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- 05/09/2013
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Nemesis: Because I Want You - 12. Chapter Twelve: Infra-Red
So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday. Someone call the ambulance. There's gonna be an accident.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Infra-Red
‘Close your eyes.’ A pair of arms circled Nick’s waist from behind and a lean torso pressed up against his back. Nick smiled and did as he was bid, closing his eyes and shutting out the bright midday sun gleaming down from above.
Lips brushed his earlobe lightly. ‘Happy birthday,’ whispered the voice, and Nick felt his knees go weak. ‘I have two presents for you,’ the voice continued. ‘One’s at home. I’m bringing it over to your place tonight for the whole birthday dinner thing. The other, I won’t be able to give you until the weekend. Do you want to know what it is?’
Nick licked his lips absently and nodded. His breath had grown slightly laboured and he felt suddenly light-headed. ‘What . . .’ He swallowed. ‘What is it?’
‘My parents are going out of town. So, if you want to, if you’re . . . ready . . .’ the voice paused for effect, and Nick’s heart rate increased further, ‘then I think I’m ready, too,’ it finished.
Nick opened his eyes and turned around to face his boyfriend. Dave’s eyes were bright, his cheeks slightly red in the cool air. His expression was expectant. A bit nervous, perhaps.
Dave had made it clear that he wasn’t ready to move any further sexually, and Nick had respected that. He hadn’t pushed him and the two had just enjoyed exploring new ways to get one another hot without getting naked. Some days they would rut against one another, fully clothed, getting each other off that way—they had taken to carrying spare pants in their bags. Other days, they would just make out and touch each other until they were fit to burst and then part ways with blue balls, to finish off separately, occasionally aided by texts.
Nick’s heart leapt at the thought of finally moving on from that, taking their relationship to the next level.
‘Do . . . D’you really mean that?’ he asked.
‘Of course I mean it!’ said Dave, looking slightly offended. ‘I’m no tease!’
Nick raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah you are,’ he said pointedly.
Dave grinned. ‘Yeah, I am, but not that kind of a tease,’ he amended. ‘And I’m still all for taking it slow, but . . . I want to go further. And I have a feeling that once we do, we won’t be able to stop, so . . . No more baby steps. Giant leaps of intimacy from here on out.’
Nick bit his bottom lip and smiled up at his boyfriend. ‘I like the sound of that,’ he said. Then he pressed his lips to Dave’s. Dave’s lips parted almost immediately and the kiss deepened, until they were both breathless and flushed. Nick whimpered slightly when they broke contact, pressing his forehead to the other’s shoulder. ‘Do I really have to wait until this weekend?’ he pouted.
‘Hey, if you wanted sexy times behind the bike shed, you should have planned ahead better than to have your birthday in February,’ Dave teased. ‘But this weekend . . . we’ll do anything you want, okay?’
Nick nodded against his shoulder.
* * *
Dave showed up just after six that evening, toting a big, triangular box wrapped in brightly coloured paper under his arm, to have dinner with them. Craig wasn’t around. Zoë had seemed slightly upset with him when he had revealed that he had other plans which he wouldn’t cancel. Nick assumed the plans probably involved a rugby match down the pub with his mates. He didn’t mind in the least. He was far happier spending his birthday with the two people he cared for the most.
Zoë cooked chicken and oven roasted potatoes, and mushrooms fried with shallots and fresh rosemary, and a creamy herb sauce. Everything was delicious. Dave and Nick played footsie under the table for most of the dinner, while they talked about music and new films and other happy things. Afterwards, they moved to the sofa, where they had tea and a rich chocolate cake and where presents were waiting.
Zoë gave him a couple of new books and a gift certificate for CDs. Considering the Christmas Fender Extravaganza, this was neither surprising nor disappointing. His father had sent him a birthday card with twenty quid in it, as per usual. His mother and Aunt Karen had sent him a Doctor Who box set and a lovely card.
