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Breaking my leg for the second time in one year wasn’t what had hurt me. What hurt me, even more than shattering my leg, was the betrayal I felt. It was as though I had been violated; that was how sick I felt. Tumbling down the stairs, I couldn’t exactly feel anything. I mean, I didn’t feel anything aside from my leg snapping, but even that was like a pinch on my arm. Brinker’s always pinchin’ my arm—
Brinker.
Honestly, what was going through his mind? He never should’ve taken me and Gene to that auditorium. He never should’ve interrogated us like we were German spies, for Pete’s sake. He never should’ve… he never should’ve… He never should’ve tried to fix the situation which wasn’t his to handle in the first place.
Okay, so my best friend let me fall out of a tree. Big whoop! Well, no. No, I can see how that might be a problem. But… but who cares?! Gene’s just a—he’s just a sarcastic guy from Dixie who can’t express his emotions. Maybe that was his way of showing me he cared…? No. That doesn’t make sense. And he even tried to tell me why he did it… maybe I should’ve listened to him.
Well, I don’t know what came over him. Maybe I was too clingy? I don’t believe that Gene is someone to appreciate bring constantly around anyone. Or maybe I was too bossy. I mean, I did kind of, sort of, force him to go out and jump from that tree every day. And I did take him away from his studies. Wow. I guess I didn’t realize what a bad friend I was to him.
I suppose I had it coming, then.
Dr. Stanpole said he was going to set my bone in about an hour, or so. He came in to deliver the news after Gene left me my suitcase. I really don’t want to leave here, to be quite honest. Devon is like my first home. Sorry, Boston! But, in all seriousness, I don’t want to leave Gene to face Brinker all by himself. The guy’ll probably go out of his mind if he’s stuck with Brinker for a month or so without me. I’ll have to make sure to write him.
I also don’t want to go back to Boston because… well, my house is just so empty. I don’t have any siblings. Sure, there are maids and butlers and a whole load of staff, but these staff aren’t my friends. They’re just doing what they’re being paid to do by my father. My old man is never around, anyhow, so it’s not like I’ll even be able to see him, and—I never told Gene this—my mother passed away when I was seven, so. There’s not much I can do there. No one I can talk to, no one to love. Hm. I never noticed how alone I was until this moment. I guess that’s why I crave love.
At the moment, I’m just sitting on my cot, waiting for the nurse, or the doctor, or whoever, to give me my sedative so that I can just be in a coma for a few hours. I had always wondered what it felt like to be unconscious, yet aware that you’re unconscious at the same time. I know that it doesn’t make sense, but I bet that there’s something where your body shuts down and your mind stays awake. Is that a thing? Probably. I don’t really pay attention in science class. Or French class. Or any class, to be honest.
Gene was always riding up my back about how I need to start caring about my education. Until my leg broke for the first time, I didn’t really care about that. I mean, not that I dramatically improved my marks since I came back to Devon, but I did get a ninety on that one French test. In no way did I tell Gene about that. I like him fussing over me.
That sounds pretty selfish, but it really isn’t. See, if Gene takes enough of his own time to make sure that I’m doing okay and, at the very least, passing, I think he must enjoy it in some way. I see the way his eyes dart over to me in class when he thinks I’m not looking, and I pout my lips and pinch my eyebrows together, as if I’m concentrating on whatever the professor is droning on and on about. He’s like a mother duck, and who am I not to follow him?
Gene’s a great guy, though. That’s why I didn’t believe him at first. Of course, now I know that he really didn’t mean to do what he did in the first place, so I don’t hold it against him. Anyways, I would love to be like Gene. I would love to be anything like Gene.
Everyone’s always staring at him when he walks by, or even when he’s simply talkin’. Who can blame them, though? I mean, Gene’s accent is so… so thick, it’s simply impossible to ignore him when he’s speaking. He doesn’t look half bad either. His hair swoops over his forehead in way that frames his face, making his jawline stand out more prominently. He doesn’t have an athlete’s figure, but that doesn’t matter to me. He’s just… he’s great.
I don’t understand how Brinker literally organized that group of hooded figures, and I mainly don’t get how he got them to do what he said. Because if I was following anyone, I would not follow Brinker. Sure, Brinker’s a pretty decent student, but he’s a pretty snarky fella. Not exactly someone I’d just kidnap two random students for. Honestly? He probably brainwashed them. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m not mad at him, though. Brinker’s one of my closest friends, actually. I shouldn’t be talking about him in this way. Then again, this is always how I talk about Brinker. Brinker and I just have that kind of relationship.
Speaking of relationships, whatever happened between ole Lepellier and Brinker? I, personally, thought that the two would have been good together. I don’t think Leper is going to want to come anywhere near him now, though, given the circumstances. I hope Brinker had the decency to apologize to the poor kid. Yes, Leper is older than me, but that’s beside the point. He went through hell and back, and someone ought to cut him a break.
