“Why didn’t you do something to heal yourself, Felipe? Why suffer like this?” Oliver asked, forcing the frustration from his voice.
When Oliver looked up, he found Felipe staring at the ring on his right hand and blinking hard. Tears gathered at the edge of his eyes, but he refused to meet Oliver’s gaze. Oliver hadn’t expected an answer; he hadn’t even intended to have what was in his head come out of his mouth.
He was about to apologize for upsetting him when Felipe said in a near whisper, “Because I hurt you. Because I thought I nearly killed you, and I needed to be punished for it. I told myself I would heal when you did.”
Oliver’s hand froze as the words sank in. “Felipe, even if you did inadvertently hurt me, which you didn’t, you shouldn’t have to suffer for it. Punishing yourself for every misstep, that isn’t… normal, and it isn’t right.”
“If you haven’t noticed, Oliver, I’m not normal. Don’t tell me I am,” Felipe replied, his voice rising. “I scared the shit out of everyone when I first got here, and all I’ve done my whole life is pretend to be normal while being anything but. I’m a freak, but I’m a useful freak, so they give me a pass and a wide berth.”
“But why hurt yourself? Pain doesn’t solve anything.”
“It’s a reminder. It’s a reminder that things can always hurt more, and if it hurts badly enough, you’ll remember to never do it again.”
“But you never hurt me when I make mistakes. You never hurt me, period. And Teresa said you never laid a hand on her when you disciplined her.”
“Neither of you deserve it.”
“And you do?”
“Yes!”
Oliver’s feelings must have shown on his face because Felipe quickly looked away as he bit back a hiccupped cry. Oliver wanted to drop the bandages and hold him close, but if he let the gauze go, he would have to start over. Felipe’s ribs silently heaved as he tried to force the tears down. In the few minutes it took for Oliver to wrap his wrist and the rest of his arm, the room slipped into darkness and the dull ache in Oliver’s breast grew raw with unspent emotion. Felipe had never hurt him. He had been so gentle that being with him made Oliver realize what it meant to be truly safe with someone. The only one Felipe refused to be gentle with was himself.
Tying off the last bit of gauze, Oliver sat back and rested his hand on Felipe’s knee. “Is there anything I can do to help you not do this again?”
“No, Oliver, not unless you have a time machine.” Felipe released a bitter laugh. “I’ve done this my whole life. My family instilled in me early that pain was necessary for excellence, and then, I stole it for myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever do something to counteract the chaos going on around you? You know there’s nothing you can do to stop it, but there’s something you can do to wrench back control, just for a little while. It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing is bad for you because it makes you feel better when you need it most. Pain is like that for me.”
Oliver had heard people say nearly the same about cocaine or refusing to eat, but he understood more than Felipe could know. Those nights after his assault when he haunted the hospital’s wards like a ghost, chasing every fleeting pull of death was the only way he could cope. If he could stave off death for one person, he would be all right. And if he was running himself ragged, he wasn’t reliving what happened to him.
Oliver nodded with a sigh. “And you keep doing it even if it hurts you.”
“Becauseit hurts you. Because there’s a part of you that thinks you deserve the bad things happening to you, but if you give yourself the pain, at least you can control when and how you feel it.”
“But at some point, you have to stop, Felipe,” Oliver replied gently, laying his hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “When I refused to face what had happened to me, I lost my job, my home, everything I had worked for, and I don’t want you to experience the same thing. Everything feels terrifyingly empty when you stop, but you fill it with new things and slowly it gets better. It can always get better.”
When Felipe’s expression shuttered and he seemed to fold into himself, Oliver stood with a silent sigh and kissed his temple. As he repacked his supplies into his gladstone, he replayed all that Felipe had said along with all the little things he had said in passing or that Louisa had told him about his family. The shape of Felipe’s life before he came to New York grew clearer in Oliver’s mind, and he didn’t like the image that was emerging. He wanted to do something. He wanted to make it right, but he didn’t know how and everything he could think of to say to Felipe sounded useless. Nothing he could say would change what happened to him, and he doubted any of it would magically fix forty years of pain and dysfunction. On the bed, Felipe tested opening and closing his wrapped hand with a grimace. His wounds and body were clean, but Oliver couldn’t help but feel he had ripped open more than burns. The dark circles under Felipe’s eyes and the tremor in his hand had only grown worse, and if he wanted him to heal, he had to get him back on track.
“Stay right here. I’m going to see if the food’s ready.”
When Oliver returned a minute later with a plate laden with meat for Felipe and a more modest plate of chicken croquettes with mushrooms for him, he was relieved to find Felipe sitting exactly where he left him. For the first time in the ten years he had known him, Felipe looked small. Oliver knew Felipe was shorter than him, but he always gave the impression of being larger than he truly was. Sitting on the edge of the mattress in his rumpled robe with the beginnings of a beard and his injured arm cradled in his lap, he looked fragile. Oliver hated seeing him look so defeated. He needed to fix it. Plastering on his best approximation of a smile, Oliver sat beside Felipe and handed him his plate.
“Here you go. I didn’t think you would be up to decision-making, so I got you a little bit of everything: liver, some beef, a little chicken. When you’re done, I thought we could have coffee and break into the candy from the bazaar. The fudge smelled heavenly.”
Felipe nodded but said nothing as he stared down at his dinner. When he didn’t start eating, Oliver feared he had made the wrong choices, but then, his stomach let out a loud, painful growl. Oliver knew Felipe could be self-conscious about how fast he ate after being injured, so he pointedly turned away and directed his full attention on his chicken. He had gotten halfway through the first croquette when he realized Felipe still hadn’t eaten anything.
“Felipe, what’s wrong? Is your food—”
“I wanted to die again,” he said in a rush. “I said I’d tell you if I ever felt that way, and I did.”
Oliver slowly set his fork down and put his plate on the nightstand before turning to Felipe. He held his panic in an iron grip, even as Felipe’s features twisted with despair. “I see. May I ask why?”
“I— I don’t want to hinder you. I know you love me, Oliver, but I can’t let your life be weighed down by me,” Felipe said, his voice rough with spent tears. “I don’t want you to turn things down because of me.”
“Felipe.”
