Hello! This update's been written for a little while, I hadn't published it because I'd been working on that prequel chapter. Speaking of, you don't have to read that, it will give you a much better understanding of Alex and the reasons for some of his habits and personality traits, so I recommend you do, but if you can't be bothered because it's freaking 18,000 words, I don't blame you.
I hope you guys had good Christmases, or Hanukkahs, or just weekends. Whatever you celibate or don't, I hope you're all happy.
Guest: He's so cute to write, I love him.
SilentShifter20: (:
Trigger Warnings: Suicide ideation/ planning, mention of self harm, nightmares, illness, hospitals.
The Washingtons' street was really quite glorious at sunset. Sprawling, well kept lawns, birches planted thickly along the sidewalk, the occasional dog walker ambled by. Winter sunsets were by far Eliza's favourite, the sky streaked with dusky, fluttering pinks and powdery purples.
The neighbourhood the Washingtons lived in had always felt warm, comforting. Music drifted like feathers from an open window at the corner, a kid with grazed elbows and messy hair ran alongside a panting, grinning dog and a group of women played cards on the veranda of a house two doors down from Alexander's place. Their laughter and conversation carried down to where Eliza stood, drifting gently around her in the clinking of crystal tumblers and the shuffling of cards. Flush, soft, tranquil. Alexander was lucky to live in such an area.
His house, however, didn't quite look occupied. The car had left the driveway, the downstairs curtains were closed and only the hall light was on, glowing softly through the frosted pane of the front door. The windows of the upstairs floor were dark and forlorn looking, as though they hadn't been slept or lived in for some time.
Eliza's brow creased into a frown, but she walked up the driveway anyway, checking the mail box on the way. It was full, fuller than it ought to be. There were junk leaflets and business letters, and a paper or two as well. Evidently, no one had checked the box in a some time.
This was exceedingly strange. She'd been around at the Washingtons' before, in maybe sixth or seventh grade, for Lafayette's twelfth or thirteenth birthday. It had been her, John, Hercules and some other kids in their year. She remembered the house being pleasant and welcoming. Martha and George had cooked lunch, the smell had wafted throughout the house, the fire had been lit. She'd loved it there.
What she recalled was totally different to the state of loneliness the place had fallen into now.
Eliza stepped the last few paces towards the front door and rang the bell, listening to it echo through the house for a few seconds. She waited, listening out for voices or footsteps, but heard none.
As she had suspected, no one was home.
This puzzled her. Alex, if he was sick, surely would be at home resting? Unless he was ill enough to be in hospital? But then, where was Lafayette, where were his foster parents?
Would it be worth texting Lafayette through Instagram? She didn't have his number, but if she turned on her data and hoped he had WiFi, maybe she'd get something?
Eliza sat on the wall of the Washingtons' house and opened Instagram, searching for Lafayette (his name was Lafrançaise, how predictable) and texting him on direct messaging.
ElizaSchuyler: Hey, wondering where you and Alex have been all week, hope everything's okay?
She jumped off the wall and started walking, then. Lafayette wasn't home, she had no way of knowing when he was going to text her back and Eliza certainly wasn't about to wait around at his house to see if he maybe returned sometime before dark.
The bus ride was a quick one. The Washingtons' neighbourhood bordered her own and because of the nature of the area, it being pretty quiet and secluded, the bus only stopped twice, once to let a young man off near the York and another time to let a little old lady on.
It was just starting to drizzle when Eliza walked up the front porch, fuzzy specks of rain that settled on her hair like snow in droplets, too small to soak. She could feel them on her eyelashes, speckling her glasses. The windows of her house were all radiating a welcoming warmth, she hurried towards the door and dug into her pocket for a key.
"Ik ben thuis mama!"
I'm home mom!
The first things that met her when she stepped over the threshold of the house were the familiar smell of dinner cooking and the faint thump of music emanating through the ceiling from Angelica's room.
Her mother's soft footsteps moved from inside the kitchen to the hallway and Eliza hung up her coat, shaking out her hair from where it had been hidden under her collar.
"You took your time."
Eliza's mom was a short woman, with, like Eliza, dark hair and eyes. She was stern but loving, warm, but stubborn. It did often feel like she was a combination of all the five sisters' personalities. Though, Angelica had inherited a good deal of her father's wit and confidence.
