Cut me open
I close both locks bellow the window
I close both blinds and turn away
Sometimes solutions aren't so simple
Sometimes goodbye's the only way
-Linking park
By the Unlucky-Charm
A/N. This chapter contains no action. I decided to calm things down before getting the drama started up again. I'm predicted another emotional chapter after this one too, but after that...well, I have no idea. Suggestions? Requests? Anything, just message me or let me know in the review I trust you will write...please?
The lights in the hospital burnt my tear filled eyes. I tried to blink the water away, but they just ended up spilling over. There were only two things that were clear to me. First, that I couldn't run after the bed anymore because my knees kept buckling under me and secondly, that Christophe was in that bed, now being rolled away from me. The series of previous events wasn't a complete blur, but I still couldn't make any sense of anything.
A woman was yelling from behind me. She kept shouting 'sir', that could be anyone, but I knew it was me. I was all alone in the hallway. She took my hand and dragged me away. I didn't resist.
The nurse was pretty but had way too much makeup on. Maybe that's why she was pretty. I knew because I spent a good amount of time staring into her mascara framed eyes and begging her to let me through. I asked maybe a hundred times, but she did not budge.
She made me sit in an empty waiting room. There was no one around and the whole place just looked abandoned.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, please don't be dead." I kept muttering to myself, followed by some scowling for having brought up the possibility of death. No, Christophe could not die and even if he did, it would be too ironic for my comfort to be talking about God while he passed away. It's silly. Here I am, the only person who truly cares about him, almost praying for his life. He'd kill me if he found out.
I buried my face into my palms. I needed to think. I needed to plunge myself into my nearest memory and try to see WHAT happened exactly. I tried to concentrate, but the same events kept on coming to mind. There was a noise. I was sure of that. He was shot, I was very certain of that as well, but where? Where was he shot, damn it?
I ran my fingers through my hair, clutching at the loosened locks. My gaze met the floor and my feet. My shoes and the hem of my pants were covered in specs of drying blood. Not mine, so Christophe's, but I have no idea where it came from. There wasn't much of it so that was a relief, but there never is when it's just a splatter.
The nurse asked me if I needed anything, I told her I wanted to see him. She refused. I told her I'm his brother. She didn't believe me. I got up. I told her I'm a doctor. She hesitated, sighed and let me through.
There was no one in the room when I walked in. The nurse closed the door and I guessed she left because I couldn't feel her presence in the room anymore.
I could have sworn he was sleeping, but they had to have drugged him. I got closer. Everything was absolutely silent, like Christophe wasn't even there and that's when I realised I had been crying this whole time. I wiped the tears away; if Christophe saw, he would never let me live it down.
There was no bandaging on his face or chest, meaning the damage was done on the lower body. He was so peaceful. He even looked stunning when he was asleep. Obviously not as much since his eyes were closed and they're one of my favourite parts of him.
So, seeing as neither his brain or heart was damaged, it gave me a little more hope.
"You'll be okay, love."I whispered and stroked his face with the back of my hand.
"I know." I hoarse voice left his lips, sending me backwards, onto the loveseat behind me.
"Damn it man, you scared the bloody crap out of me! Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I held my breath when they put the mask over my face." He grinned. He was talking as if he didn't have enough air in his lungs.
"And they didn't notice?" I crossed my arms over my chest. Which idiot doctor had Christophe fallen on?
He chuckled and slowly lifted his hand to touch mine. "After seven seconds..." He took a deep breath. "I pretended to fall asleep."
I laughed too, but his touch made my heart ache. I shut my eyes at all the familiar warmth his hand spread through my whole body and the tears fell again, without me wanting them to. I sniffled and made small whimpering noises, trying to cover it up. I couldn't help it.
"How are you feeling?" I croaked.
"Cher, please do not cry... I'm fine. I'll be even better when they take the bullet out."
I was fighting at my tears, but my hand froze on my cheek after he spoke. It was as if all the raw emotion that had welled out, went flying back in. I regained my normal voice and my composure in an instant.