Dave’s gift turned out to be a purple ukulele.
‘I hear all the cool kids have one of these nowadays,’ he said when Nick opened it. ‘Thought it could be a nice addition to your growing instrument collection.’
‘Wow, that’s . . . Dave, I love it!’ Nick picked it up and, after a quick tuning, began to try out chords.
‘Christ, is there any instrument you can’t just pick up and immediately play, Davis?’ asked Dave. Nick giggled.
‘It’s really very easy when you play the guitar already. It’s like the four highest strings with a capo on the fifth fret.’
‘And in non-musician, that means . . . ?’
Nick kicked at his shin playfully. Dave laughed.
Just then, Zoë’s phone rang and she got up to take it in the kitchen.
Nick grinned at Dave, and when he was certain that Zoë was safe in the other room, he leaned over and placed a light peck on his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘I think this just might be the best birthday ever!’
‘Think I could make it better?’ Dave whispered. ‘Maybe your sister would let us go to your room for a bit . . .’
The door from the kitchen opened, and Nick pulled back reluctantly, plucking at the strings of his new ukulele with slightly less enthusiasm than before. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight all of a sudden and he crossed his legs carefully.
Zoë smiled brightly at him, pocketing her phone. ‘That was Aunt Karen,’ she said. ‘She called to confirm the details of your last present.’
‘There’s another present?’ said Nick, frowning.
‘Yes, there is,’ said Zoë. ‘Tomorrow, I’m picking you up after school, and we are driving to Coventry to have dinner with Mum!’
Nick’s face split into a grin. ‘Really?’
‘Really! She’s been doing so much better since Christmas, and Aunt Karen wanted to surprise both you and her. So tomorrow is Mum-day!’
‘Okay, yeah, officially best birthday ever!’ Nick declared happily.
* * *
Nick was less than thrilled about Craig joining them to go to Coventry, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. At least he was almost good company today, chatting cheerfully and telling jokes in the car.
They arrived in Coventry just after five in the afternoon. Aunt Karen let them in with a smile.
‘Angie’s in her bedroom, napping,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go in and wake her up?’
Nick nodded, grinning, and made his way through the flat. Aunt Karen’s flat was quite large and very modern and spacious, with light walls and hardwood floors. The sitting room was decorated in cream, beige and lime green, and contained a dozen orchids that Aunt Karen was shamelessly proud of, while the kitchen was all white-washed birch wood, glass cupboard doors, and matte white appliances. Off the kitchen was Nick’s mother’s bedroom. He knocked and, when there was no answer, opened the door.
He would forever remember how happy he felt, knowing that he was about to see his mother, knowing that she was doing better, thinking that she might come home soon. He was wholly unprepared for the sight that met him.
The room was dark, but somehow he felt, even before he could see, that something was very wrong. He stepped inside, and a sliver of light from the doorway hit his mother where she lay on the bed.
She was in a white nighty. Her eyes were closed, and the look on her face was oddly peaceful. Her arm hung out over the edge of the bed, and there was something dripping from it, onto the floor. Something red.
Nick took a step back. He felt sick. He opened his mouth. He must have said something, or cried out, because suddenly there were footsteps behind him. A gasp. Zoë’s arms around him from behind.
Craig pushed past him into the room and knelt next to the bed, touching two fingers to Nick’s mother’s throat. ‘Dial nine-nine-nine,’ he said. ‘She’s still alive, do it!’
What followed was a blur. Afterwards, Nick remembered his own pale hands, the rushing sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the green of the paramedics’ uniforms, and a folded note on his mother’s desk. A kitchen knife on the night stand, next to a jar of sleeping pills.
And then he was sitting in a hospital waiting room, with his aunt and his sister and Craig, and the place felt eerily quiet. His mother was in another room, somewhere, receiving a blood transfusion and getting her wrists sewn back together, and all Nick could see was the colour red.
