Sullen
by M. F. LuderPart thirteen
Thursday, Seth closes the door of room 524 after him. He places his bag on the floor, leaning against the feet of the nightstand by Ryan's bedside. It's not even four in the afternoon as Seth sighs and takes a seat in his customary seat.
"Hey," he says, smiling slightly at the sleeping person. "I have an English paper due tomorrow, so forgive me if I'm not talkative right now, k? I want to get this out of the way and then I'll be all yours."
Seth nods idly, reaching for his bag and getting out his notebook.
"It's kinda stupid, really. I have to do an essay on something I like doing in comparison with something else. What's the challenge in that?" Seth rolls his eyes. "It's like, can they have a little more imagination? Can't they ask me something hard, like an essay on Russian Poets or something whacked like that?"
Another sigh.
"Oh, well, it passes the time, right? I'm going to write my essay on the differences between Batman and Superman because, dude, really, so not alike. I have no idea how they say one of those two could win. It just can't happen. They'd be fighting forever and even then, the only reason Batman would lose is because Superman doesn't age."
Seth nods, convinced of his affirmation.
"Okay, so, yeah, paper to get done. Give me an hour. No, forty minutes. I'm sure I can finish this in forty minutes."
He grins at Ryan before reaching for a pen and writing down thoughts and ideas, secret identities, partners (or the lack thereof), villains and weaknesses.
Forty-eight minutes later to the clock, Seth finishes writing the last word of the two-page paper. He grins, eyes skimming though the words before nodding to himself.
"Yes, yes, pretty good, if I have to say so myself." He turns to look at Ryan. "Yep. Pretty good."
It's silly of him, he knows, to have expected something else. Something that isn't Ryan lying on the hospital bed with his eyes closed. Maybe he had expected blue eyes staring back at him before rolling as he muttered, "You wrote about Batman and Superman? What's next, Wonder Woman?" Maybe he had expected Ryan to look at him. Seth sighs, shaking his head idly as he does so. Stupid of him, really.
Seth doesn't want to think more about that because, really, it's not a nice thought at all. It's not something he can control, nor something he can do anything about. It's just happening, around him, not because of him. It's happening, Ryan lying down on the bed, eyes closed, unconscious and God only knows when he'll wake up.
He doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn't. Instead, Seth reaches for his bag once again, shoving his notebook inside and getting out a book he's become somewhat familiar with. He taps the cover of the book, not really looking at the image of the clown with his reddish lips and sickening face.
"I already was some pages into this one," Seth says, looking down at the book before shuddering for a second. "It's quite awful, you know? I know it's not your kind of literature, I know, but humor me on this one, k? Dude, it's really, really good. Not your kind of good, sure, but good nonetheless."
He frowns, tilting his head to the side, gripping the book tighter. He can almost see Ryan sitting on the futon, back against the pillows, one leg slightly bent while the other stays extended over the sheets, the book in his hand. When he reads in his bed, something he likes, something he's going to enjoy, he does it like this, like Seth's seeing him at the moment. Like this perfect memory. He would close himself off to the rest, to the outside world, and just read. Seth always admired that about him. Ryan would tilt his head from time to time, maybe grimace if the scene was too much for him, but that was it. Ryan would pick a book and finish it.
"You would have read it, wouldn't you?" The question is asked quietly, barely spoken. "Had I asked you," Seth adds as an after thought.
Seth nods to himself. "Yes, you would have. I know you. If I had told you the book was great, amazing even, though I got scared by the image of the freakish clown, you still would have read it." Seth lets out a shaky breath. That's Ryan for you.
"Yes," he says, slowly, whispering, "You would have read it."
Seth lets the seconds tick by, not really able to do anything but, and after a moment, he takes a deep breath.
"It really is a great book," Seth repeats, almost trying to convince himself. "It is." A pause. "Hmm... but we're only going to read it very early in the afternoon, you know? Not after dark. I've learned my lesson with that one."
Seth shudders at the involuntary thought, the memory of going to the bathroom, washing his face and being afraid to look up in fear of seeing a clown in the reflection of the mirror. It had been stupid but, then again, stupid is nothing new to him.
