives a great yawn. "I think I can sleep now," he murmurs. "Thank you, David."
"Good night," David calls as Gabe trudges back to his bed, dragging the IV with him.
"Good night," comes the sleepy mumble from the other side of the room.
Spring turns to summer. Gabe's birthday creeps closer. The nurses encourage them to go outside and enjoy the fresh air and warm weather, so one day, David lets Gabe wheel him out into the gardens. Gabe is free of his IV and back on solid foods, which he is very happy about. David finds he is happy when Gabe is happy.
They find a nice little secluded spot. They aren't the prettiest gardens, but it's just nice to be outside again. Gabe sinks onto a bench after parking David beside it and they watch the breeze blow through the trees. Well, Gabe watches it. David is watching Gabe.
They must have stayed outside for hours, talking and laughing. None of what they said mattered. Everything they said mattered. David watches the sunset bathe Gabe in wonderful orange light, making his hair almost glow. Gabe turns to look at him. "We should go inside soon."
"Huh?"
"You're shivering."
David shakes his head. "I'm fine." He can't help it. He's still staring at Gabe.
Gabe seems to notice this. "Do I have something on my face?"
"What? No!"
"Then why are you looking at me funny?"
David swallows. Gabe's eyes are glittering. He's staring at David with so much warmth that he might melt. "Can I kiss you?"
Gabe blinks once, twice. Then he nods.
David leans forward, and in the light of the sunset, their lips connect. Gabe's lips are surprisingly soft. David realises he has been thinking about them for a lot longer than he would like to admit. When they pull apart, Gabe's cheeks are dusted pink. He looks worlds away from the sick boy who came in on a hospital bed.
Despite their circumstances, everything feels so, so perfect. David hasn't been this happy in a long time. He even manages to fall asleep without too much trouble. It’s all perfect until, in the early hours of the morning, he is woken by commotion.
At first, he's too tired to figure out what's going on. All he registers are hushed voices, and a steady beeping sound. Then he hears a low moan, like a wounded animal, and he jolts awake with a pounding heart. Something is wrong. He can't make sense of what the doctors are saying, but he does hear a flatline.
He tries to sit up in bed, but he's too weak. He hears frantic shouts and the sound of a defibrillator powering up. "Gabe," he calls out weakly, but no one hears him. From where he is lying, he can barely make out Gabe's limp frame in his bed. He watches him jolt under the electricity and fall down again, his face ashen.
David closes his eyes and feels a tear slip onto his pillow. "No," he whispers, "No, no, no." He's too exhausted to raise his voice. If only Gabe could hear him. David's ears are ringing. Sobs rack his chest, and everything seems to blur around him. He does not hear the beep beep beep of a heart rate monitor. He does not hear them wheel Gabe out of the room. All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, the room is empty.
David refuses to move from his bed after that. He refuses to eat. He's scared to ask what happened to Gabe. He doesn't want to hear the confirmation that his friend, who perhaps could have been something more, is gone.
One day, when David still refuses to move, someone enters his room. He hears them pull up a chair beside his bed and sit down. David closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.
"Hello, David." The voice sounds tired. "I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while. It's been a bit...stressful."
David tries to keep his breathing even. He doesn't feel like talking to Maureen right now.
She sighs. "I know you're awake, David. Despite everything, you're still my son. You used to pretend to be asleep in the car so we would carry you inside."
Stubborn to the last, David squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignores her long enough, she'll go away.
"I heard there was another boy in your room," Maureen tries again. "They said you two were close."
David opens his eyes. He keeps his back to Maureen. The words slip out before he can stop them. "He's gone."
Maureen inhales shakily. "I'm sorry, darling. That must have been so frightening."
Why is his pillow wet? David's ears are still ringing with the sound of the flatline. "I loved him," he whispers.
Maureen reaches out to stroke his hair, and David lets her, more silent tears seeping out. "Have faith, love. I'm sure you'll get to see him again, soon."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I only spoke with the nurse very briefly. She told me they moved him into intensive care after he flatlined."
David takes a moment to register the words. "What?"
"Well, the nurse said it's too early to say how he's going to recover." Maureen sounds uncomfortable. "But he's stable."
David asks to see Gabe. They don't let him. Only family members, they tell him, but Gabe is fine, don't you worry. David doesn't believe them. He spent two weeks in intensive care. He doesn't like to think about it. He wishes he could offer Gabe some comfort, but they won't even give him that. Gabe likely sleeps through his own birthday. David is alone in an empty room once more.
He starts eating again. Sleep doesn't come so easily. He goes to his appointments. There is even talk of him getting a prosthetic, funded by the very man whose car he walked in front of. David can't bring himself to be happy about it. There's an empty hospital bed where Gabe should be.
One day, someone is wheeled into David's room. It's not Gabe. The boy lying there looks nothing like the boy David kissed beneath the sunset. He's asleep. His hair is flat, he's pale. It's not Gabe, but it is. Is this what dying for a few seconds does to someone? When the nurses are gone, David gets a better view of him. He looks almost peaceful.
It takes Gabe a long time to come back to his old self. He doesn't speak for a while. David tries his best to fill the silence, but it's not the same.
One night, David hears something—the rustling of covers and then a quiet sniffle. "Gabe?" The sniffling stops. "Gabe, I know you're awake."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are." David sighs. "Come here." He is met with more silence. "You know I can't get over there by myself. Come here." There are more shuffling sounds, then Gabe slowly pads towards David's bed. "Why did you take your IV out?"
"I'm sick of it. I can go without for one night."
"Isn't that—"
"Just—leave it. I'll be fine."
Gabe goes to sit on the end of David's bed, but David flips off the covers with his good arm. "C'mere." Without a word, Gabe crawls beneath the quilt, curling into David's body heat like a cat. David winces a little when Gabe accidentally jostles him, but reassures him that it's fine. "Do you want to talk about it?" he whispers. Gabe shakes his head, nustling into the crook of David's neck. His cheeks are tearstained, but David doesn't mind. At least Gabe is calm now. He figures he must be in pain. David wishes he could take his suffering away.
After a while, Gabe's breathing slows. Normally he goes back to his own bed before sleeping. He must be exhausted. David finds comfort in the steady rhythm and eventually, he drifts off as well.
The nurses find them like that in the morning, Gabe clinging onto David like a koala. Neither of them have slept this well in a long time. They scold Gabe for taking out his IV, but he doesn't care. As long as he can stay with David, he will be happy.
Gabe still sneaks into David's bed at night. At some point, he's so well-rested he doesn't need the IV anymore. Sure, not all the solid foods stay down, but he's making progress. He complains about the lack of cheese in his life, and David laughs at him.
David gets his prosthetic. It takes him a long time to even be able to stand alone, but he has the motivation. His goal is to make it to Gabe's bed by himself. Just to steal a kiss. Gabe cheers him on from his bed. Even when he fails, David is not disheartened. If Gabe believes in him, then he can believe in himself, too.
Of course, eventually, the time will come when they are both discharged. When that happens, they will promise to see each other as often as possible. To text or call every day. To be honest about how they are feeling. It is not the last they see of the hospital, but they are free, for now. They have hope for a better future. And they know—especially David knows—that things can and will get better.