Mi Amor Loco
So this is the beginning of my Jogan NaNoWriMo. I have done 50,000+ of Jogan but I'm just going to be putting little sections up regularly. NaNo was one of the hardest possible writing tasks I've ever done and I know I wouldn't have been able to do it without the support of my friends.
So this one is for Milly, Bryony and Grace. I dedicate this story to you. You are my support group and I love you so much. You're the best friends a girl can have and I know that one day, you're going to be recognised formally and properly for this.
Bryony - You were the end Beta reader and you helped me so much with punctuation and little foibles like that which people pick up on. Thank you for being there.
Milly - 'Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power to that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared' - One day, I'm going to see your name in Waterstones and there will be queues out the door with children clamouring for your next book. Just wait.
Grace - You saved my life, numerous times. So I am indebted forever. What a wonderful place to be.
This is a pretty big thank you but I truly mean every word.
I hope you enjoy it.
I certainly had fun writing it.
-Alice 3
Beep... Beep... Beep.
Okay. This was starting to piss Julian off. What was that noise? He heard it get louder, so loud it seemed to be in tempo with his heartbeat, but then fade, almost as quiet as rustling leaves on a winter's morning.
Beep... Beep... Beep... B-Beep... B-Beep.
A change? An infinitesimal change in that persistent noise seemed so huge to Julian. However, he couldn't move and couldn't see, so this small adjustment was enough to focus all of Julian's attention.
Beep. Beep... Beep... Beep.
He recognized it. That tone, that irregular pattern. He had heard it before, eons ago when life didn't seem so dark and empty. It was coming from the right of him, or was it the left? All sense of direction had just disappeared from him.
Beep... Beep... Beep Beep... Beep... B... Beep.
Why was it so erratic? Why couldn't it follow a simple pattern? Julian tried to turn his head, wanting to find the source of the noise, to turn it off so he could get some peace. He was tired, so exhausted; yet he was horizontal. He made out the soft texture of a cover over his body, his hand brushing the wrapper gingerly. Cotton? Yes, cotton. A name to the feeling.
Beep...Beeeppppp... Be-ep.
Where was he? Julian shifted through his memories, gleams of light and noise standing out. He knew he was safe... and before he hadn't been. It seemed like a barrier was over parts of his past, blocking him out from the recollections. Why? Had he been in danger? Was he in pain? He flexed his muscles quickly, trying to pinpoint any areas of tenderness or hurt.
"Responding... Positive…"
A voice! Julian clamped down on the rough tone of the voice, clamouring for the noise again. It had been a man. A man with a low voice, Julian concluded. Dips and valleys had rolled over each syllable and a lilting accent raised the end of each word. Julian knew he wasn't hearing the entire conversation; his hearing had dipped and was making the sentence muddled and disjointed.
Irish? Scottish? Julian couldn't concentrate on that now. What did those words mean? "Responding... Positive…" Julian mulled the ideas over. Something was going well, better than expected. Whatever was going on had pleased the man.
Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep.
The noise seemed stronger, more... vital. Maybe the improvement in that irritating sound had pleased the man. But why would he care about a beeping and how weak or strong it had become?
Questions assaulted Julian's head, each of them elbowing their way to the front of his mind, begging to be answered.
But Julian couldn't think. Tiredness had washed over him again; his closed eyes seemed heavier than usual. He had felt this before, when dark had replaced all the light in his world. The absence of this had alarmed Julian previously; he remembered clawing at the gloom, trying to break through, back into what he considered reality. That sense of panic flooded his body again; his breath seemed to speed up.
In perfect synchronicity, the beeping increased in pitch, screeching now.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Reaction! ...Down! ...Stop!"
The voice had come back, almost growling as it uttered those words. Julian strained to hear the words, the pounding in his chest and the shrieking of beeping almost deafening him. He felt a pressure on his arm, somebody grasping his wrist. He wasn't moving, or was he? He didn't know and all he could feel was the darkness crushing around him.
The pressure disappeared slightly, a small prick of pain stabbing at his arm. Wildly he tried to fling his arm out, but with no movement following up his mind's order. The darkness had become heavier, swarming up his torso slowly. A cool tingling sensation replaced the pain in his arm.
Much to his horror he realized the tingling sensation was moving, creeping its way up his arm. A flashback went hand-in-hand with the feeling. He was transported back to his childhood. He was a gangly eight-year old, watching in fascination as he watched a snail crawl up his bicep. The same feeling of the same slow movement was identical to what had followed the pain in his arm.