"So, yeah, early afternoon, dude, k? Early afternoon." Seth checks his watch. "It's four thirty. Cool. We can read until... hmm... six? Six thirty? When the sun sets? Whatever comes first, k?" He nods again, to himself. "Cool. Off we go." Fingers searched for the first page, where the story starts, past the Dedication, Index and stuff.
"Chapter one. After the flood.
The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years - if it ever did end - began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain."
Seth turns in bed, eyes wide open, and he forces himself to fall asleep. It's not working, it hasn't been for the past week, and he knows it'll probably never work. A whole night's sleep is out of the question. He spends more of that time dreaming about one thing or the other, remembering Ryan leaving, or hearing the phone ringing and knowing it's Ryan, calling his parents, and not picking it up.
It's killing him, slowly, and Seth closes his eyes to try and stop the images. It does very little to help.
Sighing, he sits down on the bed and rubs his eyes. It's either very late on a Friday night or very early on a Saturday morning, depending on the point of view. He thinks about everything that has yet to get done. Like history and physics homework, and eyes the laptop on his desk. Well, if he won't sleep, the least he can do is get something done.
Making his way to his desk, he starts the computer and yawns as the image of Windows appears on the screen. It takes him a minute to open the right file for his history homework and then clicks on Explorer. He types google.com and tilts his head as the page appears. Fingers dangling in the air, he's about to type fall of Roman Empire when he pauses.
That's not the only thing he knows very little about. That's not the only thing by a long shot. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through barely parted lips and as he closes his eyes, he types brain injury coma. He realizes there are more pages found than he would be able to read, and starts clicking on the ones that catch his attention.
He reads paragraph after paragraph, learning as much as he can in as little time as he can, rubbing his eyes every other time.
A coma is a profound or deep state of unconsciousness. The affected individual is alive but is not able to react or respond to life around him/her.
There are tons of pages, one after another, and his head starts to hurt. The words lose meaning and he shakes his head, negative prognosis after negative prognosis.
A coma rarely lasts more than 2 to 4 weeks. Some patients may regain a degree of awareness after vegetative state. Others may remain in a vegetative state for years or even decades.
He reads about treatments, about best and worse case scenarios. He reads about types of brain injury, he finds a page about terminology and realizes there are too many to learn in one night.
This is the hard truth about coma; we do not know if or how well any particular patient will recover. But coma is rarely like it is portrayed in movies and on television, where one day the patient opens their eyes, smiles, and is discharged the next day. Recovery from brain injury takes time.
As he keeps on reading, as he realizes Ryan could stay like that, eyes shut and unresponsive indeterminably, Seth bites down on his lower lip and wipes at the blurring in his vision. He keeps on reading well into the next morning.
She has a pendulum clock in her office, sitting on the third shelf, in the center, between books. The sound is mesmerizing, the moving of the pendulum, the chime every quarter of an hour. Her gaze falls on the edge of the pendulum, silver against its wooden casing.
It's Monday morning and she feels like she's been awake all weekend, like she hasn't slept for years. Like her son is hurting in a hospital bed. Her throat is tight. She doesn't know what it is, what makes her remember, but she does.
She remembers Ryan, standing before the stove, white t-shirt and black jeans. A bruise still black and blue on his eye. She can feel her eyes stinging and she doesn't even need to close her eyes to keep on seeing the scene, the same one she keeps remembering ever since they got that phone call.
Kirsten can see herself, standing by the door frame, arms folded and face hard, clear green robe crossed around herself. God. She had been such a bitch.
"It's nothing personal."
Something catches in her throat and her hands move to her mouth. God. What a bitch. And Ryan's standing there, she can see him, just standing there, looking out the window and God, she dared to tell him that.
"It's nothing personal."
It hadn't been, or so she had told herself. But... he was there. Only sixteen and needing her so much. She had gone with her motherly instinct and tried to protect her one son, not realizing she had had two to protect. His mother. Ryan's very own mother had kicked him out of her house and let her boyfriend beat her youngest son.
