Faster Than the Speed of Chemo: Chapter Six
Chapter Six
I look away from the pile of clothes in the corner. I'll have to do the laundry soon, and take a shower before I see Charles.
The water's a nice reprieve from the draft floating over the floorboards. We could have easily had a nicer apartment in a better part of town. I refused. Now I have to contend with mold, drafts, and the occasional cockroach.
The muscles in my back feel tight. They're wound around each other in a massive knot of lactic acid, in coils like a rope. It's monstrous. Hunchbacked Igor. I rub at my neck and shoulders fitfully, willing the ache of a foreign mattress to leave my tissues. Hygiene is purifying. Detoxifies the body and cleanses the mind for the coming day. A clean slate.
I'm running late though, spent too much time so I have to skip the shave to be on time. Today I can't afford to be late.
I don the usual leather jacket and boots, the helmet. Usually I like the coarse feel of them on my skin, the image it reflects. Tough and intimidating. Today it feels like a vinyl costume.
I spot a Dove chocolate wrapper next to my bed. A remnant of the last couple days. It is telling me "enjoy life's everyday gifts". Life's a shitty gift giver.
I walk out of the room, knocking on Charles' door as I pass by. My keys are on the couch, not the usual place. "Are you ready? We gotta leave now if you don't want to be late."
Charles walks out of his room in an oversized sweater. "I suppose." He closes the door. So did I, even though we never bothered before. His eyes look haggard, like he's had a restless sleep. Same here.
"Wouldn't want to be late." He gives me one of those looks, the one that I've seen on countless faces, accusation. "Where were you last night?"
No answer.
There's a distinct smell to this situation. It's floating over the air in the room like a miasma, choking my senses and filling my lungs with lead.
And there's a certain look to it as well. It's all legs and dark hair, bruised skin and painted lips.
And there's a feeling.
Like rock in the pit of my stomach, a tight ball of numbness that sometimes feels like guilt. Which doesn't make sense because I'm not in the wrong. I'm not the one who hid having cancer from my best friend.
My mind keeps racing even as my body stays rooted to this bed. The caresses elicit shivers and goose bumps, sweat. The music in the back ground is annoying.
"S-so, how does this all work? Like going to sleep right? That's how they always describe it on TV. I'm not going to wake up or anything right? Cause I tend to do that, insomnia and all."
"No, Mr. Xavier. You're not going to wake up during the operation." The nurse offers a friendly smile, a reassuring hand.
Raven strokes Charles hair as he settles back down on the bed. He's not prepped yet, so he still has hair to pet.
"It's alright Charles." She doesn't sound too convinced. I'm on his other side, giving his hand a squeeze. I feel nauseous.
Charles looks down. "Erik, you know we still haven't tried that new restaurant on Brendan Street. It was on Dinners, Drive INS and Dives. We should go there. I know you don't like hamburgers much-"
"We'll go when this is all over okay?" He's a mess. Shaking, lips twitching whenever the nurse moves.
"Charles, mom called this morning, the weather's not too great in Winchester so her flight got cancelled." Raven whispers into his ear.
"Mom called, oh Jesus Christ, why didn't you tell me earlier? I mean-"
"Sorry, I had to get to work to tell off Azazel."
"How's our man doing? Not being too feisty are we Charles?" that voice sounds familiar.
"Doctor Shaw, my mother's not here, I don't think we can do this today. I mean, she'll want to be here to see me passed out and all…." Shaw. Shaw. I turn around.
"Erik, you okay?" Raven asks.
"Is that who I think it is? If it isn't little Erik Lensherr, all grown up." He walks over, extending a hand.
What the fuck.
"Erik you know the doctor?" I don't know who asked that. Maybe it was my subconscious. Yes. Yes I know him.
I hear a crunch noise. Like at the club. And the feel of pliable flesh sinking in under the force of my hand.
"Christ!"
"Erik what the hell!"
"Call security."
There's some blood on my hand. Shaw's moving away from me, holding his face, nose bleeding. Good. That mother fucker.
And I'm being pulled away, security badges near my face.
Raven looks pissed.
Charles looks like a creationist has just walked into the room and disproved evolution.
"Erik, what the hell's your problem?"Spit and foam forms in the corners of her mouth and suddenly she's less attractive as she marches in front of me.
"I thought you were working." She sits down next to me, her fists clenched. She wants to punch me.
"Like I'd really miss my brother's surgery." Her eyes are watery, ready to spill over. Today's been stressful.
I stare down at my hands; the knuckles are starting to hurt. There's a scratch on my index finger from when Shaw's glasses made contact with them.
"Why'd you have to fucking punch him? You have some kind of testosterone problem? Seriously, you've been doing too much of it." Yes. Too much testosterone, and adrenaline, and endorphins as my fist hit Shaw square in the cheek. Satisfaction. Endless amounts.
"Are they going to let me back in or do I have to sit here the whole damned time?" that's the only regret I have, that I had to be forcefully removed from Charles' hospital room. That he had looked horrified. That I hadn't been able to say anything before he went under.