A whimper escaped his mouth, coming out as a hiss between his clenched teeth.
"Visible... Response... Contact…" Another voice entered his hearing. It was of woman, her voice had a lulling ring to it.
"Brilliant... Medically... Take?" the man questioned at the end, his accent lilting the question in an exaggerated movement.
"No... Ready... Brain... Too soon to tell…" He was improving; he knew it now he could catch longer sections. What did they mean? Brain? And something not being ready?
Julian was speculating, his mind going into overdrive as he tried to focus solely on the voices. He noticed, but with less interest than he had before, that the beeping had died down to its usual pitch, becoming a background noise he was all-too-familiar with.
"A blip?" His first full sentence, albeit a small one. Julian felt like celebrating.
"Perhaps. He seems to have returned back to his previous state. Maybe he was over stimulated?" the man didn't have the same confidence in his voice as he had before. Irish, Julian concluded. This man was Irish. He felt proud of himself, being able to catch these full sentences. He loved hearing the different voices, musing on the peaks and descents that the words made.
"Possibly, but what could have driven him to that? We haven't changed anything in his room have we?" the woman's voice probed, her lulling tone sounding too feminine to be accusing.
"Those boys came in earlier but there was no noted change back then. Maybe he's finally ready?" the man seemed to be fearful of the woman's reactions.
"I'm not sure, the cardiac monitor seems to be changing rapidly, this could be good or bad," the woman replied.
Cardiac monitor, what is that? Julian knew the name. He felt it slip away from him, disappearing into the depths of his mind.
"He's been comatose for the last two weeks, Doctor" the man argued.
Who's been comatose? Had HE been comatose? The woman was a doctor, so that means... Julian tried to shake his head. No, he couldn't be in hospital. There was no reason why he should be in hospital.
"You will never see him again—you hear me? He's mine now!" A memory? Julian felt uneasy as the words that had been screamed slip back into his head. Why did that voice, that high desperate voice, bring back a feeling of horror to him?
"Tell him or I'll kill him, Julian—I will!" Who was that? Why did he sound in so much pain? Did Julian cause it? He heard his name being screamed, but despite the angry tone, the voice had wrapped around his name like a caress.
"That's impossible, this is…this can't be…"... That voice. That manly voice, racked with shock and worry. The voice, paired with a deep chuckle and angry snarl. Green flashed in his mind, the most beautifully vivid green Julian ever encountered. That voice accompanied the colour.
Why did he recognize it so well?
"You sound like a girl sharing gossip."
"I am a freak, if you haven't noticed."
"Ignore Julian; he's got a stick shoved up his back end."
All from the same voice, all ending with teasing roll, all belonging to the same person, a person that had shouted at Julian, laughed with Julian, teased Julian and spoken softly to Julian. The same person whose singing voice had brought Julian to a standstill outside the rehearsal hall in... Where did Julian go again?
Yes, Dalton.
The person who looked amazing when angry, with flushed cheeks and a dangerous glint in his emerald eyes.
A person who he had seen ravaged by love, a blush along on his neck as he saw the boys who'd captured his eye stroll down the hallway.
A person who he'd seen sob uncontrollably, tears dripping down his pale cheeks and with his hands, oh, those strong and determined hands that had tamed the piano yet been so furious as to give Julian a black eye, had swept through his thick blonde hair that had always reminded Julian of a summer morning sunrise.
This one person, his person. His mad, coffee-addict, desperate, ignorant friend, who had been the object of Julian's affection for years on end, the focus of his dreams for months. His...
What was his name? It was a usual name, nothing special... but it was special. He used his middle name, his first name reminded him of his father, a fact he hated.
John... Yes that was his first name. John... John... He was a third in generation, a fact that always seemed so regal to Julian, but at the same time had been the source of Julian's teasing for years.
Wright. His last name, one that he hoped to adopt to his own name in his wildest fantasies.
Logan.
Logan.
That's it.
Logan.
How could he forget those eyes, that smile, that body. He felt blasphemous in a way, for forgetting the exact detail of Logan's beauty. He was almost glad he was in a coma, that way he couldn't reveal his true state to the world.
"His vitals look good, Doctor." A soft swish indicated a chart being flipped through. "And according to the scans he has no neurological trauma." Julian heard the man cross the room and approach his bed. Cold air swam around him as the blanket was gingerly removed from his body. A gentle touch on his leg made him acutely aware how bare he was in front of the professionals, and he vehemently wished that he could cover up.
