Thank you everybody, once again for the feedback. Sorry this chapter has taken so long to be forthcoming but University is not as easy going as I'd expected. Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines! Anyways, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.
*
"Alex! Car! Stop goddamit! Stop!"
Too late.
The sickening crunch, the pool of blood, the crumpled form, those pleading words.
Alex.
I'm awake instantly. Sweat soaking my clothes; tears streaming down my face as I remember. Rubbing at my tears, I look up from my vigil by Alex's bedside and gaze at him. I wince again at the large bandage around his head; the violent bruise that's formed on his cheek. He sustained a split lip, a few bruised ribs and his right leg is supported high in a cast.
After watching the blood stain his hair and his hand fall from my face to the floor, I was convinced I'd lost him. The minutes seemed to drag by relentlessly as I waited for the ambulance to arrive. Thoughts of words I may never get to say plagued me. I kept stroking his hair; whispering how much I loved him. I didn't care if he couldn't hear; I told him anyway.
When finally the ambulance arrived and we got to the hospital, he was whisked off to surgery. I paced like a caged tiger in the small waiting room feeling trapped and helpless. The waiting was excruciating, the clock on the wall mocking me tirelessly until I was ready to rip it from the wall and smash it to pieces. Eventually the doctor came in and told me that Alex had suffered a few significant injuries but none were life threatening. I let out a huge rush of breath that I seemed to have been holding in forever; nearly breaking the doctor's ribs when I hugged him in a mixture of relief and gratitude. He smiled kindly at my reaction, and then led me to a room where Alex lay pale and unconscious.
Looking at him now I'm consumed with guilt. I dragged him to that party and instead of looking out for him; I selfishly left him to his own devices. If it wasn't for me none of this would have happened. Alex wouldn't have been pissed off and he wouldn't have run out into the road and nearly been killed. My eyes well up again and I burrow my head in shame into the sheets on his bed.
"I'm sorry." I choke out, despairingly. "I'm so sorry."
Suddenly there's a hand in my hair, comforting me. "Sorry for what?" A hoarse voice whispers.
I raise my head and stare at him. He's awake. My Alex is awake and yet my voice has deserted me. His green eyes are looking at me intensely, searing my soul.
"Sorry for what?" He repeats.
"I'm sorry for abandoning you at the party. If I hadn't left you, then you wouldn't have got mad and run into the road and..."
"Been hit by a car?"
"Right" I confirm miserably.
"Don't feel guilty, Seth. It wasn't your fault. I was looking forward to going out with you and I guess I was a bit jealous when you went off and had fun without me. Anyways the car didn't kill me. I'm alive aren't I?"
Through my tears (
God, I'm becoming a right wimp
) I realise something. Alex was jealous. Jealous? What does
that
mean? Before I can enquire, Alex's hand moves from my hair to my face; thumbing away my tears.
"Don't cry, Seth. I'm fine. I promise."
*
I'm still pondering on Alex's confession of jealousy a week later. I'm really confused now. I love him but his feeling towards me, I've yet to decipher. Is he jealous because I left him to socialise with other people? Or is he jealous I didn't grind and dance the night away with him? And what's all this talk about people leaving him? I couldn't leave him if I tried.
(
Took you long enough to work that out, Sherlock.
I think, sarcastically.
Maybe you should tell him that sometime.
)
We've become really close now that he's dependent on me. I change his bandages, make sure he takes his pills and escort him to and from our classes. I know his favourite colour is black; his favourite films are The Godfather trilogy, he adores white chocolate and he wants to be a writer. This routine continues for a few months; my knowledge about him growing ever larger. And for every day of those months I convince myself that I'll tell him again how I feel, how much he means to me but everyday I find an excuse not to. (
Basically I'm a coward when it comes to admitting emotion.)
Eventually Alex is almost back to his old self. His bruises have disappeared but he still needs a weekly visit to the physiotherapist for his ribs and leg. After a particularly strenuous session we return home and he collapses onto his bed and promptly wipes out. I get a basin of warm soapy water and wash him down. Trying not to upset his ribs too much I pull off his t-shirt and slowly and meticulously wash his torso. I feel the hard planes of his muscles under his skin whilst I wash away his sweat. I pass the wash cloth over his nipples wanting to linger but not daring to and then move to clean his underarms. Once I've finished with his upper body, I remove his tracksuit bottoms and boxers. My eyes devour him; my breathing becomes deeper and more erratic as I struggle for control. I start from his ankles, rubbing the cloth over his perfect calves and up to his silky thighs. I'm fascinated by the contrast of his solid thighs and his smooth hairlessness. Eventually I reach his crotch using the flannel to cleanse his sac. I massage his orbs gently cleaning away all the sweat accumulated there. Proceeding to his cock I cleanse quickly too, less I give into temptation. Once I'm finished I put him in a clean pair of boxers, a t-shirt and decide to go for a walk to cool down and clear my head.
I leave and walk aimlessly eventually settling on a bench in the park. I sit watching the happy couples passing by (Fucking
typical
considering how shit I feel), the wind lifting the leaves on the trees; wondering what to do about Alex. I nearly lost him and
still
I can't muster the courage to tell him how I feel. Sometimes I feel like he knows from the way he looks at me but other times I'm convinced it's just my imagination. I find it ironic that I can take on an entire team of giant muscled men when playing rugby but when it comes to I opening my mouth to tell someone how much they mean to me, I clam up. Suddenly anger rears its ugly head and I'm livid with myself. I can't believe I'm being such a stupid prick. Alex nearly died and I don't even have the balls to tell him how I feel. I propel myself off the bench and head home determined to tell him exactly how I feel. At the same time I'm praying frantically that he doesn't reject me.
I don't think I could bear that.
I head home, hand trembling as I put the key in the lock. I'm greeted by Alex still in his boxers. I gulp audibly.