Page 31 of Only the Small Bones
“Okay,” Dr. Baptiste said, “it’s your turn, Ryan.”
He took his time stepping to the counter where the forms waited, tremors overtaking his hand as he picked up the pen.
“Do you need me to read them to you?” I asked under my breath. Natasha busied herself with getting everything ready for him, and Dr. Baptiste had gone back to tapping away at his keyboard. Ryan hit me with a hard head shake loaded with stubbornness and attitude.
It took him a while to get through them, but Baptiste and Natasha did a good job of pretending they had a lot to do while they waited. He drew a squiggly line near the signature request at the bottom, then exhaled before taking up my vacated stool. I stood next to him like a bodyguard until Natasha politelyasked me to wait several feet away. Unhappy about it, I obliged, moving to lean against the refrigerator.
Ryan kept his gaze on me the whole time, either afraid I’d leave, or maybe needing me to anchor him. My stomach cartwheeled at the idea it could be the latter.Careful, William.
He grimaced when the needle pierced his skin, crimson blooming beneath his beauty mark.
We’d made it through Natasha’s portion of events. Dr. Baptiste stepped in next. “Okay, I’ll need to slip this under your shirt,” he said, moving in with the stethoscope in hand. Ryan gripped the edges of the stool, recoiling and turning his face away.
“No!” I barked, holding a hand up. Everyone jolted. “Over his clothing,” I said in a lower tone.
“That will dull the sounds,” Dr. Baptiste advised.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, holding Ryan’s frantic gaze and repeating, “Over his clothing.”
I walked the doctor and Natasha to the elevator, promising I’d help Ryan get set up on the portal so he could access his results in a few days. Locking the front door and resting my forehead against it, I closed my eyes for a beat, trying to shake off the tension. I’d been on edge all morning, nervous that at any moment Ryan would call it quits or freak out and end up needing to be restrained like at the hospital.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to head for the living room. I stopped, noticing Ryan watching me from outside his bedroom door. He’d jumped off the stool as soon as they were done with him, hurrying to scrub away their touch. His hair hung damp around his shoulders, his shirt wet and clinging to him as though he hadn’t dried off before dressing. He looked as tired as I felt.
“I’m proud of you,” I said. He averted his gaze. We stood there a while, me staring at him, him staring at a spot on the floor. I didn’t mind. It meant I got to drink him in without worrying about what he’d see written across my face.
He eventually did look up, and we watched each other until our blinks were in sync, until our chests rose and fell in unison, until our breaths turned into sweet music to my ears.
Ryan’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he raised a hand to the juncture of his arm, where the needle had been. Next, he closed his palm over his bicep, where the blood pressure cuff had been placed. Then he rubbed a hand over his chest, as though he could still feel the bell of the stethoscope there. The lump at his throat shifted with his swallow. I shouldn’t have been able to see it from this distance, but my vision seemed to be supernatural when it came to him. A slow nod followed.
“You’re welcome,” I choked out, in response to his demonstration of gratitude. Something tender passed between us while our staring match continued. I could’ve stood there all-night gazing at him. I could’ve composed the greatest song ever, inspired by the look of confusion and curiosity in his eyes.
But then it was over, our connection broken when he slipped into his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him.
I hurried to fall asleep that night, knowing he wouldn’t come to me, wouldn’t press his back against mine if he knew I was awake. I counted numbers and sheep and all the lies I’d told myself since he arrived, but it was hours before oblivion found me.
I woke in the middle of the night with a jolt, my palm over my mouth in the role of dream catcher. My nostrils flared as I clamped down, squeezing my lips closed to keep the name from my past trapped inside. I knew if I turned on the lamp and looked down at my hand, I’d see the letters scorched into my skin.
Rolling over, I scrambled up after noticing the spot next to me empty. Ryan never came. I clicked on the lamp then, removing my sweat slicked shirt and pleading with my heart. “Just once,” I whispered. “I promise.” One brief moment to remember, to feel his name on my lips. A small indulgence.
The pain in my chest and my head competed as they bargained with one another. One wanting to protect me, the other demanding total obliteration. Scurrying into my closet, I stopped in front of the tri-fold mirror, alternating between staring at my back, and watching my tears fall as I prepared to rip myself to shreds. I should’ve known better. Perhaps I did. Maybe I just couldn’t live with ignoring it anymore.
Bracing myself for the ache and the guilt and the continuing life of turmoil ahead… I said it. I gave life to the name that haunted me.
“Asher.”
William
Xavier:I’ll be at your place in two hours.
The message was time stamped an hour ago. I flopped back onto my pillow groaning. I hadn’t mentioned our scheduled work session to Ryan yet. Between our new sleeping arrangement—which may have ended, since I slept the whole night alone—and our new routine of running, reading, and watching movies, I hadn’t wanted to rock the boat any further. Not to mention the tense lead up to the doctor visit and the stress of the physical exam.
We could both use a few days to breathe, but Xavier wouldn’t agree to another delay. Thanks to me, we now had days to meet a deadline that would’ve normally taken us a couple of weeks. We’d have to work day and night to get it done.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I went in search of Ryan. A sliver of sunlight broke through his bedroom doorway. The murmuring of voices caught my attention, and my footfalls slowed as I neared his open door. I’d been about to knock on the doorframe, but got distracted by the sight of him sitting cross legged on his bed, a note pad pressed to his knee as he wrote something down before erasing it and trying again.
Frowning, he grabbed the remote and lifted it toward the television. I assumed it was to rewind the drama he was watching in order to get a second look at the subtitle. He paused with it suspended mid-air when he spotted me.
“Morning. You left your door open.” I tried to remember a time when he’d done so whilst inside the room. Other than his first night here I couldn’t think of any, which made this occurrence feel intentional. It felt like an invitation.