"Who took off his cast?" the woman enquired, approaching the bed as well.
"Nurse Clements, Doctor," the man replied. Julian wasn't aware he'd had a cast or that it had been removed. That last night at Dalton still slipped away from him when he tried to remember, but the feeling of dread and worry still hung around.
Why would he need a cast? Being in a hospital gave Julian enough realization that he must have been hurt during those foggy times at Dalton, but a broken leg? Was it really that bad?
"And you! This is all because you both wouldn't just let things go the way I planned for us!"
Once again that angry voice punctured its way through his thoughts, disbelief and anguish pouring through the psychotic scream. Who could have been so angry with Julian? Yet… Julian felt a different emotion swim behind the livid disposition. The screaming seemed furious of course, but it had a tone of longing behind it. His name, yelled in wrath, was coated in desire and possession. This person, whoever he was seemed to be craving Julian in a way that surpassed revulsion. It almost seemed like... Dare he say it? Love.
No. It couldn't have been. Everybody thought Julian was an emotionally unavailable diva. Nobody loved him, not even his own parents.
Yes…
Dolce and Travis. A newspaper had quoted them 'The modern day Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor'. This was the entirely wrong sentiment. Maybe with the volatility, Julian was accustomed to be welcomed in the morning with his mother with an aging bruise around her eye and his father reeking of alcohol, but since the divorce he just seemed to be a burden on them.
Maybe his mother loved him, maybe somewhere deep in her Hollywood mind she had affection and aspirations for her son that grew from a deep-rooted idea of maternal love, but his mother (Julian could see her in his mind's eye with her catlike sepia eyes, peroxide hair and immobile facial features) really seemed to be more interested in whether her surgery would be postponed before her next premiere.
And Travis... Julian knew his father meant well, securing him the movie deals that he needed to become an established actor by the time he was twenty and showering him in enough electronics to furnish a small warehouse, but it was the want for physical closeness and bonding that Travis seemed to lack.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
Being in a coma makes you consider a lot, Julian thought idly. He didn't know how long he would be in this darkness, or even if anybody missed him so his mind being his only friend suited him perfectly.
The doctors had gone, they had spoken for another few minutes before leaving, the door making a resounding bang as it shut, leaving Julian alone once more.
He preferred this way; the room had become some sort of sanctuary to him now. There was no outside noise; his regular breathing had given him an anchor to the world, keeping him attached to reality, a constant reminder that he was still alive.
He wondered how close he was to death. Being in a hospital wasn't a routine and simple occurrence for Julian, and the broken leg seemed to account for a pretty serious accident that had happened.
But if he was going to die, why were they prolonging his life? Julian did internal revenue quickly, flexing his muscles as much as he could; but there was nothing, no pain, no feeling. It was as if Julian just awoken from a long slumber and his limbs felt numb from the hours of sleep. He could feel his limbs though; they felt intact, so he couldn't have been that badly hurt.
"You saved me and now I'm going to protect you! No matter what! No matter who it is!" There it was again, that shrill scream. Julian tried to flinch away from the voice and the feelings that they brought on.
Why did he fear it so much? Why couldn't he put a name to the unknown face?
Was it a head injury? Julian froze, his mind trying to sort a path around that idea that had firmly planted itself in Julian's mind.
A head injury? Could that be the reason for the memory loss? The difficulties he had in recognizing faces. Julian valued his mind too much, it kept him in Dalton, it made memorising scripts easier and it was a credit to everything Julian possessed.
But... What if it was gone? Simply robbed away from him, and never coming back. It was all like a bad dream, a nightmare that Julian would wake up and be in his bed in Stuart.
Yes. Stuart. That house he belonged too. He was a credit to Stuart, a bona fide movie star with the good looks to rival any actor. Now Julian was just being big-headed.
He had to stop getting side-tracked; Julian wasn't helping anyone if he panicked.
But could this be a dream inside death? Death taking apart the traditional gods and angels, Julian never believed in those fairy stories, but death as in an endless dream that he could warp around what he wanted.
But if this was a dream, he considered the prospect very seriously now, why couldn't he move? Surely if he was dead he would have been perfect.
Julian was gripped by a horrible idea. Was this a nightmare? Instead of it being a dream, was he locked in an everlasting nightmare that stretched on for eternity? This wouldn't be fair. Julian never had done anything bad, he hadn't hurt anybody, and he hadn't committed a crime so why was he being punished?
