This is the one-shot challenge prize for being the one-hundredth reviewer of Dry Rain and it goes to NewAgeRembrandt.
His challenge - In 2,000 to 6,000 words, write a story about somebody in love with a hospital patient (this patient can be one of three things: terminal, under a coma, or newly cursed with amnesia). Anything goes, but you must include the words "cold", "pants", "eyes", and "lackluster". Somewhere in the story, somebody has to say, "Did you say 'Peru'?"
Ok, well, I hope you guys like this. I worked really hard on it and I think it turned out really well.
Enjoy!!
Three Years
By: Converse Tennis Shoes
Dedicated To: NewAgeRembrandt
It's been almost three years.
Three long, miserable years.
Three years in which I have been pushed to the ultimate limit. I have cried, screamed, thrown things, and pushed everyone I once knew and loved away. All in crazy hope that these years haven't been for nothing.
I don't know how many times I've spent entire nights awake because I was afraid that if I closed my eyes for the slightest second that I would disappear. Or worse, miss something.
Miss some sign that maybe, just maybe, after three years he would wake up and laugh and call me stupid for being the baby I probably was.
He was -IS- my world, my everything. Without him I am nothing.
Life is meaningless without him. I have no reason to breathe if he is not there. For the past three years, the only thing keeping me from saying 'screw it all.' and putting a bullet through my head has been the thought that maybe he would wake up.
If I killed myself, who would be there to help him get back up and live again?
That is all that keeps me alive.
The doctors don't know when, or even if, he will wake up.
Still, I come here everyday, hoping that that was the day he would open those beautiful blue eyes that make my knees go weak and hold me with those tender hands that always make me melt.
For almost three years, Michael Barrett, the love of my life, has been in a coma.
"AHH!!! Michael, stop! Oh My God!!! Put me down, NOW!!! MIICHAAAEELLL!!!" The skinny, brunette screeched horribly as he was picked up by another student and carted down the hallway at full speed.
The handsome, blond-haired Adonis who had picked him just snickered and jogged faster, making his prey whimper and clutch to him like a frightened child. Many of the other students stared and jumped out of their way, while other students, ones who knew the two boys, just shook their heads and smiled.
"Gentlemen!!" One of the professors yelled, "This is a college, not a three ring circus. Act accordingly!!!"
"Sorry Professor Gillis." The blond answered, but didn't even slow down as he ran for the doors that led outside, "But West here needs his medication or he gets possessed by aliens!! It's not pretty."
"Bullshit!" The distraught boy slung over Crazy-Adonis' shoulder countered heatedly.
"See, he's not acting like himself. The possession's already started!"
The two were then gone, disappearing behind the double doors and out into the courtyard. Once outside and away from other people, the blond put the other boy down and chuckled good-naturedly.
Only to have to dodge wild fists as he was pummeled by his smaller companion.
"Oi!! Western, that hurts!"
"Good!" Western hissed, and hit the taller boy again to emphasize his point, "What are you doing here Michael?"
"Trying to figure out why my little sex slave stood me up last night." Michael pouted.
Western grumbled, an annoyed look covering his face. "One, I'm not your sex slave because we've never even had sex-"
"Yet." Michael interjected.
"You wish. And two, I never said that I would go out with you last night. You just decided that on your own. I had two papers to write and I couldn't come, I told you that before."
"You're always doing homework." Michael whined, "And when you're not doing homework, you're working. And then when you're not working you're sleeping. Look at you, you're a stick, when is the last time you ate anything? I keep on saying that you should move in with me but nooooo, you're just too independent."
"I'm busy, Michael. I didn't get a full scholarship like you did and my family's not rich so I have to make my own way through college. And as for moving in with you, we've gone over this before."
"I know. But still, you seriously need a break."
Western sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're such an idiot, Michael."
"And you love me because of it." Michael grinned cheekily. Western grumbled again and glared at Michael, wanting to punch that perfect face inside-out, but couldn't.
"Unfortunately, yes. Now I have class, so I need to g-" Western was cut off as Michael's lips claimed his mouth. At first, the smaller brunette started to pull away, but he eventually fell into the warm caress of those soft lips and breathed in that fresh scent that could only be Michael.
