The Art of Trying (Part 9)
Warning: one case of very bad language.
***
Brendan hated hospitals. Really fucking hated them. He hated the smell of them, the ambience, which was usually eerily calm even though people were dying around them. He hated the white institute walls, the low hum of people talking; fearing for their loved ones. The way people looked at him when he sat in the waiting room, with fake sympathetic glances… he just wanted to smack that pity right out of them. It wasn’t him who needed it, after all.
Amy was there too. She sat on the other side of the waiting room, face white as a ghost, hair unwashed and hanging greasily down her shoulders, bags under her eyes. She jiggled her phone about nervously in her hand even though it was switched off. She’s barely breathed a word to Brendan all day, which didn’t surprise him really. The only thing she’d said to him had been that morning, when Brendan had burst through the doors, scanning around for someone recognisable - anyone. And Amy had come up to him, face stained with tears:
“It’s worse than I thought… they’ve put him on life support, Brendan.”
They hadn’t been able to see him all day. Just sit in this godforsaken waiting room, and do exactly that - wait. Wait and ponder and wander how the fuck they’d ended up in this situation. And pray, of course. Brendan had never exactly been a model catholic, but he knew praying might help him… HAD to help him… when there was so much at stake… Steven at stake.
“Miss Barnes?”
“Yes?”
“I’m PC McCormick… I’m investigating the cause of Ste Hay’s injuries.”
“Oh right. Yeah. Hi.”
“We’ve already been given witness statements from several people from the Chez Chez nightclub event two days ago… that is when you last saw him, is that correct?”
“Yeah.” Amy breathed shakily. “Yeah… around 1.00. But… I left before him.”
“Okay, and does Mr Hay have any enemies that you know about?”
“No!” Amy ran her hands through her hair, tears filling her eyes again. “No, they already asked me this, and he doesn’t!”
“And there’s no way he might have gotten himself involved in drugs, or any other…”
“No! Definitely not. No. He’s a Dad.”
“Okay.” The officer spoke softly, but it was clear there was cynicism behind her voice. Brendan clenched his fists tightly.
“Please.” Amy whispered, “Is he going to be okay?”
“That’s not for me to answer, I’m afraid.” Again - the soft voice. But it was fake. FAKE. This officer didn’t care about Steven. Steven was just another in a long list of people who’d gotten themselves beaten up. The ones who got on the wrong side of drug gangs or loan sharks. But this woman didn’t realise Steven wasn’t like them. She didn’t realise what Steven was like; so sweet and eager and ready to prove himself. He wasn’t a bad person. He was Steven. And he never, NEVER deserved this.
“And what do you know about Lewis Robson?” The officer continued.
Amy blinked, confused. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“We have witnesses who say he was dancing with Mr Hay at the club that night.”
“Oh him…” Amy was obviously struggling to remember. Maybe if she hadn’t been so fucking drunk, none of this would’ve happened, Brendan thought bitterly. The small voice at the back of his head was saying otherwise - maybe if you hadn’t been so jealous and bitter, Brendan Brady, you’d have stuck around long enough to prevent it. He pushed that voice aside. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He had to be strong now. For Steven, and for Amy.
“I’d never seen him before,” Amy spoke quietly, “Ste just met him that night.”
“And is there any chance Mr Hay might have gone home with him?”
Brendan rose to his feet, insides clenched in fury, “NO!” He spat.
Amy and the Officer turned to him, surprised. Brendan was too if truth be told, but still, he wouldn’t have Steven talked about like that. Steven wasn’t like that - never was - he wouldn’t have gone off to fuck some shit-face stranger. Even if he was drunk… even if he was out-of-it… even if he was…
“We have reason to believe Ste Hay was spiked on the night in question.” The officer said slowly.
And everything went still. It was like the floor sinking beneath them. Brendan’s mind reeled. Like the whole fucking world was crashing around him… even more-so than when he found out Steven was here in the first place. He felt sick… dizzy. How could this have happened?? In his OWN FUCKING CLUB. Some disgusting perverted cunt to slip a tab into Steven’s drink… into his Steven’s drink… to… to do this to him… to end him here…not able to even breathe for himself anymore. What had that man wanted to do to him?! What had that sick fuck been planning?! What had gone wrong - what had caused… this? For Steven to be beaten to a pulp, fucking nearly killed. And how could Brendan have just stood there… and watch that slimy son-of-a-bitch talk and dance with Steven like that…
“No…” he breathed slowly, hands shaking, he shoved them into his pockets roughly.
