As Free As My Hair (One Shot)
It started with the dropping of a drumstick in the middle of Map Of The Problematique. A simple thing; it could have been a mistake, and he recovered quickly, grabbing one of the spare drumsticks from the small cup attached to the frame of his drum kit- but it wasn’t a mistake. His fingers had suddenly weakened as he’d hit the drum, causing the wooden stick to fly through the air. He missed a couple of beats while he scrambled for another stick, and both Chris and Matt turned around to look at him; Chris looked curious, his expression changing to one of understanding when he saw the stick Dom had pulled out of the cup, but Matt looked pissed. Dom rolled his eyes as he picked the beat up again, concentrating on the song rather than what had just happened. When he got backstage after the show and Matt started to snap and shout at him, Dom told him to fuck off, his confusion about what had happened putting a dampener on his post-gig adrenaline high. He stormed off into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, head in his hands, thinking for a long while. He could hear Chris and Matt talking in the next room, Matt’s tone a lot more heated than Chris’. Chris was probably berating Matt for being such a hot-headed twat, and Matt was retaliating in anger. Such a scenario had happened before and would probably happen again, and this thought brought a smile to Dom’s face, until the memory of what had happened onstage came back to him. This gig was different. He felt his muscles weaken, and if he hadn’t been hitting the drum he would have simply dropped it. Lifting his head from his hands, he raised his right arm and flexed it, fisting his hand in the air and releasing it again. It felt normal. Dom shrugged, standing up and stretching. Probably just a momentary lapse. Trapped nerves could cause weakness in the hands, and he had had some pain in his shoulder and elbow recently, so that was probably the cause. Nodding to himself, Dom walked over to the door and unlocked it, opening it and pulling his sweaty t-shirt over his head, throwing it at Matt, who squealed and batted it away. They grinned at each other and everything was back to normal; Matt had gotten over his hissy fit and wasn’t likely to bat Dom if he tried to kiss him. Smiling, Dom continued to get changed, uninhibited in front of the men who had known him since his teenage years.
The second sign was when he and Matt were out on a walk together, while the band was on a break from touring. They had decided to go for a wander in the countryside surrounding their secluded house, finally able to tear themselves away from each other and get out for some fresh air. Walking hand in hand through the fog obscuring their vision, Dom suddenly tripped, falling to his knees and nearly pulling Matt down with him.
“Steady!” Matt cried out as he caught himself. Dom stayed on all fours, trying to process what had just happened. He had been walking with Matt, exchanging small talk as they made their way through the bleak grey, and his left foot had dragged on the floor and caught on a bit of heather. He had fallen straight down, his left knee taking the brunt of the fall, pain shooting through it as he fell forwards onto his free hand. He stayed there, even when he heard Matt talking to him, Matt’s voice piercing through the fog in the air and shoving through the fog in his brain.
“Dom, you okay, mate?”
Even after years together, when it was obvious that their relationship had long passed the boundary of friendship, he still bestowed upon Dom the same endearment that he had for years. Matt had more nicknames for him, some of them a far sight more soppy than ‘mate’ (the worst ones tended to only slip out when he’d had a bottle or two or five of red) but that was the nickname that came to him most easily. Dom allowed a small smile to pull at the corner of his lips: he was the only one who Matt called ‘mate’. Pushing up from the cold ground with his hand, he stayed kneeling and took Matt’s proffered hand, allowing the brunet to help him up. Pain continued to sting in his knee; the ground was hard and most of his weight had landed on his knee. After a few concerned questions from Matt, and Dom assuring him that he was okay to walk back to the house and it wasn’t broken, and, really, it didn’t hurt that much (this being said through gritted teeth), they walked - or limped, in Dom’s case - home, Dom’s arm around Matt’s shoulder and Matt’s around Dom’s waist for support. Matt would squeeze Dom’s waist every now and again, asking if he was okay, and Dom would nod, trying not to get too caught up in his thoughts. What had happened? It was as if his foot simply hadn’t responded- no, that was exactly what had happened. Biting his lip, he thought and came to the conclusion that it was just something, just something that had happened. Yeah, just happened. He had simply tripped; maybe his foot had caught on the heather as he was walking? Definitely. Gritting his teeth, he kept limping to the house, sighing in relief when it came into sight. Matt smiled slightly, gently squeezing his waist, knowing that the walk was more painful than his boyfriend was admitting.
“Just a little further, Dom.”
His voice spurred Dom on and kept him going, as it always had; they made it through the door and collapsed on the sofa, the pair of them spending the afternoon curled up together in front of the television, Matt sporadically getting up to grab a snack to share or a couple of drinks from the kitchen. When it fell dark and all that was left on was porn, Dom braved another painful walk up the stairs and they fell into bed; having gotten ready quickly, bouncing slightly on the mattress, their bodies succumbed swiftly to sleep.
The falls became more and more frequent. The fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh signs passed: he would fall and not be able to get up without help; his limbs would refuse to respond when he tried to move; he was getting frequent pains in his joints and was more tired than usual. It was all fucking embarrassing. He couldn’t go out without fear of falling, and needing help to get up… the whole predicament was humiliating. He felt pathetic. Sitting on the sofa, Dom tried to reach over for the remote to change the channel, giving up with a huff when it proved to be too far away and resigning himself to watching whatever shit was being shown, when Matt sat down next to him carefully, grabbing the remote and switching the television off.
“Dom,” Matt said gently, “can we talk?”
Dom nodded and turning his head to face Matt, his curiosity showing on his face.
“I…” Matt paused to think. “I don’t really know what to say.”
The brunet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers, screwing his eyes shut.
“Matt, what is it?” Dom asked, laying his left hand on Matt’s forearm, beginning to worry. Was it something he had done wrong? Maybe Matt was getting fed up of his recent… clumsiness. Matt looked him straight in the eye, his left hand moving to wrap around Dom’s on his arm.