"What makes me so different from him?" That anguish brought Julian down sharply. That shout of odium, laced with so much torment and confusion was Julian's only crime. But what had he done to make somebody so angry with him? His mind was still a blank.
The door creaked open, and hushed voices in the hallway made all his attention go to the people just outside.
"Please go in. The doctor's note shows some indication that Julian is possibly waking himself up, so perhaps… A familiar voice…" a new woman's voice, whispering now was just outside his door.
The squeaking of heeled shoes clicked as the person walked in. They stayed near the end of the bed; Julian felt their eyes burning into him.
"Hey, Julian" he recognized that boy's voice. It was high and soft, and he knew it paired with brightly coloured cashmere and elfin features.
Kurt Hummel looked down at the boy nervously. Although Julian was hooked up to practically all the machinery in the room, and was lying perfectly still on his back, he still had an air of haughtiness.
Despite wearing a hospital gown.
Kurt moved around the side of Julian's bed, glancing down at the actor warily. His face was smooth, impassive and without a hint of emotion. His eyes were closed, the purple bruise blooming across his pale temple and spreading across his eye. The nurse had assured that Julian wasn't going to have any head trauma, apart from a nasty headache for a few days, but seeing him here, so vulnerable and defenceless made Kurt's eyes fill with tears.
He should have been more careful. Parents Evening (Hell Night as the whole campus had ironically coined it) could have been solved with a lot more ease and less pain. He felt like it was his entire fault. He never should have transferred to Dalton; all this didn't have to happen.
If he hadn't had transferred, Blaine wouldn't be lying at home recuperating from a stab wound, Reed wouldn't have had to go through physiotherapy on his leg from numerous breaks, Dwight wouldn't have had to have skin grafts on his jaw and cheekbones for burns and maybe the Tweedles would have started to smile a bit more.
And Julian.
Julian wouldn't have had his heart broken.
Hummel had paused Julian noted, as he listened to the heels stop near to his bed. The chair next to him squeaked slightly as Kurt sat down in it, his breathing matching Julian's.
"How are you?" Kurt asked quietly. Julian felt irritation bubble up inside him. What was he supposed to do? Answer? Hummel annoyed him quite a lot (an understatement of the century.)
"Can you hear me Julian?" Yes, Julian could hear him. All Julian wanted to do was to sleep.
Kurt sighed, looking down at the motionless form of Julian. He didn't know how much Julian could hear, but he knew the diva would snap at him for asking such inane questions. But what do you ask a boy in a coma? There was no etiquette, no handbook on how to handle such scenarios. He leant forward and grasped Julian's warm hand.
Why was he touching his hand? Julian thought crossly as he felt his hand being taken off the bed sheet and cupped by the elfin singer.
"I'm sorry, Julian. I am, I'm sorry for everything that I did too you. I was never in love with Logan," Kurt inhaled sharply at that name, "and I know you were. I'm sorry for ever transferring to Dalton. I ruined your chances at happiness and I wish I hadn't." Tears were forming in Kurt's eyes. They splashed down on Julian's hand and surrounding bed sheet.
"You're going to wake up and you'll remind me how pathetic I'm being. And I deserve that. But… I don't know what else to do."
Julian almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but he was getting his hand wet. He knew Kurt was being sincere, and even the mention of Logan's name set Julian's head spinning. But it wasn't good enough; Kurt Hummel wasn't in a coma. He was.
Kurt swallowed, still tightly grasping the actor's hand. The silence was unnerving; it was so unlike Julian to keep his mouth shut when Kurt was burbling on. His phone flashed a text from Shane but he ignored it. Julian would consider it rude if Kurt wasn't paying complete attention to him, especially when he was lying in a coma.
Julian was exasperated. Although Hummel annoyed him to the brink of insanity, he felt sorry for him, which was a feeling practically unknown to the actor. Kurt seemed genuinely upset and Julian had the strange urge to comfort him, before realizing his immobile form was unable to show any sign of reassurance.
Maybe when Julian came out of this stationary blip he could actually talk to Kurt about this time? Or... maybe they could just go back to being acquaintances. Either way, he knew Hummel and him weren't going to become close allies despite this visitation making what seemed to be a profound effect on him.
