This was something of a surprise.
Where...where am I? What happened?
Where am I? What happened?
He coughed again. He could still feel something running down his chin. Edgar forced his arms and hands to move and found blood at his fingertips.
Where am I? What happened? Where am I? What happened?
That doesn't sound like me.
The pain faded along with the soreness in his throat. His nasal passages began to clear, breathing became much easier, and as his body gradually came more under his control, he could feel his stomach calming. That was a definite relief. He had felt nauseous so often lately and was glad when it began to recede for once. While his vision was by no means fantastic without his glasses, he could still tell when the blurriness of waking was gone.
All of it, all of his initial feelings when he woke up...
He inspected his teeth with his tongue and strangely enough, found them all in place. The taste of blood remained.
Where am I where am I where am I where...where...what ha-...where...where AM I?
His stomach lurched.
Oh god no, no please, no please don't let please no
Nnngh...I...I remember now. That wasn't pleasant.
Edgar put his head in his hands as he tried to force the dizziness away.
Why...why did you have to come back too...
Even though Scriabin sounded just as disoriented as he, he could still lace his words with familiar disdain. Haven't we gone over this before, my boy?
He had managed to convince himself that Scriabin was only waiting for his chance, that he had never really left, and yet he still felt disappointed when he was proven right.
So, it looks like we're alive again, and your nose appears to be in fairly good shape, considering.
Edgar's fingers traced along his skin and ran across the small bandage on the bridge of his nose.
Now, important things first...where are your glasses?
He blinked for a few seconds before he could make out a blurry lump nearby.
Nny-
Edgar tried to stand up so fast he fell forward onto his hands.
Oh, this again. I suppose we can-
Shut up!
When he finally knelt beside his body, he could make out some details, though not many. Even without his glasses he could see that Johnny rested in a pool of blood far larger than the one Edgar had found himself in. It hadn't completely dried yet.
He cursed his lack of proper vision, yet could not leave Johnny's side to find his glasses. That wasn't a possibility, not now.
Edgar rested a hand on Johnny's shoulder, then jerked it away instinctively. Johnny didn't move in response, so Edgar gingerly replaced his hand. A few moments of skin resting against rough fabric.
He was afraid to roll him over, to look on his destroyed face again.
Ah, I see you're admitting it now. That's a step forward if nothing else. His voice wavered.
When he finally turned Johnny onto his back, Edgar took a sharp breath. The features that he had come to know so well, the sunken cheeks and thin lips and dark bags beneath his eyes, they were all intact. Only a few spatters of blood marked his skin, trailing lines beneath a single bandage on his forehead. Nothing to indicate that the previous damage Edgar had seen before had ever happened.
Johnny looked as if he was asleep.
Much like he denied the disappointment when Scriabin had reappeared, he tried to deny the surge of hope that ran through him when he saw Johnny's face.
But...but...
This is interesting.
Edgar found his hand running along the side of Johnny's face, outlining the bandage against his skin. He was breathing hard. Maybe, maybe, if his face is okay, then maybe...
I...I can't feel a heartbeat...
Yes, I'm sure that's why you were doing that.
Edgar stared at Johnny without words for almost a minute, still processing the lack of the gunshot wound and his apparent miraculous recovery.
Ironic choice of words there.
The memory of Krik came to mind, along with the fact he still wasn't wearing his glasses. He tried to remember what had happened to them and could only recall the sound of them breaking. Now that it seemed that Johnny was potentially all right, his thoughts began to focus on regaining his glasses without guilt.
If my...nose is okay, then maybe...
I doubt it, but go ahead and look. I somehow feel that Nny is not going to be moving anytime soon.
Edgar slowly edged away from Johnny but kept his eyes on him for as long as possible. Johnny didn't move.
My bandage seems to have fixed my nose...
Or maybe it just dulled the pain. Who can tell?
He couldn't make out anything with any clarity on the stained floor, just dark and light colors that were no help. He felt around and ran across several shards of glass, which didn't make him feel any better. Eventually he did find the frames of his glasses. The lenses had been cracked. When he put them on, it fragmented his vision in an annoying but not completely debilitating way. He could see. Not perfectly by any stretch of the imagination, but he could see.
