Chapter 3: "You Never Asked"
"He's going to live you know,"
He shrugged. The nurse continued, regardless of this apparent apathy.
"Thought it might be important to you,"
He wanted to tell her to go away, but found he didn't have the heart to.
"You assumed it was,"
He said slowly, delibarately. Out of a corner of his eyes, he saw her shrug. She was clearly struggling with words in the silence that followed.
"You want an explanation?"
He pre-empted, defensively. Feet shuffled nervously against the concrete to his left.
"No,"
She answered eventually, hesitantly.
"Then why are you here?"
He challenged coldly, never moving his head from his hands or looking directly at her.
"Because…"
The sentence started positively, then stalled abruptly when words failed her again. She wanted him to talk, that's why she was here. Morbid curiousity. She couldn't get over how cold he was being.
"Abby, tell me what good talking ever did anyone?"
The disdainful tone in his voice was all too clear, and the fact that he spoke the truth as he knew it was cutting. He didn't have anymore to say, but she wouldn't go, and the pressure was virtually unbearable. Was she trying to force him to react? To do or say something he would regret? It certainly appeared that way.
"He's someone I thought I left behind,"
He hoped the cryptic half-truth would appease her and she'd go, but she was more stubborn, more determined that he had given her credit for. She moved not a muscle.
"So you knew him?"
There was a note in her voice that he suspected meant she was pleased with herself for finding a chink in his armour. He didn't want to answer, felt he had said enough to allay curiousity, more than he was willing, already. But he knew he wouldn't get away with that.
"In a former life,"
He replied eventually. And it was. A whole lifetime away from the person he was, yet an integral part of him too. Another life he had thought was in the past, a memory, yet couldn't be more real or more present. He shifted position, lifted his head and crossed his arms defensively instead. It should have been a warning not to say any more, but he heard words in the silence, words forming questions in her head he didn't need her to ask.
"Friend? Relative? Ex?"
She laughed nervously, one hand on her throat, the other clutching fingerfuls of excess material around the knees of her ill-fitting scrubs. There was a simple answer, he knew, her nervy uncomfortable body language on the periphery of his vision, but he couldn't say it. Not to himself and certainly not to her. He had closed the door on that section of his life when he'd left for college, and all this had pushed it precipitously ajar again.
"Why are you pushing?"
The words came out tense and frustrated. Why was she? They weren't friends, not even close. He guessed she just couldn't help herself in trying to save other people, help the hopeless.
"Because you need to be pushed,"
The second hand joined the other on her knee and she squared her shoulders, the reply terse but honest.
"Not by you,"
Instinct shot back the reponse before he could think.
"Then who?"
She was a quick as he was, as sharp. She never missed a beat.
"He's my brother, O.K?"
He faced her full on for the first time, to see the full impact of his words. Shock, then an almost appealing confusion, flitted over her face, before she settled on a suitably neutral expression. To be honest, he was more taken aback by his own honesty than by her reaction.
"The patient, he's my elder brother,"
He clarified, a chill gripping him now this was open. This asked more questions than it answered.
"I didn't know you..."
"Had a brother? Yeah, and a sister too,"
He finished her sentence calmly, more than a hint of sarcasm in the tone.
"You never said,"
It was Abby's turn to sound defensive, as if she thought she should have known, should have asked before now. She had no reason to. He hadn't hidden his past, it hadn't been as issue until today.
"Nobody ever asked,"
No, and he was glad of it in many ways. That no one was close enough to bother him. It was partly a defence mechanism, a facade to seal in his own painful reality and keep others out. And it had been working well, until now.
"He's going to live you know,"
He shrugged. The nurse continued, regardless of this apparent apathy.
"Thought it might be important to you,"
He wanted to tell her to go away, but found he didn't have the heart to.
"You assumed it was,"
He said slowly, delibarately. Out of a corner of his eyes, he saw her shrug. She was clearly struggling with words in the silence that followed.
"You want an explanation?"
He pre-empted, defensively. Feet shuffled nervously against the concrete to his left.
"No,"
She answered eventually, hesitantly.
"Then why are you here?"
He challenged coldly, never moving his head from his hands or looking directly at her.
"Because…"
The sentence started positively, then stalled abruptly when words failed her again. She wanted him to talk, that's why she was here. Morbid curiousity. She couldn't get over how cold he was being.
"Abby, tell me what good talking ever did anyone?"
The disdainful tone in his voice was all too clear, and the fact that he spoke the truth as he knew it was cutting. He didn't have anymore to say, but she wouldn't go, and the pressure was virtually unbearable. Was she trying to force him to react? To do or say something he would regret? It certainly appeared that way.
"He's someone I thought I left behind,"
He hoped the cryptic half-truth would appease her and she'd go, but she was more stubborn, more determined that he had given her credit for. She moved not a muscle.
"So you knew him?"
There was a note in her voice that he suspected meant she was pleased with herself for finding a chink in his armour. He didn't want to answer, felt he had said enough to allay curiousity, more than he was willing, already. But he knew he wouldn't get away with that.
"In a former life,"
He replied eventually. And it was. A whole lifetime away from the person he was, yet an integral part of him too. Another life he had thought was in the past, a memory, yet couldn't be more real or more present. He shifted position, lifted his head and crossed his arms defensively instead. It should have been a warning not to say any more, but he heard words in the silence, words forming questions in her head he didn't need her to ask.
"Friend? Relative? Ex?"
She laughed nervously, one hand on her throat, the other clutching fingerfuls of excess material around the knees of her ill-fitting scrubs. There was a simple answer, he knew, her nervy uncomfortable body language on the periphery of his vision, but he couldn't say it. Not to himself and certainly not to her. He had closed the door on that section of his life when he'd left for college, and all this had pushed it precipitously ajar again.
"Why are you pushing?"
The words came out tense and frustrated. Why was she? They weren't friends, not even close. He guessed she just couldn't help herself in trying to save other people, help the hopeless.
"Because you need to be pushed,"
The second hand joined the other on her knee and she squared her shoulders, the reply terse but honest.
"Not by you,"
Instinct shot back the reponse before he could think.
"Then who?"
She was a quick as he was, as sharp. She never missed a beat.
"He's my brother, O.K?"
He faced her full on for the first time, to see the full impact of his words. Shock, then an almost appealing confusion, flitted over her face, before she settled on a suitably neutral expression. To be honest, he was more taken aback by his own honesty than by her reaction.
"The patient, he's my elder brother,"
He clarified, a chill gripping him now this was open. This asked more questions than it answered.
"I didn't know you..."
"Had a brother? Yeah, and a sister too,"
He finished her sentence calmly, more than a hint of sarcasm in the tone.
"You never said,"
It was Abby's turn to sound defensive, as if she thought she should have known, should have asked before now. She had no reason to. He hadn't hidden his past, it hadn't been as issue until today.
"Nobody ever asked,"
No, and he was glad of it in many ways. That no one was close enough to bother him. It was partly a defence mechanism, a facade to seal in his own painful reality and keep others out. And it had been working well, until now.