"Just spoke to a teacher after class."
The woman nodded and smiled, clapping her hands twice and turning back to the kitchen, speaking then in rapid, assertive Dutch.
"Het eten is bijna klaar. Kom binnen tien minuten naar beneden."
Dinner's nearly ready, be down in ten.
Eliza smiled and hung up her scarf, kicking off her shoes and starting up the stairs.
"Zeker."
Sure.
Angelica's room was the last in the hallway upstairs. Eliza had the loft, Peggy was to the right of Angie and all their other siblings slept in various rooms around the house.
Eliza could hear Bikini Kill pumping very clearly through her older sister's door, she always did this. It got on Eliza's nerves. Just because she was the oldest she thought she got to do whatever she wanted.
She knocked on her sister's door and walked in without waiting to be invited, greeted to her sister sat on the floor, surrounded by a pile of papers and blue tack, clearly rearranging the posters around her room.
Next to her sat a half-finished bowl of ramen noodles, her dark hair was tied up in a knot and she wore only an oversized t-shirt.
Eliza raised her eyebrows and walked into the room, straightening out Angelica's duvet and turning her nose up at the open lipsticks and mascaras on the dresser.
"This place is a mess."
Angelica rolled her eyes and cut a Brand New poster in half, discarding it to the side with an expression of distaste.
"I'm a junior doing AP mock exams this semester, I'm allowed to be messy."
Eliza smirked and lay back on Angelica's bed, staring up at the ceiling and pulling off her jumper.
"Yeah, but you're always like this."
Angelica shrugged and stood up, stepping lightly lever to the wall above her desk and tacking up a Pretty on the inside poster.
"How was school?"
Eliza shrugged and rolled over, wincing as she shifted onto a mug.
"Seriously, a mug Angie? Why is there a mug in your bed?"
Angelica looked up only briefly from what she was doing, apparently unconcerned at her sister's incredulity. She shrugged.
"I had coffee earlier."
Eliza sighed and placed the mug on her sister's bedside table, frowning.
"Fine. School was fine. Just, you know Alex? He hasn't been in for like five days. I'm getting a bit worried."
Angelica sat down her scissors and tilted her head slightly, watching Eliza with vague apprehension. Her carefully plucked eyebrows creased somewhat and she drummed her fingers almost cautiously against the hardwood floor.
"I heard a weird rumour the other day about him."
Eliza sat up and shifted closer towards the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and fixing her sister with a suspicious gaze, her eyes harder than they had been moments prior.
"Oh? What was it?"
Angelica sucked her teeth and then bit her lip, looking slightly sheepish.
"Not to rain on your parade or anything, just that Samuel Seabury said some stuff about him."
Eliza sat up a little straighter, her eyebrows nearly disappearing under her dark bangs.
"Oh yeah? What did Samuel Seabury, the paragon of all that is true and just, tell you?"
Angelica shrugged and picked up some blue tack, rolling it into a small ball between her thumb and forefinger and averting her gaze from Eliza.
"Just that... Well, that he was a bit of a weirdo really, apparently he's on drugs. Not sure how much of it is true but... I don't know, always seemed like a fine dude to me."
This couldn't possibly be true. It brought everything Eliza thought she knew about Alexander into question. Could it be possible that Eliza knew even less than she thought about the fiery, bookish kid?
"Who started this? Where did Samuel hear it from?"
"Don't know. Heard a few other people say it too. Apparently, he's in hospital? I don't know."
Eliza stood up, walking quickly towards the door without a spare glance at Angelica.
"I have some people to call."
It was nearly half five, the sky outside was dark and unwelcoming, smudged with fingerprint clouds. Mist rubbed it's muzzle eagerly against the window panes and wrapped its body once, tiredly around the building, resting its head upon its paw and falling asleep.
Dinner was given around to patients at six, so Alexander planned to ask Marian about that shower he wanted when she came to give it to him, and whether he could wear his own clothes anytime soon. How he longed to snatch back at any semblance of identity, of himself. He hated this cold, bleached room. He'd yet to consider The Washingtons' place home, but it was infinitely more dear to him than here.
