Take my hand

   "If you can't trust me, then we shouldn't be together."

   "No, Jackson, I… I'm sorry. Forget it, we'll… We should…"

   "Mark, you don't understand. I'm done. You and I, it's over."

   Since our break-up, he only called me once. After about a week. Always the same apologizes. "I'm sorry. Please come back home. I miss you. I'm nothing without you." I have enough. I love and support him, but he pushes me away and sulks me. He barely talks to me; he doesn't want to tell me what's wrong. I would love to help him, but I can't. I ended up by accepting the fact that he doesn't want to be helped with his depression. To see him suffer like this destroys me too. I have enough of this relationship that doesn't bring me happiness anymore. The Mark I fell in love with isn't there anymore, and I feel like I can't help it. He doesn't want to change, so I have to let him go.

   My phone's ring takes me out of my thoughts. It's him. Why does he call me again? It's hard for me too to break-up with him, hearing his voice makes me weak. I let it ring. Once, twice, thrice. I change my mind at the fourth ring. I hear him gasp. I say nothing, waiting for him to speak first. After a moment, I sigh and decide to speak.

   — Mark?

   — J-Jackson, he mutters as if he was holding back his sobs.

   I close my eyes with a sigh. Imagining him crying breaks my heart.

   — Why are you calling me?

   — I… I just wanted to… hear your voice, he says before letting out a sob. It's foolish, I know.

   I sigh again while passing a hand on my face. I hold back my tears.

   — Please, don’t… Don't call me again, I say.

   The tears finally fall down my cheeks. It was so hard to say. I hear him sigh.

   — Sorry, I… You're right. I shouldn't have… called you. I'm sorry, he says before hanging up suddenly.

   — Mark? I say as I take my phone away from my ear.

   He doesn't act normally. Even though he has been acting weird for a while, this is definitively not normal for him to hang up like this. What was he expecting? He was expecting me to tell him I was wrong and that I miss him? I can't. I hang up. The taxi I am in stops at a red light. I feel like something's wrong with Mark. He isn't the kind of person to call anyone without reason. Or to call anyone at all, to be honest. He doesn't talk to anyone nowadays. I know I shouldn't, but I feel like I'll regret it if I don't go to his place and make sure he's alright. But it would give him fake hopes, and to see him cry… it, I'm still going. I compose Mark's number, and then I tell the taxi driver to change direction. I directly get on his voice mail. I mutter a curse and put my phone back in my pocket. He wouldn't be doing something stupid, right? As soon as the taxi stops in front of Mark's, I throw the money at the driver before quickly getting out of the car. Since the elevator is too slow, I decide to climb the stairs. I quickly cross the hallway to Mark's apartment. I don't know why I'm so nervous.

   — Mark? I say as I knock at the door.

   No answer. I knock again, then I stop when I hear sobs on the other side of the door. I try to open the door before remembering it was locked. . Then I remember that I am wearing an old jacket, and that I might have one of his key inside my pockets. Bingo. I open the door with shaky hands.

   — Mark? I say again.

   I hear sobs coming from the kitchen. I head there quickly and what I see is worst than I could have imagined. Mark is sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter, with tons of blood flowing from his right arm. There is so much blood that I can't tell if it comes from his wrist or his inner elbow. There is blood everywhere, it makes me dizzy. When I see that his sobs are getting quieter, I look at his face and see how pale it is. I have to do something. I take out my phone from my pocket. I 'm shaking so much that I can barely compose 911. I start to explain the situation while crying, then Mark mutters something with a shaky voice. I drop the phone to rush to his side. He bleeds so much. Now that I am closer, I can see that his right arm is full of shallow cuts. However, the blood seems to come from a huge cut that goes up his forearm. I've never seen so much blood. I don't know what to do, I've never been seriously injured, I don't know how to stop the blood flow… I only see that Mark is looking at me. The tears are still running down his cheeks and sweat drops are running down his temples. He looks tired.

   — Go away, Jackson, he says with difficulty.

   — I'm not going anywhere, I say as I hug him.

   He can't die. Not like this, not now.

   — I'm so sorry, I love you so much, why did you do that? I mutter.

   He doesn't answer, as expected. I feel Mark grab my pant and pulling it quite tight. When I see the blood flow faster on his wrist, I understand what he's trying to do. Damn, he really wants to die.

   — Stop that right now, I say as I take him arm away from me.