She snorts. "Doubt it. You're lucky the hospital didn't call the police, or that Shaw chalked up your aggression to an 'unbalanced emotional state', which I know, is bullshit. Why'd you really sock him one?"
"Don't really feel like talking about it." I pull at my turtleneck, the room's too warm.
Raven stares. "Why were you at the apartment last night?"
Just like Charles' look this morning. I pull the material higher up my neck. "Why even ask. I'm sure Angel already told you."
Her lips purse, face contorting into a disapproving frown. She twists a strand of her hair around, an indecisive gesture. It's unlike her. "What do you want to say?"
"You gotta know how Charles, you know, feels about you. There's no way you don't."
I rub my face. Today has turned out more eventful then I originally anticipated. I only prepared myself for surgery. That's how I emotionally arranged myself. I knew Charles was getting surgery, that he has cancer. I'm prepared, if not pissed at the universe or whatever god there may be, for today. But I didn't anticipate Sebastian Shaw being his surgeon, or discussing Charles' feelings with Raven. It's too much.
"What of it?"
"Then why would you sleep with my roommate?" She jabs a finger at my chest, her voice rising above appropriate levels.
I hunch over, the weight of everything bending my back. "I don't know."
I appreciate the effort that Angel has put into this. Candles light the room in a supposedly romantic mood and some soft music plays from an unknown source. I'm not a fan of candle light though. The dark suits me just fine. The detachment. So does the light if I'm feeling particularly daring and my partner is particularly attractive. But candle light's a strange middle ground. It casts disconcerting shadows over the ridges and curves of peoples' bodies. It also reminds me of Hanukkah. Menorahs and eight day old oil.
"Look, I don't know what's up with you and Charles, but…" she pauses, chews her lip a little. Her voice lowers. "I'm hearing- does he really have cancer?"
I don't answer. Just sit on the bed and wind my fingers through the hair swept over her shoulder. I don't want to talk about Charles. I don't want to talk about anything.
She's responsive enough. Doesn't push for answers or attempts at romance. It's a relief.
The candle light makes her face dance in a twisted jig. I'm sure mine looks no different.
Raven says the surgery could take up to ten hours. Seven or eight if it goes smoothly. I'd like to ask for myself, but I'm not allowed to leave the waiting area. There's a security guard sitting across from us.
I've given up looking at the clock. Checking the damned thing every five minutes wasn't helping to relieve my growing anxiety. It's only been an hour and I feel like I'm going crazy, switching from boredom to, admittedly, crippling worry.
Raven brought a Kindle and is attempting to read something on it, but every few minutes I see her frown and look back up to the top of the device, re-reading the pages one or twice before moving on. I don't think we'll fare well for the rest of the time. I dearly hope we won't talk.
I pick up a People magazine off the table. Maybe the celebrity scandals and newborn baby pictures can capture my attention as well as they seem to capture national consciousness. I doubt it.
Raven's put her kindle down and is just staring at the wall. I follow her gaze and read a bright poster. How to Help your Loved Ones. There's bullet point after bullet point, but the prints too small for my eyes.
I look at the clock again. If I stare at the minute hand long enough, I can will it forward, and it works, until I remind myself that it's just because I've stared for a whole minute. Another hour's passed. It's going to be a long fucking day.
Tomorrow's Charles surgery. He isn't allowed to drink beforehand, so he's locked up in his room, numbing his mind with Wikipedia pages on every superhero and villain. I'm numbing mine with alcohol. So far it's only been a couple of beers, but the whiskey on the counter looks inviting. On the TV, women are screaming at each other, calling each other names and planning petty revenges based on stealing perfume and revealing each other's use of hemorrhoid cream. Scratch that, I'm numbing my mind with the Bad Girls Club.
Angel's been texting me for the last ten minutes, asking if I'm okay, how things are with Charles. She's worried about Raven. I respond after a swig of beer with one or two word answers. I've never been very good at texting.
I shouldn't drink too much though. I need to stop. I have to wake up early and take Charles to his appointment. That won't go over very well if I wake up with a hangover. I hope his surgery goes well, that the cancerous tumor in his brain gets wiped away by scalpels and chemotherapy.
Scalpels. They have to open up his head. Dig around it for hours and hopefully not prod the wrong nerve or mass of grey matter. And they have to shave his head. He's going to look so weird.
And after all this, chemotherapy. Throwing up. Weakness, pain. Pretty much poisoning yourself to kill all those cancer cells. And any hair that grows back will probably fall off.
I get up and take a swig of whiskey. If Charles dies I won't be able to pay the rent and be down a biology teacher and a three year friendship.
"can i come over?"
"k."
"You should tell me why you hit Doctor Shaw." She wants to know, but I think it's an attempt to pass the time. It's dragging and we've got about four hours or so to go. "You know you delayed the surgery for like, a good hour." Another hour of Charles sitting in bed, staring off into space and losing his cool. I sigh, and already feel irritation and anger, my leg fidgets, bouncing up and down.