"We've all missed you Julian. Derek especially. He comes and sees you, Jules, I don't know if you've noticed. The Tweedles don't have anybody to tease according to them, I'm not really sure if that's a compliment though. I know Stuart House has lacked something since you've been here Julian, and it's getting the school down. Don't worry about work though; Justin's been managing it for you... Jules?" a tug on his hand. "C'mon Jules, just give me a sign of life. Something to know that you're still there" Kurt whimpered, tugging on Julian's limp hand.
If Julian had control of his body, he would be crying right now. He so wanted to be able to move, to just lift his finger, to give the broken boy some small hope. Julian was straining, putting his whole mind in trying to move even the tiniest bit. But this just exhausted him.
Julian felt his weary mind scream in protest as he desperately tried to push his body into some sort of response. To Julian it felt like he was pushing in earnest against an iron and brick wall, trying to break through to the glorious prize behind the barrier.
The glorious prize, not being gold bullion or any precious jewels, but the right to his body back. It was unfair that the hospital had complete control over him, yet Julian could only struggle against them.
It was degrading, having one's body so dead beneath an active mind. It was the sort of thing, Julian realised, that would drive people to suicide. Once they could move, of course.
Great time to be cracking jokes idiot, Julian scolded himself. He tried to focus on the sound of Kurt. He was crying, Julian could tell that from the pathetic sniffles and whines that were coming from his direction. Those little noises were depressing, but to feel Kurt clutching the rest of his arm was even more painful.
Kurt raised his head, staring blindly through the tears to Julian's still impassive face. There was no doubt the diva was good-looking even through the cut on his lip and the slight swelling across his jaw, but right now he just seemed peaceful. Like he was accepting death.
This freaked Kurt out more than seeing his boyfriend's shoulder pour blood onto the wooden floor of the Art Hall.
He leant forward, brushing his lips against Julian's ear as he whispered in his ear.
Kurt freaking Hummel was kissing his ear. He was almost 100% sure of that. Julian wanted to flinch away, punching the elfin boy squarely in his delicate face. Surely Blaine isn't withholding himself? Man, why does he have to slime all over ME though, Julian thought angrily.
"Logan misses you, Julian. He just won't admit it."
Beep… Beep... Beep… B...Beep.
Kurt pulled away, releasing the actor's hand and rooted through his coat pocket, looking for the carefully wrapped bunch of grapes that he had brought.
Julian dimly felt Hummel let go of his hand, vaguely heard him move away. But this was a tiny drop compared to the tidal wave that was crashing over him at the words that Kurt had just uttered in his ear.
Logan misses you, Julian.
Logan... misses... you...
I'm missed.
Julian felt his heart soar, crushing down the darkness that had previously terrified him. There were no words to express how perfect Julian felt. He wanted to scream for joy, jump around the room in happiness and declare his love from the rooftops. His life wasn't worthless anymore. Julian had a meaning for life. And that was Logan.
He heard it before he saw it. In his mind's eye, the brick wall which he had been fruitlessly been throwing himself at to break through had a single fault line running through it. Julian pushed his mind against the metaphorical wall once more. It shook, the top layer smashing around him. He pushed again. Another crack, more destruction raining about him.
He could see the light. The warm light of day peeking through his eyelashes, coming from the window opposite Julian's bed.
He could smell the sharp fragrance of Kurt's aftershave, the fruity and cool scent of the grapes.
He pushed the wall again, his mind rejoicing as it tumbled around him.
Could he move? With the greatest single effort and last ounce of strength he had, Julian managed to raise his right index finger slightly off the bed.
Kurt saw this; he started up, staring at the feebly moving finger.
It was the sign he had been praying for. Julian was coming back.
With speed that surprised even him Kurt was at the door, wrenching it open. He was racing down the hallway, his heeled shoes making a frantic noise against the polished floor. He paused breathless at the floor's doctor's door, knocking on it eagerly. A woman answered, dressed in white overcoat, her arched eyebrows cocked in surprise.
"Julian Larson moved. He moved his finger," he panted. The doctor's eyebrows practically disappeared behind her shaped fringe.
They moved quickly down the hallway, the woman clutching Julian's report and a stethoscope. They entered the room.
Julian was looking at them calmly; his sepia coloured eyes wide open as he took in their flustered appearance.
"I've been expecting you," Julian croaked, flashing the couple a shadow of his old Cheshire cat smile.
I don't own anything to do with Dalton and Glee.
That goes to CP Coulter and Ryan Murphy.
Flamers aren't welcome.