***
“Alex!” Aron rushed to his side, pressing him into a careful hug.
He hadn’t seen Aron in two years, either, besides keeping up with the no talking policy. Always done the best to steer clear out of the places where they could have bumped into each other.
“I was so worried, so, so worried,” Aron cradled him in his big arms.
Aron had always been a big guy. Not big in the sense of fat, but well built, with the constitution of an athlete. Many had thought that seeking a career in publishing had not been the smartest move for him. But Aron loved what he did. And he did take care of his body, with the same dedication he did everything else in life.
Right now, he seemed maybe a bit bigger, but maybe it was just because Carter felt so damn small in the guy’s huge arms. That he didn’t remember. He was not as tall or built like a brickhouse, how Aron was, but he had never felt so little and puny. Right now, he felt like a puppet turned into the favorite toy of a giant. He grunted a little, and Aron pulled himself back right away.
“Oh, so sorry, does it hurt badly, baby?” Aron looked at him with concern written all over his handsome face.
“Well, I’m afraid Mr. Ruskin here is a little sluggish, after the little bump,” Marge supplied right away. “We will keep him on pain medication until he recovers a bit more.”
“A little bump?” he asked, moving his startled eyes from Aron to Marge and back again.
“Well, it was more than a little bump,” Aron said while running his fingers through his short jet black hair. There were a few silvers in there that Carter did not remember. “You got hit by a fire truck.”
“Ouch. That must have been unpleasant,” Carter murmured.
Marge burst into laughter, something that was reminding him of a funny hedgehog he had once seen in a cartoon. Clearly, he was in a dream. Except for the whole hospital thing, and the fact that he was apparently married to his former best friend, it wasn’t that much of a nightmare. So he was going to enjoy it, or whatever, just live through it.
“He is such a dear,” Marge commented, as soon as she could breathe again from her fit of laughter. “And he has such a great sense of humor, doesn’t he?” she turned towards Aron.
The man just looked confused.
“Alex? A sense of humor? Sure,” he replied, but Carter could tell Aron was not convinced.
Aron’s dark eyes were inspecting him now, and Carter felt a bit fidgety under that gaze. It felt like Aron was looking at something holy and perfect. Like he was in love. What a stupid dream. All right. So he was Alex, Aron’s husband. Aron and Alex. They sounded like twins. Identical twins, even, although there could not be a more important difference between them, Aron being all hard muscles and strong bones everywhere, and Alex almost as light as a feather.
Skinny asshole, Carter thought to himself. Aron’s face changed from slightly relieved to somewhat worried.
“Can you give him something else for the pain, nurse …?”
“Ah, call me Marge,” the woman replied chirpily. “But he’s already at the full dose as he is, the poor thing, we cannot give him anything more, really.”
“But he’s still in pain,” Aron tried to reason with the nurse slash happy sparrow. “Just look at his face, all contorted like that!”
Carter touched his face with his hands. What was Aron droning about? He felt no pain. But he was probably grimacing at the thought of having Aron looking at him with those lovey-dovey eyes. Yeah, he was probably making a face right now, like he had just eaten half a pound of lemons.
“I’m not in pain,” he intervened, stopping the little quarrel between Marge and his - gosh, he could not really say it, could he? - husband.
“You’re not?” Aron looked at him, fairly surprised.
“No. I’m actually quite okay.”
“Great! That’s great,” Aron sighed with relief.
“Well, it is great,” Marge chirped in. “The other fellow, the poor thing, is in serious condition. He’s still in a coma, and the doctor says he is not bound to get up anytime soon. Although, with a comatose patient, one never knows …”
“What other fellow?” Carter mumbled, feeling cold sweat down his back.
“The other guy who was hit by the same fire truck as you.”
What? Were they hiring blind people to be fire truck drivers these days?
“You don’t remember?” Aron looked at him with concern.
His mind was a mess. No, he could not remember. At least, not right now.
“Nurse, please, stop unloading things like that on my husband,” Aron turned towards Marge, feeling a bit embarrassed and extra concerned right now. “He is clearly not well.”
“No, that’s okay,” Carter intervened again. “Who’s the other guy?” he asked.
Aron opened his mouth to say something. The nurse looked at Aron like she was asking for permission to talk.
“Well, his name is Carter Malis,” Marge finally spoke.
“Carter Malis?!” he almost screamed.
Finally. Now he knew his complete name. Just in case he needed to fill in some registrations or official papers. One just couldn’t walk into the world without a complete name.
“Yes, dear, but please, don’t overexert yourself,” Marge tried to appease him.
“Yes, I know,” Aron looked down, staring at his hands. “What could have been the chances? I haven’t seen him in two years, and now, involved in the same accident as you …”
“Carter Malis?!” he asked again, wanting, no, needing to be told that it was all a mistake, and his ears were playing a trick on him. “Who the hell is Carter Malis?”
What he wanted to declare, screaming, was: I am Carter Malis! If he was here, and Carter Malis was in a coma, that could only mean one thing. That he was on the brink of death while being and feeling very much alive. While someone else was probably trapped in his comatose body.
“You might not remember him that well,” Aron began speaking. “He used to be my best friend. I told you about him.”
Carter’s eyes just glazed over. All right, this was the strangest, most fucked up dream he had ever had.
“You know, the guy ... the homophobe at our wedding,” Aron added, growing more and more embarrassed as he shifted from one foot to the other.
Now Carter stared at Aron and stared without blinking for about half a minute or so. The homophobe? Oh, that. That he remembered.
***
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