He'd already finished his AP politics textbook and was halfway through his English one. Though, since English was a more abstract subject where there were fewer facts to learn, it made the textbook a less interesting read than the Politics one.
Most pages were essay writing guides, book analyses or context sections about authors or certain periods in time.
He'd have to ask Lafayette to bring him some more things to read soon.
Just then, Marian walked in. She carried a grey box, full of what Alex guessed were the usual items. Every day, Marian changed his bandage, changed his drip, took blood and did the standard orientation tests.
"Hey, how was the visit earlier?"
Alex shrugged and forced a smile, closing the book in front of him and setting his legs down flat under the blankets.
"It was fine, good. Thanks."
Marian smiled and brought the tray over to where he sat, placing it on the end of his bed and taking out a bottle of iodine tincture, some cotton swabs and a roll of bandages.
"Just going to change your bandages, and I think I might try taking off your cannula for a little while, I think from now you'll be fine without it."
Alexander nodded and lifted his bandaged arm from out under the bedclothes. He didn't like having the bandaged changed, it was awkward and uncomfortable.
He didn't like having a nurse looking at all the old cuts and scars along his forearm, especially not the most recent, long, jagged one she was treating.
Marian was efficient though, she didn't waste any time, always got everything over and done with as quickly as possible.
She unwrapped his bandages and discarded them into a plastic bag, examining the cut on his forearm for a moment.
"It's healing well."
He shrugged and looked away, his foot tapping incessantly against the bar of his bed. He just wanted this over and done with.
Marian took the bottle of iodine, opened it and squeezed a few drops of the liquid on to a cotton swap. She dabbed the swab over the length of his coat and then began to bandage the cut, leaving the swab of iodine beneath the bandages.
Then, she slapped herself lightly on the head and sighed loudly, tugging at his bandage one last time to secure it.
"I've forgotten the tape. I'll go and get it, just give me a second."
Alexander nodded numbly, keeping his arm laid out on the duvet cover and watching Marian headed from the room and down the corridor.
As he waited, his eyes fell from his arm to the bottle of iodine sitting about half a metre from his hand. The light from the sunset outside the window made the glass gleam gently, like gold. He could see the sharp, shifting reflections of the fluorescent lights overhead.
The longer he looked at it, the more his throat seemed to tighten and the wider the pain seemed to bloom across his chest.
It would be so easy to just open the bottle and drink it. Just... down the whole thing.
He didn't exactly know what would happen, but at this point, he felt nothing could really hurt his chances. He remembered a boy at the high school he'd gone to in New York had chugged a bottle of iodine one night. He remembered that in class the next day his brother had to be taken to the front office, he'd started crying in the middle of math. No one had known what to do.
The boy hadn't died, but Alexander remembered that he'd come alarmingly close. That boy, well, he had been a tall, well built, healthy teenager. Maybe if he, the ill, skinny kid did the same thing he might stand a chance of... Well... Alex wasn't generally one to use euphemisms or shy away from his thoughts, but with this... He'll say, 'getting what he wants'.
He could feel his hand itching to reach forward and take the bottle, his brain was working at ten thousand miles an hour. What did he have to lose? Maybe he'd just... Lose consciousness and not wake up.
A nice, quiet end.
Infinitely better than it had been five days ago, no shaking hands, no burn in his throat, no long build up or paralysing terror. Just a slow fade.
He withdrew his fingers from underneath the bedclothes and slowly leant forward, reaching out desperately towards the iodine.
His fingers had brushed the cold, glass surface of the bottle, yearning, straining for it, almost there when— Marian walked back into the room, a roll of surgical tape in her hand.
Alex snatched his hand back from where it hovered in mid-air as though it had been burned and buried it under the blankets, clenching his nails hard into his palms and feeling the skin sting and split. His heart was racing in his chest like it was about to burst through his ribcage and he could feel his blood thumping hot in his ears.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
He averted his eyes to his lap and squeezed his nails into his palm harder, terrified. He was sure he'd be in trouble now, sure the Washingtons would be called, sure that he'd just bought himself an even longer stay in the hospital's psych ward.
Marian said nothing. He could feel her eyes on him as she moved closer and crouched down next to his bed. Her hands were back on the bandages around his arm, taping them securely and adjusting them to a comfortable tightness.
