Apologies on the delay; I was writing this chapter in between revision. I also haven't gotten round to replying to your reviews, but I thank you for them, and hope too shortly.
Couldn't Stay Away
"I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it." - Someone Like You, Adele.
Julian was trapped in a hazy fog of mumbled, disjointed thoughts and feelings. He could hear voices and sense movements; any touches to his skin set a blaze afire and he would've cried out in protest if he could, but his throat was thick and his lips unresponsive. He couldn't think clearly enough to form coherent sentences; stringing words together was an impossible feat when the letters slipped away before they could even become viable. Heavy eyelids were welded shut, defiant and rebellious in their adolescent desires for slumber. Flashes of memory blurred into one - a glistening knife melted into charred metal, the smell of smoke and ash twisted into burning flesh. Everything was indistinguishable, yet significant at once, but nothing made sense. He was in a state of non-existence, he thought, not quite here and not quite there, floating fleetingly between two different realms, promises and dreams luring him either way, twisting and turning and churning his insides. He didn't know which way to go, could not discern which way was up, but he wanted to get out. He wanted to go home.
-/\-
Brooke pushed open the hospital doors, striding down the corridor.
"Don't you think we should go to the hotel first?" Peyton asked, struggling to keep up.
"Hospital was closer," Brooke stated simply, "and I've already tried ringing his cell again. It's dead. Doesn't even go to voicemail." She was practically running up to the receptionist's desk at the hospital, Peyton close on her heels, overnight bags slung over their shoulders.
The receptionist looked up at her, taking in her distressed appearance. She smiled kindly. "Can I help you?"
"Yes. I'm looking for someone. I think he was involved in the...car crash, yesterday."
"What's his name?"
"Julian Baker."
"One moment." She turned to the computer, fingers dancing over the keys. "There's no Julian Baker in the system. However we do have a young man here, but we don't have a name. It is believed that he's staying at the Hilton, as he was carrying a room key in his pocket-"
Overcome, Brooke only managed a weak nod.
"I'll find someone to take you to him." The receptionist called a nurse over, who in turn gestured for the two women to follow her, leading them into an elevator, up a floor and down various corridors before coming to a halt outside room 303. "Is this who you're looking for?"
Brooke stared in through the window, eyes locked on Julian's still form on the bed, oxygen mask strapped over his face, the curtains of his eyes drawn. "Yes, that's him," she whispered. "Can I go in?"
"Of course," the nurse said, "but we need you to fill in some forms, and we need his name so we can access his medical notes." She paused. 'Go in and see him. I'll bring the papers to you in a minute."
"Thank you," Peyton said, following Brooke into the room. She gently took Brooke's bag and placed it on the floor in the corner along with her own, pulling out her phone to quietly call Haley.
Brooke walked over to Julian's bedside, and closed her hand around his. "Julian? Can you hear me?"
At the mention of his name, the fog was penetrated, and the sound of Brooke's voice drove open a gap in the darkness, a thin sliver of light slowly reaching towards him, prying open his lids and lifting the weight from them. Julian was dragged out of sleep, lids fluttering, eyes hazy and confused until they focused on Brooke's face looking down at him.
"Oh Julian," she cried, allowing the tears to flow freely, "I was so scared...I thought...I thought that you were..."
Julian tried to move his arm, but found the limb cumbersome as his nerves tingled from misuse. Clumsily, he lifted his free hand and wearily lifted the mask from his face. "Brooke." His voice was rough from exhaustion. "You...you..."