"Who is she?" Kirsten had asked herself when she had taken Dawn shopping, buying her a dress for Casino night. She hadn't asked the question out loud, she hadn't needed to. She had gotten her answer the morning before. Dawn, walking out on Ryan once again.
"You seem like a really nice kid."
She shakes her head, hands pressing so hard on her face it actually hurts. She doesn't know she has started crying until she can't see the clock anymore, and then everything's a blur. She closes her eyes shut, pain too grand to take it. She leans forward and the crying turns into quiet screams that die in her throat.
"He is," she says out loud, though the words are barely above a whisper. "He is. He's nice and gentle." Her breathing hitches but she keeps on going, reminding herself of those things she didn't see at first glance but learned later on. "He loves you. He might not say it and he probably won't ever say it, but he does. And he loves Seth, first and foremost." She screams with her mouth wide open, not even a whimper audible. "He always loved Seth. Always. Ryan protected him and you let him go. You just." Her words catch, a groan on her lips. "You let him go."
All breathed out, she leans forward, resting her face in her hands, the back of her palms on top of her desk. She cries quietly until the clock chimes again.
Next Wednesday afternoon, during lunch, Seth tilts his head, staring at the piece of paper before him, and he frowns.
∫ {sen(x)*cos(x)} / (℮^x + x3)
Okay. Sure. Whatever.
He blows out a breath through his lips in an exasperated motion. Calculus is way too hard, more than it should be, really. It's like, yeah, too hard. It's not like he's going to need this stuff to write, or have an English degree or something.
Why would he want to know the integral of sen(x)*cos (x)?
That means nothing. That's almost nothing. Who needs that stuff? Not him, of course. Not at all. Only people who want to do this for a living, to figure out integrals and stuff. Mathematicians, Physicists. People like that. People that most certainly 'aren't Seth. People who would want to study architecture, or civil engineering. People who weren't yet certain about either of those two. Seth swallows, his throat tightens all of a sudden. He shakes his head, trying to get back on track.
Books hit the table next to him, forcing him to look up. Summer flops back her hair with her hand as she takes a seat. "What are you doing, Cohen?"
"Homework, what else could I be doing?" Seth rolls his eyes. "It's not like I enjoy racking my brain trying to understand integrals, you know?
Summer gives an exasperated sigh and reaches out, pulling Seth's book closer to her so she can read the title. "That was given out this morning. Why are you doing it now? We still have like..." She counts the days in her mind, "…two days. What? You trying to impress someone?"
A low snort. "I want to get it out of the way, that's all."
"Need a free afternoon?" Summer squints slightly, leaning closer, staring right at him. "You have a hot date, or what?" she picks at the edge of his t-shirt, around the left shoulder, with only her thumb and forefinger, like it's yesterday's left overs. "You do need a girlfriend, Cohen. You smell like last season's clothes."
"Geesh, thanks."
"You're welcome. Anyway," Summer continues, "Since you're not doing anything this afternoon because I know you don't have a girlfriend--"
Seth lifts an eyebrow, a very Ryan-like thing of him to do and Summer wonders when Seth picked that up. "And how do you know that?"
"Well, hmm, duh!" She says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like telling her she's beautiful. "I'd know if you had a girlfriend."
"No, you wouldn't."
Summer rolls her eyes. Poor delusional Cohen. "Because I know everything that happens in this school, Cohen. Everything." That's gossip for you, thank you very much. Summer grins at Seth.
"Anyway," she continues, "You're not doing anything, so we're going shopping. I'm in serious need of skirts. And tops. Mine are so last season." She shakes her head. She can't believe she's let herself go so much. It's been over a week since she did any shopping -- at all.
"What? No, no, dude, not at all. Sorry, but, hmm, no." Seth shakes his head emphatically and Summer wonders if Cohen doesn't want to go with her. "Why don't you go with Marissa? You know, Coop, the one you used to hang out with every single day since second grade?"
Summer rolls her eyes. He's so out of the loop. "Well, not that I had to tell you this, but she's got new friends."
Seth is not that much of an idiot, thank you very much. No, he's not, and he knows Summer. He dated her for four whole months, for God's sake. He slept with her. Of course he knows her. Hmm... well, not entirely, but enough to know that, though she pretends that she doesn't hurt, it's an act. It kills her inside.
