From England, With Love

Red Lips and Blue Lights

I never thought I'd be masturbating to the thought of another guy, but wonders never cease. And neither does my erection, apparently.

A small part of me feels bad for doing this when I'm unsure of Pete's feelings, but the ragingly horny, desperate majority of my brain seduces me into a relaxed state of pleasure. I close my eyes as I increase the speed of my hand, breathing heavily out of my mouth as my member strains, as if it, too, lusts after the same being.

Pete is the only thought that fills my mind's eye; his lips, his eyes, his bare torso, slim waist, desperate clasps at my shirt... his sexuality that I don't believe he knows he possesses. As I edge closer to release, my fantasies run away with themselves as I picture him in full, nude and laid on a bed in dim lights, calling my name as I roughly-

I orgasm, hard.

"Shit," I groan, trying to stop the fluid from dripping onto the sheets and reaching to my bedside table for tissue. Quickly, I head to the shower and strip, thrusting myself under cold water to clear my mind and wash away my immediate desires.

I need to find Pete. I need to make it up to him.

Minutes later I walk out the door, before realising I don't know even where he lives. I kick the hallway floor, unsure of what to do before making up my mind to go for a walk, anyway. I can think of how to apologise to him, and then see him at school.

I reach the ground floor of the block, and am confronted with a small crowd gathered together.

"Has someone called an ambulance yet?" One says.

"Yeah, it should be here in a few minutes," another responds in a worried tone, "poor kid."

I feel a sick feeling in my stomach, and push past the crowd.

I see nothing for a moment, but then look down and my eyes land on Pete, passed out on the floor, white as a sheet.

"Pete!" I exclaim, dropping to my knees next to him and cradling his head in my hands.

"Do you know him?" One of the residents ask and I nod my head enthusiastically. "I came out my flat to go out and found him like that on the floor, must've fainted."

The feeling in my stomach grows as the minutes tick by. I realise that his head injury must have been worse than I thought, and kick myself for claiming I could take care of him. In my selfishness he's become ill. I'm the one to blame. I stare at his face and closed eyes, my brows furrowed in worry. I wish the people around me would go away so I can tell him what's on my mind, but they stand like cattle waiting for direction.

That's when two paramedics arrive, causing the people to disperse. One of them, a woman, looks at me with a reassuring expression.

"Are you his friend?" She asks clearly, and I say yes. "Can you tell us his name? And any injuries he has."

I pause for a moment, suddenly feeling like a small child. I subconsciously draw Pete closer to myself, not wanting to let him go before my common sense tells me to get a grip.

"His name is Pete – he was hit on the head with a cricket ball this afternoon, I think he has a concussion." I explain shakily. As I talk, the other paramedic, a man, gently pries my arms off Pete and examines the back of his head. As he does, Pete's eyes crack open. He looks panicked, his glance moving frantically between the paramedics.

"Hey Pete, it's okay. You just fainted," I say as softly as possible, trying to smile. He opens his mouth, clearly wanting to speak, but the male paramedic cuts him off.

"We need to take him to the ambulance, could you please step back for me, son?" He says loudly, also talking to the small crowd behind us. It was code for 'go away'. I stand up but hover closely to Pete as the medics lift him onto a stretcher. The woman sees my blatant worry and quickly assures me that the stretcher is only to avoid unnecessary movement that could hurt his head further, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Can I come with him?" I ask quietly, sweat gathering in my palms. The male medic raises an eyebrow but the woman speaks first.

"Of course you can. Don't give me that look, Matthew, there's plenty of room in the van for him." She says sharply. The man, Matthew, laughs slightly.

"Yes ma'am," he says, lifting the stretcher with her and beginning to walk to the ambulance. I follow them and am gestured to sit in a seat attached to the wall. They lay Pete down on the bed and buckle him in, and I follow suit. In the next minute, Matthew starts the engine and the woman, who introduces herself as Amy, sits with me in the back.

The whole time, my eyes have been fixed on Pete, who has been staring back at me, silent. He only speaks when Amy asks him questions to keep him awake, and I try to mask the concern clearly painted on my face.

The loud screeching of the ambulance siren suddenly fills the air, and I feel the van lurch forward.

Instinctively, I reach an arm out and grab Pete's hand. His eyes widen but he doesn't pull out of my grasp. We both say nothing. Amy looks at us, a knowing look in her eye, but continues to ask questions about school. I am grateful for her respect of privacy, and grip Pete's hand tighter in my hand, unaware of the journey to the hospital passing, my focus solely on him.

I notice the ambulance stopping, and seconds later the doors of the van open. Amy unbuckles herself and Pete while Matthew puts out the ramp to carry Pete down. A nurse appears with a bed, and quickly and efficiently Pete is wheeled inside the hospital. I follow, trying to not get in their way but also desperate to stay by Pete's side.

The hospital is white, busy and stinks of bleach, but I trust the nurses and paramedics to look after him – especially seeing as I couldn't. Soon we reach Accident and Emergency, and tun into a ward. The doors are flung open and I try to follow but Matthew grabs me by the arm.

"You can't go in there," he states, firmly.

"But-" I protest, trying to slip past him with but with no avail.

"You can see him after the nurse has looked at him, please sit in the waiting area. I pace quickly to the window of the ward, trying to see Pete, but the blinds are drawn and my vision is obstructed. Unable to suppress my concern, and overwhelmed with emotions, I start to cry.

Crying is unusual for me, but I cannot change the mixed feelings of guilt and worry I carry.

Matthew pats me on the shoulder.

"Hey, kid, it's just a concussion. Your friend is going to be fine." His voice is a lot softer this time. Perhaps he feels bad for being so blunt before. "Come with me and we'll get you some water, yeah?" He suggests, placing a hand on my arm and manoeuvring me away from the ward door.

As we walk I look behind me, pointlessly, as though Pete is going to magically appear there, completely fine and healthy. I sigh and look away, a heaviness in my heart and the taste of salt in my mouth.

How can I possibly face Pete after this?