He made his way back to Johnny on hands and knees.
What should I do...
Edgar pulled his knees up to his chest as he stared down at Johnny.
Well, he's not breathing. I think he's pretty dead. What do you think?
He narrowed his eyes and fought against the rush of heat that came to his face at Scriabin's words.
God, why did you have to come back. Why...
Just full of stupid questions today, aren't we?
He noticed that he was still staring at Johnny. One of Johnny's hands rested on his chest while the other rested at his side. His eyes remained closed, although his lips were slightly parted. His skin was stained slightly in places by remnants of blood, a few of the spatters marking the edge of his mouth and his cheekbones.
Edgar took one of Johnny's hands in his own and pressed two fingers to the bottom of a skeletal wrist. No sound or movement or warmth, although Edgar knew that Johnny was perpetually cold.
Some people describe a sensation likened to their stomach suddenly falling into their feet. Edgar, in contrast, was experiencing something akin to his stomach taking a very leisurely stroll down to his feet, making sure that every second of failing hope and growing sadness was not missed.
He didn't know he was doing it, but he gently rubbed at Johnny's hand as if to warm it. At the realization he pulled his hands away quickly.
I...I have to do something.
Edgar uncurled and looked at the door.
I'm not going to sit here and do nothing.
Like last time.
I'm not going to sit here and do nothing. He had yet to perfect the art of ignoring Scriabin. I'm...I have to do something. Even if he's...I have to make sure. I have to do something.
Really? Like what?
Edgar was silent.
I...I can't call an ambulance here because they won't be able to find his house. So...I'm going to have to take us there myself.
Are you sure you're in the condition to drive? I don't think a policeman would look kindly on your broken lenses and a dead man in the front seat.
Shut up. That's what I'm going to do. With that resolved Edgar stood up. Once he had decided on a course of action, his emotions again began to fade into the background.
He's dead, you know.
Edgar tried to ignore him.
He really is.
Edgar took one of Johnny's hands and began to pull him off the floor. He was still resting in a pool of blood and when he was lifted out of it, thin tendrils of it clung to his hair and the back of his neck.
Then Edgar noticed that Johnny's hair was dripping back down to the floor along with his blood.
With a soft gasp, Edgar jerked Johnny forward unconsciously to get a better look at what was going on. Johnny's chin fell against his shoulder as Edgar closed his arms around him, reached up to his bloody scalp.
This is just too cute.
Shut up!
He ran a hand through Johnny's hair gingerly and found that when he pulled it away, clumps of hair came along with it. Without thinking he shook his hand clean as more bits of hair fell to the floor. At this rate, Johnny would go bald.
"What...why..."
He didn't intend to talk to himself as much as he did.
Do you remember what I said before?
No.
Yes you do. You do remember. I think this is a good time to bring it up, seeing as you two are sharing such an intimate moment of hair loss.
Edgar maneuvered an arm beneath Johnny's knees and the other beneath his shoulders and lifted. He was surprisingly light, another reminder of his weight or lack thereof.
In the interest of abbreviation, I'll make this simple. Why are you doing this, Edgar?
Johnny shed hair as Edgar stumbled towards the front door.
What?
Why are you doing this? You're awfully slow lately.
I'm...he's...
What? What were you going to say?
Johnny is...he's my friend.
A hurdle crossed, but it's a hollow victory. Tell me, Edgar, do you care about Johnny?
No. He found himself answering automatically to his surprise. I mean, I didn't mean that. I-
Denial, Edgar. My god, that's pathetic. How far in the closet are you? You can't even admit to caring about your so-called friend because you're so afraid of what others...no...what I will think about you.
That's not true, it just slipped, I didn't mean it like that-
You care about what I think about you.
Edgar put Johnny down carefully beside his car as he opened the passenger side door.
No I don't. I hate you. Why won't you-
Well, you know what, Edgar? Let's stop playing the eternal favorite of "let's avoid the issue" as you're so wont to do. You do care about Johnny. Deny that.