* * *
Dave’s mobile rang at around eleven that night and he fumbled to get it out of his pocket before putting it to his ear.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘It’s me.’ Nick’s voice sounded flat and tired.
‘Hey!’ said Dave with a smile. ‘You have fun today?’
‘I probably won’t be able to come to your place this weekend.’
‘What’s up?’ asked Dave, frowning now. ‘You sound . . . Did something happen?’
‘We’re at the hospital,’ said Nick. ‘Mum, she . . . She tried to . . . She slit her wrists with a kitchen knife.’
Dave was stunned into silence. He cleared his throat, searched for words. ‘Is . . . is she—?’
‘She’s alive,’ said Nick. ‘She was . . . I found . . .’ He trailed off and Dave understood. Nick had found her. Nick had found his mum with her wrists cut. He was filled with a sudden fury. How could she do that?
Dave cleared his throat again. He didn’t quite know what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ he tried. It felt like an empty phrase. ‘I can’t imagine what you—’
‘Think she remembered that yesterday was my birthday?’ Nick interrupted. His voice sounded strained now. Choked. Dave felt his eyes tear up. That was a parallel to the whole misery he hadn’t even considered yet. He remained silent. ‘If she did, this pretty much takes home the BAFTA for worst birthday present ever,’ Nick continued. ‘Guess I should’ve realised that the universe wouldn’t let me be happy for this long without taking something back.’
‘Nick, don’t say that,’ said Dave quietly. ‘This . . . this has nothing to do with you!’
‘Of course it does!’ Nick snapped. ‘She felt like she had nothing to live for! She would rather be dead than be my mum!’ Dave could hear the thickness in his voice, and then Nick sniffed. ‘She’d rather be dead and still and in a hole in the ground . . . than be with her family. She even left a note.’ He uttered a choked, sobbing sort of noise, and Dave wanted to climb through the telephone and take him in his arms and hold him.
‘Nick,’ he whispered. ‘Listen . . . I don’t know what you’re going through—How could I? But please, listen to me. Whatever her reasons were, they were stupid and wrong, okay? She . . . she did it because she was depressed and psychotic. She did it because she was sick. Not because of you, not even because of the stuff that pushed her round the bend in the first place. Because something in her brain was wrong.’
Nick sniffed again but made no response.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Dave, mentally kicking himself. Of course he wasn’t okay.
‘Yeah. No, I’m not, but . . . She’ll be awake soon. They’re letting us in to see her. I should go back to the others. We’re staying with Aunt Karen for a couple of days. I’ll probably be back home on Saturday.’
‘Okay.’ Dave paused, uncertain. ‘Nick?’
‘Yeah?’
Dave’s pulse pounded in his ears as he formed the words. ‘I love you.’
Nick’s breath hitched, and he let out a sort of half sob, half giggle. ‘Piss off, Dave. If you’re just saying that because—’
‘I’m not. I’m saying it because I mean it.’ Dave’s voice broke slightly, and he cleared his throat. His palms were sweaty. He waited nervously for a response.
Nick sniffed one more time. ‘I . . . I love you too,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you. For caring about me.’
* * *
Nick didn’t want to go in. He felt like if he saw her, he’d start shouting at her. But he went inside the hospital room anyway.
The room was small and white and clinical. Nick’s mother lay in a metal frame bed with pristine white sheets. She looked smaller and paler than he’d ever seen her. Her eyes were glossy. Her wrists were both bandaged, and she was still getting a blood transfusion. She looked up when they entered, tried for a smile. No one returned it.
Her eyes fixed on Nick, and he forced himself to look back. ‘Nick,’ she said softly. ‘Come here, love.’
The simple request made Nick feel slightly sick. ‘No,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m sorry, no. I don’t . . . I don’t want you to touch me.’
Her small smile disappeared, and she looked pleadingly at him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Please—’
‘You’re sorry?’ Nick turned around in astonishment upon hearing the voice. Craig’s hands were balled into fists and his expression was dark. ‘You’re telling your kids you’re sorry? How fucking dare you! How can you do something like this to your own bloody children and then dare say you’re sorry?’