“Where is he??” Amy gasped, tears now dribbling down her cheeks again, “That Lewis bloke - have you caught him?!”
“We’re looking for him.”
“Why? Why would he DO that?! I don’t understand!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Barnes.”
“Please!” Amy sobbed. She looked broken. Truly broken. “Please tell me he’s gonna be okay.”
The officer just watched her for a moment. And that fake-pity shone through her eyes, just as it did through everybody else’s. “I’m sorry.” She said again. And then she left - just like that. Lucky for her, she’d probably sleep soundly that night, never knowing what a nice lad Steven was, and never reeling over the sour injustice.
OXOXO
It was another five painful hours. Hours of silence. Hours of waiting. Hours of wandering. Hours of Brendan’s insides curling and uncurling in despair, self-blame, pain, sympathy. Hours of him playing the events over and over in his head… Steven at the club… Steven chatting to that man… Steven getting drugged… Steven being taken to that flat where they found him… Steven being beaten half to death. Had he been scared? If the drugs were strong enough, then hopefully not. Hopefully he never felt any of it - never realised it was happening, that would be better.
Fuck sake, what the fuck was taking so long?! Why was nobody telling him anything?! It had been almost eight hours now since Steven was taken into the operating theatre and put on life support, surely they must have SOMETHING to say by now! And please, fuck, let it be good. Brendan hadn’t even begun to consider that it might not be. He couldn’t think about that.
“Fuck sake.” He growled furiously, rising to his feet and resuming his pacing back and forth over the waiting room. “Where the fuck are the fucking doctors?!”
“They’re working, Brendan.” Amy said evenly.
“Why won’t they TELL US anything?!”
“I don’t know, do I? I don’t know any more than you do.”
Brendan turned and checked Amy over. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen from tears. Girl needed a rest, that was for sure.
Brendan sighed. “Look. Jus’ go home, get some sleep, I’ll call you if there’s any news.”
“No.” Amy shook her head adamantly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leavin’ him alone.”
“I’m here.”
Amy rolled her eyes. Apparently Brendan’s presence didn’t stand for much. It took him aback slightly… like a harsh bump back to reality. He’d forgotten Amy hated him. He’d forgotten that’s the way she thought; that Brendan didn’t have a proper role in Steven’s life. How wrong could she be? They may not be in a ‘relationship’, no, but that meant fuck-all, that meant nothing. Steven would still want Brendan to be here. He would… wouldn’t he?
“CHRIST!” Brendan yelled in frustration, emotions bubbling harshly and making him feel sick…claustrophobic. “Where’s the fucking… would someone PLEASE…”
He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe. He just wanted answers - now. He wanted to be treated with the fucking respect he deserved. He wanted to know what was happening to Steven. He wanted people to GIVE him that information because he more than anybody needed to know it. He wanted…… he wanted people to KNOW, to UNDERSTAND what Steven meant to him. After months and months of trying to keep it a secret… all he wanted now was for the world to know. Was for the world to let him stay close to Steven and hold his hand while he lay in that bed, because he’s Brendan Brady… he’s the one who gets to do that.
He found one of the nurses heading out of the operation room and took his chances.
“WHAT’S GOIN’ ON IN THERE?!” He screamed at the nurse furiously, pulling her roughly by the arm. “It’s been eight fuckin’ hours, I wanna know what’s happenin’!”
“Brendan!!” Amy gasped, running up behind him.
“We’re just doing some tests, Sir” The nurse hurried, “Now if you’d PLEASE just wa…”
“I’M NOT WAITIN’ ANYMORE!!” His insides were burning, his chest aching with pain; he couldn’t do this anymore, and he wouldn’t. “I WANT TO KNOW WHAT’S GOIN’ ON - WHAT TESTS?!”
“Sir, please…”
“Just tell me!! No… let me see ‘im.”
“Visitors aren’t allowed…”
“Do I look like I care?!” Brendan seethed, getting right up in the nurse’s face, teeth grit, eyes wild, veins popping with rage. And then he pushed her. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get her the FUCK out of his way. He knew he didn’t have much time. He knew security would come soon. And he could hear Amy yelling protests behind him but he didn’t care. He pushed through the door to the operation centre. He ran past stray doctors, and ignored all protests that he stop. Adrenaline was forcing him forwards. Desperation… need… fear all driving him forwards. He shoved anyone aside who got in his way. He felt his breath quickening, his heart beating more frantically. He heard security running behind him… but that just made him move faster. He scanned every glass window full of every unconscious patient until he found the right one… until he saw the instantly familiar figure lying in one of the rooms…
And then he was paralysed.