"What did you just say."
"The bullet is still in, so –"
"Bastards." I hissed through clenched teeth. "Why did they put you to sleep in the first place?"
"Not sure... they touched my leg a bit but then...nothing."
I spun around in place, running my eyes over everything in the room. They were idiots, there must be something... I pulled open some cabinets against the wall. Yes, it wasn't everything, but it would have to do. Was this town so bloody poor that they couldn't afford locks? I would have to get by with the small variety of equipment. I knew, not very professional sounding, but DAMMNIT they left it IN.
"How could you just let them do that!" I yelled. He looked so relaxed, it was bothering me.
"I don't trust them. I was hoping you would just..." He trailed off.
I pushed an empty cart closer to his bed and slammed my closed fist against it.
"I would just WHAT?" I growled furiously.
"Cut me open and take it out." He smiled.
Lord, he looked exhausted. His eyelids were falling as I stared at him. He didn't trust the doctor, so did that mean he trusted me?
"You scared me." I said.
"Sorry."
I watched him for a while longer before snapping out of it and getting to work.
"Where is it?"
"Left foot."
"Okay."
I checked and counted the equipment one more time before heading for the Anastasia machine. I detached the mask and let it hover over his face for a while.
"Count to 20. DON'T try anything clever or I WILL have to knock you out using a baseball bat." I set it over his mouth.
"You're sexy when you get angry and protective."
And in 10 seconds, he was out.
I wasn't sure if I needed a scalpel, but even if I did, I wouldn't touch that rusty thing, let alone cut through someone's flesh with it. I pulled the sheets off and found the wound. They had loosely wrapped a bandaged over it, pathetic work really. I removed it, which wasn't very hard either. A fucking draft could have undone that.
The wound consisted of a medium sized hole right above his ankle, very shallow, so shallow in fact that I could see bits of the bullet. His boot must have slowed does its trajectory and the gun couldn't have been very good either.
I picked up the smallest hemostat they had. The pair looked clean enough, but I couldn't quite tell because of my violently shaking hand. With my left, I grabbed my trembling wrist, but it was no use because the tremors resumed the second I let go.
"Get it together." I hissed to myself, but I wasn't the problem here. It was the person in the bed, laying there, waiting for me to do my job. I understood why Dr. Tachejian had always refused to operate on family and friends, it's a bloody gut wrenching feeling! The pressure is ten times worse than usual because it is no longer some stranger's life at stake, but part of you own.
I dropped the hemostat onto a tray and backed away from Christophe. I had to calm down. I had to, for him. I took deep breaths, pressing the bottom of my palms against my temples. It was a simple procedure. Of course, I'm sure the staff here couldn't even recognize a bullet wound. It was all an act, after all. Putting the patient to sleep and then waking him up without having done a thing.
I sucked it up. I had to, seeing as the love of my life was kind of just laying there with a bullet stuck in his leg. I grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, snapped them on and picked up the hemostat again. My hand was less shaky, but trembling nonetheless. I looked at the wound again. This would take a few minutes, really.
With my own fingers, I spread the slippery skin apart, enough for me to get the tool in. The semi-dried blood made a dreadful sound as it slid against the latex covering my fingers. It made me shudder, but I got over it quickly enough. I kept mumbling to myself that this was not Christophe, that it was just a dead person I had to practice on back in school, but that thought led to an image of Christophe dying, which was ten times worse than having to remove a bullet from his leg. I ended up pretending it was just someone else, some patient that got into some trouble, resulting in him getting shot in the leg. A random person who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Some idiot who bothered throwing themselves at me to save my life. Just some idiot.
My idiot.
The bullet was out and my heartbeat slowly began to calm itself down with every circumference of gauze I wrapped around his ankle. Then I reached out to wake him up, but remembered it was better if I let him do that on his own. I wasn't sure how long it would take, probably hours. He'd be up by tomorrow, for sure, but until then I would have to find a place to sleep.