Nick felt an unexpected wave of gratitude toward the man, but Zoë took Craig’s hand gently. ‘Craig, please,’ she said. ‘Thank you, but . . . I think maybe you should go outside.’
Craig looked down at his feet and nodded, squeezing her hand. Then he left the room.
‘I think I should go too,’ said Nick, unable to look at his mother again. ‘I . . . I can’t be in here.’
Zoë nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We’ll be out in a minute.’
Nick went back out into the waiting room and sat down next to Craig.
‘Thanks,’ he said softly. It was the last word he would ever have expected himself to say to Craig.
‘Hm,’ said Craig. He sighed. ‘I just couldn’t . . . I lost my mum, you know. When I was nine.’
Nick looked up sharply. He’d had no idea. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Yeah. It was a car crash killed her,’ said Craig. ‘The idea that someone would . . . She has kids, for fuck’s sake!’
Nick nodded, looking down at his hands in his lap. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Well . . . thanks.’
Craig gave him a sidelong glance. ‘No worries.’
* * *
Nick spent most of the Friday on Aunt Karen’s couch, going through her Bond DVDs from the beginning. He refused every offer of food, but by eleven in the evening he was starving, so he padded out into the kitchen and made himself a sandwich, resolutely refusing to look at the door to his mother’s bedroom.
She was still in the hospital, and she would be transferred directly to the psych ward when they were satisfied there was nothing more physically wrong with her.
Nick made it halfway through Live and Let Die before he fell asleep where he sat. He picked it up again when he woke up the next morning, and when he was just about to start Moonraker, Zoë announced that they were going back home.
Barely a word was spoken in the car.
When they were nearly there, a text from Dave buzzed in.
How are you holding up?
I’ve been better.
Nick paused his writing, hesitant. Then he added:
Want to see you.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
Should I come over?
‘Zoë?’ Nick said quietly.
‘Mm?’
‘Think . . . think Dave could come over for a bit, when we get back?’
‘Do you really think that’s appropriate?’ said Craig gruffly from the driver’s seat. Nick had to bite his tongue.
‘No, it’s okay,’ said Zoë. Her voice was very small. ‘It’s good, talking to your friends. Helps clear your head.’
Nick wrote:
Yes.
Dave got there only a couple of minutes after they did. He greeted Zoë, who hugged him, and then he and Nick retreated to the latter’s bedroom. Nick barely had time to shut the door before Dave pulled him into a fierce embrace and Nick lost all the control he had been so carefully maintaining for the last couple of days. A sob shook him violently and then he was crying, clinging to Dave.
Dave kissed his hair and murmured comforting words. Then he led Nick’s weeping self to the bed and laid him down with his head in Dave’s lap.
When Nick had managed to calm down enough to speak, he said, ‘The worst part—No, not the worst part because that’s—But the thing is . . . I’m so angry with her! I don’t understand how she could do this, what would make her feel like she needed to . . . I hate her! And . . . and I love her. And she’s my mum! It’s like, I can’t forgive her for wanting to die . . . And I can’t forgive her for still being alive.’
‘I know, love,’ said Dave and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on Nick’s temple. They stayed still for a while. Then Dave asked carefully, ‘Did you read the note?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’m not sure if I can . . . I don’t want to know her excuses.’
‘Well, when and if you’re ready, let me know. I’ll be there with you when you read it.’
A surge of gratitude and love coursed through Nick, then. He rolled over onto his back and gazed up at Dave’s face. He lifted his hand to stroke his cheek and choked back a sob. Dave’s expression was kind and sad and his blue eyes glistened with tears, and Nick thought, Those are for me.
He pulled Dave down towards him and kissed him on the lips. ‘I love you,’ he said softly, and it felt so good to be able to say those words—words that had been waiting to be said for far too long.
Dave smiled a watery smile. ‘I love you, too.’
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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