   On the moment, I think about the fact that I touched his wounds. After half a second, I tell myself that it's not important. It's not going to kill him right now. I think quickly. A bandage. I saw this in movies. I take off my jacket, then my t-shirt to wrap it tightly around Mark's wrist. But he also cut his inner elbow. I look at Mark few seconds, then at the knife next to him. In a quick movement, I take the knife in a hand and his t-shirt's collar with the other hand cut it the best I can.

   — What the hell are you doing?! he says as he grabs my arm with his less injured hand.

   I end up by tearing his t-shirt with my both hands. Mark is too weak to fight against it anyway. I quickly wrap his cloth around his elbow. It seems to work fine, except for the cut up his forearm. I take my jacket and press it against his wound to soak the blood. I don't know if it changes anything, but it seems to flow less if I press on it. I quickly look at his left arm to see if I can do something about it, but the cuts seem to be shallower, they barely bleed.

   — Jackson, stop… he says with a inaudible voice.

   I look up at his face, and then I see his head falling against the counter. He just lost consciousness. Where is this ing ambulance?! I don't know what I can do more. I pass my both hands on my face and let out big sobs. I keep telling myself that he won't die, but a part of me tells me otherwise. I'm so hot; my heart beats so fast… I jump when I hear people getting inside the apartment. I get up immediately. From this moment, everything happens in few seconds…

   "We have to transfuse him in emergency. How long has he been there?"

   "I… I don't know…"

   "At three. One, two, three!"

   "Sir, you're coming?"

   "Y-yes…"

"He's having a heart attack!"

   "Sir, you'll need to wait outside."

   "Mister?"

   — Mister Wang?

   I raise my head. I don't know how long I have been in the waiting room. I quickly look around me. Everything seems calm. I'm still covered in blood, though. I wipe a tear when I realize I was crying. I look at the nurse again, then I get up.

   — Yeah? I finally say.

   — Would you like to see Mister Tuan?

   — Y-Yes.

   She smiles at me and asks me to follow her. When I get in the room, Mark is laid on the hospital's bed, his face as pale as it was earlier. He seems so weak. Now that his forearms are clean, I can see well his cuts. When I look at him in the eyes, he looks away.

   — Get out, he mutters.

   — Mark…

   — Leave me alone, please, he says as tears start to flow on his cheeks.

   — Mark, I am…

   — Don't be sorry! I don't need your pity, he says with a shaky voice. I don't wanna see you again, Jackson.

   Now, I'm the one who's crying. I wipe my tears, then I get out of the room. When I'm about to take my phone out of my pocket, I realize that I'm wearing a hospital gown as a shirt. Oh, right. I got in the ambulance shirtless. By the way, where's my shirt? And I don't care; it must be covered of blood anyway. I should still go get my jacket, or at least my phone. I have to go back to Mark's place, even if I don't want to. I can do it.

   I take the taxi to Mark's apartment. Fortunately I still had my wallet on me. As expected, the door wasn't locked. It's a good thing, because the key is in my jacket's pocket… which is in the kitchen. I have to go to the kitchen. I stop at the exact spot where I stopped few hours ago, finding Mark. There is blood everywhere on the floor, a bit on the counter… My phone his next to my feet. I pick it up slowly. It doesn't seem to be broken. When I turn it on, I realize I have a lot of messages. When Mark called me this afternoon, I was heading to a restaurant to drink with my friends. I totally forgot to call them back. They must be furious since they have been trying to get me out for such a long time. I put my phone in my jeans' pocket. I get closer of the pool of blood. I can't leave it like this. Mark will probably spend his night at the hospital, so I'll have to time to clean this mess and leave. I take my jacket, which was soaked in blood, and I put it on the clean part of the counter. I take a mop and start to clean the blood on the floor. How could he have done such a thing? How comes I didn't see it coming? I knew he was sad, but never that much… I hate myself so much. I definitely didn't make things better by leaving him. I'm just a fool. I finish to clean the kitchen, then I let myself fall on the couch. I'm death tires, my apartment is too far. So I decide to take a nap, promising myself to leave soon the next morning.

*

   I wake up by hearing my phone rings. It takes me few seconds to realize I forgot to disable the alarm yesterday. I take my phone out of my pocket to turn it off. I get up slowly, still half asleep. Maybe it would be time for me to leave. I go to the kitchen to take my jacket, then I put on my shoes to leave the apartment. As I always used to, I lock the door. However, I stop before taking the key out of the locket. Will I really just go to my place like this? No, I have to see Mark and talk to him. He doesn't know it but deep in him, he needs me. I need him. We need each other. I decide to put the key back in my pocket instead of sliding it beneath the door, as I planned to do yesterday.