Gene came in to apologize earlier. We finally forgave each other, despite how much grief he might have caused me or I him. I wasn’t mad at him. I’m still not mad at him. He did nothing wrong—or at least, he didn’t mean to do anything wrong. He’s been the very best pal I’ve ever had, though, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t still treat him the way I’ve treated him before.
What he did… is a pretty bad thing. I’ll admit that, because it’s the truth. But it wasn’t him. I know Gene Forrester, and he isn’t the sort of person to let his friends fall out of trees. Sure, he shook the limb we were standing on, but that wasn’t him. No way! That was some dormant, angry, conspiratorial dark side of him. The real Gene is incredibly smart, witty, sarcastic, hilarious, and my best friend. I’d defend him against the most cruel jury and judge in the world if it meant proving him to be a loyal friend. He’s just like me, in my mind. Probably better than me, if I’m being honest. I admire him. I really do.
Is 'admire' the right word? It feels too… small.
***
Dr. Stanpole just came in. He injected some sort of sleeping drug into me since he’s going to set my bone in about thirty minutes once I’m well under this anesthesia-thing. I don’t listen to medical babble if I can help it, to be quite honest, much like I do not listen to French babble. Or history babble. Or math babble. The only kind of babble I like is Gene babble.
Wow, wow, wow, this sleep-thing is pulling me under pretty fast. I don’t know if it’s supposed to work like this. I was unconscious the last time I had surgery on my leg, so this is pretty much my first time going into a medically-induced coma. Is that what they call this type of sleep? Probably not. Oh well, I don’t particularly care.
Feeling myself lose awareness slowly is really disturbing, actually. I can’t feel my feet, and I can’t move my fingers. I can feel my eyes stinging, and I try not to let that tear slip out, but it does, and I feel like a little kid. How many times can a teenage boy cry in a day before he is no longer considered a teenaged boy, but rather a little boy? There’s a lump in the back of my throat, and I’m being ridiculous I’ll be awake in a few hours, and I can see Gene again, and maybe he’ll hold my hand like he did before. That would be nice.
If Gene was to hold my hand right now, I don’t think I would be so scared. The color is fading around the edge of my vision, and my heart rate is speeding up. Okay, okay, okay, Finny, just count down from one hundred. I do that every night, so maybe it’ll feel like regular falling asleep. Maybe… hopefully…
One hundred.
God, I’m being so immature. If Gene was here, he’d probably laugh at me. He’d probably crack one of his best pal cracks. Something like, ‘God, Fin, don’t be such a wuss!’ And then his cheeks would dimple from his dumb grin, and he’d shove my head and mess up my hair, and I’d laugh with him and hardly notice that I can’t move my arms anymore.
Ninety.
When Gene and I went to the beach, I can remember the sunset, the night before we fell asleep side by side on the sand. The sky was illuminated in a bright orange color, but the horizon was bleeding pink and purple. Gene was walking in front of me on some rocks near the pier, and I remember when he walked in front of the sun and how I couldn’t see him anymore, but just the blank, black shape of him. I couldn’t hear anything but the waves crashing against the shore, and his laugh, reverberating through the air. His arms were outstretched for balance, and I remember how I wanted time to stop right there, in that moment. He looked so… beautiful.
Eighty.
Climbing that damned tree with Gene all summer was probably the best time I’ve ever had during the summer season. We never actually jumped off together, but something tells me that if we did, it would’ve ended a lot worse than with my shattered leg. I feel like we both would’ve bashed our heads together, and, who knows, we might’ve drowned. That would’ve been one heck of a way to go, to be honest. But, whatever, it was a pretty dumb idea of mine. Any excuse to hold his hand, truthfully, is an idea I’d be up for.
My hands and fingers wouldn’t be able to wrap around his now, and I wouldn’t be able to even kick my shoes off. I can’t feel my legs, but I don’t mind.
Seventy.
Gene always had this habit. I guess he never really noticed, or he did, and just didn’t expect anyone else to. When he was studying, or Leper said something outrageous, or when he was concentrating or confused, he would always pinch his eyebrows together and tilt his head. The crease between the two dark bushes would deepen like a crevice opening, and his eyes would narrow. His green eyes. I’d always found them enchanting, like what I imagine the amazon forest must look like. Layered, with a multitude of different shades of a green color. They were mesmerizing.
Sixty.
I had snuck a radio into Devon at the beginning of the school year. I usually listened to the news about the war on it, especially when Brinker was around. However, when it was just me and Gene in our dorm, doing homework and studying, we’d listen to music. One time, I remember, I walked in on him listening to my radio and just humming along with the words. His voice was always more in tune than mine was, but he wasn’t a very well singer. That didn’t matter to me. I had stood in that doorway, speechless for the first time in my life.
My head lulled back, and I found the hard pillow unsettlingly comfortable, and the ringing in my ears was almost inaudible now.
Fifty.