I can't...I do care, but it's because-
Why couldn't you say as much before? Why are you so afraid of my disapproval, Edgar? Are you trying to impress me? He could hear the smile in Scriabin's voice.
No I'm not. Why would I ever want to impress you? You sicken me, you're everything I've ever hated. I don't know why I said that, but it wasn't because I wanted to. It was just a slip, I didn't mean it.
As he buckled his seat-belt, he looked over at Johnny. His head was slumped forward on his chest as he strained against his seat-belt to fall forward.
Why is it, Edgar, that every time I say what you have already admitted is true, what you supposedly have made peace with, your heart jumps just that little bit? Why does your body physiologically react to the statement "I care about Nny," Edgar? Can you answer that, if my opinion about you doesn't matter?
I'm trying to concentrate, stop distracting me.
I forgot, it's so much easier to try and drone me out now, isn't it? Traffic lights and old ingrained rules of the road to fight against your emotions.
Nny is my friend.
As if that's what we were arguing about!
He-
Are you sure about that? When did this happen?
When...
He had passed by the hospital on his way to work many times, so it didn't take him much time or effort to locate the large white building.
Remember your little mental conniption when I presented that possibility to you before? How you had a veritable heart attack at the very idea that Nny could care for you and, much less, that you could care about him in return? What has changed since then, Edgar? Why is it now that admitting you care about him not nearly as upsetting?
Caring about him is different than being...than what you insinuated back then. It's very different.
Are we back to playing the denial card again? How many times must we go through the same pattern before you wake up?
He parked and pulled Johnny from the car. He was still completely unresponsive.
You want so badly for him to be alive. It's sad. I know that you're imagining that you can feel his heartbeat. Think about that.
The emergency room had a few people in it, but not a large amount. He wasn't sure what time it was, so he couldn't use that as a frame of reference. Before he could make it all the way to the desk, a nurse ran up to him.
"What's your emergency?"
"I'm, I think he's, I'm not sure, he's not breathing, I think- I think he may be in shock, I'm not sure-"
"Okay." She gestured to some others standing nearby who pulled Johnny out of his hands. "What happened?"
"I'm-"
He shot himself in the head, Nurse. But now he's magically all better!
"I found him like this, I'm not sure what happened-"
"What's his name?"
"Johnny..."
Didn't think this far, did we?
"Johnny?" She echoed as the orderlies rested Johnny on a stretcher.
"Jonathan Vargas."
...where the fuck did that come from?
The implications of this are enough to amuse me for weeks. How does your foot taste, Edgar?
"All right, and you are...?"
"I'm Edgar Vargas, I'm..." He glanced over at Johnny before they wheeled him out of sight. "I'm his...his brother."
Perhaps normally he would have sounded suspicious, but the nurse interpreted his halting words as perhaps a sign of worry or stress.
"Are you all right, Mr. Vargas?" She looked him over. "You don't look-"
"No, I'm fine, I'm just worried about...him..."
"Well, don't worry. If there's anything we can do, I assure you that we'll do it. You are aware that there is a charge..."
He reached into his pocket in a panic before his fingers touched his wallet. "Yeah, it's okay. I've got it."
"Good. If you'll come over here and just take care of some forms..."
It was the longest hour that Edgar had ever experienced in his entire life.
He had been run through a battery of questions about Johnny that he couldn't really answer. He couldn't tell the truth as to how Johnny got this way. He didn't know whether or not Johnny was on medication--although he somehow doubted it--or his previous medical history. He gave out all of his own information in regard to where Johnny lived or what his phone number was. He didn't want the hospital to try and get in contact with a phantom. That might make things difficult.
They assured Edgar that considering how serious Johnny's condition seemed to be, it wouldn't take long at all for him to be seen and helped, but this didn't put his mind at rest.
Edgar sat in the waiting room and stared at the clock.
Johnny's your brother now, hmm?
Scriabin did not help the time go by more quickly.
I...what else was I supposed to say?
I don't think "life-partner" would have gone over well, now that you mention it.