"Don't," Brooke said, placing a finger gently on his lips before pushing the mask back in place. "You need to save your strength, and rest." Julian said nothing, just stared up at her, a gnawing feeling inside that there had been something he'd needed to tell her, something he'd needed to ask. Brooke looked down at him, her smile cracking under his intense gaze. She'd heard Peyton quietly murmuring in the background before slipping out of the room to give them space, but Brooke wasn't paying attention; she was too busy taking in Julian's appearance. A small dressing lay across his throat, and around his left bicep a bandage was tightly woven. The flesh on his knuckles was ripped, and all across his arms shallow little cuts marred his skin as though it were cracked. Yet more dressings hid burns arounds his wrists and forearms. Beneath the blankets, Julian's knee was encased in a splint, immobilizing the joint. Harsh, purple bruises had blossomed across his jawline, and another dressing hid a gash on his forehead. Brooke noted all of this, but her eyes were held by the ugly cut on his cheek. The line was uneven and jagged; she couldn't tell how deep, but figured it must have been bad as the wound was held together with multiple stitches.
The nurse reentered the room, papers tucked under her arm, dragging Brooke's eyes away from the slash, a faint blush tainting her cheeks when she saw that Julian had caught her staring. "How bad is he?"
The nurse placed the papers down on the side, inadvertently pushing the unnoticed ring box, lodging it down the side. She pulled out his notes from the end of the hospital bed and flipped through the pages. "He has an incomplete fracture in two ribs, meaning that the bone isn't broken all the way through. He also suffered a Grade II concussion. We need to do further scans to determine whether or not he has sustained a skull fracture. His knee was dislocated, and it has since been relocated and placed in a splint to prevent further injury," she informed. "There are burns on his arms, but luckily they're only, superficial second degree. They're painful, but should heal within two to three weeks. There's various cuts and scrapes, which have all been stitched up where necessary. Also, we discovered what looks like a knife wound in his forearm. He really is very lucky; the damage could've been a lot worse."
Brooke looked from the nurse to Julian, frowning. "What?"
Julian's eyes widened in panic, searching desperately for the memories that were slipping through his fingers, just out of reach. "I don't...I don't remember."
The nurse smiled reassuringly. "That's not uncommon. Your memory of the events should return to you soon." She glanced towards the door. "The police are here. They'd like to talk to you, if you're feeling up to it."
Brooke shook her head, about to tell them that it wasn't a good idea but Julian cut her off, once more sliding the mask out of place. "It's fine...Let them come in...but I'm not sure how much help I can be."
As the nurse departed, Brooke leant down to press a gentle kiss to Julian's forehead. "I was so worried. I knew something was right when you didn't turn up. I kept calling and calling your cell but you never answered."
Julian frowned. "My cell?" Some distant memory alighted in his mind, foggy but prominent, willing him to decipher its mysteries. "Something happened...I don't have my phone." Before he could delve in further, the door opened and the nurse walked in with a tall, stocky police officer in tow.
"I'll leave you now. Can I just take your name?" The nurse asked, looking at the patient.
"Julian Baker."
She nodded her thanks and indicated once more at the forms before leaving the room.
The police officer stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Mr. Baker, I am Detective Jones. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He pulled out a notepad, pen poised ready to make notes. "Your nurse tells me that you sustained a knife wound. Can you tell me how that happened?"
Julian frowned once more, the same uneasy feeling from just a moment ago resurfacing in him. Frustration alighted in his eyes as he struggled to recall, fragmented pieces of memory jarring in his mind. Faces swam, taunting, jeering, and he felt pressure on his neck and pain spike through his arm, all too real.
"Julian? Julian, what's wrong?" Brooke asked, panicked, as Julian began to shake inexplicably, with his breaths coming steadily faster.
"I was attacked," he cried, the events returning in partial clarity. "I was walking back to the hotel," he continued, trying to slow his breaths because the rapid movements caused a deep ache in his chest, "and I got lost. I walked for ages..." to Brooke, his eyes were sightless, seeing something she could not. "Finally I spotted a taxi. I was walking over when...when..."
Brooke placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, but he jerked away from the touch, his senses trapped in the memory. She tried not to feel hurt as she withdrew her hand and watched silently instead.
