When he awoke a couple of hours later, darkness had descended. He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the house around him. He could hear Callum in the kitchen, and the faint aroma of cooking food made his stomach rumble. The TV was on in the living room, turned down low. He wondered what Ally was doing, right this minute. He wondered if she would ever speak to him again.
He fidgeted, his ribs aching as he tried to get comfortable. Gingerly, he eased over to one side and pushed himself upwards, carefully swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He dragged a hand down his face, a shallow sigh easing out of him. His body wanted to slouch from exhaustion, but his ribs hurt less when he sat up straight.
The smells emanating from the kitchen finally overcame him. He made his way to the bathroom, his full bladder demanding release. As he washed his hands afterwards, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and stopped, mid-soap.
He was a wreck. His eyes were hollow and one was bright purple with bruising that was only just beginning to fade. The gash on his scalp stung and another on his forehead was held together with a thin strip of tape.
There was no doubt though, that the largest wounds were ones that couldn’t be seen. His soul seemed to physically ache and he could almost feel it withering inside of him again. This time though, it was worse than the night he left town four years earlier.
He tried to push the thought out of his mind as he finished washing his hands and made his way out to the kitchen.
Callum glanced up as he appeared in the doorway. He was in the process of unloading the best pasta Jack had ever seen, out of the oven. His stomach growled again as he watched, his mouth almost literally watering at the sight of it.
“Good, you’re awake – dinner’s ready.” Callum indicated the meal with a flourish. He began to spoon the pasta onto plates as Jack collected a couple of forks from the drawer beside him. His mouth was literally watering now, as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Hospital food was disgusting.
They headed into the living room and Jack carefully lowered himself onto the couch, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his ribs.
“Do you need the painkillers?” Callum asked, setting his plate down on the coffee table in front of him.
“Nope,” he lied, sitting up straighter than he would have ordinarily. “Don’t fuss. I’ll grab them if I need them.”
Callum shot him a wary glance before grabbing his plate off the coffee table and sinking gratefully into the waiting armchair. Jack was envious at the freedom of movement he currently lacked.
“Sorry,” Callum said, through a mouthful of pasta. “Didn’t mean to hover.”
Jack shook his head slightly, not daring to risk anything more for fear of aggravating his headache. “No, I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”
Callum shrugged, still chewing. “It’s fine. I do fuss, Ally tells me that all the time.”
Just the mention of her name set Jack’s teeth on edge.
“Eat up, it’s getting cold,” Callum gestured to the food half-heartedly.
Jack obeyed, his heart not really in it anymore. His hunger pangs had turned into pangs of another kind, and the hunger mysteriously disappeared. He made himself go through the motions anyway, eager for some semblance of normality. They settled into a quiet, contemplative mood, with the TV making the lack of conversation less obvious.
It wasn’t long before the hum of the TV started to annoy him however, and he reached for the remote, turning it down slightly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Do you mind?”
Callum shrugged. Jack tried to get more comfortable. He longed for the simple things, like lounging on the couch. Slowly feeling himself drawn towards the self-pity that had hounded him recently, he desperately tried to snap out of it. Lounging on the couch was hardly a necessity. He was sure Ally would agree with that. She had to put up with far more in the way of inconveniences than he would ever be able to imagine, and she wasn’t complaining about it.
He remembered watching her get out of the pool – smooth, strong, decisive – the same way she tackled everything else. She had more grace in her little finger than he had in his entire body. Far from making him feel better, the realisation just made him feel unworthy. Suddenly, dinner felt like lead in his stomach and he put the plate down on the couch next to him.
“Dude. It’s gonna be a long night if you’re just gonna sit there staring at the TV like that,” Callum said.
Jack rubbed his eyes, not having the energy for evasive manoeuvres. Honesty came easily when there was nothing left to hide.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “She won’t talk to me, won’t let me explain myself, and it’s my fault – I should have told her earlier. I don’t know where to go from here.”
“She just needs some time.”
Time. That was how they had ended up here in the first place. Time didn’t always heal. Sometimes it wounded.