Steven.
“MR BRADY, WE INSIST YOU STOP RIGHT NOW!”
Brendan moved forward… pressed his face against the window, let the coldness caress over his forehead as he stared in at the lad he was so familiar with. And it was all he could do to stop himself heaving in pain. Steven was barely recognisable in there. His face was corrupted by sick red and black bruises. His bare chest was exposed, wrapped in bandages and fouled by a mass of tubes running into his skin. His hands wrapped up also… and his head. There was no part of him left clean and unaffected… no part of him the same as when Brendan last saw him just two days ago. The only part of him vaguely recognisable were his lips… plump… chapped right now, and open slightly - the way they were when he was sleeping. Only when he was sleeping he was breathing for himself, and now he wasn’t. Now a machine was doing that for him.
Hands suddenly grabbed Brendan’s shoulders roughly, as two security guards pulled him into some kind of lock; arms behind his back.
“No…” Brendan protested. But it came out weak and rasped. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steven’s unmoving figure. His boy.
“Mr Brady, we really can not have visitors back here!” The nurse insisted. And the security guards were trying to move him, trying to take him away… take him away from Steven… but Steven needed him…
“No, please.” Brendan croaked… shocked to find himself actually begging. Brendan Brady did not beg. And yet he was now. Over and over. “Please. I need to say with him… I have to stay here… please… please…”
“Mr Brady, we’ll be moving Mr Hay to another ward shortly and THEN he’ll be able to have visitors, but right now we just need to finish up a few tests, PLEASE cooperate!”
“What tests?!” Brendan’s throat was dry, he could feel tears that he detested creeping up his throat and up his gut.
“I will explain everything, but we JUST need to you vacate the area!”
“Why won’t he wake up?!”
“PLEASE Mr Brady!” The nurse reason, “If you cooperate, I PROMISE. I promise I will have someone explain to you the procedures.”
So Brendan felt his body fall limp, let himself be guided by these godforsaken security guards, and he played along with their instructions. He’d play ball for now. He had to. For Steven’s sake. For his sake only, Brendan would oblige to these peoples mindless orders.
XOXOX
“We haven’t had all the results back yet.” The doctor spoke gently. “But from the X-Rays we have done, we have detected broken ribs, broken fingers, a broken ankle and fractured collar-bone, and a fracture in a couple of back-bones.”
“Right.” Amy sniffed quietly. “And… that’s all fixable, right? He won’t… it’s not permanent?”
“Those he will recover from.”
“Okay. Okay…good.”
“What we really need to be concerned about is the X-Ray we did on his head injuries.”
“Wh…why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Well it’s too early at the moment to know the true scale of the wounds… but our X-Rays did show some slight brain-damage to the left hand si…”
“No!” Amy cried, her head shaking back and forth manically as though trying to un-do the information she’d just heard… to reverse it all. “No, this can’t be happenin’!”
Brendan couldn’t even speak. He couldn’t even react. He was done. Out of energy. These words seeped slowly into his consciousness but they only faded in and out… hovering in limbo… not true… they couldn’t be. It was like his mind and body were exhausted, refusing the new information. Refusing to collaborate. He couldn’t retort, couldn’t feel, couldn’t even breathe. He just sat there blankly, staring straight ahead. A ticking time bomb.
“As I say, it’s too early to tell right now how serious it is, but it is something we need to be prepared for when Mr Hay regains consciousnesses…”
“I can’t believe this.” Amy breathed. “Why? WHY HIM? I just… I can’t…”
“I’m sorry.” The doctor replied sombrely.
Sorry. Always fucking sorry. Always fucking sorry, but never really.
The hard scrape of Brendan’s chair against the floor drowned out the pitiful silence. He didn’t say a word… just left. He couldn’t stand to be in the presence of these insincere apologies anymore, nor Amy with her tears and her feeling as though she has more of a right to be there than Brendan does.
He walked into the outside world for the first time all day, letting the cold air whip his face, fill his lungs - allowing him to take real breaths for the first time. Breaths he wished he couldn’t take… breaths he wished he could give to Steven, who deserved them more. He allowed the silence to engulf him, allowed his mind to turn off, his brain to shut down, his heart to cease to function because it hurt too much. He wanted to be in a coma too. He wanted to end all these overwhelming sensations of regret, dread, guilt, horror, confusion, doubt. So many things didn’t add up. None of this really made sense at all…
“Brendan?”