"He was the surgeon who worked on my mother when she had her aneurysm."
Raven takes a while to form her next words. "That's a weird coincidence, but-"
"She died during the surgery."
"Oh."
"She didn't even make it out of the operating room. The thing just ruptured and put her into cardiac arrest. Fucking doctors didn't do a thing." I turn my helmet over in my hands.
"And Shaw comes out looking all contrite, saying there was nothing they could do, made us sign papers to save his and the hospitals ass. Left with a death certificate instead of a mother." Funny, my therapist said telling this to someone would help, make me feel better. Whatever that means. I still want to punch Shaw in the face, but now, in an alley or street corner where doing so won't get me kicked out of a friend's hospital room.
Raven doesn't say anything. She probably wants to tell me that harboring hate for Shaw is irrational, misplaced, a product of an unbalance emotional state. Same thing my therapist said.
Thought I forgave him years ago. Years of therapy with Ruth and repressed emotions. But when his eyes lit up in recognition and said 'If it isn't little Erik Lensherr, all grown up,' I hated him.
Raven pats my knee, but doesn't say anything. It all good. I've already had people tell me that it's okay when it's not.
We've spent all day avoiding talking about the surgery. Instead we watch shit TV and eat Dove chocolates, laughing at the promise messages. Charles saves each one though for his little collection.
He's put a bandage on the side of his nose, where the skin has split from the punch. I still don't say I'm sorry.
We talk about class, Charles' dissertation, my plot to overthrow management at the company and hopefully add another figure to my salary.
He gets up after lunch and packs his hospital bag. When he isn't looking I put a framed picture of Einstein into it.
Raven comes over later. She gives me dirty looks and flutters around Charles. She asks if he has everything he needs. Apologizes for not being able to go, and thanks me for taking him tomorrow.
They sit at the table, chatting and giggling, snorting. I sit on the couch and try to tune them out. It's a private moment for siblings.
"Dr. Shaw." Raven walks to the door. They talk in hushes. I make a move to stand, but the guard shoots me a look to sit back down.
They walk towards me. "Feeling a bit more rational my friend?" he smiles, and I can see teeth. Tall and sharp, poking through his taught mouth.
Raven looks uncomfortable.
"Yes." I stand, and Shaw waves off the security officer.
"Wonderful. Now, you can come into the recovery room if you promise to behave yourself alright? Wouldn't want a repeat of earlier today." He's still smiling. Mocking. Humorous. It's a big laugh.
His face is bruised.
"Of course Doctor. Sorry about that." I gesture to his cheek, and his smile wavers slightly.
"Can we see him now?" Raven moves next to me, squeezes my hand.
"Yes, yes. He'll be under the influence of some very strong painkillers though, so he'll be a little foggy."
Raven's expressed herself in a myriad of ways. Thanking god, crying, laughing, squeezing his hand, examining his bandaged head, ensuring that the procedure has been done, that the tumor is no longing threatening her brother's brain. She talks to the nurse and Shaw, while I sit in the burgundy colored chair next to the window, examining the heart monitor, looking over the clipboard detailing Charles' condition. I don't understand anything on it.
"Erik." I glance up.
"I'm gonna get some coffee from the cafeteria, you want some?"
"Sure." I smile. We both do. Shaw and the nurse leave, rather not stay with the man who punches doctors.
When she's gone I move to the edge of the bed. His head is wrapped in gauze and medical tape. I can't see if my suspicions on his baldness are true. For all I know, there's still hair under all those layers.
He hasn't woken up yet. His eyelids flutter, his eyes move fitfully from side to side. It means he's alive, dreaming and asleep, like any other night. Except now it's in a hospital bed, wearing a backless paper nightgown with a catheter shoved up his urethra. And he'll be here awhile, this room will be home for at least a week, and he'll have to go to speech and physical therapy to make sure that there're no complications. No irreversible effects like being blind or losing motor function in his right hand.
I get up and locate his bag. I pull out that picture of Einstein and place it on the nightstand. At least now this place is bearable.
He takes in a particularly long breath and suddenly it feels really quite. The cafeteria's on the other side of the hospital, so Raven will be awhile. I want to say something to her, to Charles.
"Sorry I punched you in the face, even if you deserved it." Whispered.
"Glad you made it, though now I guess I'll have to remove my ad for a new roommate on Craig's list."
"…..But seriously, glad you're alive. You better not have any complications afterward. Raven would be crushed. She keeps crying."
I look out the window. It's starting to get dark. "I went to her apartment last night. Probably cause I was drunk. Saw Angel. Kinda makes me feel like a dirty old man. She's really young. Raven asked me why I was there. She seems mad that I was. Probably because she's your sister. Because you've got it in your head that you find me attractive." Charles of course doesn't respond.
"Good taste on your part. I'm good looking, intelligent, have a career and charisma."
"Sorry I wasn't at the apartment last night. Ass move. You can call me names when you wake up."
Raven enters with two cups of coffee.
. italics are the past night. review please