We're not-, shut up.
So I suppose, giving how very close you two are, that being brothers would be understandable. Or believable if you two even looked alike. I'm surprised they didn't question you about that.
I just...I didn't know what to do.
Edgar had his head in his hands.
Don't you think they'll find the holes in your brilliant plan? This is where you see your optometrist, isn't it? Don't you think those records will eventually cross with tonight's? What will happen then?
I had to say something, I didn't think...
You...you weren't sure they'd let you visit him if you were just a friend.
I d-... Edgar realized that denying this at least was useless. Scriabin had heard him. I guess I did. And I wasn't sure if he had any kind of medical coverage or anything like that, so-
You wanted to be by his side and watch over him?
He pressed on his eyes until he could see stars. ...Yes, I suppose I did...
Did you forget that he's dead? How long do you think it'll be before the hospital staff here picks up on that?
Well...if they haven't yet, then-
You're clinging to a false hope, Edgar. You want so badly for him to be alive, for him to be okay, and why? What for? So he can threaten you, be vague, frighten you into submission? So that he can hurt you again? Because that's what he does, as he said himself. Why? Why do you want him to be alive?
I just...if I'm okay, then...
But then again, I guess believing in lies is one of your strong points. You're a Christian, after all.
And he thought of the Devil.
I...I didn't know you could dream when you were unconscious...
A dream?
I think it was a dream...
You think it was a dream. A rather pathetic cover-up for something, but regardless you never answered my question. This relationship, as I have said so many times, is inherently abusive to the extent of ending in your actual death. Why are you fighting to preserve it?
I...
His eyes hurt and he released some of the pressure.
"I don't want him to die..."
Looks like you're mixing up reality and fantasy again. I hope no one heard that.
"Excuse me, Mr. Vargas?"
Edgar took a deep shuddery breath before he looked up. A young man stood beside him with an unreadable expression.
"Is he...?" He wanted to run out of the room before he could hear the answer.
"Well, when he came in he was showing no vital signs whatsoever, so we weren't sure if he was going to make it or not...although he did have blood on him, he didn't have any internal bleeding...he is extremely malnourished though. Is he anorexic?"
Is.
"Is he alive?" Edgar's voice was hoarse.
"That's the interesting part, actually...we tried a few resuscitation methods on him at first and none of them worked, so we were sure that he had passed on, but then...almost without any explanation, his heart started up again and he started breathing."
"Oh my god..."
Holy shit.
"After that, he stabilized fairly quickly, although he still hasn't woken up at the moment. Other than the lack of food he seems fairly healthy. You can go and see him, if you want."
It took a few moments for Edgar to find his words. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to suppress his urge to detach. He wanted to feel this.
"Where is he?"
"C'mon, I'll show you."
Edgar stood up and leaned against the wall for support for a few seconds. The young man waited patiently until Edgar could follow him and began walking.
He's...he's alive.
To be honest, I'm as shocked as you are.
I...I can't believe it...this must be some kind of miracle.
Scriabin laughed for a long time.
The young man pulled aside a light green curtain. "I thought he would like some quiet, so..."
Edgar nodded, but was too distracted to actually say something.
Johnny's thin arms rested against equally thin sheets, his eyes closed and his head leaned to one side. From one wrist trailed a tube that led to a bag hanging beside his bed. More than anything, Edgar watched his chest and saw him breathing.
I can't believe it...
He sat down hard on the cheap chair set up near the bed and the young man turned to another patient who needed his attention.
I suppose the IV is because of the malnutrition...
They had cleaned up Johnny's face but left the bandage, which Edgar was pretty sure was a good thing. At this point, almost all of Johnny's hair had fallen out, leaving only two thin bangs.
I don't think he's going to like that when he wakes up.
I can't believe it...
His barriers were finally letting some emotion through. Despite the fact that Johnny would no doubt be disgusted if he were awake, Edgar reached out and took hold of his hand. The twisting tension that had been building since he woke, that knot in his chest that had prevented any real emotion or comprehension of the situation slowly loosened. He took a few deep breaths as he felt more relieved than he ever had in his life. The question of what had happened, of whether or not he had actually visited the afterlife, whether or not everything was a dream, why he was alive right now and why Johnny was with him, all of them paled in comparison to the feeling of cold skin against his own. To the soft occasional thrum of blood through veins too close to the skin.
