Chapter Seventeen Boys Don’t Cry #2
“Good to see you awake, love,” the nurse chirped cheerfully, as if she were an old friend running into Julian at a coffee shop and not witnessing the miraculous recovery of a coma patient.
But she did efficiently divest Julian of the dreadful throat tube, which, though it sent him gagging again, filled him with visible relief.
The nurse proceeded to check his pupils with a little light and ask him a few questions concerning the year and if he knew where he was.
The year was 1988, and he knew he was in some sort of hospital probably.
Even though his throat was gravelly enough for a Tom Waits double-act, the nurse found this satisfactory and told them she’d fetch the doctor.
Rahul had been on pins and needles watching her work.
As soon as she was gone, he launched himself at Julian, covering his thin frame with his own in a massive bear hug.
For a single second, Julian was tense as a washing line.
In the next instant he was struggling like mad, weak arms flailing away more than they’d even done when he had the breathing tube in.
Startled by his reaction, Rahul pulled back straight away.
Julian immediately wrapped his arms across his chest protectively, red spots on his cheeks and eyes too shiny.
Rahul had a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach, one that was wholly unlike the dread he’d felt earlier when he’d thought Julian might never wake up.
This was a back of his mind suspicion, the kind you can’t put a finger on until you’re lying in bed, just about to fall asleep, and it comes to you all of a sudden.
Because in that moment, just like when Rahul had first met him, Julian had reminded him of his mother’s Pomeranian.
When she’d first adopted the thing, it had been rescued from an abusive home.
Its owner had used to beat it, poor little fluffy creature.
And after Rahul’s mother had brought it home, whenever you tried to pet it, it would shy away from you, shaking, eyes big and afraid, because it thought you were going to hit it just like its old owner had.
That’s what Julian was like now, and there was an alarm bell going off somewhere in Rahul’s head.
It told him that something was wrong, something had happened.
But in a deeper, scarier place in Rahul’s mind, he knew exactly what was wrong and what had happened.
It was in the perfectly straight bruise that encircled Julian’s throat like an angry red collar.
It was in his split lip and gash across the flat bridge of his nose that was too much like the edge of a posh, gold ring.
But just like any coward, Rahul’s mind tried to protect him from the truth.
For just a little bit longer. He wanted to have this moment. Just this. Couldn’t he just have this?
He took Julian’s hand instead, pulling it from his chest and bringing the knuckles to his lips.
“Fucking Christ, Julesy, you really had me going there,” he laughed wetly.
“You had me worried sick, you know that? When you came into the shop looking like Night of the Living dead, I thought ‘this is it.’ Then you went down and I thought I’d lost you for good. ”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Julian rasped. He’d settled a bit, his eyes losing that panicky look and becoming soft and melancholy as Rahul spoke. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright. I just… I just wanted to be safe. And when I thought ‘safe,’ you were all I could think of.”
Rahul dared reach over and gently caress Julian’s sallow cheek with two fingers. Julian closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Rahul didn’t want to know the answer, but he had to know all the same. Taking a deep breath, he began, “Julian, what happen --”
“There’s our brave little punk rocker,” came a warm voice from the door.
Doctor Dayal stood there, clipchart in hand.
Rahul instinctively let go of Julian’s hand, though he felt guilty about it almost immediately.
So what if the doctor knew they were gay?
She was a professional. It wouldn’t influence how she treated Julian.
But the part of him that had been keeping his truth secret for so long refused to let its guard down, even in the face of logic.
It’d take time to demolish the wall he’d spent years erecting, brick by brick.
The doctor approached and introduced herself, even shaking Julian’s hand before explaining his current state. When she told him about the stitches in his skull, he reached a hand up and recoiled when he felt prickly baldness where long, luscious locks used to be.
“Your concussion is severe, but you’re lucky you didn’t suffer any brain damage,” she said frankly, with an air of severity.
“Especially considering the sort of blunt force trauma you received. Can you tell me how this happened, Mr Collier?” Her eyes briefly darted in Rahul’s direction, which he felt insulted by in a way he couldn’t completely describe.
“Oh, you know,” Julian started, all cheeky, gap-toothed grin and mischievous eyes.
“Had one too many and was dancing round in my pants when, would you believe it, I slipped on a satsuma and WHAM went right down onto the coffee table. I saw stars just like in the cartoons and everything. Thought Bugs Bunny was gonna come and take me away. But nah, it was just my mate Rahul instead. Owe him my life and all that.”
“I see.” She cast another suspicious glance at Rahul, noticeably unimpressed and unconvinced by Julian’s pants and satsuma story.
For one, you don’t get bruises on your throat from hitting your head on a table.
“Well, try and be more careful in the future. And, if you have anything you feel you need to report, whatever it may be, I have resources for you. I’ll have the nurse come by with them before you check out tomorrow. ”
Julian’s brow creased. “Tomorrow?”