"I— do you still want to do the extra tests now? I can do the necessary ones and leave the others till tomorrow if you'd like?"
Alex's stomach tightened and he nodded, feeling his nails become sticky and warm with blood. She knew.
"Yeah... I'm tired."
Marian nodded and set aside the iodine, placing it carefully into the tray and moving it onto the bedside table. Then, she went through all the normal tests. She'd done these since he'd woken up a few days ago.
She checked his pulse, put flashlight to his eyes and asked him to spell a long word backwards (Yesterday afternoon it had felt like she was just messing with him when she asked him to spell 'psychoanalysis' backwards).
Marian, today though, didn't chat while she took the tests. The word to spell backwards was just his name, a routine one, it didn't seem like a joke. Her face was set in a frown and she left the room five minutes later with a brief goodbye and a reminder that dinner was in twenty minutes.
He lessened his harsh grip on his palm, feeling his nails withdraw slightly from his skin. He couldn't believe what he'd just done, or rather, what he'd just tried to do. If Marian hadn't come in when she had, he would have drunk the entire bottle, he knew he would have. Because he was rash, spontaneous, unpredictable, selfish, fickle, stupid...
A rather sizeable part of him was frustrated, angry, disappointed that he hadn't done it, but a larger part felt so overwhelmingly guilty that it physically hurt.
How could he have considered such a thing? How could he allow the Washingtons to bring him to hospital, worry so much about him, pay for his stay here and just... Waste it all, have it all be done in vain. Disappoint them again.
That was the thing. He knew they were disappointed in him. None of them said it, but he saw it in their eyes when they looked at his bandaged arm or the drip that fed into his vein. He'd told them he'd try to stop cutting himself, that he'd make an effort to eat more, work less.
Of course, when did Alexander ever do anything that didn't compromise his mental health and better judgement?
The people he loved should know by now that he couldn't keep promises, especially ones that guaranteed his own well being.
He just hadn't had the strength to stop. He hated himself for it. When he'd started cutting himself, nearly three years ago now, he'd always assured himself that he'd be able to quit it if he wanted to. It had been a coping mechanism, something that hurt him but didn't kill him, something to prevent him from taking another bunch of pills or partaking in some other such mode of self-destruction.
It, evidently, had not been enough.
Obviously, for him, slicing away at his own skin was too light a punishment, too sweet a pain. It made him feel sick.
He picked up his copy of The Goblet Of Fire and opened it to a random page, staring at the words but not actually taking in a single one of them in. He couldn't concentrate on the blur of thoughts buzzing around in his head, let alone a book. It just felt better to be holding something rather than merely sitting there, staring blankly at the wall.
Dinner came, as promised, twenty minutes later. It was pasta, which was fine. Alex might eat it on a normal day, if he were not so preoccupied and his appetite not so completely diminished by the day's events.
Too much had happened, he felt as though all the events of today could have comfortably fit into a week, or even a month. Twenty four hours and he had already planned a third suicide attempt, albeit spontaneously, reconnected with his estranged brother and made amends —kissed even— with a boy he'd thought despised him
Marian was acting as quietly concerned as she had a half an hour prior and gave him his meal with a brief, almost false looking smile and a furrowed brow. When she came back another half an hour later to find his food essentially untouched, she'd looked more wearisome than ever.
"Alex, you told me you'd eat anything but bacon."
He shrugged and pushed a piece of pasta around his plate with his fork, not looking at the nurse, far too well acquainted with the look of disappointment he'd no doubt find in her eyes to need to see it for himself.
"If you don't eat your meals you won't put on weight and you'll only stay here longer. You don't want to be fed by a drip, do you?"
He shook his head and bit his lip, his stomach clenching with the familiarity of it all. She sounded just like Martha, or George, or Lafayette, or John. That was a rather long list of people, he vaguely thought.
This was the sternest Marian had ever spoken to him. Normally any instruction was prefaced with a joke or disguised by a friendly smile. It was a testament to her concern (or annoyance, as Alexander told himself) that she was taking this tone with him.
He speared a piece of food on the end of his fork and began to eat. It had gone cool, but he supposed that didn't really matter. He wouldn't have enjoyed it anyway, he wasn't eating for the taste. He wasn't even really eating for himself.
"Thank you, Alex."