Michael smiled into the kiss, knowing that he was winning and would soon has this fiery little demon melting in his grasp.
When he pulled away, Michael happily noted the drunk, glazed look on Western's face. The smaller boy was panting and looked so venerable that Michael almost kissed him again.
"What exactly were you saying? Something about going to class?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "I can leave if yo-
Now it was Michael who left speechless as Western pounced on him, growling slightly, and yanked him down into a fierce kiss. Michael opened his mouth, coaxing the other boy to do the same. Western readily followed, parting his lips for the older boy, and Michael happily deepened the kiss into a full-fledged French.
After thoroughly kissing each other silly, they broke apart. Michael smirked and leaned forward so that his forehead bumped into Western's.
"So, want to make up for ditching me last night by going and getting some lunch."
Western bit his lip and shifted his weight nervously. He wanted to go, but he had class. If he went he'd miss an important lesson and since he worked tonight, he wouldn't be able to catch up and he'd be behind in his classes.
He looked up into those blue eyes, as bright and beautiful as the clear sky above them.
"Yeah, let's go."
I sat there, book in my lap, on the little couch on the side of his hospital room. The nurses brought it in when they realized how often I would be here and that I didn't care about visiting hours.
All the nurses and doctors know better than to mess with me.
The first time I cussed out a doctor was enough to show them that I was a force to be reckoned with.
Bastards.
I sleep here more than I do at home nowadays.
I can't stand the silence of our apartment. It's so ... empty without him there.
Leaning forward off the couch I touch one cold hand. It's so frail and gaunt, pale as death. His entire body it that way now. The once gorgeous tan and muscled body shrunken and sickly, wasted away from lying in a hospital bed for three years. His shoulder length blonde hair, at one time golden and thick, now thin and lackluster.
I hate it.
This is not Michael.
"Wake up." I whisper, my voice hoarse from not using it nearly as often as I used to. I lick my lips, swallow, and try again.
"Come on, Michael. Wake up." I plead, "Please!! Wake up. I'll do anything."
I feel a single tear run down my face.
"Please don't leave me like this. I love you."
"Come on Cloud!!! Finish that bastard!!" Western yelled at the screen. The spiky, blond haired video game character swiped at the monster and did his damage. But not enough. "ARGH! Ok Vincent, gun him down!!"
The small boy's dark brown eyes were fastened on the screen so he didn't see Michael walk up.
"What do you want for dinner?" Michael asked. When Western didn't answer, Michael tapped the brunette on the head, "Hello anyone any there?"
"Hmmm?" Western said shortly, paying no attention to Michael's question.
"I'm
ordering fried monkey from Peru." Michael said nonchalantly without missing a beat.
"Ok. Anything's fine."
Michael huffed, but then smiled, ruffling Western's hair affectionately before walking back into the kitchen and grabbing the phone, "You and your video games. Who would guess that the snobby, sarcastic, feared, punk Western was really a video game nerd? "
Western suddenly jumped up and gave a cry of triumph. Michael heard the now familiar notes of the Final Fantasy victory tune.
"Take that Shinra!! You Communists bastards." Western jumped clear over the couch and into the kitchen, crying out, "I beat him. I beat him."
Michael gave him a chaste peck on the forehead while he flipped through the phonebook, "Good job, Hun."
"Thanks. Whatcha doin?"
"Ordering dinner. I told you just a second ago."
"You did? ... Oh yeah… Wait. Did you say Peru? Do they even have monkeys in Per-"
Western stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly realizing the full extent of what Michael had said, and snapped his jaw shut with an annoyed -click.-
"That's
just gross, Michael." Western huffed and crossed his arms moodily.
"Want Chinese instead?"
"I'll cook."
Michael raised an eyebrow, "Oh really."
"Yeah." Western said happily, walking over to the fridge. Silence followed.
Turning around, Western saw Michael standing there, staring at him skeptically. He rolled his eyes.
"Don't worry. I won't burn anything this time. And I labeled the thingies so that I can tell the salt from the sugar."
Cooking for one.
Making coffee for one.
One remote for one person.
One bathroom for one person.
Only half the bed is warm.
Only half of my heart is alive.
