DaySleeper

I find that I end up more useless than anything most of the time. Everyone insists that I am a help, but all I do anymore is mope around the house, itching for a cigarette, too broke to buy any, too proud to bum any.

Since when do I have pride?

Who knows.

All I know for sure is that Matt does not look me in the eyes, ever, anymore, and that two months after I arrive back in the city, Kane is on the news.

Maggie tells me I cannot go see him in the hospital, but I ignore her. I am halfway out the door when she yells at me to stop. Everyone stares at us.

“You’ll ruin everything by going back to him!”

“Visiting someone I love on their death bed isn’t an engagement. It’s common courtesy. He doesn’t deserve to die alone!”

She opens her mouth to speak. I let the screen door rest open against my back and hold my jacket over my arm. Despite the heat of late summer, the nights are fairly chilly.

“No one deserves to die alone.”

“He hurt you.”

“Nearly everyone has,” I say. She opens her mouth again and I step forward, taking her hand in mine. “You are a rare example, Maggs. Please don’t hate me for going to him, okay?”
Her eyes harden as she glances to where Avid is sitting, looking pointedly away. I roll my eyes.

“I wouldn’t take him back if my life depended on it,” I promise her.

And it’s true. I wouldn’t do a lot of things if my life depended on it, mostly because my life isn’t worth much effort anymore, but still.

She drops her hand from mine and I leave, walking quickly towards the bus stop.

~~
I get in, claiming to be Kane’s brother. My heart pounds as I approach his room. A doctor stops me.

“How do you know Kane?” he asks me.

“Brothers,” I lie. He sighs.

“Let me brief you then,” he says, “He is awake, and aware, but it is… highly unlikely for him to live more than a day. The damage is extensive internally. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but there’s only so much we can give him, you understand. It is a matter of time before his organs finally fail, and he has requested to not receive additional help. We will make him as comfortable as possible.”

My heart is in my lower intestines and my throat closes up. I nod my head, and rub my forehead tiredly, looking away from the doctor.

After I compose myself, I speak. “Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

~~
Kane is awake when I enter the room, but he does not look up. My heart is in my throat, and the sudden change in location is making me nauseas. Or maybe it’s him. Or maybe it’s the hospital. I don’t know.

He is connected to tubes galore, and I stare at him. He does not look at me.

“Hi,” I say. His head jerks up and I am taken aback by how bruised he is. I am reminded of myself.

“What are you doing here?” he asks me, his voice small. My eyes water and I begin to cry instantly. I approach his bed and sit beside it, taking his hand.

“I saw you on the news. Hit by a truck.”

He nods.

“Can’t feel my legs. They say I’ll die,” he says. I nod.

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No,” I say, “Don’t be like that. I didn’t come for that.”

“I'm dying, Cadence, and I can’t die without trying to right this.”

I look down at our hands.

“I already forgave you.”

“How?”

“I think I'm sort of stupid, maybe.”

“I still love you.”

“I know,” I reply, without returning the sentiment.

Do I love him? No.

Do I love what he used to be? Yes.

Does that make me feel better about this? No.

I pull a chair to his bedside and sink into it.

“How have you been?” I ask him.

“Same as ever,” he mumbles. I stare at him. “I was drunk. I didn’t know where I was. I walked onto the freeway. You were always trying to keep me sober enough to get me home alive.”

“That was my job,” I reply.

“I'm sorry.”

“Kane—”

“I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Please, don’t–”

“Everyone hates me. My mom hasn’t spoken to me for two years, I lost my job, you left me, and it’s my fault.”

He’s crying, so I climb onto the bed with him and hold him to my chest.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You should.”

I sigh.

“Well, you can’t make me.”

We fall silent.

“Thank you,” he says, “for being here. It means a lot to me.”

I nod and let him go. The whites of his eyes are yellowing, and I cover my face, a sob escaping.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

I get off the bed, nodding, wiping my eyes quickly. He stifles a yawn.

“You should sleep.”

“I won't wake up.”

“It might be easier that way,” I whisper.

“Don’t leave.”

“I wouldn’t.”

~~
And I didn’t. I stayed there for 36 hours with him.

The doctors were kind of pissed off when they found out Kane was not my brother, but they seemed to realize that had I been honest, no one would have been with him when it happened.

They send me home after he’s been pronounced dead. It has been more than a day since I was home, but I don’t go there.

I go, instead, to Kane’s house.

The bars are still covering the windows and doors. I look away from them and go inside, after finding the key in the potted plant, which has died since I left. The kitchen is a mess, as is the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom, and every inch of the place. Papers litter the floor and dirty dishes sit on any hard surface that seemed available. I jump when I hear something rustling in the hallway. I spin and watch, perplexed, as a kitten makes its way carefully over piles of garbage. I crouch down and pick the poor thing up.

“Shit, Kane,” I say, looking around. The kitten begins to purr.

I sigh, rub my eyes, and stumble back down the stairs and out the front door. I look at the kitten as I put him down. He meows pitifully, so I pick him back up, and begin the walk back to the shelter.