“We need to go to the doctor, Dom. I… I think there’s something wrong with you. I don’t know what it could be, but…” He took a deep breath. “But I know that there is something. You’ve never been like this. I’m… scared, Dom, so scared.”
They sat in silence, Dom breaking eye contact with Matt and looking straight down at his lap, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He knew it too. And, like Matt, he was terrified about what it all could mean. Nodding, he looked up into deep blue eyes, fear cradled inside them. Dom opened his mouth to speak, but swiftly closed it, swallowing again and wincing at the lump he found in his throat. He continued to nod, closing his eyes to keep the tears in. He could feel his free hand shaking, and pulled his left hand off of Matt’s arm to wrap around his legs. He tried to raise them up, but his left leg was sluggish and weak, and difficult to move. He cried out in frustration and a glittering tear slid out from under his eyelid. He pulled his leg up with his hand and curled up on the sofa, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head resting on them. Matt’s arm wrapped around his waist and he allowed his head to roll onto the bony shoulder, his whole body trembling and his lungs almost refusing the shaky breaths he drew in.
“I love you, Matt,” Dom whispered through the gentle tears creeping down his face.
“I love you too,” Matt whispered back, his voice wavering as if tears were trying to escape from his eyes too, “and whatever this is, Dom, I’ll be here for you. We’ll get through it together.”
Matt’s words kept him going, as they always had.
They walked into the GP’s clinic and sat down, hand in hand, and waited for Dom’s appointment. The surgery, as usual, was running late; it told its patients to arrive at least ten minutes before their appointment, and yet, despite this, always seemed to have a delay. They were both fidgeting, unable to keep still. Dom glanced over at Matt, his blue eyes holding a world’s worth of worry and darting around the room, unable to stay fixed on one place for too long. The weight of the emotion in his eyes stung Dom; he had never wanted or meant to cause such pain to Matt. When they had first gotten together, all those years ago, he had promised himself that he would go out of his way to avoid hurting Matt.
He was hurting him now.
Matt’s leg was jiggling; he was bouncing it on the ball of his foot. Dom squeezed his hand and Matt’s head turned, his blue eyes meeting Dom’s greys, an attempt at a smile on his face.
“You nervous?”
Dom nodded, and Matt squeezed his hand back.
“Me too, baby, me too. But it’ll be okay. I know it.”
Dom smiled wanly and kissed Matt, a gentle press of his mouth to Matt’s, before sighing and sitting back in his chair. He didn’t believe Matt, but he could only hope.
“Dominic Howard to see Dr. Smith?”
Matt and Dom stood, the blond’s legs weak, and walked through the door which lead to a corridor, the rooms of the various GP’s on either side. Dr. Smith’s room was down the end of the corridor, and they paused in front of the heavy wooden door, Dom clearing his throat before raising his hand and knocking. The doctor called “Come in,” and Dom pushed the handle down and the door open, walking in and holding it open for Matt before allowing it to close. They stood awkwardly in the room, a muscle in Dom’s leg twitching irritatingly; this wasn’t the first time it had happened.
“Have a seat,” Dr. Smith said, smiling, gesturing to the two chairs beside his desk. “So, Mr. Howard, what can I do for you?”
Dom took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and began to list everything that he had been experiencing over the past few months: weak muscles, his feet dragging, becoming clumsier, joint pain, excessive tiredness, frequent falls, twitching muscles, a tendency to drop things…
As the list grew, the frown on the doctor’s face deepened.
“Mr. Howard,” he said as soon as Dom had finished. He paused, thinking about how to phrase his next words. Dom took the opportunity to say:
“Dominic, please.”
“Alright, Dominic,” Dr. Smith said, “I’m going to refer you to a doctor who specialises in Neurology. There are a number of illnesses that these symptoms point to, and the doctor will test for these various diseases…”
Blood tests, MRI scans, EMG tests, Nerve conduction tests, the TMS procedure, lumbar puncture… the list rolled through Matt’s head, most of them not making any sense to him; they had the ability to scare him, regardless. He could only imagine the fear that his boyfriend was feeling; a glance at Dom showed him the depth of his terror: his face was pale and his hands shaking in his lap. Matt reached over and grasped one of Dom’s hands in one of his own, realising that he too was shaking.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the doctor said sympathetically. “do you want some time alone?”
Dom shook his head. “When we get home.”
Nodding, Dr. Smith began to tap on his keyboard. “I’ll write you a referral. You should get a letter or a phone call sometime this week, telling you when your appointment is. Of course, if you call the number on the letter, you can change your time.”
“Okay,” Dom murmured, his eyes fixed on his hand firmly clasped in Matt’s.
Time passed quickly. The doctor was writing his email, then he was saying good bye and wishing them both good luck; they were walking out of the surgery in a daze; they were in the car; they were home. They were sitting on the sofa next to each other, their bodies stiff and not touching. They needed time to think and accept. Then a day had passed, and another, and another. Then they got a call from the specialist doctor, telling them that Dom’s appointment was scheduled for the next week. Then another day passed, and another, and another. They lived in the same house, they ate and tried to relax in the same rooms, they slept in the same bed, but they lived in separate bubbles of shock and hurt, things that neither of them could fix. They wanted to be there for each other, but when they couldn’t even support themselves, how could they help the other?