I had left our stuff back at HQ and there was no way I was leaving them there, but Christophe would definitely panic, so I left him a note. It consisted of a simple arrow drawn in the middle, pointing at the bloody bullet next to it with the word "culprit" written at the top. Personally, I thought it was funny. If I woke up alone after surgery, I would enjoy having a nice laugh to lighten my mood. Before I left, l planted one last kiss of his forehead.
"Gotcha." The voice from the doorway startled me, causing me to almost fall over onto Christophe.
Kenny was standing at the threshold. Tired, but smiling, he was leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, staring me down.
"Oh like you don't kiss Butters." I said and crossed my own arms in reply.
"Wasn't talking about the kiss." He grinned and walked up closer to me. "You're a doctor. I don't think you'd like it very much if your patient's lover walked in and performed surgery on him while you were gone."
"Yes, but like you said, I AM a doctor, not some idiot who leaves his instruments lying around." I said groggily, even though I knew the other blonde was joking around.
"Nah, I understand. The people here suck ass." He said and bumped the side of his foot gently against the doorframe, as if to show that the hospital itself was as great as its doctors. His gaze glided all around the room and he sighed. "I remember staying in this room once, don't remember what for though."
I frowned at him but he was too busy staring nostalgically at the room to notice. It was like it was a second home to him, one he had to leave a long time ago and was seeing again. I found it odd that someone could show any form of positive feeling toward such a dreadful place, a place in which they had suffered, but it all seemed almost comical to Kenny McCormick.
What was even odder was how he couldn't remember the reason why he was staying there. The feeling of pain is very much like love; it stays with you for a while. It's very hard for a person to forget suffering and hurt, just like it's hard to forget a person you once cared for...
I felt a strong jabbing feeling in my chest because that's what you feel when you know you're lying to yourself. I was being a hypocrite, the exact type of person I hate the most. I let my thoughts wander off like that, making me sound like some cheap knock off of a philosopher when I couldn't even recognize the face of the first person I ever loved. I should have known it was him the second I waltzed into that emergency room and saw him cussing in rage.
"Where are you staying tonight?" Kenny cut my train of thought short.
"No clue." I mumbled, my lips barely moving. My eyes were glued on the man lying before me.
"Where's your stuff."
"Headquarters."
I was using only a small part of my brain to be able to answer him. All the rest was concentrated on Christophe. What the hell was it? What the hell was it that made me forget him?
"How come I couldn't remember him Kenny?" I asked, out of the blue. The part of my mind had taken control of my words, blurting out whatever crossed it.
For a second, he didn't say a word. I couldn't see his face though, so I wasn't sure if he was a little lost or if he was actually thinking of an answer. Either way, I wasn't expecting one. The silence got too intense and I was going to explode if he didn't say anything soon. My fingers were clutching the plastic railings of the bed and my knuckles were turning whiter with every quiet second that passed.
"Well, you guys hadn't seen each other in a long time. I heard he hadn't remembered you either."
He was right. Christophe hadn't known who I was either. Which means that it's not really my fault if...
No. Kenny was wrong and so am I. Christophe hadn't forgotten about me, he just hadn't recognized me, which is perfectly normal. I, for one, had completely blocked him out of my thoughts. I had stored him far away in the dark corners of my mind. The memory of Christophe was almost like a dream.
"Yeah..." I breathed out because I didn't feel like discussing my insecurities with Kenny of all people. He had a lot going on already, we were in the same boat really, and I wasn't going to start bothering him with my own self inflicted problems. "Are you going home?" I asked him.
"No, why?"
"I need a place to stay for the night."
He chuckled. "There is no way I'm leaving Butters' side."
"Christophe would kill me if I didn't get some sleep"
"That so?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out some keys. "Here." He threw them to me.
"Thank you."
"It's the old red pick up. You can't miss it, there are only three cars in the parking lot."
"Right then."