His stuff is still here.
His scent.
Constantly reminding me.
Memories.
That's the worst part.
Of us cuddling on the couch.
I see us eating together at the table, trying some of my new recipes.
Only to order take out later on.
Christmas alone.
Thanksgiving alone.
My birthday alone.
His birthday alone.
Everyday ... alone.
No one to come home to.
Just an empty house.
No man is an island, eh?
Bullshit.
Western moaned throatily, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath him. His back arched off the bed, trying to create more contact and friction with his heavenly lover panting above him. He reached up and tugged Michael down closer to him, winding the fingers on one hand through that silky hair so he could pull him into a passionate kiss.
"Ahhh...More, Michael. Faster." He gasped out, rocking his body in synch with Michael's. Michael complied, pounding harder into the delicious body lying underneath him, driving deeper with each thrust. Western saw stars, he wouldn't last much longer.
With a loud blissful moan, Western fell over the edge, his orgasm racing through his body and leaving him numb.
Michael quickly followed, releasing himself in the brunette's body. He fell down onto his lover's body, wrapping him arms around the skinny, trembling frame and holding Western close.
"I feel like I'm floating or something." Michael said after a few moments. Western laughed lightly.
"What?" Michael asked, his already cute face now covered in a confused, clueless expression.
"You're a freak. You know that?" Western mused.
"Yup. I wear the title proudly." Michael beamed, looking down at Western's flushed face and dark, dreamy, bedroom eyes.
He slowly leaned down, closing in on Western's mouth.
"Freak." Western whispered.
"Freak-lover." Michael breathed back.
"Idiot."
"You know you want it."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Their lips met and, to Western, the entire world just seemed to disappear.
All he saw was Michael.
"I woke up in a cold sweat afterwards. I don't know why I had that particular dream; the actual events seemed so long ago that I had almost forgotten them. Of course, I would never fully forget that night." I sigh uncomfortably, "How do you forget the night you lost your virginity to the man you've been in love with for five years."
"Ok. Mr. Sanders. Just take a moment to breathe in for me." Dr. Chancy, my therapist, says. I huff, but do as he says, breathing in deeply, holding it, and let the air out slowly.
"Good. Now, I want you to look back. Did yesterday have any special meaning to you two? An anniversary. When you guys first met. Was it the first time you and your boyfriend had sex? Try to think."
I look down at my hands.
What does it matter?
What is the point of doing this?
Ever since I broke down in the hospital room five months ago, I have been required to go to therapy at least once a week. I can't see how telling my pitiful story to anyone will help me cope with the fact that my boyfriend is in a coma.
Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if Michael were dead.
Then he wouldn't be rotting away in a hospital bed, laying on crisp white sheets, feeding tube jammed down his throat, and a beeping heart monitor the only thing telling me he wasn't completely lost.
Then I wouldn't be the emotional wreck I was now, still holding onto a fool's hope that he would someday wake up and everything would be back to normal.
If he were dead, it would be final.
There would be no 'if"s or 'maybe's.
Over the past three years, I've come to despise those two words.
Suddenly my cell phone rings.
I look at the caller I.D.
It is the hospital.
"One moment please." I say to Dr. Chancy and hit the talk button, "Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Western Sanders?" A polite, but business-like, female voice says.
I don't know why, but it is then that I remember that today is a special day. Exactly five years ago, I finally gave in the Michael's affection and agreed to go out with him. Our first date had been at Red Lobster and we went to see Pirates of the Caribbean later that night.
"Yes." I answer nervously. The hospital only calls me when there are emergencies.
"We're calling to inform you that a Mr. Michael Barrett has recently showed signs of regaining consciousness."
I feel the bottom of my stomach fall down into my shoes and start oozing out of the seams.
I think I am going to throw up.
Instead, I faint.
"Where is Michael?" Western hissed, running a hand angrily through his hair.
"I'm sure he's hurrying." His little sister, Autumn, hummed as she pranced around the couple's apartment.
"It's my birthday!" Western howled, "He shouldn't be late!"
"Well, this is Michael we're talking about here."
"True." Western huffed. He grabbed the phone, "I'm going to call his cell phone."
Western dialed the number that had long ago been engraved in his heart.