Being unable to comfort Dom in the way that he knew he should hurt Matt just as much as the threat of the diseases that Dom could be suffering from. He had promised that he would always be there for the blond - whatever happened to them - but he wasn’t there for him; he hadn’t even accepted what the doctor had said himself. Above everything else, he admired Dom’s strength and his courage. Not once had Matt seen Dom cry over what had been said in that room in the surgery, whereas he had found himself nearly in tears several times when he had been staring at Dom from across the room, longing, wishing, pleading with some unknown being to let Dom be okay. He had bitten his lip tightly, holding his tears in; he felt he had to be strong, strong like his boyfriend was. If Dom wasn’t crying, why should he? It would do nothing but worry the blond further. Matt saved his tears for his quick showers, keeping them secret. Little did he know that, late at night when he was sure Matt was asleep, Dom would slip downstairs so he wouldn’t wake his boyfriend, sat on the sofa and cried until his eyes were dry and his throat was raw, cried from the fear of what he would hear when those tests were conducted. Then he’d slip back upstairs, just as silently as he had gone downstairs, and slide back into bed, arranging the duvet over their bodies. He lay down so he was always touching Matt - whether the brunet was tickling his chin with his hair, his head resting on Dom’s shoulder, or his back was against Matt’s slowly moving chest, Matt’s arm thrown protectively over Dom’s torso, holding him close and shielding him from reality - either way was enough. It was in those moments of quiet in the dead of night, when he and Matt were the most intimate they would be all day, that he could forget everything and pretend that his body had not changed, that his world was not about to be potentially thrown into turmoil. The results of the tests Dom was due to undergo would either shatter their fragile reality or smooth out the cracks. Dom hoped that it was the latter, and wriggled backwards in bed, pressing his back as close as he could to Matt’s chest, holding the brunet’s long-fingered hand in its position on his stomach, closing his eyes and succumbing to the comforting lure of sleep in his boyfriend’s warm embrace.
The nightmares came for him again that night. They had been haunting him since his appointment with his GP: two or three scenes that would repeat themselves every few nights. He would wake up, his whole body trembling and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his chest heaving and clinging to Matt, either with his arm wrapped around Matt’s slim body or his hand gripping Matt’s arm around his waist, his nails digging in. That night was no different, and he woke up holding Matt’s hand tightly. Matt’s other hand was stroking through his hair, trying to soothe him; Matt murmured his name repeatedly, occasionally punctuated by “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here.” The brunet continued to hold him until Dom’s body had stopped shaking and his breathing was back to normal. Turning Dom to face him, Matt placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before pulling him closer so Dom’s head rested under his chin.
“Try to get some more sleep,” Matt whispered, stroking the back of Dom’s head, “we need to get up early tomorrow for your appointment.”
Dom nodded, sighing quietly and closing his eyes, hoping that the nightmares would not come and reclaim him the minute he drifted into sleep.
Sitting in the waiting room of doctor’s office with hands shaking, time passed slowly for the pair.
Two girls came over, looking shy. Matt smiled at them, and they smiled back. One of them spoke.
“Erm, we’re sorry if this isn’t a good time…”
Matt shook his head as Dom looked up from his hands, resting in his lap. “It’s fine.”
The girls looked at each other. “We just wanted to say… we hope it’s nothing too bad, and good luck.”
Dom glanced at the tops they were wearing, official Muse merchandise. “Thank you,” he said, the wavering in his voice almost imperceptive, “thank you so much.” He could not even begin to express the emotions that overwhelmed him at that moment. He offered to take pictures with the girls, and they walked off happily with pictures with two of their idols on their phones, after they had wished good luck to Dom again. They had obviously received results of whatever tests had been performed on one of them; good news. The blond turned to Matt, biting his lip. Matt understood and slipped an arm around Dom’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“They…” he choked out, trying to hold the tears in.
“I know,” Matt replied.
“Can’t believe we…”
“Dominic Howard?”
“Shit,” Dom whispered, the colour falling from his face. He took hold of Matt’s hand and held on tightly, feeling Matt gripping his hand just as hard. They stood and walked quickly to the doctor’s office, a sense of déjà vu coming over them. They pushed open the door and sat down in the chairs that were pointed out to them.
“Mr. Howard, I’m afraid you have Motor Neurone Disease.”
Shock.
Horror.
Fear.
The doctor was so clinical, reeling off a list of symptoms and problems that were common. The pair could only sit and absorb everything that they were told.
“MND is fatal. You have between two and five years to live.”
Blackness.
Disbelief.
Scorn.
They walked out of the doctor’s office and out of the clinic having received the results of the multiple tests that had been performed on Dom; bad news.
The two had driven home in a shocked silence, the atmosphere in the car tense and heavy. Matt turned into the drive and turned off the engine, and they sat, stony faced.
“Chris,” Dom whispered.
“You want to tell him?”
The blond nodded, Matt restarted the car and backed out of the drive, turning down the road and driving towards Chris’.
Chris and Kelly had been told. Tom knew. That was it, their family told. Dom’s mother had died several years ago, something that always pained Matt. The blond had said, standing by his mother’s grave, “I’m too young to be an orphan.”
Dom was too young to die. Matt had always thought that they would grow old together, that Dom would always be there; whether they were fighting and arguing, fucking each other in every room of their house or holding each other in bed, Dom would always be there.
Dom was being torn away from him.
And it wasn’t fair.
Matt fell to his knees, barely registering the pain he felt as they hit the cold tiled floor, tears falling from his eyes and sobs tearing from his lungs. He couldn’t imagine his life without Dom, but, in as little as two years, that’s what his life would be. Without Dom. He gripped at his hair, tugging harshly and rocking back and forwards on his knees. He bent over, pressing his forehead to the tiles as if he was praying, praying for a miracle, praying for Dom’s life to be saved-
His sobs were loud, echoing off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. He began to choke on his breaths, his breathing ragged.
“Why him?” he cried out, his knuckles turning white from pulling his hair. “Why him? Why not me?” he sobbed, releasing his hair to drag his nails over his scalp.
“Why Dom?” he whispered, the lump in his throat making it painful to speak. He heard uneven footsteps approaching him, a gentle thump as Dom sat down beside him, crossing his legs and pulling Matt’s shuddering body into his lap. They sat there, Matt held in Dom’s arms, until the sun had fallen below the horizon and darkness shrouded the sky. From there, they somehow made their way upstairs to their moonlit bedroom, falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, neither wanting to let go of the other. They didn’t have time to waste. Every moment was a moment lost to the incurable disease, and a moment that they could never get back.