"Oh." Seth really didn't know that. Not that he'd been paying attention to gossip around him. He'd been otherwise preoccupied. "Hmm..." He sighs, wanting to reach out to Summer, but she's already pretending she's moved on, checking her fingernails for cracks. "Hmm... so, like, what happened?"
Summer shrugs nonchalantly. "What do I care?"
Seth waits for seven full seconds before Summer starts rambling once again.
"It's like, she's got new friends, you know? Just because I don't like seeing purple elephants in the middle of the afternoon." She huffs and rolls her eyes. "She totally ditched me. I'm so not talking to her until she's clean, Cohen, I'm telling you."
Seth nods slowly. So Coop has evolved from alcohol to illegal substances? Well, not that he's surprised, but still. "Did you tell her? About Ryan, I mean."
"What? No, I don't think she's thought about Chino, for, at least, a month. She's been more worried about stealing away from her mom's purse, you know? That's so tacky. That's so..." Summer shudders. "Coach."
"Hmm... That's cool. Well, not cool, but, you know?" Seth sees Summer nodding as he lowers his eyes and tries to focus on his exercise. It barely lasts a minute.
"So," Summer asks again, "What are we doing after we hit South Plaza?"
"I don't know what you're doing because I'm not going."
"What? Are you ditching me again?"
The tapping of her heel against the wooden floor doesn't help matters. Seth's already afraid of Summer as it is. "No, no, of course not." He pauses, ducking his head to the right. "I'm going to the hospital."
"Oh." Summer nods, biting down on her lower lip and trying not to picture Ryan on a hospital bed, bleeding, the way she's seen it in ER. "Oh."
"You can come, if you want."
She shakes her head. "No, no, I need a pedicure, anyway."
Seth nods, turning to look at her before dropping his eyes to his books. Summer doesn't interrupt him until the bell rings.
Friday afternoon, Kirsten looks down at Ryan's right hand, cast going all the way to his palm, fingers barely visible. Still, she runs her thumb over the patch of skin she can touch in the back of his palm.
Lunch breaks, lunch hours that can last up to two hours, have become her time. Her time and Ryan's. She likes doing this, taking his hand in hers, touching him. Kirsten sighs, lowering her head.
A month and a half. A month and a half and there has been no change in his condition. She swallows with difficulty. Andrea, the nice nurse who seems to actually care about them, brought the subject up earlier this week, about bringing something from home to make the room more comfortable. Kirsten shot the thought down, of course. How could she not?
That woman is asking her to come to terms with the idea that her son -- her son -- might have to stay here longer. Forever. She can't do that. Kirsten knows she can't do that. She knows, in her heart, deep down, that Ryan will come back to them. Just like she did before, when they had lost him. She knew they'd find her son. And now, Kristen is certain her son will open his eyes and see her one more time. Just one more time. That's all she asks.
Her breathing comes in short, shallow pants and it's hard for her to focus, but she sees Ryan's face even through the blur of her tears. She sees his face, his blue eyes and shining blond hair. She sees him, and he's looking back at her.
Kristen grins, her hand caressing his. "You have to wake up," she says, more like whispers. "You have to wake up. Please." Her hand tightens, the grip almost painful. "I'm asking you to wake up, Ryan. Please, wake up."
She can barely hear herself.
"Please."
Seth pushes the door open at five in the afternoon, on the same Friday after his mom had left barely two hours ago. She stayed until she couldn't stay any longer, until pretending that she was only having a very long lunch hour came and went. But Seth doesn't know this. He has his satchel over one shoulder, and closes the door behind him. He doesn't say anything, only sits down in the small chair by the bed. He reaches inside the bag for the book. Placing it on his lap, he pauses, looking up at Ryan.
He smiles, the corners of his lips curling upwards and for a moment he waits, hopes, that Ryan might smile back. That moment is blown away by the seconds ticking by, and when it's long gone, when it's nothing more than a distant memory, Seth sighs. He picks up the book again, opening it to the bookmark and starts reading.