He looked up, another forkful of food halfway to his mouth, and saw that she was smiling. It was a warm one, not forced. Definitely still concerned, not complacent or casual in the slightest, but at the very least not false looking.
He thought that maybe, just maybe, Marian was making him a little less scared of hospitals.
He forced a smile back, trying desperately to make it reach his eyes. He though he at least half succeeded; it helped that he meant it.
"How long do you need, shall I come back in fifteen?"
Alex nodded and ate another mouthful, swallowing quickly so he didn't have to taste the rather off-putting flavour of cold, hospital pasta.
"See you then."
She smiled again and walked out of the room, leaving Alex, once again to his thoughts.
John's phone had been buzzing all throughout dinner. The Mulligans had a no phones at the table policy, so he'd only checked momentarily who it had been from. His worries were abated, however, when the missed calls hadn't been from Martha, George or Lafayette, instead, a rather unexpected person. Eliza Schuyler.
Hercules shot him a concerned look from across the table as John surreptitiously checked his phone but John shook his head, hoping to alleviate his friends' worries of Alexander. These days, any time they got a call or text message, the numerous unspoken uncertainties hung over them like clouds. Would it be something from George or Martha, bad news about Alex? John could never forget the call he'd gotten five days ago, the call that had woken him up to Lafayette's sobbing, almost incomprehensible French.
He finished dinner at his usual pace, not too concerned about getting back to Eliza instantly. She would probably ask him about homework or something, maybe she just wanted to hang out. Phillip Jr's birthday was in, well, January, but the Schuylers were known for their rather elaborate parties. John was sure the reason would be something relatively unimportant.
He rinsed off his plate in the kitchen, thanked Mrs. Mulligan for the food and flopped back down on the sofa in the living room. The room had sort of become John's own place now. He kept it tidy, so people could still use the TV and the sofa while he was out, but looking around at his things set neatly on top of the cupboards and surfaces, it was obvious someone was using this place as a makeshift home.
He checked his phone. He had three missed calls from Eliza and one text, asking him to call her back. They were all from around ten minutes ago, and her icon showed that she was still available.
He called her number and it had barely rung for three seconds before she picked up, her familiar tone rang loudly from his phone.
"John, thank God, I've been trying to get a hold of you or Laf all day!"
John lay back into a more comfortable position and nodded, shifting over to accommodate Hercules, who was turning on Netflix.
"Yeah, sorry about that. We've been busy."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You haven't been in all week, which is why I'm calling."
John's throat tightened and he shot Hercules a wary look, sitting up a little straighter on the sofa.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I've heard some stuff about Alex, just wondering what's happened and whether he's alright."
Hercules motioned towards the phone and mouthed "put it on speaker," at John, his brows furrowed and his head tilted in equal parts concern and confusion. John conceded to this request and Eliza's clear voice sounded again from the phone, unmistakably frustrated.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Hercules looked from the phone to John, his eyes wide in abject horror. He shook his head vigorously and Eliza cleared her throat, John could imagine her expression well enough. Eyebrows raised, mouth set in a firm line foot tapping impatiently.
"I- uhh... Alex is sick."
There was an exaggerated sigh on Eliza's end and Hercules winced, his hand digging into his pocket for his own phone.
"I know that, that bit's pretty obvious, but why are you off, and why aren't Laf and Alex at home?"
John cursed Eliza for her insatiable curiosity and care for her friends, it was admirable, but presently, inconvenient.
"Laf... Laf should be home by now, I don't- Hey, how come you know he's not home, did you go over?"
Hercules was texting furiously, his head bent low over his phone. John supposed he was talking to either Lafayette, George or Martha.
"Home? From where? He wasn't at school."
Eliza's voice was sharp, she caught everything. It was insanely aggravating. It made it difficult to hide things from her.
"I-I... I can't talk about this right now, 'Liza."
Hercules looked up from his phone and held it out to John, showing him the texts on the screen there.
Lafrançaise (just now): Bordel de merde.
Lafrançaise (just now): You can't tell her without consulting Alex.
Lafrançaise (just now): Stall.
Hercules-Mulligan (just now): She's pretty set on finding out the truth.
Lafrançaise (just now): Just tell her he's sick.