The three of them were fooling around in the studio, having become bored of their long break. Before the problem of Dom’s medical condition (he refused to call it an illness) had arisen, they had promised themselves that they wouldn’t start any work for a couple of months at least, and Dom had insisted that they stick to their promise, despite both Matt and Chris wanting to start on a new album before-
They didn’t want to think about it.
“Anything I try to play now will be shit anyway,” Dom had said, turning his head away from his friends so he didn’t have to look them in the eye. They had protested, but Dom had been adamant about them having a break, and they had reluctantly agreed.
Chris picked up his bass, strumming the strings once to make sure it was in tune. Matt stood in the middle of the room in front of the drum kit that Dom was sat at, looking between his guitar and his piano. After five minutes of dithering and about ten changes of mind, he finally settled on his piano, sitting on the stool and running his fingers over the keys. They started playing together, none of them sure who started first as they slipped into an easy rhythm, Matt’s eyes focussed on his hands and his body swaying to the melody he was creating. Chris’ eyes were closed, his fingers racing up and down the neck of his bass and his head bobbing to the beat. They were both too absorbed in the music to hear the gentle sobs that accompanied the quieter-than-usual drum beat, Dom’s muscles too weak and unresponsive to hit the drums as hard as he used to, until the blond dropped the drumsticks purposely, the sticks clattering on the drums and onto the floor, and buried his head in his hands, shoulders heaving. Matt and Chris looked up, their hands freezing on their instruments and plunging the room into silence, save for the sound of Dom’s sobs. Dom stood on shaky legs, starting to stumble towards the door, his feet dragging, before Matt ran over to him and took a gentle hold on his arm. He walked backwards towards the sofa, every tear that escaped from cloudy grey eyes causing a physical pain to jab his stomach, as if he was being stabbed. He lowered himself down to sit on the cushions and Dom immediately fell into his lap, placing his socked feet on the cushion next to Matt’s thighs, his body encased in Matt’s arms and his face buried in Matt’s neck. He clung to Matt as best he could and sobbed into the curve where Matt’s neck blended into his shoulder. Matt’s hand rubbed up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him; thin lips were pressed to the top of his head; deep breaths disturbed his hair. Dom grabbed Matt’s free hand and held on, the touch being the only thing keeping him sane. Chris dropped down next to the sofa, his left arm propping himself up on the armrest of the sofa, his right hand rubbing Dom’s shoulder.
“I… I’m going to die,” Dom whispered. “I’m going to die,” he choked out again, “and we can’t do anything about it.”
Dom’s words killed Matt; the knife that had previously been stabbing at his stomach sliced into his heart. It was the truth. And this was Dom’s realisation.
“I’m so sorry,” Dom croaked. “I’m letting you both down. I’m letting the band down. The fans, too. You both deserve more than me. Find another drummer. I don’t want to let Muse die with me.”
Dom’s shoulders wracked with sobs and he tried to breathe slowly, finding the task impossible as tears continued to fall from his eyes and his head began to pound in a slow rhythm, along with the beating of his heart. He held onto Matt, his only connection to reality in that moment; his absolution.
“Dom…” Matt’s voice cracked, and he paused, taking in a deep breath of Dom’s hair. “We’re not going to find a new drummer. Muse would not be Muse without you. To carry on without you would be wrong, totally wrong. And you’re not letting us down, Dom. We… we love you, and we can get through this. Together.”
“No we can’t, Matt!” Dom wrenched his face out of the crook of Matt’s neck, silvery tear stains marring his beautiful face. “We can’t, because I’m going to die! I’m… I’m going to die,” he finished off in a whisper so pained it tortured the atmosphere in the room. “I’m so sorry,” Dom whispered again, and shut his eyes, resting his head on Matt’s shoulder, screwing his eyelids tightly together to prevent the tears from falling again.
They lay in their softly-lit bedroom, gentle music floating out of the speakers. Dom was lying in Matt’s arms, his back to Matt’s chest, long-fingered hands resting on his stomach. Matt’s gentle breaths ruffled his hair, blowing a few strands out of place. He dropped a kiss on the top of Dom’s head and stroked his fingers over Dom’s skin.
“I love you,” he whispered into Dom’s ear, squeezing him gently.
Dom rolled his head onto Matt’s shoulder and whispered, “I love you too.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“What do you mean?” Matt asked, looking up at Dom from his plate.
“I don’t want to die from this, Matt. I don’t want to die from choking on my food or suffocating because my muscles have wasted away to the point that I can’t breathe. I’m already losing so much muscle function. You know, you have to help me do so much stuff… I just…”
Matt inhaled his mouthful, coughing violently. “You… God, Dom…”
Dom looked down, his gaze slightly ashamed. “Sorry, bad thing to bring up over dinner. But, please, Matt. I don’t… I don’t want to die like that. I don’t want you to see me like that, either.”
“So… you want to…” he couldn’t say it.
“Yeah,” Dom whispered. Neither could he.
“I’ll be there for you,” Matt whispered, reaching across the table to take hold of Dom’s hand. “I’ll be there every step of the way, whatever you choose to do.”
They had flown over to Switzerland a few weeks earlier. Dom had said his goodbyes to everyone apart from Matt back in England. Their friends- their family had held their tears back until Matt and Dom were out of sight, passing through the airport. When they had gone, they let their tears flow freely, knowing that it would be the last time they would see him alive.
They had been through the necessary procedures: they had registered Dom as a member of the Dignitas clinic and sent the payment they required. When things had become unbearable they had sent his medical records and a further payment, they had heard from the doctor and travelled to Switzerland, seen the same doctor twice and paid for the drugs. The appointment had been made.