"I can't believe you're okay..."
What if Johnny loves you, Edgar.
Not even that could ruin his mood.
What if you love Johnny.
I don't care.
Nnngh...
He could feel the sensation of cold fabric and something pressing against his wrist. And his hand.
He opened his eyes slightly, enough to see light green paper masquerading as a bed sheet and matching curtains. The pressure on his hand disappeared.
The world exists...I must still be alive.
He closed his eyes again. The light was a little painful. He waited for the inevitable comment, something to speak, but instead could only hear a faint buzzing. Kind of like when he was at Edgar's house. There was a constant undercurrent of beeping, squeaking wheels, people talking and crying, and phones ringing, but none of it loud enough to annoy or distract yet.
He obviously wasn't home.
Where am I?
Hello? Helloooo?
And there was only the buzzing.
Nothing. It's just me.
Was he telling the truth? Am I really free now? Do I really have control? I'm not used to having control...am I still crazy?
Someone nearby shrieked with obnoxious laughter. He imagined how quickly and efficiently he could rip out their vocal chords and tie them in a knot.
Okay, that answers that.
If I really am in control...this feels so strange. I can't hear anything, I'm really in control now! I feel so free...how long has it been?
Things can be different now, yes. Things can be different. I just have to be careful. I can take control of my life now, I can take control of so many things. God, I feel so unfettered! There are so many opportunities open to me now! I'm at the threshold of something grand and new! Like I can finally start everything over again...
His eyes adjusted enough so that he could see without pain, and the first thing that he saw was Edgar.
How long has it been since I've seen you?
"You're awake." Edgar smiled, although he tried to keep it subtle.
It's been a million years since I've heard your voice.
"Where am I...?" He coughed. He had been dead for some time...it'd make sense if his voice was out of practice.
Edgar looked down for a second at his hands before he ran a hand through his hair. He did that all the time. "Um...we're at...the hospital."
Johnny stared down at his own hands before he noticed the IV line. "I see."
"I..." Edgar paused for a few long seconds. Johnny was used to these sort of pauses. He was probably deciding what to say. Edgar spent a lot more time on that than Johnny did. "I was...well, I was worried about you. To put it mildly. I..."
There he stopped. Johnny wasn't sure why.
"You mean, after I died or before?"
Edgar turned and blinked at him several times. Why does he look so surprised? It's a reasonable question.
He adjusted his broken glasses, which Johnny noticed for the first time. When did that happen? And why does he have a Band-Aid on his nose?
"I...I'm not..." Edgar made a soft noise and bit his lip. "I'm not quite sure about what happened..."
"What happened to your glasses?" Johnny raised a hand and pointed at him. Edgar reached up to touch them.
"Oh..."
There was another pause, then Edgar took them off. He held them only inches away from his face, inspecting the cracks and fine lines that ran through the glass.
"I..." Edgar glanced over at him for a second, then sighed. "I guess I should start from the beginning..."
Johnny tilted his head to look at him. Edgar didn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on his broken glasses.
"I'm afraid...I was the one who called you. I think. When the...gun you..." Edgar looked at him then, though he was turning his glasses over and over with shaking hands. "The gun you...attached to your phone..."
Johnny thought for a few seconds. "So it was you. That makes sense."
Edgar blinked at him before turning his eyes back to his glasses. "When I heard...what happened I had to go and see if...well, if you were okay. When I got there..."
Again he trailed off.
"Why did you want to check up on me?" Johnny raised an eyebrow. "You knew what I was doing, didn't you? Why would you spend the time?"
Edgar stared at him in mild surprise. He guessed that it might have been his tone of voice. It was a purely clinical question, which he supposed must have been unexpected.