Hercules-Mulligan (just now): We did! She said she went to yours. She wants to know where you are.
Lafrançaise (just now): Tell her to call me tomorrow afternoon, don't say anything else. I'll have to go to Alex.
John read the texts quickly, holding the phone to his ear with one hand. He nodded and responded to Eliza then, trying his best to make his tone firmer, more decisive.
"Laf says to call him tomorrow afternoon, I- I can't say any more."
"Is he in hospital? Is it because of what happened in math class last week? Is that why Laf wasn't home, was he with him?"
John looked wide-eyed at Hercules, dumbfounded at how precisely Eliza had figured everything out.
"Look, just... Laf will get back to you. I have to go."
John hung up, dropped his phone as though it had burned his hand and looked in fear at Hercules, taking his face in his hands. He groaned and shook his head in exasperation.
"How the hell do we deal with this, then?"
Hercules pinched the bridge of his nose and shrugged, slowly shaking his own head.
"Laf's right, we can't tell her anything without Alex knowing. I didn't even know they were that close."
John leaned his head against the soft suede of the sofa and closed his eyes.
"They're close, I guess. Alex likes her, Eliza cares for all her friends. It's no surprise really— that she'd call."
Hercules nodded again and rested against the stiff armrest of the sofa. John's hoodie had fallen between the cushion and the main body of the couch, he pulled it out and tugged it on. Suddenly, he felt inexplicably, very cold.
"I... He's been through enough already and when he eventually goes back, people will be asking questions, assuming things, spreading rumours. It's not fair."
Hercules hummed in agreement and used his foot to drag the remote control towards them. He turned on some Netflix show John only vaguely recognised, it didn't seem very good anyway. But it was something to watch.
"High school basically has a twenty-four-hour news cycle, though. It shouldn't take so long before it dies out, if we don't address it.
John shrugged, not one hundred percent sure if this would be the case. But he didn't want to contradict his friend, so he stayed quiet.
He thought about Alex. He'd probably have finished all the books they'd brought him a few days ago. He was probably sitting, alone, bored, with nothing to do. While John was here, in the comfort of a friend's house, watching TV, able to do as he liked.
It made him feel, though perhaps unreasonably, guilty. He should be visiting Alex more, way more. He should be there, for Alex, for Laf.
If he caused this, he should at the very least try to help.
Marian's shift ended ten minutes ago. The ward was mostly dark, it was just after eight and only the lights in one or two patients' rooms were on. She poked her head into Alexander's room one last time, his light was one of the few still on.
"I'm leaving now, good night, Alex."
The teen looked up from his book and gave a small smile. It looked forced to Marian, admittedly, it probably was.
Both of them were silently thinking about the incident of earlier that day, the one involving the iodine. It was the first time something like that had happened to Marian, in the year she'd been working as a licensed nurse she'd treated overdoses and suicidal patients before, but never had one try to hurt themselves in hospital custody.
Alexander was uncharted waters. A nice kid, obviously well loved, but troubled. It was painful, to see the situation from all sides, to be impartial. That was the trouble with working with kids and young people. She loved them, that was why she took the job, but it hurt so much to see them hurt, or worse.
"Night."
She smiled and walked back down the corridor, her footsteps quiet on the linoleum. She had one more place to stop before she went home, something imperative to do that she hadn't gotten around to during her shift.
Doctor Hosack's office was at the very end of the corridor, he was the head doctor of the childrens' psychiatric ward, a hard-working, kind man who'd hired Marian from med school a year ago. The light was on in his office, shining softly through the glass pane in the door.
She walked up to it, knocked three times and allowed herself in. Dr. Hosack was working on his computer, he looked up as Marian walked in and smiled, pushing his glasses down his nose in a kindly sort of manner.
"Just got off?"
She smiled and nodded, closing the door behind her and walking over to his desk.
"Yeah, I just wanted to talk about one of the patients, Alexander Hamilton."
Dr. Hosack nodded and leaned forward on his desk, listening attentively. His shift had probably ended too, but that almost never stopped him from talking to his colleagues or doing whatever extra he could to help the nurses on night or evening shifts.
"I haven't been in to see him in a few days, how is he doing?"
Marian bit her lip, now came the difficult bit. She knew she had to tell her superior about the incident that had transpired earlier, but it was difficult, she'd never been in a situation like this before.