Brendan blinked. He turned towards the source of the noise… the familiar Irish accent. Turned to find his fathers black car parked just metres away from him, and his father leaning casually out of the drivers window.
“Heard that you were here.” His father spoke calmly.
Brendan swallowed, struggling to find his voice for a moment. “Yeah.”
“Ye look like shit, son.”
“Right…”
“All this… jus’ for a barman?”
Brendan’s head reeled. So he’d heard then? Of course he’d heard; the whole of Hollyoaks knew by now. Cheryl had been calling all day, going spare. She’d wanted to come over, but she’d had to look after the club. Obviously she’d sent their dad instead.
“Happened in my club, didn’t it?” Brendan spoke numbly. “Part my fault.”
“Still, probably time to come home now, eh?”
“N…no. I’m stayin’… I’ve gotta stay here.” Brendan couldn’t think straight, couldn’t function sentences properly. His head hurt… he wanted to think… he didn’t want to stand here and talk and lie to this man.
“Yer a mess. You need sleep.”
“Yeah.” Brendan sighed. “I’ll sleep here, da’. You go.”
“What’s your business hangin’ round here jus’ for some kid whose…”
“… DA’, FUCK SAKE, I TOLD YE I’M STAYIN’ HERE!” Brendan snapped. He ran his hands through his hair, noticing for the first time that he was shaking, shaking with anger and pent-up emotion.
Mr Brady stared at him for a few hard seconds. Scrutinising.
Until eventually he said, “Fine.” and the car was driving away.
Brendan saw the suspiciousness in his fathers eyes then. The weird sense that he knew more than he was letting on… that maybe Brenan was being too transparent about this. Still, right now that was the least of his problems. Right now he could only think of one thing… and that was who did this to Steven. His friend, Steven. His fucking lover, for Gods sake. Because something didn’t add up about the Lewis-story, Brendan realised, though he couldn’t think of any other explanations. He couldn’t think, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand.
He only understood one thing: that when he did find out who was responsible for this… he would kill them.
***
Brendan hated hospitals. Really fucking hated them. He hated the smell of them, the ambience, which was usually eerily calm even though people were dying around them. He hated the white institute walls, the low hum of people talking; fearing for their loved ones. The way people looked at him when he sat in the waiting room, with fake sympathetic glances… he just wanted to smack that pity right out of them. It wasn’t him who needed it, after all.
Amy was there too. She sat on the other side of the waiting room, face white as a ghost, hair unwashed and hanging greasily down her shoulders, bags under her eyes. She jiggled her phone about nervously in her hand even though it was switched off. She’s barely breathed a word to Brendan all day, which didn’t surprise him really. The only thing she’d said to him had been that morning, when Brendan had burst through the doors, scanning around for someone recognisable - anyone. And Amy had come up to him, face stained with tears:
“It’s worse than I thought… they’ve put him on life support, Brendan.”
They hadn’t been able to see him all day. Just sit in this godforsaken waiting room, and do exactly that - wait. Wait and ponder and wander how the fuck they’d ended up in this situation. And pray, of course. Brendan had never exactly been a model catholic, but he knew praying might help him… HAD to help him… when there was so much at stake… Steven at stake.
“Miss Barnes?”
“Yes?”
“I’m PC McCormick… I’m investigating the cause of Ste Hay’s injuries.”
“Oh right. Yeah. Hi.”
“We’ve already been given witness statements from several people from the Chez Chez nightclub event two days ago… that is when you last saw him, is that correct?”
“Yeah.” Amy breathed shakily. “Yeah… around 1.00. But… I left before him.”
“Okay, and does Mr Hay have any enemies that you know about?”
“No!” Amy ran her hands through her hair, tears filling her eyes again. “No, they already asked me this, and he doesn’t!”
“And there’s no way he might have gotten himself involved in drugs, or any other…”
“No! Definitely not. No. He’s a Dad.”
“Okay.” The officer spoke softly, but it was clear there was cynicism behind her voice. Brendan clenched his fists tightly.
“Please.” Amy whispered, “Is he going to be okay?”