"I know...you've told me beforehand, all the things you've said you've done and tried...I guess I just...I know you wanted to commit suicide." The emotion was draining from his voice. "But at the same time I...well, we're friends, aren't we?" Edgar didn't look at him. "I guess I just didn't want to lose you like that. I wanted to say good-bye."
Johnny thought of arguing against the change in motive, but decided against it. He knew why anyway. He just wanted to see if Edgar knew as well.
"But, while I was there, these two people showed up. I think..." Edgar rubbed his nose. "I think the man's name was Krik, and the woman was Tess. I'm not sure if you were...conscious at that point..."
I remember. You were there. You were there.
"Did you-"
"I...I'm not sure if you remember, but Krik tried to attack you and..." Edgar turned away at this point and adjusted the curtain around the bed. He stared alternately at the floor, at the sheets, and at his hands. "I couldn't let him get away with that, really, so I tried to stop him."
Finally his eyes settled back on Johnny's. He laughed a bit. "I'm not as good at fighting as you are, I'm afraid."
Johnny smiled in response. Of course you aren't.
"So, that's how they got broken..." Edgar smiled as he put them back on. The broken lenses caused his eyes to multiply. His voice changed again, that familiar tone when he was searching for something to say, something to fill in those pauses. "I'll go and talk to my optometrist later, they've got my prescription so it won't take me very long. It might take a few days for them to get them ready and all, but they really aren't that bad. I can still see out of them."
"Where did that Band-Aid come from?" One question answered, one to go.
Edgar blanched then tried to hide it.
"Um..."
"It looks like the same one I've got. Did you go to Heaven too?"
Edgar was staring intently down at his hands. He rubbed over his knuckles and skin, shaking quite hard.
He didn't speak for almost a minute.
"I...suppose I did," he whispered.
"Really?" Johnny smiled in an excited way. "What was it like? Did you see the same places I saw? Wasn't God a fat stupid..."
Oh yeah.
"Did you like it?"
Edgar was still shaking like a leaf. He didn't look at Johnny once while he spoke. "It...wasn't exactly what I was expecting, I guess."
"Did you see the place where everyone was just sitting and doing nothing?"
He nodded, his fingers twisting over one another.
"How long were you there? I guess this answers my question about whether or not that really happened. Huh! I can't believe I didn't see you."
Edgar forced a laugh. "Yeah...funny, that."
Probably shouldn't mention the head-exploding. I don't think he'd find that funny. "I went to Hell, actually. After Heaven."
He cracked a knuckle and, from his resulting expression, Johnny guessed it wasn't on purpose.
"It was a horribly stupid place. You'd hate it there. The Devil is mean, too. He..." I'm not sure if Edgar really knows what was going on before...I don't think he'd understand if I went into detail. "He told me some things, but he said I got to come back for some reason, so..."
Oh yeah, he said something about hair.
He ran a hand over his scalp and found it almost completely bare. I guess I should have expected that. No wonder my head's cold.
"What did the Devil say to you?" Edgar met his eyes for a few seconds, but then returned to rubbing his hands.
I might as well explain, it doesn't apply to me anymore. "...I did talk before about how I felt like...I was losing my focus in a way? And I think, when we first met, I talked about how there was something on the other side of the wall..."
"You needed my blood," Edgar said to himself.
"Exactly. Well, it turns out that thing...it was kind of complicated, but basically I was a glorified hate-funnel. The particulars of it aren't important. Someone made a mistake..." Johnny rolled his eyes. "I wasn't really supposed to be a lock and I kind of ruined things, but either way it doesn't apply anymore. I'm free!"
He expected Edgar to be excited for him, but instead he looked very pale.
"A waste-lock?"
"Yeah, that's what he called it. Why?" He's acting suspicious. ...How did he know that?
"You weren't supposed to be a lock...?"
"No. Why?" Why is he interested in this? He looks like someone died. Unless- "You didn't go to Hell, did you?"
He didn't say anything.
"WHAT!" Johnny leaned forward and startled Edgar enough to nearly cause him to fall out of his chair. "You didn't go to Hell, did you!"
There was that frightened look.