Only to get an answering machine.
He threw the phone disgustedly onto the counter, "Bastard."
"Calm down."
"He's an hour late! The cake's melting!!" Western pointed to the cake as it sat lopsided on the counter, one side slowly returning to its liquid form.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Western looked at the caller I.D.
It was Michael.
"Finally." He said, exasperated. He picked up the phone and held it up to his ear
"Helloooo" He sang into the phone.
"Um... hello." that definitely was NOT Michael. Western frowned.
"Hi... Who is this?"
"Yes, um... well, there's no easy way to say this. I am Officer Hanson from the Police Department. We just found this cell phone a second ago when you called it. We called the home number on it. Is this the residence of Mr. Michael Barrett?"
Western's sat down slowly.
What the hell is going on?
"Yes this is? What's going on?"
"I'm afraid that Mr. Barrett was in a car accident at the intersection Cook Rd. and Washington."
"Oh
my god." Western's hand flew up to his mouth. His chest tightened horribly, constricting his lungs and restricting his breathe so that he felt woozy and disjointed.
"Is he..."
Western couldn't finish the sentence.
"No. He's not dead. Unconscious. He was just sent to Memorial hospital down the road. You can go there and check up on him, but the police station will need a positive I.D. to identify both you and Mr. Barrett."
"Yes. Of course. I'm leaving right now." Without even waiting for an answer, Western hung up and ran for the door.
"Western!!!" Autumn called after him, "What's going on?"
"Michael was in an accident."
I wake up on Dr. Chancy's floor.
The balding man is slapping my face and calling my name, trying to wake me up from my panicked slumber. He sees me coming to and backs off. I remember why I had fainted about in the first place and shoot up quickly.
"Michael!!" I cry out.
"Easy Western." Dr. Chancy warns. "I talked with the nurse. You gave her, and me, quite a scare. Relax for a second and then you can go over to the hospital.
I ignore him and try to stand up. I instantly feel dizzy and almost fall over.
"If you want to help Michael, you're going to have to calm down. Now sit."
"But-"
"Sit!"
I grudgingly comply. But only a few minutes later, I get up and start for the door.
"I don't get what you're trying to say, nurse. Why isn't Michael awake?"
"Simply put, Mr. Barrett has slipped into a coma."
"A coma?"
"Yes. A sleep like trance in which there is minimal brain activity and there is no definite estimation of when he might wake up. Could be days, weeks, months... even years."
"But he will wake up."
"I'm sorry to say, but there is a good chance that he won't" The nurse truly sounded sorry, "As long as his brain remains at least active, there is a chance. But if he goes brain dead, he will not regain consciousness; there is no turning back."
Western plopped down in the chair, running a hand through his hair, pulling on it.
How could this happen?
"If you would like, Mr. Sanders, we can simply pull the plug and put him out of his misery"
Western looked up sharply.
"You mean give up on him?"
"No. Never give up on him. I'm just telling you that it is an option."
"Never offer it again." Western stood up, his dark eyes blazing, "He WILL wake up."
I run all the way up the stairs to the fifth floor of Memorial Hospital because the elevator is taking forever. Once I make it to the floor Michael was on, I stop dead in my tracks.
I realize just how much I have waited for this day.
This is it, no more waiting. No more being alone.
Michael.
I stand there, by the stairs, shaking in anticipation.
What should I do?
Do I look ok?
I want to be beautiful for Michael.
I probably look horrible.
Oh god. What if he's changed his mind?
What if he doesn't want me anymore?
How will he react to losing three years of his life?
So many thoughts go through my head; I don't know what to do.
I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to fight the headache that was beginning to come. Everything will be fine. This is Michael, my love, my soul mate, my better half.
I love him.
He loves me.
We will be fine.
Taking a deep breathe, I come out of my hiding spot by the stairs and walk over to Michael's room, a route that I can probably walk in my sleep if I have too. As I near the room, a nurse comes bustling out.
She spots me and instantly smiles.
"Mr. Sanders! He's awake!! Came to just a few minutes ago. He's very weak, but full of spirit."
"Awake?" I croak out. My voice seems foreign, even to my own ears.