“That’s not for me to answer, I’m afraid.” Again - the soft voice. But it was fake. FAKE. This officer didn’t care about Steven. Steven was just another in a long list of people who’d gotten themselves beaten up. The ones who got on the wrong side of drug gangs or loan sharks. But this woman didn’t realise Steven wasn’t like them. She didn’t realise what Steven was like; so sweet and eager and ready to prove himself. He wasn’t a bad person. He was Steven. And he never, NEVER deserved this.
“And what do you know about Lewis Robson?” The officer continued.
Amy blinked, confused. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“We have witnesses who say he was dancing with Mr Hay at the club that night.”
“Oh him…” Amy was obviously struggling to remember. Maybe if she hadn’t been so fucking drunk, none of this would’ve happened, Brendan thought bitterly. The small voice at the back of his head was saying otherwise - maybe if you hadn’t been so jealous and bitter, Brendan Brady, you’d have stuck around long enough to prevent it. He pushed that voice aside. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He had to be strong now. For Steven, and for Amy.
“I’d never seen him before,” Amy spoke quietly, “Ste just met him that night.”
“And is there any chance Mr Hay might have gone home with him?”
Brendan rose to his feet, insides clenched in fury, “NO!” He spat.
Amy and the Officer turned to him, surprised. Brendan was too if truth be told, but still, he wouldn’t have Steven talked about like that. Steven wasn’t like that - never was - he wouldn’t have gone off to fuck some shit-face stranger. Even if he was drunk… even if he was out-of-it… even if he was…
“We have reason to believe Ste Hay was spiked on the night in question.” The officer said slowly.
And everything went still. It was like the floor sinking beneath them. Brendan’s mind reeled. Like the whole fucking world was crashing around him… even more-so than when he found out Steven was here in the first place. He felt sick… dizzy. How could this have happened?? In his OWN FUCKING CLUB. Some disgusting perverted cunt to slip a tab into Steven’s drink… into his Steven’s drink… to… to do this to him… to end him here…not able to even breathe for himself anymore. What had that man wanted to do to him?! What had that sick fuck been planning?! What had gone wrong - what had caused… this? For Steven to be beaten to a pulp, fucking nearly killed. And how could Brendan have just stood there… and watch that slimy son-of-a-bitch talk and dance with Steven like that…
“No…” he breathed slowly, hands shaking, he shoved them into his pockets roughly.
“Where is he??” Amy gasped, tears now dribbling down her cheeks again, “That Lewis bloke - have you caught him?!”
“We’re looking for him.”
“Why? Why would he DO that?! I don’t understand!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Barnes.”
“Please!” Amy sobbed. She looked broken. Truly broken. “Please tell me he’s gonna be okay.”
The officer just watched her for a moment. And that fake-pity shone through her eyes, just as it did through everybody else’s. “I’m sorry.” She said again. And then she left - just like that. Lucky for her, she’d probably sleep soundly that night, never knowing what a nice lad Steven was, and never reeling over the sour injustice.
OXOXO
It was another five painful hours. Hours of silence. Hours of waiting. Hours of wandering. Hours of Brendan’s insides curling and uncurling in despair, self-blame, pain, sympathy. Hours of him playing the events over and over in his head… Steven at the club… Steven chatting to that man… Steven getting drugged… Steven being taken to that flat where they found him… Steven being beaten half to death. Had he been scared? If the drugs were strong enough, then hopefully not. Hopefully he never felt any of it - never realised it was happening, that would be better.
Fuck sake, what the fuck was taking so long?! Why was nobody telling him anything?! It had been almost eight hours now since Steven was taken into the operating theatre and put on life support, surely they must have SOMETHING to say by now! And please, fuck, let it be good. Brendan hadn’t even begun to consider that it might not be. He couldn’t think about that.
“Fuck sake.” He growled furiously, rising to his feet and resuming his pacing back and forth over the waiting room. “Where the fuck are the fucking doctors?!”
“They’re working, Brendan.” Amy said evenly.
“Why won’t they TELL US anything?!”
“I don’t know, do I? I don’t know any more than you do.”
Brendan turned and checked Amy over. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen from tears. Girl needed a rest, that was for sure.
Brendan sighed. “Look. Jus’ go home, get some sleep, I’ll call you if there’s any news.”
“No.” Amy shook her head adamantly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leavin’ him alone.”
“I’m here.”
