Book I: to cross oceans for [BxB] (trans) - completed

The Wreckage And The Rubble (Part II) - Sean

The coffee tasted like crap. I suppose most hospital food did, so why would the coffee be any different.

The scent of disinfectant and sickness filled my nostrils as I hunched over the coffee machine, waiting for the black sludge-like liquid to fill the small Styrofoam cup.

I brought it to my lips and took a sip. It tasted like what I imagined burnt asphalt would taste like. I drank it anyway.

“Hi.” A hand landed softly on my shoulder.

It startled me out of my blank musings, making me jump back and turn around too quickly.

Coffee, or at least what I assumed the brownish substance in my cup was supposed to be, spilled with the sudden movement. It was still hot enough to make me wince as it landed on my hand and forearm.

“Shit. I-I'm so sorry.” Turner reached for the now half-empty cup I was still stupidly holding and produced napkins from somewhere.

He wiped my hand and the floor while I just stood there and numbly stared at his large body moving around me.

“I thought you could use some company.” His voice was soft and his lips curved in a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

I nodded. Because that was what I was supposed to do, wasn't it? Be polite to the people that came to the hospital to try and help or offer comfort?

He reached for me but I pulled my arm away, spilling more coffee, and took a step back. Turner raised his hands in a placating gesture and tilted his head toward the row of plastic chairs next to the coffee machine, leaving the new mess on the floor for someone else to deal with.

He folded his considerable bulk into one of them and I followed suit, toying with the small cup.

Silence stretched between us, but I was more than used to it by now. Sitting in a room with a silent Danny made me almost an expert in enduring long stretches of quiet filled with only the beep of heart monitors, and the hum of medical equipment.

Turner didn't ask how I was doing. Or how Danny was recovering. He just sat next to me and we watched together as patients, doctors and nurses went about their business.

I sighed and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I stared at the ugly floor-tiles without really seeing them.

I saw Turner’s fingers play with the edges of a hole on his faded blue jeans. He wanted to say something. I knew that. It was probably the same cheap words everyone that came to see Danny and found me haunting the hospital halls wanted to say.

I'm so sorry this happened.

Only time will heal his wounds.

Pretty platitudes. Lies all the same.

It wasn't your fault - the worst lie of all.

My mind drifted and I thought back to last Tuesday. The silence had begun that day.

Ironic, since it had started out so perfect.

Then again, I suppose the value in things isn't in how they start, but in how they end.

***