I walked passed him but the only footsteps I heard were mine. Instead I felt his gaze on me.
"You know, I think it was harder for him to forget you than the other way around." He paused. "I'm not blaming you or anything..."
I stopped and waited for a few more seconds. It had sounded like he was about to explain himself, but when he didn't, I thought that maybe he wanted me to ask him a question so he can go on. Usually, I would have, but I was just so damn exhausted. This whole day was a blur to me. It felt like only a few hours had passed and yet it was close to midnight and the dreadful morning was far away in the past.
When Kenny had said 'old pick up truck' he should have used the word ancient instead. The thing looked like it had been passed on through 4 generations, each one a bigger hillbilly than the other. The inside smelled horrible and honestly, I was terrified of even starting it. The whole bloody thing seemed to be just one big death trap.
However, to my surprise, it worked just fine. It made a few noises here and there, but the HQ wasn't far from the hospital so the machine didn't get a chance to try and kill me. All the lights of the house were shut except for the one in the living room. I knocked gently and almost instantly, a middle aged woman appeared and let me in without a word. She jerked her head towards the basement when she realised I was a newcomer.
The basement was dark and empty, lit only by a few computer screens left open. I crept down the steep stairway, holding on tightly to the ramp. I wasn't even halfway down when I heard a lot of rustling as a shadow shuffled across the room. Someone was still there, but who? And why were they walking around in the dark?
I took a few more steps down and the rustling continued, stopped when I did, and then started up again.
"Hello?"
"Ngh –wh...what do you want?"
"Um...nothing?"
There was a gasp and suddenly all the lights came on.
"GAH!" The boy standing right by me shouted.
"Jesus!" I started in return. How the hell had he gotten so close? I hadn't even noticed...
"AGH! KYLE!" He yelled extending his arm behind him where Kyle sat, asleep at his screen. The boy didn't even break eye contact with me, he kept his wavering, dark green eyes staring straight at me.
The redhead was roused awake, grumbling and cussing here and there.
"Ugh, Tweek. What's wrong now?" He said, rubbing at his eyes and stretching.
'Tweek' did not say a word and instead pointed at me, making odd whimpering noises.
"Hm? Oh. Hey Gregory." He greeted me hazily.
"Hello. Um, I'm here to get my stuff."
"Right. We put them there, in the corner. Did you walk here?"
"Kenny gave me his car."
"Oh, that's nice. Are you going back now?"
I wanted to answer, but I was hesitant. That Tweek boy kept looking at me, frankly I felt a little uncomfortable. He looked scared out of his mind, just like he had when I first walked into the HQ this morning.
"Um...no. I need a place to stay." I paused. "And someone to talk to." I felt ridiculous asking for something so stupid, but I had several questions on my mind. Questions that I couldn't really bring myself to ask Christophe.
"K –Kyle... he's nice...ngh –to talk to." Tweek muttered.
The man in questions chuckled and massaged his temples with the bottom of his palms. "Yes, thanks Tweek. Greg can stay with me."
I didn't point it out because the man was being kind enough to let me stay at his house even though he hasn't seen me for 16 years and for all he knows I might be some kind of Nazi murderer, but I absolutely hate 'Greg'. I do. I just hate it, it makes me flinch every time. I don't know why Americans feel this need to shorten everything, such as Gregory to Greg, Christophe to Chris, Stanley to Stan, Samantha to Sam. How can they even distinguish girl names from boy names, since both Christine and Christophe could turn into the dreadful 'Chris'.
"Thank you." I said.
He must have seen me react because he grimaced and rolled his eyes at me. "Sorry, Gregory." He said, putting emphasis on my name. "I didn't know you were like Mole about that whole name thing."
"Yes well... thank you."
I insisted on driving since my companion was on the verge of falling back asleep at any second now. I thought maybe I'd let him rest on the way to his house, but then I came to realise that I had no idea where he lived.
"Talk to me so I won't fall asleep."