Amy rolled her eyes. Apparently Brendan’s presence didn’t stand for much. It took him aback slightly… like a harsh bump back to reality. He’d forgotten Amy hated him. He’d forgotten that’s the way she thought; that Brendan didn’t have a proper role in Steven’s life. How wrong could she be? They may not be in a ‘relationship’, no, but that meant fuck-all, that meant nothing. Steven would still want Brendan to be here. He would… wouldn’t he?
“CHRIST!” Brendan yelled in frustration, emotions bubbling harshly and making him feel sick…claustrophobic. “Where’s the fucking… would someone PLEASE…”
He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe. He just wanted answers - now. He wanted to be treated with the fucking respect he deserved. He wanted to know what was happening to Steven. He wanted people to GIVE him that information because he more than anybody needed to know it. He wanted…… he wanted people to KNOW, to UNDERSTAND what Steven meant to him. After months and months of trying to keep it a secret… all he wanted now was for the world to know. Was for the world to let him stay close to Steven and hold his hand while he lay in that bed, because he’s Brendan Brady… he’s the one who gets to do that.
He found one of the nurses heading out of the operation room and took his chances.
“WHAT’S GOIN’ ON IN THERE?!” He screamed at the nurse furiously, pulling her roughly by the arm. “It’s been eight fuckin’ hours, I wanna know what’s happenin’!”
“Brendan!!” Amy gasped, running up behind him.
“We’re just doing some tests, Sir” The nurse hurried, “Now if you’d PLEASE just wa…”
“I’M NOT WAITIN’ ANYMORE!!” His insides were burning, his chest aching with pain; he couldn’t do this anymore, and he wouldn’t. “I WANT TO KNOW WHAT’S GOIN’ ON - WHAT TESTS?!”
“Sir, please…”
“Just tell me!! No… let me see ‘im.”
“Visitors aren’t allowed…”
“Do I look like I care?!” Brendan seethed, getting right up in the nurse’s face, teeth grit, eyes wild, veins popping with rage. And then he pushed her. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get her the FUCK out of his way. He knew he didn’t have much time. He knew security would come soon. And he could hear Amy yelling protests behind him but he didn’t care. He pushed through the door to the operation centre. He ran past stray doctors, and ignored all protests that he stop. Adrenaline was forcing him forwards. Desperation… need… fear all driving him forwards. He shoved anyone aside who got in his way. He felt his breath quickening, his heart beating more frantically. He heard security running behind him… but that just made him move faster. He scanned every glass window full of every unconscious patient until he found the right one… until he saw the instantly familiar figure lying in one of the rooms…
And then he was paralysed.
Steven.
“MR BRADY, WE INSIST YOU STOP RIGHT NOW!”
Brendan moved forward… pressed his face against the window, let the coldness caress over his forehead as he stared in at the lad he was so familiar with. And it was all he could do to stop himself heaving in pain. Steven was barely recognisable in there. His face was corrupted by sick red and black bruises. His bare chest was exposed, wrapped in bandages and fouled by a mass of tubes running into his skin. His hands wrapped up also… and his head. There was no part of him left clean and unaffected… no part of him the same as when Brendan last saw him just two days ago. The only part of him vaguely recognisable were his lips… plump… chapped right now, and open slightly - the way they were when he was sleeping. Only when he was sleeping he was breathing for himself, and now he wasn’t. Now a machine was doing that for him.
Hands suddenly grabbed Brendan’s shoulders roughly, as two security guards pulled him into some kind of lock; arms behind his back.
“No…” Brendan protested. But it came out weak and rasped. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steven’s unmoving figure. His boy.
“Mr Brady, we really can not have visitors back here!” The nurse insisted. And the security guards were trying to move him, trying to take him away… take him away from Steven… but Steven needed him…
“No, please.” Brendan croaked… shocked to find himself actually begging. Brendan Brady did not beg. And yet he was now. Over and over. “Please. I need to say with him… I have to stay here… please… please…”
“Mr Brady, we’ll be moving Mr Hay to another ward shortly and THEN he’ll be able to have visitors, but right now we just need to finish up a few tests, PLEASE cooperate!”
“What tests?!” Brendan’s throat was dry, he could feel tears that he detested creeping up his throat and up his gut.
“I will explain everything, but we JUST need to you vacate the area!”
“Why won’t he wake up?!”
“PLEASE Mr Brady!” The nurse reason, “If you cooperate, I PROMISE. I promise I will have someone explain to you the procedures.”
So Brendan felt his body fall limp, let himself be guided by these godforsaken security guards, and he played along with their instructions. He’d play ball for now. He had to. For Steven’s sake. For his sake only, Brendan would oblige to these peoples mindless orders.
