One of a kind

Chapter 10

TK woke several times during the night. He felt exhausted—he knew what headaches were, but he'd never had one as bad as that. He was almost convinced that he was going to die, and it was kind of funny that, in a way, he was getting used to the feeling. Death didn't scare him; in the moment, maybe, but not in the long term.

He woke and went back to sleep, but before he did so, no matter the position he was in, he needed to find Carlos. He needed to look at him, to stroke his cheek and take his hands, to touch him and make sure that he was really there. Only then could he sleep peacefully.

He didn't know what time it was when he woke up and Carlos was looking back at him. Even in the middle of the night, TK could spot the dark colour of his eyes and the smile that grew on his face when he saw him awake.

"Is everything okay? How's the head?" Carlos whispered.

"Better. Now it just feels like there's a motor running in my head, but I think it's turning off."

Carlos turned towards the nightstand and TK heard the sound of pills rattling inside the bottle. He swallowed nervously and shuddered. When Carlos turned back, he stared at the small, white, almost translucent pill in his hand.

"It's okay, it barely hurts anymore."

"Remember what the doctor told you. If the pain is still there, until it fully goes away, then it could come back. I don't want anything like that to happen to you again; it really scared me."

TK laughed. "Shouldn't you be used to seeing me in life or death situations by now?"

Carlos didn't smile, and TK realised that his comment hadn't been at all funny. It's easy when you're the ill or injured one, when you're unconscious and oblivious to everything. But when you're on the other side, sitting in the waiting room with your heart in your mouth; when you spend hours sitting at someone's bedside, not knowing if they'll wake up... Then the joke isn't funny.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Carlos stroked his cheek and TK took his hand.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something," he said, and Carlos nodded, waiting silently. "Before...well, these days...you keep saying that you love me and you can't live without me. Earlier, you said that if I die, you do, and that it hurts you to see me sick."

Carlos nodded again.

"So why are we carrying on like this? You know how I feel about you, and it was you who decided we should break up."

"Good question." Carlos, at last, smiled. "But four in the morning isn't the time to talk about it. You still need rest and we both need sleep. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

TK knew Carlos well enough to know he was running from the conversation; maybe he'd been too hasty in bringing it up. But Carlos was right, he needed the rest—as much as the pain had disappeared, as soon as his eyes closed, he fell asleep again.

TK still wasn't used to being woken up by an alarm—though, when his brain caught up, he realised that it wasn't an alarm, but music. The song came from the nightstand, not too loud so clearly it wasn't intended to wake him, just there to be listened to.

He knew the song. His father had listened to it when he was little, and he used to sing it all the time. Then TK, as a kid, had gone about the house with an imaginary microphone in his hand—or a guitar, depending on the moment—pretending to be Brian Adams, repeating over and over the lyrics which, at the time, meant little to him.

Hearing it now, TK finally understood its meaning, like someone who had managed to successfully translate ancient hieroglyphs. He curled up under the sheets and moved closer to Carlos's phone, smiling and taking a moment to feel drunk at Carlos's scent on the pillow and the sheets, as the song lulled him back to sleep.