There was a time where Gene was helping me across the snow-covered path when we were supposed to be in class. I was too busy babbling on about how I don’t need to know French in the real world that I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was stepping, which is incredibly stupid to do while being crippled. My crutch got caught on some ice, and my foot slipped beneath me, and I didn’t even process what was happening, but Gene must have. He had reached out automatically, and caught me, one hand on my chest and the other on my shoulder. We stood like that, breathless, for who knows how long, before he whispered ‘You okay?’, and he was so close to me. We weren’t even six inches apart, and I couldn’t talk, my mouth was dry. I was barely able to nod before he chuckled, causing the corners of my mouth to quirk up, and he stood me upright and we were on our way again to the frozen Devon River.
Forty.
Gene and I had been the same height when we met. I was a little heavier than him, him being leaner and from the south, and all. The day I came back from my medical leave from Devon, I had realized that I had lost a lot of weight. I was thinner, and the weirdest thing was that Gene was the opposite. He had grown much more muscular from his winter jobs, and I was standing next to him the following morning when Brinker stopped by. I glanced over at him, expecting to meet his eye-line without having to look up or down. Unfortunately, I was greeted with his cheeks, and I realized that breaking my leg had cost me about an inch in height. I was tilted over, permanently doomed to look at his cheeks—which aren’t so bad, but still. They’re no competition to his eyes. He had looked over at me only to smirk, but I saw the pity in his eyes. Pity or sympathy. Whatever the case, he tussled my hair, laughing at my defeat. I imagine Gene’s fingers brushing through my hair, gently this time, and I settled into the mattress with what little strength I have left in me.
Thirty.
Gene and I frequently wore each other’s clothing. I remember the first time he had accidentally worn one of my seaters and actually started the whole let’s-wear-each-other’s-clothing charade in the first place, and I remember feeling unusually complete. We were already in the breakfast hall, and Gene’s hair was messy since we had woken up late. His clock was constantly malfunctioning, so this was practically routine by now. But for some reason, he had grabbed one of my sweaters and thrown it on. I was munching on my toast and Brinker had commented on it. Gene’s face turned a shade of pink and I kicked his ankle gently under the table, wearing a soft smile. ‘I think he looks better in it than I do, Brink, so would ya be a doll and pass the jam?’
Twenty.
The first and only time Gene and I had danced together was the night after went to the beach. The radio was playing jazz music softly into our room, and our windows were ajar. The curtains were blowing gingerly in the slight breeze, and the mood was familiar and comfy. The both of us were exhausted, and Gene was upset about failing his math exam. I had gotten up to brush my teeth, but Gene was sitting on the edge of his mattress, looking defeated. This was my fault, so I had to fix it. I walked over to him, swaying to the music, making my moves look obvious and ridiculous to make him comfortable. I reached my hand out toward him, wiggling my eyebrow, and he had scoffed before grabbing my wrist, pulling himself up. We were too busy trying to keep our laughs quiet that we didn’t care what an intimate scene it was. He rested his head on my shoulder, grinning sleepily, and I laid my head atop of his, chuckling deeply.
My eyelids drooped heavily, no longer able to stay open.
Ten.
The moment I fell in love with him… was one I’ll never forget. It was over the summer session, and it was the night before I took him to the beach. That was where I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I was afraid. I backed out and told him he was my best pal, which even took him by surprise, so, boy, was I lucky I didn’t tell him how I really felt that night. It was just the two of us in our room, doing the usual routine of studying and doing homework with quiet music playing from my radio. I looked over at him, and I was prepared to ask him how to solve a particular math equation which was giving me more grief than it should have been. Unfortunately, since I was actually doing my work for once, I completely neglected to realize that Gene was well-off into a deep sleep. I scoffed at his state—he fell asleep with the blanket only half-covering him and his lamp on. I smiled fondly, and got up to correct his malfeasances. I pulled down the beaded string of the lamp, and the light clicked off. Then, making sure to be careful, I took the fold of his blanket and lifted it over his shoulders, tucking it around him. He looked so peaceful in his comatose state… so vulnerable. It was in that moment that I knew I loved him. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it at that time, so I put all my homework on the floor, settling into my bed, where I watched Gene until I fell asleep.
Zero.
Maybe that’s why I forgave Gene so easily. Maybe that’s why I refused to see the truth in the first place. Someone who I love may hurt me, and I will forgive them for it. Gene will love me in whatever way he will, and I won’t be able to change that no matter how much I may desire to. But… wouldn’t it be beautiful if he loved me, too?
I wish I had told Gene I loved him before he left earlier. Telling him when I wake up won’t be good enough for me, but it’ll have to do. I can feel the darkness sweeping over my entire being, and my consciousness slipping farther and farther away from my grasp. I inhale deeply, taking in everything I can, before I exhale, releasing with it my thoughts, and I let the blackness consume me, looking forward to rising later and finally being honest with myself and Gene.
Gene. The first person I’ve ever loved. The person I’ll always love. Gene Forrester.
I will tell him. I promise I will.