"'Look, I'll put it out,' she said, and went to the bathroom door. She flipped the cigarette - even from here he could see the teeth-marks driven deep into the filter - into the bowl of the John. Fsssss. She came back out. 'Tom, that was an old friend. An old old friend. I have to - '
'Shut up, that's what you have to do!' he shouted at her. 'Just shut up!' But the fear he wanted to see - the fear of him - was not on her face. There was fear--"
Seth yawns, the back of his hand over his mouth, book closing over his other hand. He takes a deep breath before yawning again, shaking his head as he does so.
"God," he says, blinking his sleepy eyes as he turns around to look at Ryan. "I'm tired."
He tilts his head, looking at Ryan.
"I'm tired," he says again, the weight of his words suddenly too much to bear. "It's been a long week, you know? Everything. It's just been... long." He sighs. "It's been a long two weeks."
Two weeks there, keeping Ryan company. Two weeks. God, does it really feel like a lifetime? Two weeks is nothing, he thinks. It's nothing. That's three times as much as he needs to break in a new game. Thirteen days too many to learn the entire story of one comic book. That's... that's...
He sighs. It doesn't matter how it feels. It doesn't matter that time is telling him that two weeks is nothing at all, but for him, for the rest of his family, it has been more than a lifetime. They have died and woken up and died again in those fourteen days. And Ryan's still there, lying in his bed, eyes closed.
Seth yawns again, scooting his chair closer to the bed. He leans forward, placing the book on the bed, by Ryan's arm. He folds his arms as best as he can, book in between his hands, his wrist touching Ryan's healthy one.
He blinks, almost sleepily, but refuses to close his eyes. His voice is barely above a whisper as he starts reading again, "'Shut up, that's what you have to do!' he shouted at her. 'Just shut up!' But the fear he wanted to see - the fear of him - was not on her face. There was fear, but it had come out of the telephone, and fear was not supposed to come--"
A some point within the next half hour, his voice breathes out, his eyes close, giving up on him, and he rests his head on top of his forearm. His hand lets go of the book, and takes hold of something else to keep him anchored -- to keep him safe.
Walking out of Mrs. Anderson's room, Andrea checks her watch. Almost nine. She sighs, tiredness creeping into her bones. Rounds are almost done, only ten more rooms to go. She pushes room 524 open, walking inside.
Andrea pauses. Sitting by the side of the bed is the brother, Seth, and she isn't surprised at seeing him asleep. What does surprise her, causing her head to tilt and smile at them, is the way Seth is half lying on the right side of the patient's bed, his head almost touching the pillow.
As she takes a step closer, her soft smile turns into a grin. Seth grips Ryan's hand tightly, fingers holding onto the plastered hand. She can almost read ownership in the action.
Biting down on her lower lip, keeping the grin in check and the discovery to herself, she turns around and leaves the room, quietly closing the door. She'll check Ryan's BP later. When Seth's not there, holding his hand.
Seth can see Ryan, on the other end of the pool, sitting along the edge with his legs dangling in the water. He smiles, because he knows Ryan's waiting for him. Seth doesn't know how he knows, but he knows. He takes a step forward, closer to the pool, to go around it, but it's like he 'can't move. Seth isn't certain whether his feet aren't moving or the space in between continues to get larger and larger.
It can't be that. It can't be either of those things because Ryan's on the other side of the pool and he's waiting for him. Ryan's waiting for him. Seth takes another step and though he sees one foot in front of the other, it makes no difference.
There are still fifty feet between him and Ryan. Fifty feet? Sixty? Seventy? Seth doesn't know anymore.
And then, rain starts to fall. He looks up at the sky, dark clouds surround him. Weird, he hadn't noticed any dark clouds a second before. Actually, it had been sunny and clear. Weird, really.
It rains, big fat drops of water pouring from the sky, not at all the kind of rain they get at this time of the year, or at any time for that matter.
It's like it's not even Newport. It rains like he's seen in movies, in TV shows. It rains like it rains in Chicago and in New York. Suddenly, it doesn't even feel like Newport. Like home. It feels strange and scary, and Seth doesn't want to be there anymore.
"Ryan? Come on, let's go. I don't wanna stay here."