   I take the taxi once again to the hospital. I didn't even ask about Mark's state before leaving yesterday. So many things could get wrong; he could… cut his nerves and… other things. I at biology, but I know it can become serious. I ask to the receptionist Mark's room's number, then I go there. I knock at the door. For a second, I regret not buying flowers or anything cute. Then I tell myself that it's not important, he would probably have thrown them away. He tells me to get in. I open the door, then I stay in front of it. He's looking at his wounds. When he hears me open the door, he looks up and look at me in the eyes or a long time. I couldn't describe his look. It's a mix of "what the hell are you doing here?" and "you again."

   — I forgot to ask you how you were doing yesterday. But now that I think of it, it's a stupid question.

   — Yeah, really stupid, he says before looking down on his arm again.

   — While I'm there, can… can we talk?

   — Go home, he says, avoiding my look.

   — You're still mad, I mutter.

   I should leave, but I can't. There are so much things I gotta tell him.

   — Why are you mad at me though? I say as I walk to the bed. Is it because I saved your life? Or maybe because I broke up with you? Do you wanna know why I broke up with you? Because I couldn't bear to see you suffer. To see you suffer makes me suffer too, you know.

   There is a long silence in which we only look at each other's eyes. He starts to cry silently and my heart hurts. But I have to say everything.

   — And do you wanna know why I saved your life? Because I ing love you! I say before letting myself burst into tears. I hate myself for getting mad at you, I shouldn't get mad at you, but I can't help it. It pisses me off to know that… That you don't want my help. That you don't wanna talk about it, that… You used to tell me that you couldn't live without me. I don't know if you still think it, but I know more than ever how much I need you to stay alive, with me. I miss you. I miss the old Mark. I'd like to go back…

   — We can't go back, he finally interrupts me.

   — I know. But we can keep going and go through this, I say as I go to sit next to him.

   Even though I wait for him to look at me, he still looks at the ground. So I take his hand, but I take my hand back immediately when I see his bandage. He wears a pretty big one around his wrist and around his elbow. He also has a lot of little plasters on his forearm. The other arm seems better. He only has small cuts. I don't remember seeing a lot of blood coming out of this arm. Since he probably saw my awkward move, he takes my hand with the one that has no bandage. I smile a little.

   — How's your arm? I say in a low tone.

   — Oh, well… I'll need a surgery. Apparently I cut many other things than veins, so I risk losing a big part of this hand's usage.

   I close my eyes with a deep sigh. I let the tears flow quietly.

   — Why did you do this, Mark? I say as I let my head fall on his laps.

   — I'm sorry, he whispers.

   I have to be strong. For him, but also for me. If there's one of us that can keep on smiling right now, it's me. It's only a hard time. I raise my head before wiping my tears. I let go his hand before getting up and saying:

   — I'll go home to take a shower, but I'll come back right after. Is there something you want me to bring here?

   — No thanks, he says with a tender look.

   — Pizza, coming, I say with humor as I head to the door.

   — I got a surgery this afternoon, he tells me.

   I turn around to tell him:

   — Then I'll bring you some applesauce.

*

   After taking a long, hot shower and putting on some clean clothes, I stop by the convenience store to buy some applesauce. When I come back to the hospital, a doctor is holding Mark's arm.

   — Looks like you tried to be a surgeon. That's exactly where we'll cut during the surgery, she says as she shows the vertical cut.

   She turns around when she sees that Mark is looking at me. She smiles to me and introduce herself before looking back at Mark's forearm.

   — So Mark, your surgery will be on 3PM this afternoon. If you want to eat something, it would be the right time to.

   — Is applesauce okay? he says as he points me.

   The surgeon turns to me and sees the two pots of applesauce that I'm holding.

   — Yes, it's perfect. See you this afternoon, then, she says before leaving the room.

   I sit on the chair next to Mark's bed. I give him a pot of applesauce with a little smile. He reaches out a hand to take it and the other hand to take the spoon. He winces in pain and let his injured arm fall on the bed immediately. There is an awkward silence between us. To change the mood, I say:

   — Would you like me to get you a cereal bar at the cafeteria instead?

   — Yeah, he says, looking mad.

   I put my applesauce pot on the nightstand, then I get up to go to the cafeteria. As I get out, I see Mark's surgeon a bit further. I decide to talk to her first. I say her name to catch her attention.

   — Yes? she answers.

   — Will Mark lose his hand?

   She sighs, then she walks toward me.

   — We will know more during the surgery, but I can't guarantee that Mark will get back his full capacities to feel the touch, move his fingers…

   …Take my hand. I won't be able to hold his hand. She didn't say it, but that's what I understand.

