What hurt more than anything, more than the total destruction of my body, more than the confidence knock downs, more than any of the hurtful names, was the fact that Charlie was just as involved in it all as I was. I considered a lot of things in my time on the stiff hospital mattress, staring at a tiled ceiling, but that was mainly all I thought about. They wouldn't let him see me, no matter how much I protested and threatened, saying that it would be better for the both of us once I'd had a full recovery to be in each other's company. Hunger strikes and refusal to let anyone stick a needle full of drugs inside me wouldn't convince them, all it did was encourage them to try and convince me that I'd see him once my health had risen dramatically, however long it took. They told me that he wouldn't leave, though he protested politely using kind words, unlike my constant swearing and shrugging anyone away that wasn't him. That he spent all of his time waiting outside of the locked room, just hoping to catch a glimpse of me when the heavy door or the thin curtains were opened for a few seconds. I let them nurse me, let them do their job after a week or so of unbearable torture from the shortage of morphine, swallowing down my pride as revengeful nurses and doctors enjoyed seeing how much I detested every second of the next few days. It was all worth it though, when he draw back the blue sheet of a curtain and saw me helplessly lying there, clutching the side of the bed with an agonizing pain in my side. He grinned as I released it and started at him, my breath taken away. He ran to my side and I giggled for the first time in weeks, perhaps months. He took my hand, and I noticed he was silently crying and that his eyes had dark circles surrounding them. I raised my free hand with difficulty, and I wiped them away with shaky fingers. We didn't speak, just sat there, laughing and smiling at each other, forgetting everything that we'd been through.
I was allowed to go home the next day, and he was granted permission to stay in the same room as me for the night. Neither of us got much sleep in that hospital room, but when either of us drifted away for half an hour or so, we'd wake up to find the other beside them, watching over. We got a taxi back, and as soon as we got home we collapsed onto the familiar sofa in the living room, immediately falling asleep in each other's arms. When I awoke a good few hours later, he was still in another world. I wondered what he was dreaming about, and I hoped they were nothing like my regular ones, full of pain and torment, so realistic it was hard to believe they were nightmares. I slowly released myself, being extremely careful not to wake him, and wandered with caution upstairs. I examined myself in my bedroom mirror, seeing purples and blacks and blues blended together on my skin. I prodded some bones that were said to be broken, and flinched. I sighed, pulled my shirt back down, and turned around to find him standing at the door and sadly frowning. My lips intimidated his.
"You weren't supposed to see that" I assured.
He walked inside and placed his icy cool hand on my arm, just above my elbow, moving his fingers gently. It felt great. He looked down at my chest and I shut my eyes, heavily breathing.
"They told me what had been hurt, but I didn't think it would be as bad as that" he responded, and sighed.
I bit my lip, and leaned in closer, my arms lazily lying at my sides as he wrapped his carefully around my waist. I lay my head on him, and he rested his on mines. I couldn't bear to cry, not now, so I didn't make a noise while he tried to reassure me that I'd be okay, that everything would be back to normal soon, that we'd all be happy again. I tried so, so hard to believe him.