"I...they said there was some kind of mix-up, they weren't sure where I was supposed to go, I don't know why I went there myself I-I just ended up there-" Edgar held up his hands as if Johnny was the person to be afraid of now.
No no NO, why would Edgar go there? That makes no sense! Edgar's a good person, he's definitely religious, of course he'd go to Heaven, why would there be a mix up, that makes no sense, what kind of fucked system are they running up there-
"There is no reason you'd go to Hell!" Johnny gestured and noted the IV line attached to his wrist again. He took hold of it and was about to tear it out before Edgar stopped him. His hands only rested against his arm for mere moments and didn't actually take hold of him at any point, but his intent was clear enough.
"I-I don't know myself. They never explained it to me, not, not very clearly." Edgar withdrew his hands and went back to toying with his fingers. "But I did see...I did see the Devil. I think. That's why I wanted to know."
"Why would the Devil want to talk to you?" Johnny brushed off his arms. "You're supposed to go to Heaven. Isn't that right?"
"Yes!" Edgar blurted out. There was an awkward silence, then Edgar buried his face in his hands. "I mean...yes, I thought so. I'm sure it was all because of the file, but...the Devil talked about waste-locks, about you. He said that waste-locks were quiet, introverted people...a threat to no one but themselves-"
Oh shit. SHIT! SHIT!
"Shit! He said that to you!"
"Yes, I-I'm not sure what he meant. Then I woke up, and I saw you-" He was trying to get off topic.
Shit! This fucks up EVERYTHING!
"Are you okay?"
"What?"
"Are you okay?" Maybe they won't choose him, maybe they won't fuck yes they will. God DAMMIT. "How do you feel?"
Edgar looked baffled. Now that he thought about it, he had rarely inquired about Edgar's well-being, so...
"I...I feel fine right now. Are you okay?"
"It's not important." Fuck. What do I do now?
There was a pause. Edgar seemed hesitant to speak, but Johnny supposed that was because he about to tear the paper sheets to shreds.
"But anyway, I woke up and saw you and...I wasn't sure if you were okay, so I took you here to make sure..."
"I can't believe this..."
Edgar ran a hand through his hair again. "I didn't think you'd like hospitals."
"It's not that."
God, he's not going to be able to tell. It's just going to happen like it did with me, really slow and subtle like. Shit. Will I be able to tell? Those stupid fucks, whoever runs this fucking shitpile of a system, I can't fucking believe they're taking him instead of me fuck FUCK YOU
"Nny..."
He looked down and noticed that he was tearing the sheets apart at this point.
I ruined the system before. They said I was a mistake and that I ruined things for them before...Fuck if anything I can ruin it now. They're not getting him without a fight, he didn't fucking do anything to deserve this. I won't let this happen.
"Nny, do you want to go?"
"Shit." He spat. "Can we?"
"Actually..." Edgar adjusted his glasses. "I don't think we can go just yet. The orderly probably has to clear you to leave and I bet there are more papers to sign...I probably shouldn't have said that."
There was a long pause. Johnny collected the shreds of the sheets into a small pile and Edgar watched as they both tried to find something to say.
"Will you be here?"
"What?"
"The whole time. Are you just going to wait for me here?"
Edgar looked down before apparently deciding on what to say. He made eye contact and sighed.
"Yes."
A single word can say a lot.
Another long pause.
"What was the last thing we argued about?" It feels like a black and white photograph.
"The last..." Edgar rested his head on one hand. "Hmm...If I recall correctly, I think...you were upset because I..."
That perpetual awkwardness around what shouldn't have been a delicate subject. God, that seems so far away now...
"I said that...what you did wasn't important to me, but rather...the person behind those actions. To put it briefly." Edgar scratched the scars beneath his eyes. "You said that your actions were all you had left..."
And now, my actions are my own. I can do anything. I can do everything. I'm not under anyone's control anymore, my actions are truly my own.
"The person behind the actions..."
"Yes."
"Do you still believe that?"
Edgar looked at his fingertips after they left his scars, then looked at Johnny.
"Yes, I do."
Johnny ripped the IV out of his wrist.
"All right, let's go."