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James goes home and tries to do everything he promised Carlos he would do, he really tries. But instead of cooking he just makes some Ramen noodles, quick and easy even if it's not any healthier than the crap they serve in the hospital cafeteria. He's not even hungry but he skipped lunch so he forces it down, his mind on Carlos the whole time.
In the shower he goes through the motions so slowly that the water turns cold but he barely notices. By the time he gets out his skin is like ice and he's shivering as he pulls on his pajamas. He promised Carlos he would eat, shower and sleep. So far he's managed the first two but he knows he's not going to be able to sleep. Instead he sits awake in bed on his laptop, reading page after page about what Carlos is going through. Many of the words are too difficult for him to understand but he spends the time looking them up using an online dictionary. He wants to understand this as best as he can.
He reads up on the subject for hours, researching the things Carlos is doing in physical therapy, researching the things he will need to learn to do before he can come home. And that's when it hits him hard, how much their lives are all going to change. How much Carlos' life is going to change all because of him. He shoves the laptop aside angrily, slamming it closed. He doesn't care if he breaks it. Right now he doesn't care about anything.
He sits alone in the dark, listening to the sound of silence. When Carlos was home there was never silence, not even when he was sleeping. Most nights you could hear his snoring clear down the hall. He would give anything to hear that snoring right now. He'd give anything to go back to that day and not take Carlos hiking. Or at least be a better boyfriend and not let Carlos go off on his own, upset. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, still wet from his shower. There's no use in thinking this way, he knows. He can't go back and what's done is done. Still, he can't help but wish.
Carlos lays flat on his back in his hospital bed, eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling. He's recognized every stain, every mark. He's only been here one week and he's already so eager to go home. But what he wants most is to walk again. He doesn't want to go home like this, he wants to go home like the old Carlos, the one who was always running around being active and silly. He feels tears welling up in his eyes and even though he's all alone he doesn't want to cry, feels like it's just stupid to cry when that's not going to change anything. He hasn't cried at all since the accident, not even when he found out he might be paralyzed permanently. He's been trying so hard to stay positive, focusing on that small chance he might completely recover but he's just so mentally and physically exhausted.
Therapy was a lot harder than he'd expected it to be. He was still weak from the accident, weak from lying in bed for a week without using any of his muscles so even the easier exercises seemed so hard. He'd managed not to get discouraged but now as he lay there thinking about doing it all over again tomorrow he suddenly bursts into tears, covering his face with his hands to drown out his sobs in fear that a nurse would hear and come check on him.
Carlos loses track of how long he cries, but once the tears have run dry he realizes he feels better, that he needed to get it out, to grieve for what he's lost. He takes in a deep breath, lets it out and feels much calmer now. He reaches over and presses a button on the bed so that he can sit up. It hurts a little but he doesn't care, he's tired of lying flat. His throat is so dry from all the crying he's just done, so he reaches out to his bedside table, fingers closing over the handle on the pitcher of water that's kept there. He tries to drag it closer to him but it's so heavy it tips right off the edge of the table, contents splashing onto the floor, the plastic pitcher rolling away toward the door.
Carlos is so frustrated he doesn't know whether to laugh, cry or scream. He does neither, debating whether or not he should call in a nurse for help but he decides not to. He doesn't want to see anybody right now, and he definitely doesn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. The loss of his dignity is already far too much to handle. Instead he simply looks down at his useless legs, reaching down to touch them. Nothing, he feels nothing just as he knew he would. "Please, please be okay again." He whispers to them. "I just want to walk again. I want to feel like Carlos again." Maybe if he closes his eyes when he wakes up this will all have been just a bad dream.