Ryan doesn't even look up. He's staring at his feet as they dangle in the water, like it's not raining over him, soaking him to the bone. Like Seth's not calling to him.
"Dude? Ha. Ha. Ha. Good joke. Now, let's go." Seth's shirt is soaked through. He places his arms around himself and he shudders. "Dude, come on. I'm freezing to death. You'll have to explain to mom why I died of hypothermia if we stay here any longer." But Ryan's not listening. Not listening at all. "Ryan? Dude?"
Nothing.
"Ryan?"
Seth tries to take another step forward but it doesn't help. He groans. He's getting really tired of this crap. Then, as he's about to call out to Ryan once again, Seth watches, dumbfounded and frozen in his place, as Ryan falls into the pool, not moving, like he's a sack of potatoes.
"Ryan!"
Ryan falls into the pool and there's nothing Seth can do. Finally, Seth sees his feet making an impression on the ground and he runs to the other edge of the pool, looking down. Ryan's at the bottom.
"Ryan!"
Seth wants to jump in, he wants to, but he stops moving once again. He can't move. He's frozen there and it feels so stupid, like a movie or a dream he can't be shaken out of.
"Ryan!" He yells instead, wanting to reach out but unable to. "Ryan!"
And then, Ryan's body, as it had been falling further down in the pool, disappears as the rain picks up and everything goes dark around him.
Seth wakes up with a start, almost jumping off his seat. He looks around, the room dim, only a small light on the other side of the bed lighting the room. He takes deep, calming breaths, his hand going to his chest as his heart continues to beat like it's in a race. His eyes fall down on the half darkened face.
Seth lets out a shuddering sigh. Ryan's there, with him, in the hospital. Ryan's sleeping. Seth closes his eyes and leans forward. Ryan's sleeping, that's all. Ryan's sleeping.
Leaning back in the chair, Seth feels his shoulder blades and lower back complaining at the movement. He groans, twisting his arm around to massage his shoulder as best as he can, trying to relieve the pressure but it doesn't help. He didn't notice when he fell asleep.
He sighs, slowly and almost in pain. Seth remembers bits of the dream because, yeah, that was what woke him up. That dream. But there are only bits and pieces. Nothing solid. The idea of rain around him, soaking him to the bone. Rain and then pain. Immeasurable pain. A pain he's already familiar with. A pain he's come to know as his companion.
Seth swallows, shifting in his seat, his back complaining every second. He raises his arms to the ceiling, stretching, and his joints don't pop and it hurts even more. He grimaces as he relaxes back down, checking his watch.
It's almost ten. He sighs. He should be home by now, he knows. He should have called his parents as well. Not that there is any need. Lately, if they are not at work or school, they are here, and then, only to sleep, they are at home. His mom will probably just be leaving work, coming home late the past week. His dad has this big case, or something like it, and he's been arriving late as well.
He sighs. Nothing like home sweet home. The tone his mind uses is bitter and he wonders when it became his own.
"This is your fault, you know?" Seth says out of the blue, his tone casual. "If you would open your eyes and come home with me, then I wouldn't have to do this, would I? I wouldn't have to come here and I wouldn't fall asleep on your bed. Right, dude?"
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm serious, Ryan. It's been almost two months. This isn't funny anymore."
He looks at Ryan before ducking his head to the right. He can see Ryan sitting on the futon, in the pool house, shoes off, black socks on white sheets, talking with him. He can see Ryan.
Seth closes his eyes, his chest tightens and he can barely breathe. He's gotta get that checked, it's been happening too often. He sighs once again, standing up quickly and retrieving his bag from the floor. He places it around his chest.
"I gotta leave. Dinner and all that. I'll be back tomorrow."
He leans over, pausing in mid movement as his face is suddenly very close to Ryan's. He swallows. He has no idea what he had been about to do. In a spur of a moment, he bites down on his lip and leans over ever so close, placing a small kiss on Ryan's forehead, blond hair tickling his nose.
He pulls away quickly, and gnaws at his lip even harder. Saying nothing, he turns around and leaves the room.
Part twelve
Part fourteen
Sullen