"Oh hun." The nurse comes forward and hugs me. "It'll be fine. But there is one thing I want to tell you before you go in there-"
"Nurse." A familiar tenor reaches my ears.
I know that voice
Michael.
"I don't have any pants!! I gotta take a leak!! Unless you want my prancing around in this dress and flashin me arse to the world, I need pants."
Oh yeah, that is definitely Michael.
The smile that creases my face must be enormous.
I ignore the nurse, pushing past her and practically breaking down the door as I bust into Michael's room. I see him, my angel, sitting there, arguing with the nurse for pants.
I feel like crying. Crying in happiness and excitement.
"Michael." I breathe.
They both hear me come in and turn towards me.
"Mr. Sanders." I hear the nurse who I met out in the hall call worriedly behind me.
Again, I ignore her. My eyes only see Michael, who stares at me intently. It does not matter to me that he is still extremely pale and gaunt.
He is beautiful.
My entire world comes crashing down however when his face only reflects confusion.
As he says his first sentence to me in almost three years, I think for a fleeting moment, my heart simply stops. As if it has finally given up and shattered into a million different pieces.
Michael cocks his head, "Who are you?"
Western stood by the door of the club, beer in one hand and the other placed on his hip.
He was not impressed. Not in the slightest.
He hated preps and frat boys, so why the hell was he here?
He spotted a handsome young blond, with an expensive looking jacket on, leaning against a nice, silver car.
Oh, that's right.
Cute guys.
Cute, rich guys.
And lots of them.
He smiled at the pretty blond, staring directly into those big blue eyes. The blond smiled back.
This was going to be easy.
Western turned away from him, playing the ever so delectable 'hard to get' card.
It worked like a charm.
In no time, Mr. Blond Hunk was making his way over, a predator gleam in his eyes. Western felt the guy walk up behind him. The blond rested his chin on Western's shoulder.
"Hey cutie."
"Hello yourself." Western said dully, "And just what, might I ask, makes you think you can simply come up and touch me? Get off."
Western shrugged the guy off of him, and started to stalk away. As he predicted, the guy gently, but firmly grabbed his arm.
"I saw you checking me out."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I look interested?" Western glared over his shoulder, raising a cynical eyebrow.
"Yup. You did." The taller boy grinned mischievously.
Western grinned back. He liked this guy already.
"You should know that I'm not just some cheap, Goth whore."
"I never said I was looking for one." Blondie said, frowning.
"Good answer." Western said over the loud thrum of the music. "I'm Western."
"Killer name."
"Thanks. Most think it's weird.
"It is. That's why I like it. Better than my name."
Western looked up at him, smirking.
"Which is?"
"Michael."
"Western, I'm so sorry." Michael's doctor says, "Due to the damage to his brain, Michael has lost his memory."
I pause, looking down at the ground before glaring back up at the doctor.
"I don't know how to deal with this." I hiss through clenched teeth.
"You're going to have to start over. Don't try to push Michael, give him time. Give him space. I know that you two were … um…. close." The doctor's voice wavers as he carefully chooses his words.
"He was my boyfriend." I snap bluntly.
"Yes, but you must understand that he has no idea who you are. He doesn't even know who he is. I think he knows his name but that's it. Hopefully, he'll start to regain bits and pieces of his memory as you go along. If you try to move too fast and pick up were you left off, he'll feel lost and used. For right now, patience is your best ally."
I sigh. "I've waited three years. I think I can wait a little more. What do you recommend doc?"
"Ok, Good. I recommend being slow. Talk with him. Answer questions, he's bound to have many. Show him pictures of people you two once knew. I wouldn't recommend telling him about your relationship just yet."
"What should I tell him?"
"That you are trusted friend."
What else can I do? The man I love does not even know my name.
I sigh lightly, clearing my head and calming my hysterical nerves, before I walk into the room.
Michael is sitting up in his bed, looking out the window.
I clear my throat, trying to get his attention.
He turns and stares at me.
"Hello"
"Hi. I'm Western."
"Killer name."
"Thanks. Most think it's weird.
"It is. That's why I like it. Better than my name."
I look up at him, shyly.
"Which is?"
"Michael."
A/N: Tell me whatcha think!!
much luv
shoes