"Um, alright. About what?"
"Well, there's obviously something you want to say. Didn't you need somebody to talk to? Right here."
The mechanism of the car complained as I forced its wheels to rotate. The car didn't sound too happy, but it still did the job just fine.
"Yes, there is actually. I need you to tell me about Christophe. Everything and anything you remember about his past, about me, about him now, whatever pops into mind. I'm kind of desperate here."
He seemed a little taken aback by my request. He frowned and bit down on his lip, looking at me from the corner of his eyes.
"Left."
I turned left and at the 3rd house, he made me stop. His house looked exactly like the other ones in the whole town, maybe a little bigger. On the upper floor, there was a bedroom with a dim night light shining in the corner. A smaller figure was crouched down, I presumed on the bed, reading.
"That your brother?"
"Yeah, Ike."
Unlike most of the people I set eyes on in South Park, Ike triggered not a single memory, not even a vague one. I could not even remember Kyle having a brother.
We walked in, only after he unlocked the door with four different keys. These people were serious about security, but any one would be after finding out that a murderer was after them.
"I don't know much about his past. I remember he smoked since he was nine and hated on God a lot. More than a nine year old should. You guys were a team I think... then you went away and he kind of fell apart."
"What? Why?"
"Well you guys were best friends, so it hurt. It must have affected you too."
"Not really. No."
"How come?"
I sat down on his couch and buried my face into my palms. "That's what I'm trying to find out." I paused, looked up and realised he had no idea what I was talking about. "He remembered me, but did not recognize me. It took me forever to remember who he was. I had completely forgotten about him and since apparently we were extremely close, I want to know WHY. Why did he remember and not me?"
"I see..." He sat down next to me. Reading his face, I saw he was struggling to find the right words to answer me. It was a complicated situation, one that did not concern him, but at this point, he was the only being in South Park, with a brain big enough to help me.
"I guess he just wouldn't stop missing you and thinking about you. He never said this obviously, but for the short time he remained in South Park, he wasn't all too happy. He moved away later, wanting to forget the war and the dogs and we didn't see him for the longest time, until we needed his assistance again." He paused and shook his head with a sad smile. "I guess when you left, you started a new life. We just kept on dragging ourselves in the same direction."
I didn't react to his words, but only because they weren't much help. Kyle was narrating, giving me the obvious facts, but never looking into anything. I pretty much knew the story by now, what I needed were some details. Kyle sighed and stood up. He paced around the coffee table, mumbling things to himself, and then, 2 minutes later, my ears caught something in the jumble of words he was whispering to himself while he thought.
"Say that again." I said.
"...he was secretly gay for you?"
"No! The other part. You said something about his knife."
"Oh, yeah. He stared at the knife a lot. He called it "the only physical evidence that proved that you weren't just a dream"."
Yes, a dream. That's what he was to me when I first remembered his name. Christophe DeLorne was nothing but a dream. I was wrong of course, but that's what it all seemed like in the beginning. Like he was some kind of fictional hero character from an old comic book I had left lying around in my attic. Yes, that knife was perfect. That way he would never forget me or question my presence (or in this case absence) in his life. I did not have such an object. If I did, I would know who he was the second I saw him and he cussed at me with a colorful French accent.
"I didn't have a knife."
"Yeah, obviously since he had yours."
"No, I mean I didn't have anything to remember him by. Naturally I wouldn't have remembered him! I was NINE! It was 16 years ago and I didn't even have a bloody picture of him."
I was ecstatic. Well, not really, more relieved than anything. I was happy to know that I wasn't some heartless bastard that forgot all about his best friends, but that I was instead, a poor bastard who wasn't given a choice but to forget.
"Are you sure?"
"Well yes, I think I'd know if I had something of his." I scoffed.
"Hm, yeah...I guess. I just think it's weird that he had something to remember you by, but you didn't."
Please review, they make Butters feel better faster Also, small warning, my next chapter is going to be mega emotional.