They were in the room. Dom was lying on the bed, Matt next to him, holding him. Dom had asked that Matt lie with him and hold him as he died. The two members of staff required by the law were in the room with them, standing in respectful silence by the wall of the room. Dom lifted the cup of lethal drugs to his lips, but lowered it again to press his lips to Matt’s.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” Matt replied, running his fingers through Dom’s hair and kissing his temple. Dom took a deep breath and raised the cup to his lips again, tipping the drugs into his mouth. He swallowed and opened his mouth for the piece of dark chocolate Matt held out to get rid of the taste of the drugs. He chewed quickly and swallowed, closing his eyes and resting his head on Matt’s shoulder. Matt held him tightly, his eyes shut and swallowing to keep his tears inside. He held Dom tightly, even when Dom was slipping away.
Dominic James Howard
7th December 1977-10th June 2011
Loving son, brother, friend and boyfriend
Forever loved, forever missed
Everything about you so easy to love,
They’re watching you from above
Four people stood around the grave in a small cemetery in Devon. Three of the people turned and began to walk away, the tallest man patting the remaining man on the back, rethinking and pulling him into a tight hug. He released him and walked away with the others, leaving Matt by the grave.
Matt bent down, placing a single rose on the grass in front of the headstone.
“I love you, Dom. Forever and always.”
He stood, turned and walked away, allowing his painful tears to fall.
The second sign was when he and Matt were out on a walk together, while the band was on a break from touring. They had decided to go for a wander in the countryside surrounding their secluded house, finally able to tear themselves away from each other and get out for some fresh air. Walking hand in hand through the fog obscuring their vision, Dom suddenly tripped, falling to his knees and nearly pulling Matt down with him.
“Steady!” Matt cried out as he caught himself. Dom stayed on all fours, trying to process what had just happened. He had been walking with Matt, exchanging small talk as they made their way through the bleak grey, and his left foot had dragged on the floor and caught on a bit of heather. He had fallen straight down, his left knee taking the brunt of the fall, pain shooting through it as he fell forwards onto his free hand. He stayed there, even when he heard Matt talking to him, Matt’s voice piercing through the fog in the air and shoving through the fog in his brain.
“Dom, you okay, mate?”
Even after years together, when it was obvious that their relationship had long passed the boundary of friendship, he still bestowed upon Dom the same endearment that he had for years. Matt had more nicknames for him, some of them a far sight more soppy than ‘mate’ (the worst ones tended to only slip out when he’d had a bottle or two or five of red) but that was the nickname that came to him most easily. Dom allowed a small smile to pull at the corner of his lips: he was the only one who Matt called ‘mate’. Pushing up from the cold ground with his hand, he stayed kneeling and took Matt’s proffered hand, allowing the brunet to help him up. Pain continued to sting in his knee; the ground was hard and most of his weight had landed on his knee. After a few concerned questions from Matt, and Dom assuring him that he was okay to walk back to the house and it wasn’t broken, and, really, it didn’t hurt that much (this being said through gritted teeth), they walked - or limped, in Dom’s case - home, Dom’s arm around Matt’s shoulder and Matt’s around Dom’s waist for support. Matt would squeeze Dom’s waist every now and again, asking if he was okay, and Dom would nod, trying not to get too caught up in his thoughts. What had happened? It was as if his foot simply hadn’t responded- no, that was exactly what had happened. Biting his lip, he thought and came to the conclusion that it was just something, just something that had happened. Yeah, just happened. He had simply tripped; maybe his foot had caught on the heather as he was walking? Definitely. Gritting his teeth, he kept limping to the house, sighing in relief when it came into sight. Matt smiled slightly, gently squeezing his waist, knowing that the walk was more painful than his boyfriend was admitting.
“Just a little further, Dom.”
His voice spurred Dom on and kept him going, as it always had; they made it through the door and collapsed on the sofa, the pair of them spending the afternoon curled up together in front of the television, Matt sporadically getting up to grab a snack to share or a couple of drinks from the kitchen. When it fell dark and all that was left on was porn, Dom braved another painful walk up the stairs and they fell into bed; having gotten ready quickly, bouncing slightly on the mattress, their bodies succumbed swiftly to sleep.
The falls became more and more frequent. The fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh signs passed: he would fall and not be able to get up without help; his limbs would refuse to respond when he tried to move; he was getting frequent pains in his joints and was more tired than usual. It was all fucking embarrassing. He couldn’t go out without fear of falling, and needing help to get up… the whole predicament was humiliating. He felt pathetic. Sitting on the sofa, Dom tried to reach over for the remote to change the channel, giving up with a huff when it proved to be too far away and resigning himself to watching whatever shit was being shown, when Matt sat down next to him carefully, grabbing the remote and switching the television off.
“Dom,” Matt said gently, “can we talk?”
Dom nodded and turning his head to face Matt, his curiosity showing on his face.
“I…” Matt paused to think. “I don’t really know what to say.”
The brunet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers, screwing his eyes shut.
“Matt, what is it?” Dom asked, laying his left hand on Matt’s forearm, beginning to worry. Was it something he had done wrong? Maybe Matt was getting fed up of his recent… clumsiness. Matt looked him straight in the eye, his left hand moving to wrap around Dom’s on his arm.
“We need to go to the doctor, Dom. I… I think there’s something wrong with you. I don’t know what it could be, but…” He took a deep breath. “But I know that there is something. You’ve never been like this. I’m… scared, Dom, so scared.”
They sat in silence, Dom breaking eye contact with Matt and looking straight down at his lap, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He knew it too. And, like Matt, he was terrified about what it all could mean. Nodding, he looked up into deep blue eyes, fear cradled inside them. Dom opened his mouth to speak, but swiftly closed it, swallowing again and wincing at the lump he found in his throat. He continued to nod, closing his eyes to keep the tears in. He could feel his free hand shaking, and pulled his left hand off of Matt’s arm to wrap around his legs. He tried to raise them up, but his left leg was sluggish and weak, and difficult to move. He cried out in frustration and a glittering tear slid out from under his eyelid. He pulled his leg up with his hand and curled up on the sofa, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head resting on them. Matt’s arm wrapped around his waist and he allowed his head to roll onto the bony shoulder, his whole body trembling and his lungs almost refusing the shaky breaths he drew in.
