Undone [Completed]

Undone: [One]

One

Nick

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Mum looked at me, hitting the exaggerated million with her question.

“Yes Mum, positive.” I sighed, replying as patiently as I could, although the irritation was starting to bubble up. Why didn’t they want to believe he’d spoken?

As if reading my mind, Mum said, “You know we have to be sure, right? We can’t discharge him only to know he hasn’t recovered yet.”

“But he can speak! He did it today! He did it at the trial too, didn’t he?” I was getting frustrated – the last of my patience had evaporated, although, I was impressed I’d lasted the past hour and a half.

“Nick,” I could tell she was getting weary too, “I’ve told you. The trial doesn’t tell us anything, it was too soon to tell whether there had been any post traumatic effects.”

“The trial was two whole weeks after the accident!”

“After which he didn’t speak. His vocal cords could have suffered from a delayed shock.”

“Have you considered that he’s been silent all this time out of choice?” I retorted.

She didn’t have an answer to that – of course she didn’t. I doubted that anybody had thought that maybe, just maybe, Max was depressed. It was weird, because they always think about such things when someone has an accident, but the way Mum was talking, it seemed that they’d thought he was suffering from a physical ailment.

“But, the therapist who’s been observing him never saw any sign to indicate he was angry, or depressed…” she trailed off, accepting my argument.

Honestly? How could they not have considered he was depressed? His boyfriend had turned on him and almost killed him! And Max had never even been a very good actor…but then, on the other hand, I forced myself to admit, I hadn’t thought that he was depressed, either, and I’d been visiting him for approximately two months. I probably never would have guessed, either, had he not looked away in…that way, so I couldn’t point fingers at the administration.

“Mum,” I spoke softly, recalling the earlier events of the day, “he really did speak. He wished me a happy birthday but I think he’s in depression with the whole accident and prosthetic, too. He seemed, I’m not quite sure but I think, embarrassed about it. And the rest can’t have been easy on him either, John was his boyfriend after all.” It was weird, I still hadn’t completely come to accept he was gay. It was cool and all, but it felt strange to think of him as a guy who liked guys.

Mum had opened her mouth quite a few times when my monologue had been going on, to interrupt, but she didn’t. She let me finish, and once I was done, nodded. “You’re right, I suppose. And you would understand him better. I think we ought to talk to the Greys, although you should be heading home now. Aren’t your friends coming over?”

I’d forgotten about the ‘party’ and in retrospect I doubt I’d even heard Mum. All I’d heard was ‘I think we ought to talk to the Greys.’ “Talk to them? Do you mean you’re thinking of discharging him?”

“There hasn’t really been any other reason to keep him around besides our concern that his vocal cords had taken some sort of hit,” Mum replied, “and the surgeries have gone down beautifully. The burn centre thinks he’ll be fine too.”

Wasn’t she forgetting something? “What about him being depressed?”

“Maybe a change of environment is what he needs. And anyway, he doesn’t need to be hospitalized because of it. We’re going to suggest therapy and put him on anti-depressants, don’t you worry. You can go now.” She smiled.