CHAPTER FIVE
MATTEO
I was aware I was in the hospital and if I didn’t feel like I was in death’s torture chamber, I would have worried more about what it might mean for my situation.
But I’d given the nurses a semi-fake name and little else.
It was easy pretending not to be able to communicate with them when my throat hurt too much to speak, and I was too exhausted to write anything down.
It wasn’t like they’d just dump me on the street and if it came to it, I could always contact Mr. Salvatore.
From my understanding, Nana had left him a sizable retainer to ensure I was taken care of.
I glanced at the phone Pooh Bear had given me and was surprised to find that it was after three in the afternoon. But was it the next day? Two days later? The disorientation was throwing me for a loop.
The window to my left let me know it was cold and gray outside. I craned my head around, taking in the I.V pole and the multiple bags pumping medicine into my system, with all the bells and bobs on the machine. It was still very hard to breathe, but the oxygen was helping.
It took me a good five minutes to enter my message into the textbox, my fingers weak and uncoordinated.
ME: Hey. Still alive.
I conked out again. A nurse came by to change the bags and check my vitals, but I barely registered anything other than the fire in my throat and the stickiness in my lungs.
To soothe myself, I recalled my favorite classical pieces, but only got a few notes in before sleep claimed me.
When I awoke again, it was almost seven and Pooh Bear had responded.
SEAN: You’ll be fine. They’ve got what U need and R something of experts.
The text brought a smile to my lips, but I wasn’t sure why.
At first, it had been annoying being thrown out of the club and having my fake I.Ds confiscated.
Those things weren’t cheap and replacing them on my budget was difficult.
But I quickly came to enjoy our tongue-sparring.
He was hot and gruff and everything I wanted in a man.
At least, physically. It seemed I had a thing for ginger bears with soft-looking beards and playful eyes.
He was total Daddy material and the way I figured, the experience of older men was golden.
A nurse came in with a tray of food and set it on the table. She adjusted it and pushed it over my bed. “Hello, Matt. I’m Laticia. Feeling any better?”
I touched my throat.
“I know, strep is terrible. I’ve got some broth for you that I need you to try to get down, okay? You were quite dehydrated when they brought you in and we need to keep your levels up. I also need you to swallow this decongestant. It’s going to help clear up the pneumonia.”
She set a disposable cup with a pill inside it next to my tray and stuck a thin straw into a box of apple juice.
I looked at the steaming mug of broth miserably, knowing I was in for a world of hurt.
I’d lucked out as a child, having only gotten sick a handful of times and most of my bouts with the flu had been relatively mild.
I’d never gotten chicken pox or mono, or anything like that. I supposed I was making up for it now.
I offered her a thumbs up and she wandered off.
I stared at the meager meal for long minutes and decided to get it over with.
I removed my oxygen mask and sipped at the broth, the heat nice, but the ache of my throat muscles moving sent a shock of pain through me.
I tried again, hoping the continued use would desensitize my throat, but it only seemed to make it worse.
It took a lot of effort to swallow the pill and finish the juice box, but I did it.
I looked out the window, the sky pitch black, the peach illumination of a streetlamp casting shadows on the wall. I pulled up the text conversation with Sean and sent over another message.
ME: My name is Matteo, btw.
As I waited for him to respond, I tracked down his Facebook page.
Sean McCarthy, thirty-seven, and employed with the Adonis.
There wasn’t a whole lot of activity, but he occasionally posted photos with groups of varying men, some more frequent than others.
I wondered if one of them was his boyfriend.
The last time he’d posted was back in October to announce a fundraiser.
SEAN: I think brat fits better.
A little laugh bubbled up that started a thorough coughing spell. My throat screamed in agony and phlegm gurgled in my lungs. With a sniffle, I curled into a ball and passed out, emotionally raw from where life had taken me.
It was hard sleeping more than an hour at a time, my achy throat and saturated lungs reaching through the darkness.
I focused on “Arabesque No. 1”, tapping my fingers on the hospital bed, hearing the sweet notes in my mind and longing for the day when I could play again, next to a sunshine-lit window.
It was almost midnight when I sent a response to Pooh Bear.
ME: I’ll take that as a compliment.
SEAN: It wasn’t meant as a compliment.
My fingers flew across the digital keyboard, a little squirm of excitement tightening in my belly.
ME: Exactly, that’s why it’s a compliment. Because I’ve succeeded in annoying you.
SEAN: That’s okay. I’m sure I’ve gotten U kicked out of more clubs N bars than you’ve annoyed me.
Cheeky butthead, I mused. I was usually pretty good with the comebacks, but my miserable condition made my mental cogs and gears rusty.
ME: better a brat than a pooh bear, anyway.
SEAN: Hey, this pooh bear is beloved by all.
ME: It’s just that cute belly.
I might have gone overboard. I didn’t want to insult him in a bad way. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have cared if I hurt his feelings, but that had changed recently, unbeknownst to me. Texting with him was actually nice and it distracted me from my predicament.
SEAN: What! I’m not fat, just a little fluffy. Besides, I got plenty of muscles in my arms to make up for it.
I was glad he’d taken it well. I very much enjoyed husky men and he had the lumberjack vibes going on I didn’t know I was into.
Despite being twenty, I was still discovering who I was. The journey had been stamped down courtesy of my parents. I’d spent so long pretending to be someone I wasn’t that I still wasn’t sure what I liked or didn’t like. Before I could respond, the text came through.
SEAN: Wait, did U just compliment me? It feels weird.
Damn. That hadn’t been my intention. I quickly changed the subject.
ME: Don’t let it go to your head. Besides, you didn’t leave me to die in the alley, so I suppose I can be a little less annoying.
SEAN: Uh huh. How R U feeling? Any better?
ME: Well, I don’t feel like I’m going to die, but it’s pretty damn miserable right now. Can’t swallow and can’t breathe without this oxygen mask.
SEAN: U should rest. We can continue our sparring match tomorrow.
ME: Fine. Goodnight, Pooh Bear.
SEAN: Nite, Brat. BTW, names Sean.
ME: I know, I was there the night you shook your ass on stage. I’m not surprised a meathead like you would choose such an uninteresting stage name.
SEAN: It was a onetime thing, so I didn’t need a stage name. And I think it’s sweet that U remembered my name. <3
With a grumble, I stuck the phone under the pillow and fell asleep, images of my ginger-crush strip dancing only for me haunting my dreams.