"He's doing alright, physically. His heart rate and breathing are regular, he'll eat if I persuade him to. Just..."
She broke off, shrugged, shook off any doubts and anxieties and continued.
"I was changing his bandages earlier this evening, reapplying the iodine and the usual, when I realised I'd forgotten the surgical tape. I left the room to grab some and when I came back, he was about to take the bottle of iodine tincture. His hand was touching it, but as soon as he saw me, he snatched it back. I think he'd have drunk it if I hadn't walked in when I did. He acted strangely from there on in, it's worrying."
Dr. Hosack sucked a breath in through clamped teeth and watched Marian sympathetically for a few moments.
"Do you think he's ready to see Warren? He's young, I thought we could give him sometime before he talks to someone but it seems his situation is pretty bad."
Marian nodded and played with her hospital lanyard absently.
"He's ready, I think. He's still weak, but the real physical danger's pretty much passed now."
Dr. Hosack nodded again and picked up a pen, pulling his planner towards him. Because of course, he had a physical planner. Marian mostly recorded things on her phone or work computer, but Hosack was a little more old-fashioned.
"I'll go round to Warren tomorrow morning tell her to clear an hour for as soon a date as she can. Give the patient a heads up though, we wouldn't want to spring this on him."
Marian nodded and straightened up, adjusting her scrubs and smiling tiredly. It had been another draining day, she longer than nine to five hours and a much harder job than most. Though, more rewarding than most.
"Night, Doctor."
Hosack smiled, reaching under his desk to shut down his computer.
"Night, Marian. Get some sleep, you deserve it."
Marian smiled and walked from the office.
The clinking of cutlery and china echoed throughout the silent room, the movement of the polished tableware casting dancing spots of reflected light around the family seated at the table.
"Did you make any progress with the lead on Washington?"
Isabella Lee's knife glinted as she cut into a piece of meat, a tall, pale woman with a high forehead and a straight nose, resembling her son in her cold good-looks.
"Yes, but his 'personal issue' was just one of his kids in hospital. Interesting, but not useful, you can't use kids as a weapon, reflects badly on—"
He was cut off as Charles Lee, sat opposite his mother, choked on his drink, pounding at his throat as he spluttered into his glass.
"Charles?"
The teenager swallowed, grimaced and looked up, setting down his fork.
"Sorry— which one? Lafayette or Hamilton?"
His father looked strangely at him, frowned and then shrugged.
"The new one, Washington took him in over the summer. He's in your year, isn't he?"
Charles nodded, his mind working furiously.
"Yeah, they both are. Do you know why?"
John Lee regarded him with a stern look for a moment before waving his hand dismissively and taking another sip of his wine. It was an expensive type, Malbec, Charles thought.
"No. We're looking into that. It will most likely be something mundane. Do you know anything?"
Charles looked at his food, pushed some around on his plate with the tip of his fork.
"Last week he passed out in maths class, haven't seen him since."
John Lee raised an eyebrow and cut up a piece of stake.
"Oh, did he now?"
"Yeah. I don't know, he's a scrawny guy. Always looks ill."
"Interesting."
John Lee fell silent, a look of self-satisfaction that Charles couldn't quite place on his face.
"Alex, dear, you wouldn't mind taking the pasta off? I'm worried it will burn."
"Sure thing."
Katherine's smile is warm but tired, a brief tear of thin lips. She sits on the scruffy armchair in the living room, a crossword by her wrinkled, veined hand, The TV hums the news faintly in the background. The apartment is warm, the street outside lit by a few, glowing lanterns. He grins, walks lightly to the kitchen and flicks on the light. A pot boils on the hob, bubbling quietly like a forest brook. It steams, the glass lid all fogged up.
He hums as he turns off the heat, tips out the water and strains the pasta. As it cools, he heats some sauce in the microwave and sets about scrubbing the pot. Katherine told him to just take the pot off, but he'll do the rest too. They both like their pasta the same way and she seems tired. She only finished half of today's crossword— left eighteen to thirty-two down blank.
He mixes the sauce, pours it over the pasta and adds salt and cheese. He pulls a tray from the cupboard, hums a song he doesn't recognise and fills two glasses up with water.
