“Forget it, Trent…” Eyes a bit wide when Trent took his hand, unable to object in that shock.
“I’m here for you, ok?” Looking around. “Not like that young asshole?”
Duncan’s chest flamed up and he pulled his hand out. “That young asshole… has stuff to do. Just fuck off if all you do is spew insults.”
“He means that much?” Bitter, that bitter smile.
Duncan set his voice. “Yes, he does.”
“I was thinking that maybe we could… I could help you with getting back on your feet?” Spreading his hands. “Nothing intended, ok? But you’re a good guy, Duncan, and I still… I think that…” Losing his words at the look in his eyes.
Duncan tried to speak above the pain. Not just the one throbbing in his shoulder and chest, the one in his heart. “No, forget the fuck it. Shut up. I think you should go because that young asshole? He means that much. Even if he tramples my heart into the dirt. I’ll wait for him.”
Trent rose, that mocking smile on his lips. “Don’t put your hopes too high.”
“I did and they fell hard, right? So, yeah, not an advice I can take from you..”
Trent just walked to the door, turning back then. “Call me if you need help or company, I mean it.”
“Fuck off…” A feeble middle finger as he let his hand fall back.
Weary, his eyes on that still right hand, he took it to move his fingers around. He could feel with it, so a tiny hope burst up, that all was not lost. Looking at the nurse when she walked in with a tray and put it on that small mobile table.
“Oh, beautiful flowers!”
Duncan gestured at them. “Just take them to your staff room.”
“You’re sure?” A wide smile. “Thank you.”
“You all deserve more.”
“You won’t miss it?” Picking the bouquet up.
Duncan swallowed his tears, his anger. “I don’t like pink roses.”
She sniffed at one and left with the bouquet. Only their scent remained, pervading the toom, like a lost memory clinging to a lost love.
Duncan pulled that small table in front of him, trying to use the cutlery with his left hand, steeling himself because he needed his strength to amount to anything and to help Spencer survive himself. Eating, mechanically, but it felt good, to shovel that bland food down and feel it race in his blood.Eat and survive. Adapt and overcome.A bit mad at his own weakness, that he had let his resolve down, those words ringing in his mind.Live, Duke. I will, kid. I will…
Chapter 20
He could leave after a while, his arm still in a sling, and a bunch of PT sessions prescribed. That lame hand working better, barely being able to grip anything, let alone use it at all. His arm not lifting properly, the shoulder neither, muscles and tendons still swollen and tender, patched back up as best as they could, everything felt stiff and numb, the skin foreign, a huge scar too, an angry star of red welts on that skin.
Martin had organized a small party for him, with snacks and light drinks, even if he was officially off duty, Spencer’s parents didn’t want to kick him out until Spencer was away. Martin told him he’d be on camera duty and he could walk the garden too, if his strength allowed it. Moving his shifts around his PT appointments to which Sinclair had a driver drive him because Duncan had tried and had nearly pissed himself from pain. A bunch of meds too, taken especially at night when he was more scared of that pain in that loneliness.
His eyes on that silver disc in the sky, that ghost light flooding the room, and shadows were stirring, whirling, taking shape ashe breathed softly, clutching the sheets, even with that lame, weak hand, barely a breath of a grip, the muscles of his arm and shoulder like stone. Wishing for Spencer to be curled up against him, his hair on his chest, just him, to feel safe from his dreams, his memories of shots fired, reaching flesh and bones, of men dying with gurgling breaths, drowning in their own blood. Swallowing, that mad fright making his back soak.Shit.He sat up, trying to breathe, eyes wide when that panic hit him out of nowhere like a truck. Howling, he pressed his left hand on his eyes, rolling off the bed to hide, curl up, hide form that ghost light, the shadows, the pain ramming into his senses as his muscled clenched. That pain, wiping his mind too as he bit his fist to the blood to quench his cries. Heaving, plummeting into darkness when the pain knocked him out. His fright.
Waking in the middle of the night, soaked. Raking his hair, his eyes on that silver light pouring through the grates. Soft sobs from some other room. Breathing, hard, reaching a pale hand to that light, to the moon.I miss you…his heart hammering in that lonely night, that heart which had woken him up, hearing that other heart’s scream, maybe… Knowing he couldn’t run, out of that sheer fright, his mind clearing from the fog, dark thoughts pouring to the light, mocking, settling in the shadows.I miss you… Righteous…a small smile as his hand fell back on his chest.I miss you…Other words, teetering at the edge of his teeth, swallowed in that ocean of fear.I miss you…
“How are things progressing?”
Sinclair sat down, watching Duncan try and pull a rubber band with his arm. Failing as his arm trembled.
He sat down, drained. “Like shit.” Flexing that weak right hand, his stiff fingers, his forearm like lead.
“Great to hear that it’s better than ‘it’s fucked up’.” A small smile.
The therapist walked to Duncan, handing him a small rubber ball. “For your hand. Softly, ok? Until you feel pain and not more.”