“I love you, Matt,” Dom whispered through the gentle tears creeping down his face.
“I love you too,” Matt whispered back, his voice wavering as if tears were trying to escape from his eyes too, “and whatever this is, Dom, I’ll be here for you. We’ll get through it together.”
Matt’s words kept him going, as they always had.
They walked into the GP’s clinic and sat down, hand in hand, and waited for Dom’s appointment. The surgery, as usual, was running late; it told its patients to arrive at least ten minutes before their appointment, and yet, despite this, always seemed to have a delay. They were both fidgeting, unable to keep still. Dom glanced over at Matt, his blue eyes holding a world’s worth of worry and darting around the room, unable to stay fixed on one place for too long. The weight of the emotion in his eyes stung Dom; he had never wanted or meant to cause such pain to Matt. When they had first gotten together, all those years ago, he had promised himself that he would go out of his way to avoid hurting Matt.
He was hurting him now.
Matt’s leg was jiggling; he was bouncing it on the ball of his foot. Dom squeezed his hand and Matt’s head turned, his blue eyes meeting Dom’s greys, an attempt at a smile on his face.
“You nervous?”
Dom nodded, and Matt squeezed his hand back.
“Me too, baby, me too. But it’ll be okay. I know it.”
Dom smiled wanly and kissed Matt, a gentle press of his mouth to Matt’s, before sighing and sitting back in his chair. He didn’t believe Matt, but he could only hope.
“Dominic Howard to see Dr. Smith?”
Matt and Dom stood, the blond’s legs weak, and walked through the door which lead to a corridor, the rooms of the various GP’s on either side. Dr. Smith’s room was down the end of the corridor, and they paused in front of the heavy wooden door, Dom clearing his throat before raising his hand and knocking. The doctor called “Come in,” and Dom pushed the handle down and the door open, walking in and holding it open for Matt before allowing it to close. They stood awkwardly in the room, a muscle in Dom’s leg twitching irritatingly; this wasn’t the first time it had happened.
“Have a seat,” Dr. Smith said, smiling, gesturing to the two chairs beside his desk. “So, Mr. Howard, what can I do for you?”
Dom took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and began to list everything that he had been experiencing over the past few months: weak muscles, his feet dragging, becoming clumsier, joint pain, excessive tiredness, frequent falls, twitching muscles, a tendency to drop things…
As the list grew, the frown on the doctor’s face deepened.
“Mr. Howard,” he said as soon as Dom had finished. He paused, thinking about how to phrase his next words. Dom took the opportunity to say:
“Dominic, please.”
“Alright, Dominic,” Dr. Smith said, “I’m going to refer you to a doctor who specialises in Neurology. There are a number of illnesses that these symptoms point to, and the doctor will test for these various diseases…”
Blood tests, MRI scans, EMG tests, Nerve conduction tests, the TMS procedure, lumbar puncture… the list rolled through Matt’s head, most of them not making any sense to him; they had the ability to scare him, regardless. He could only imagine the fear that his boyfriend was feeling; a glance at Dom showed him the depth of his terror: his face was pale and his hands shaking in his lap. Matt reached over and grasped one of Dom’s hands in one of his own, realising that he too was shaking.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the doctor said sympathetically. “do you want some time alone?”
Dom shook his head. “When we get home.”
Nodding, Dr. Smith began to tap on his keyboard. “I’ll write you a referral. You should get a letter or a phone call sometime this week, telling you when your appointment is. Of course, if you call the number on the letter, you can change your time.”
“Okay,” Dom murmured, his eyes fixed on his hand firmly clasped in Matt’s.
Time passed quickly. The doctor was writing his email, then he was saying good bye and wishing them both good luck; they were walking out of the surgery in a daze; they were in the car; they were home. They were sitting on the sofa next to each other, their bodies stiff and not touching. They needed time to think and accept. Then a day had passed, and another, and another. Then they got a call from the specialist doctor, telling them that Dom’s appointment was scheduled for the next week. Then another day passed, and another, and another. They lived in the same house, they ate and tried to relax in the same rooms, they slept in the same bed, but they lived in separate bubbles of shock and hurt, things that neither of them could fix. They wanted to be there for each other, but when they couldn’t even support themselves, how could they help the other?
Being unable to comfort Dom in the way that he knew he should hurt Matt just as much as the threat of the diseases that Dom could be suffering from. He had promised that he would always be there for the blond - whatever happened to them - but he wasn’t there for him; he hadn’t even accepted what the doctor had said himself. Above everything else, he admired Dom’s strength and his courage. Not once had Matt seen Dom cry over what had been said in that room in the surgery, whereas he had found himself nearly in tears several times when he had been staring at Dom from across the room, longing, wishing, pleading with some unknown being to let Dom be okay. He had bitten his lip tightly, holding his tears in; he felt he had to be strong, strong like his boyfriend was. If Dom wasn’t crying, why should he? It would do nothing but worry the blond further. Matt saved his tears for his quick showers, keeping them secret. Little did he know that, late at night when he was sure Matt was asleep, Dom would slip downstairs so he wouldn’t wake his boyfriend, sat on the sofa and cried until his eyes were dry and his throat was raw, cried from the fear of what he would hear when those tests were conducted. Then he’d slip back upstairs, just as silently as he had gone downstairs, and slide back into bed, arranging the duvet over their bodies. He lay down so he was always touching Matt - whether the brunet was tickling his chin with his hair, his head resting on Dom’s shoulder, or his back was against Matt’s slowly moving chest, Matt’s arm thrown protectively over Dom’s torso, holding him close and shielding him from reality - either way was enough. It was in those moments of quiet in the dead of night, when he and Matt were the most intimate they would be all day, that he could forget everything and pretend that his body had not changed, that his world was not about to be potentially thrown into turmoil. The results of the tests Dom was due to undergo would either shatter their fragile reality or smooth out the cracks. Dom hoped that it was the latter, and wriggled backwards in bed, pressing his back as close as he could to Matt’s chest, holding the brunet’s long-fingered hand in its position on his stomach, closing his eyes and succumbing to the comforting lure of sleep in his boyfriend’s warm embrace.