XOXOX
“We haven’t had all the results back yet.” The doctor spoke gently. “But from the X-Rays we have done, we have detected broken ribs, broken fingers, a broken ankle and fractured collar-bone, and a fracture in a couple of back-bones.”
“Right.” Amy sniffed quietly. “And… that’s all fixable, right? He won’t… it’s not permanent?”
“Those he will recover from.”
“Okay. Okay…good.”
“What we really need to be concerned about is the X-Ray we did on his head injuries.”
“Wh…why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Well it’s too early at the moment to know the true scale of the wounds… but our X-Rays did show some slight brain-damage to the left hand si…”
“No!” Amy cried, her head shaking back and forth manically as though trying to un-do the information she’d just heard… to reverse it all. “No, this can’t be happenin’!”
Brendan couldn’t even speak. He couldn’t even react. He was done. Out of energy. These words seeped slowly into his consciousness but they only faded in and out… hovering in limbo… not true… they couldn’t be. It was like his mind and body were exhausted, refusing the new information. Refusing to collaborate. He couldn’t retort, couldn’t feel, couldn’t even breathe. He just sat there blankly, staring straight ahead. A ticking time bomb.
“As I say, it’s too early to tell right now how serious it is, but it is something we need to be prepared for when Mr Hay regains consciousnesses…”
“I can’t believe this.” Amy breathed. “Why? WHY HIM? I just… I can’t…”
“I’m sorry.” The doctor replied sombrely.
Sorry. Always fucking sorry. Always fucking sorry, but never really.
The hard scrape of Brendan’s chair against the floor drowned out the pitiful silence. He didn’t say a word… just left. He couldn’t stand to be in the presence of these insincere apologies anymore, nor Amy with her tears and her feeling as though she has more of a right to be there than Brendan does.
He walked into the outside world for the first time all day, letting the cold air whip his face, fill his lungs - allowing him to take real breaths for the first time. Breaths he wished he couldn’t take… breaths he wished he could give to Steven, who deserved them more. He allowed the silence to engulf him, allowed his mind to turn off, his brain to shut down, his heart to cease to function because it hurt too much. He wanted to be in a coma too. He wanted to end all these overwhelming sensations of regret, dread, guilt, horror, confusion, doubt. So many things didn’t add up. None of this really made sense at all…
“Brendan?”
Brendan blinked. He turned towards the source of the noise… the familiar Irish accent. Turned to find his fathers black car parked just metres away from him, and his father leaning casually out of the drivers window.
“Heard that you were here.” His father spoke calmly.
Brendan swallowed, struggling to find his voice for a moment. “Yeah.”
“Ye look like shit, son.”
“Right…”
“All this… jus’ for a barman?”
Brendan’s head reeled. So he’d heard then? Of course he’d heard; the whole of Hollyoaks knew by now. Cheryl had been calling all day, going spare. She’d wanted to come over, but she’d had to look after the club. Obviously she’d sent their dad instead.
“Happened in my club, didn’t it?” Brendan spoke numbly. “Part my fault.”
“Still, probably time to come home now, eh?”
“N…no. I’m stayin’… I’ve gotta stay here.” Brendan couldn’t think straight, couldn’t function sentences properly. His head hurt… he wanted to think… he didn’t want to stand here and talk and lie to this man.
“Yer a mess. You need sleep.”
“Yeah.” Brendan sighed. “I’ll sleep here, da’. You go.”
“What’s your business hangin’ round here jus’ for some kid whose…”
“… DA’, FUCK SAKE, I TOLD YE I’M STAYIN’ HERE!” Brendan snapped. He ran his hands through his hair, noticing for the first time that he was shaking, shaking with anger and pent-up emotion.
Mr Brady stared at him for a few hard seconds. Scrutinising.
Until eventually he said, “Fine.” and the car was driving away.
Brendan saw the suspiciousness in his fathers eyes then. The weird sense that he knew more than he was letting on… that maybe Brenan was being too transparent about this. Still, right now that was the least of his problems. Right now he could only think of one thing… and that was who did this to Steven. His friend, Steven. His fucking lover, for Gods sake. Because something didn’t add up about the Lewis-story, Brendan realised, though he couldn’t think of any other explanations. He couldn’t think, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand.
He only understood one thing: that when he did find out who was responsible for this… he would kill them.