He walks through the hall carefully, making sure not to spill of the water or let the plates tilt too far on the tray. He nudges open the sitting room door, the people on CNN are still debating heatedly about gentrification in Brooklyn. He's going to tape it, watch it later.
Katherine's head hangs on her chest, her hand relaxed on the chair and her body still. She'd seemed tired all today, he'll feel bad waking her for dinner. Alex sets down the tray on the table and walks over to the armchair.
He crouches down, touches her shoulder lightly.
"Hey, dinner's ready."
She does nothing. He frowns, touches her hand and tries to catch a glimpse of her face. Her skin is cool, clammy even.
"Katherine?"
She remains still, he shakes her slightly and leans closer. He can hear her breathing. It sounds... It sounds like rattling, like wind whistling through a deserted building. It chills him.
Then, she slumps forward. He's there instantly to catch her as her body slackens. He reaches out his arms to support her and her head rests against his chest.
"Katherine!"
Then, she starts to cough. Hacking, heaving sounds like she's dragging them up from her very stomach, deep inside her. They sound painful, grating, agonising even. He's shaking her, cursing in Spanish, he has no idea what to do. When the coughing finally ends, it must be after several minutes, he guides her carefully back into the armchair, terrified.
There's blood on her lips, he looks down. His shirt is covered in it where her head had lolled. Red stains, like he's just killed somebody, like he's just slit someone's throat. She coughs again, blood dribbles from between her lips.
Alex awoke with a yell on his lips. He heard his cry die, caught only it's tail-end as it echoed around the room. For a minute, he was back in Mrs. Newson's home, the bedroom he shared with Ned. For a minute, he expected to hear Mrs. Newson's footsteps on the stairs, her slap on his face.
A second later, he came back to himself, where he was, that he wasn't thirteen years old again. It did nothing to slow his breathing, which was only accelerating. He bit down hard into his fist, his incisor dug into his skin, it might cut if there were more flesh over his bone. There were racing footsteps in the corridor, they echoed ominously and though he knew he was not in his first home, that it would be a nurse rather than Mrs. Newson, he couldn't help but cower away.
The door burst open and Marian ran in, instantly at his side. This, unsurprisingly, only exacerbated the anticipation for impending punishment, of pain, that he was expecting.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
He shook his head and groaned into his hands, trying to take deep breaths and gather himself so that he could speak.
"I'm... alright."
She seemed to realise what was happening quickly, that he wasn't in fact physically hurt so much as teetering on the verge of a panic attack. She crouched by his bed, one hand steadying his shoulder as he took long deep breaths. Her expression was patient, understanding. Alexander supposed she did work in a psych ward, she was probably used to guiding teens through panic attacks.
Eventually, he released his knuckle from his teeth's sharp bite and closed his eyes, allowing the panic and urgency to ebb away.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed to mumble, pushing some hair from his face and shifting away from Marian.
"Don't apologise. Did you have a nightmare?"
He nodded and rubbed his knuckles, hands skating over bruising flesh and tooth shaped indents.
"Do you need anything? Water?"
He shook his head, stopped and then bit his lip, steeling himself.
"I... It'd be nice to take a shower."
She frowned slightly, "That's possible, I'd just have to get all this off first," she motioned at the tubes that lead into Alex's arm and the canula he still had to help him breathe.
"I can do that today, though. As soon as I can."
He nodded, pulled the band from his hair and retied it all up again. With the band John had given him, he realised, as he smoothed some baby hairs around his forehead down.
"Thank you. I'm— I'm sorry I yelled, I don't normally, If I do again, you don't need to come. You can ignore it."
Marian smiled and shook her head, "Alex, I'm a nurse, I think I'd be doing my job pretty badly if I didn't come."
He shrugged and drew his knees up to his chest, watching the light spill in through the blinds beside him.
"I realise I never asked whether you preferred Alex or Alexander... Or something else?"
He shrugged and wiped some sleep from his eye, yawned.
"My friends call me Alex. Everyone else usually says Alexander."
Marian nodded and straightened up, "Well, Alexander—"
His nose scrunched up slightly and he narrowed his eyes contemplatively. He shrugged, looked away from the nurse and tugged at his wristband.
"You... You can call me Alex, if you want."
Marian smiled.