The nightmares came for him again that night. They had been haunting him since his appointment with his GP: two or three scenes that would repeat themselves every few nights. He would wake up, his whole body trembling and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his chest heaving and clinging to Matt, either with his arm wrapped around Matt’s slim body or his hand gripping Matt’s arm around his waist, his nails digging in. That night was no different, and he woke up holding Matt’s hand tightly. Matt’s other hand was stroking through his hair, trying to soothe him; Matt murmured his name repeatedly, occasionally punctuated by “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here.” The brunet continued to hold him until Dom’s body had stopped shaking and his breathing was back to normal. Turning Dom to face him, Matt placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before pulling him closer so Dom’s head rested under his chin.
“Try to get some more sleep,” Matt whispered, stroking the back of Dom’s head, “we need to get up early tomorrow for your appointment.”
Dom nodded, sighing quietly and closing his eyes, hoping that the nightmares would not come and reclaim him the minute he drifted into sleep.
Sitting in the waiting room of doctor’s office with hands shaking, time passed slowly for the pair.
Two girls came over, looking shy. Matt smiled at them, and they smiled back. One of them spoke.
“Erm, we’re sorry if this isn’t a good time…”
Matt shook his head as Dom looked up from his hands, resting in his lap. “It’s fine.”
The girls looked at each other. “We just wanted to say… we hope it’s nothing too bad, and good luck.”
Dom glanced at the tops they were wearing, official Muse merchandise. “Thank you,” he said, the wavering in his voice almost imperceptive, “thank you so much.” He could not even begin to express the emotions that overwhelmed him at that moment. He offered to take pictures with the girls, and they walked off happily with pictures with two of their idols on their phones, after they had wished good luck to Dom again. They had obviously received results of whatever tests had been performed on one of them; good news. The blond turned to Matt, biting his lip. Matt understood and slipped an arm around Dom’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“They…” he choked out, trying to hold the tears in.
“I know,” Matt replied.
“Can’t believe we…”
“Dominic Howard?”
“Shit,” Dom whispered, the colour falling from his face. He took hold of Matt’s hand and held on tightly, feeling Matt gripping his hand just as hard. They stood and walked quickly to the doctor’s office, a sense of déjà vu coming over them. They pushed open the door and sat down in the chairs that were pointed out to them.
“Mr. Howard, I’m afraid you have Motor Neurone Disease.”
Shock.
Horror.
Fear.
The doctor was so clinical, reeling off a list of symptoms and problems that were common. The pair could only sit and absorb everything that they were told.
“MND is fatal. You have between two and five years to live.”
Blackness.
Disbelief.
Scorn.
They walked out of the doctor’s office and out of the clinic having received the results of the multiple tests that had been performed on Dom; bad news.
The two had driven home in a shocked silence, the atmosphere in the car tense and heavy. Matt turned into the drive and turned off the engine, and they sat, stony faced.
“Chris,” Dom whispered.
“You want to tell him?”
The blond nodded, Matt restarted the car and backed out of the drive, turning down the road and driving towards Chris’.
Chris and Kelly had been told. Tom knew. That was it, their family told. Dom’s mother had died several years ago, something that always pained Matt. The blond had said, standing by his mother’s grave, “I’m too young to be an orphan.”
Dom was too young to die. Matt had always thought that they would grow old together, that Dom would always be there; whether they were fighting and arguing, fucking each other in every room of their house or holding each other in bed, Dom would always be there.
Dom was being torn away from him.
And it wasn’t fair.
Matt fell to his knees, barely registering the pain he felt as they hit the cold tiled floor, tears falling from his eyes and sobs tearing from his lungs. He couldn’t imagine his life without Dom, but, in as little as two years, that’s what his life would be. Without Dom. He gripped at his hair, tugging harshly and rocking back and forwards on his knees. He bent over, pressing his forehead to the tiles as if he was praying, praying for a miracle, praying for Dom’s life to be saved-
His sobs were loud, echoing off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. He began to choke on his breaths, his breathing ragged.
“Why him?” he cried out, his knuckles turning white from pulling his hair. “Why him? Why not me?” he sobbed, releasing his hair to drag his nails over his scalp.
“Why Dom?” he whispered, the lump in his throat making it painful to speak. He heard uneven footsteps approaching him, a gentle thump as Dom sat down beside him, crossing his legs and pulling Matt’s shuddering body into his lap. They sat there, Matt held in Dom’s arms, until the sun had fallen below the horizon and darkness shrouded the sky. From there, they somehow made their way upstairs to their moonlit bedroom, falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, neither wanting to let go of the other. They didn’t have time to waste. Every moment was a moment lost to the incurable disease, and a moment that they could never get back.
The three of them were fooling around in the studio, having become bored of their long break. Before the problem of Dom’s medical condition (he refused to call it an illness) had arisen, they had promised themselves that they wouldn’t start any work for a couple of months at least, and Dom had insisted that they stick to their promise, despite both Matt and Chris wanting to start on a new album before-
They didn’t want to think about it.
“Anything I try to play now will be shit anyway,” Dom had said, turning his head away from his friends so he didn’t have to look them in the eye. They had protested, but Dom had been adamant about them having a break, and they had reluctantly agreed.