"They grabbed me." And now he was looking nowhere, and everywhere at the same time, the walls flaking away into dark alleyways, the air cooling with a reminiscent nighttime chill. "They pulled me into an alleyway, forced me up against a wall." He frowned, stalling in his recounting. There was a crack in his memory, a dark shadow casting a disdainful stain over one fragment, forbidding him from shining the light. "They...they took something, I think. I don't know what happened; I can't remember how I got away, but I do remember running, running away from them, down the street, and basically throwing myself into the taxi and ordering it to drive." He paused, seemingly gathering himself and returning to the present. "The driver was taking me to the hospital...then...then the whole world just capsized. Literally." He looked to Brooke worriedly, who smiled encouragingly in response. "Next thing I know, I'm waking up here."
The detective nodded, hurriedly scribbling down notes. "Can you give me any details about the attackers, and how many there were? The street name?"
"There were two of them," Julian started slowly, sure of that fact, but he couldn't picture their faces, no matter how hard he tried. He cursed himself privately for this weakness. "I just can't remember any details. I can't-"
"Julian, it's okay," Brooke cut in, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it gently. "The nurse said you may have memory loss. Just give it time; it'll come back to you."
"But what if it doesn't?" Julian cried, undertones of panic creeping into his voice, giving it a harsh edge, a shrill, brittle quality that laboured his words. "What if I never remember? There's something missing, Brooke, something important. Something I should know. But I don't." Unbeknownst to Julian, tears slipped down his cheeks, as a swell of emotion rose that battled against the physical pain, causing an ache that no amount of painkillers would cure. "I'm sorry Brooke."
"Oh Julian," Brooke murmured, heart clenching. "You've got nothing to apologize for. None of this was your fault."
The detective put away his notepad. "That's all for now Mr. Baker," he said, noting the distress etched clearly on Julian's face, carving invisible grooves across the mind, "I'll come back another time to get a full statement. I'll need your contact details, though."
Julian nodded muted, detachedly listing off his address and number, before the detective bade farewell and left. After a heartbeat of silence, Julian turned to Brooke, asking her if he could possibly find something for him to eat.
"Of course." She smiled and left the room, heading firstly to find Peyton.
Julian's façade fell as he watched her leave. He wasn't hungry, not in the slightest. But he didn't want her to see the tears that slipped, unbidden, down his cheeks.
-/\-
"How is he?" Peyton asked, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.
Brooke sat down beside her, letting out a defeated sigh. "I don't know. There doesn't seem to be too much damage, not physically anyway." She paused, replaying the scene in the hospital room from just moments ago. "He was attacked. Mugged, I think."
Peyton's eyes widened. "What?"
"The police officer wanted to talk to him, asking him how'd he'd come to suffer a knife wound in his arm," Brooke recounted, "Julian couldn't remember much, just bits and pieces. He said he'd been pulled into an alleyway, and they took something from him. He couldn't remember what, but seeing as he's missing his wallet and cell, I'm guessing those. He said he managed to get away and into the taxi. He was on the way to the hospital when the crash happened."
Peyton shook her head sadly. "Oh Brooke, that's awful. First he was attacked, then in a car crash..." She wrapped an arm around Brooke's shoulder when she saw her eyes watering up, threatening tears, and pulled her close to her. "He's okay now, Brooke, that's what matters. Concentrate on that. He'll be healed up and back to normal in no time."
Brooke didn't say anything in response, for fear that if she were to open her mouth, only sobs would come out. She had to stay strong for Julian.
"Haley sends her love," Peyton started, trying to distract Brooke slightly, "I said I didn't know how long we'd be here. She said she'd come up, if you wanted her to?"
Brooke shook her head. "No," she started, her voice weak, "tell her not to. Like you said, he'll be healed in no time."
Peyton picked up on the fact that Brooke didn't fully believe what she'd said, but then again, she didn't either. Julian had been through a lot, and although the physical damage wasn't too devastating, she wondered just what the mental damage would be. "What are you doing out here anyway?" she queried.
"Julian was hungry. I thought I'd get him something from the canteen, rather than go in search of hospital food."
Peyton smiled. "I'll come with you." The pair got up and headed down the corridor, unaware that back in room 303, Julian was curling in on himself, shaking with tears, his weak frame wracking with choked, strangled sobs.