   — Your friend damaged his nerves and tendons a lot. During the surgery, we expect to re-establish up to 70% of his capacities, helped by physiotherapy.

   — Will it be long? I say as I look down.

   — It depends on the patient's will, but it usually takes at least a year.

   Oh god… I sigh before thanking her and head to the cafeteria. I don't know if Mark knows about all that, but one thing is sure; he wouldn't have told me about it. I come back to the room with four cereal bars. We never know if Mark finally decides to admit that he's hungry.

   — You took four? he notices right away.

   — Yeah, so I won't have to go back there, I say as I sit.

   I open the wrap of a bar, then I give it to him. I start to eat applesauce. I don't wanna tell him about what the surgeon told me. I haven't eaten anything today but strangely, I am not hungry. I can't stop thinking about the worst. What if the surgery goes wrong and Mark loses his hand's full capacity? Or even worst; what if he gets amputated? I can't stop thinking about the fact that nothing could get better between us and he could try to kill himself again, without anyone having time to save him. I can't stop thinking about the fact that he'll always have these scars to remind him what he did, to remind everyone he slit his wrists. I've never been able to help him, so how could I help him better now? What if…

   — What are you thinking of?

   I look up. It takes me few seconds to get back to my mind and make a coherent sentence.

   — Nothing much, I say with a forced smile.

   — Your smile is faker than all the forced smiles I did the last months. We have to tell each other everything, or we'll…

   — You'll let yourself be cured, right?

   I can see by his expression that he's surprised by my question. He swallows hard before nodding slowly and says:

   — Yes. I'm not even able to eat applesauce, I don't think I'd be able to run away anyway, he says with a little smirk.

   — Seriously. Promise me… Promise me you'll do everything to get better. No matter what happens.

   He looks down with a sigh, but he doesn't answer. I need to hear him saying it. I need him to promise me that he'll try.

   — So… You gotta promise me that you won't leave. No matter what I say or do… You have to stay with me.

   — I wouldn't have let you tell me to go, I say as I get up to kiss him.

   I stop few centimeters away from his face. I haven't kissed him in a while. Even before our breakup, we barely touched. I swallow nervously, not knowing if I should kiss him or not.

   — What? he asks, his look going from my lips to my eyes.

   — It's just that…

   He sighs before putting his hand on the back of my neck to pull me closer in a sharp move and smash our lips together. It surprises me, but I'm not gonna complain about it. I forgot what it was like to kiss him like this. When he slightly brushed his tongue on my teeth, I smile as I let him deepen the kiss. While I keep on kissing him, I put the applesauce I was holding on the nightstand, then I put a knee on the bed to get in a more comfortable position. I take his face in my hands to press my torso against his and push him slightly against the wall. I stride over him and let my hands grab his hips without even thinking about it.

   — Hey, hey, he says against my lips before pushing me back a little. We are still in a hospital, he says after I pulled away.

   I quickly look around to realize he is right, and that I am in an inappropriate position. Maybe I am a bit needy, just a bit. I swallow hard with a smile.

   — Yeah, sorry, I say as I get up.

   He stops me from moving by straightening to give a peck on my lips.

   — I love you, he whispers.

   I smile broadly before telling him I love him too. We haven't exchanged these words in a while. This makes me think that this bad situation would actually turns out being good at the end.

Two years later…

     I park the car in front of the hospital and I wait. I hum the song that plays on the radio when I see him getting out. He smiles to me when he sees me in the car and starts to walk faster. When he gets in the car, he takes off his jacket and throws it at the back. He shows me his right forearm without a word, but with a childish smile. His scars are gone. I smile as I take his forearm to see it closer. There's absolutely nothing left.

    — Mark, it's… There's nothing left, I say before looking up and smiling.

   — I know, he says, still smiling. I didn't feel anything when they removed them.

   I approach his wrist to my mouth to kiss it tenderly.

   — Did I ever tell you you had soft skin?

   He answers me with a light laugh. I keep on petting his forearm until he asks me, pouting:

    — Can I drive?

   I sigh with a smile. He always wants to drive since the doctor let him get his licence back.

    — You're the only one who likes driving so much, I say before kissing him.

   I get out of the car s we can change places. He starts the car, then reaches out his right hand as soon as we left the parking lot. I take him and tighten it slightly. He tightens it slightly back. I smile. I hope he will always hold my hand this way. 

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I can't thank you enough for all the comments and upvote on my previous one-shot, thank you!! Hope you liked this one too :)