Chris picked up his bass, strumming the strings once to make sure it was in tune. Matt stood in the middle of the room in front of the drum kit that Dom was sat at, looking between his guitar and his piano. After five minutes of dithering and about ten changes of mind, he finally settled on his piano, sitting on the stool and running his fingers over the keys. They started playing together, none of them sure who started first as they slipped into an easy rhythm, Matt’s eyes focussed on his hands and his body swaying to the melody he was creating. Chris’ eyes were closed, his fingers racing up and down the neck of his bass and his head bobbing to the beat. They were both too absorbed in the music to hear the gentle sobs that accompanied the quieter-than-usual drum beat, Dom’s muscles too weak and unresponsive to hit the drums as hard as he used to, until the blond dropped the drumsticks purposely, the sticks clattering on the drums and onto the floor, and buried his head in his hands, shoulders heaving. Matt and Chris looked up, their hands freezing on their instruments and plunging the room into silence, save for the sound of Dom’s sobs. Dom stood on shaky legs, starting to stumble towards the door, his feet dragging, before Matt ran over to him and took a gentle hold on his arm. He walked backwards towards the sofa, every tear that escaped from cloudy grey eyes causing a physical pain to jab his stomach, as if he was being stabbed. He lowered himself down to sit on the cushions and Dom immediately fell into his lap, placing his socked feet on the cushion next to Matt’s thighs, his body encased in Matt’s arms and his face buried in Matt’s neck. He clung to Matt as best he could and sobbed into the curve where Matt’s neck blended into his shoulder. Matt’s hand rubbed up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him; thin lips were pressed to the top of his head; deep breaths disturbed his hair. Dom grabbed Matt’s free hand and held on, the touch being the only thing keeping him sane. Chris dropped down next to the sofa, his left arm propping himself up on the armrest of the sofa, his right hand rubbing Dom’s shoulder.
“I… I’m going to die,” Dom whispered. “I’m going to die,” he choked out again, “and we can’t do anything about it.”
Dom’s words killed Matt; the knife that had previously been stabbing at his stomach sliced into his heart. It was the truth. And this was Dom’s realisation.
“I’m so sorry,” Dom croaked. “I’m letting you both down. I’m letting the band down. The fans, too. You both deserve more than me. Find another drummer. I don’t want to let Muse die with me.”
Dom’s shoulders wracked with sobs and he tried to breathe slowly, finding the task impossible as tears continued to fall from his eyes and his head began to pound in a slow rhythm, along with the beating of his heart. He held onto Matt, his only connection to reality in that moment; his absolution.
“Dom…” Matt’s voice cracked, and he paused, taking in a deep breath of Dom’s hair. “We’re not going to find a new drummer. Muse would not be Muse without you. To carry on without you would be wrong, totally wrong. And you’re not letting us down, Dom. We… we love you, and we can get through this. Together.”
“No we can’t, Matt!” Dom wrenched his face out of the crook of Matt’s neck, silvery tear stains marring his beautiful face. “We can’t, because I’m going to die! I’m… I’m going to die,” he finished off in a whisper so pained it tortured the atmosphere in the room. “I’m so sorry,” Dom whispered again, and shut his eyes, resting his head on Matt’s shoulder, screwing his eyelids tightly together to prevent the tears from falling again.
They lay in their softly-lit bedroom, gentle music floating out of the speakers. Dom was lying in Matt’s arms, his back to Matt’s chest, long-fingered hands resting on his stomach. Matt’s gentle breaths ruffled his hair, blowing a few strands out of place. He dropped a kiss on the top of Dom’s head and stroked his fingers over Dom’s skin.
“I love you,” he whispered into Dom’s ear, squeezing him gently.
Dom rolled his head onto Matt’s shoulder and whispered, “I love you too.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“What do you mean?” Matt asked, looking up at Dom from his plate.
“I don’t want to die from this, Matt. I don’t want to die from choking on my food or suffocating because my muscles have wasted away to the point that I can’t breathe. I’m already losing so much muscle function. You know, you have to help me do so much stuff… I just…”
Matt inhaled his mouthful, coughing violently. “You… God, Dom…”
Dom looked down, his gaze slightly ashamed. “Sorry, bad thing to bring up over dinner. But, please, Matt. I don’t… I don’t want to die like that. I don’t want you to see me like that, either.”
“So… you want to…” he couldn’t say it.
“Yeah,” Dom whispered. Neither could he.
“I’ll be there for you,” Matt whispered, reaching across the table to take hold of Dom’s hand. “I’ll be there every step of the way, whatever you choose to do.”
They had flown over to Switzerland a few weeks earlier. Dom had said his goodbyes to everyone apart from Matt back in England. Their friends- their family had held their tears back until Matt and Dom were out of sight, passing through the airport. When they had gone, they let their tears flow freely, knowing that it would be the last time they would see him alive.
They had been through the necessary procedures: they had registered Dom as a member of the Dignitas clinic and sent the payment they required. When things had become unbearable they had sent his medical records and a further payment, they had heard from the doctor and travelled to Switzerland, seen the same doctor twice and paid for the drugs. The appointment had been made.
They were in the room. Dom was lying on the bed, Matt next to him, holding him. Dom had asked that Matt lie with him and hold him as he died. The two members of staff required by the law were in the room with them, standing in respectful silence by the wall of the room. Dom lifted the cup of lethal drugs to his lips, but lowered it again to press his lips to Matt’s.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” Matt replied, running his fingers through Dom’s hair and kissing his temple. Dom took a deep breath and raised the cup to his lips again, tipping the drugs into his mouth. He swallowed and opened his mouth for the piece of dark chocolate Matt held out to get rid of the taste of the drugs. He chewed quickly and swallowed, closing his eyes and resting his head on Matt’s shoulder. Matt held him tightly, his eyes shut and swallowing to keep his tears inside. He held Dom tightly, even when Dom was slipping away.
Dominic James Howard
7th December 1977-10th June 2011
Loving son, brother, friend and boyfriend
Forever loved, forever missed
Everything about you so easy to love,
They’re watching you from above
Four people stood around the grave in a small cemetery in Devon. Three of the people turned and began to walk away, the tallest man patting the remaining man on the back, rethinking and pulling him into a tight hug. He released him and walked away with the others, leaving Matt by the grave.
Matt bent down, placing a single rose on the grass in front of the headstone.
“I love you, Dom. Forever and always.”
He stood, turned and walked away, allowing his painful tears to fall.