Anterograde (22 page)

Eli
who isn’t here.

But
why would he be? He has a life outside of Calden. A job, a home, friends. A husband.

Why
would he come and take Calden home? Lana will—or her people, at least. Where
will that car take Calden? His house? No, Lana wouldn’t let Calden live alone
if his condition is truly irreversible. To her house, maybe? God, that’d be
hell for both of them.

To
a convalescent home, then. A place with nurses, locked doors, and patients who
don’t have their entire mental faculties. A place where he’ll wake up day after
day with no idea of who the people around him are or why he’s there.

Calden’s
stomach twists until he’s certain he’s going to be sick.

Taking
deep gulps of air, he pushes himself out of bed. Clothes and a pair of shoes
wait on a chair, no doubt for his upcoming discharge. He gets dressed quickly
and is still tugging his jacket on when he steps out of the room. Catching a
glimpse of Simons a few doors away, he turns the other way and strides
confidently through the hallway as though he’s a visitor rather than patient.
He pickpockets an actual visitor just before reaching the wide doors that open
onto the emergency staircase. He doesn’t think and goes left and up. He has one
of the stolen cigarettes between his lips long before he reaches the roof. He
lights it with the cheap lighter that was crammed into the half-empty pack and
takes a deep drag, holding it until his lungs start burning and exhaling with
his head thrown back, the smoke drifting up into the warm June air.

It’s
been two years since he was up here. Looking to his far left, he can see the
spot where he almost died, where he was lying, curled into a ball, when he
called Eli and, slurring, his mind halfway gone from the drugs, asked for his
help. He didn’t want to die, two years ago. He had too many things to do still.
Too many unanswered questions, some of which are still unanswered.

And
they’ll always be unanswered, won’t they?

One
of the last things he remembers deciding is that he would tell Eli and at least
get this one answer, whatever it might be, even if it meant putting an end to
their friendship.

One
symptom of encephalitis is altered decision-making.

He
remembers that and a dozen other things about encephalitis and amnesia, but all
of it is textbook knowledge. None of it is something he actually experienced.

He
doesn’t remember whether he told Eli. He can’t have. He felt too wretched that
day. He wouldn’t have started the most important conversation he was ever going
to have with Eli when his head felt like it was splitting open.

Would
he?

He
paces back and forth, smokes two more cigarettes, and finally sits down on the ground
with his back to the safety wall that circles the roof, all the while trying to
force his brain to remember something recent.

Nothing.

When
he deletes something in his memory palace or when he simply forgets something
unimportant, he can always tell something was there and is now gone. He doesn’t
even have that awareness now. Those eighteen days might as well never have
existed as far as he’s concerned. And today will disappear into the same black
hole. And tomorrow. And the day after that. Like an unending loop.

What’s
the point of going on?

Forgetting
from day to day, he won’t be able to practice medicine anymore, not when he
won’t remember his patients. The image in the mirror will grow older, but he
won’t understand why. He’ll go out thinking it’s early June and find himself in
the middle of winter, the city blanketed by snow. And he’ll never learn
anything new about Eli, will never catalogue another kind of smile, or another
tidbit of his past, revealed in passing. He won’t be able to tell whether the
state of Eli’s marriage continues to deteriorate, won’t know to offer whatever
comfort he’s capable of, won’t be able to add up clues until the balance tips
again to ‘tell him’ or ‘keep it to yourself’, this time without a burgeoning
illness altering his thought process.

Is
it living when there is no progress, no change, just eternal stagnation? It
would be no better than being in a vegetative state, and Calden long ago told Lana
what to do if—

“I
can’t believe it.”

The
exasperated words break Calden’s train of thought, but it’s the voice, that
voice he knows so well, that causes him to start and hit the back of his head
against the wall behind him. Blinking owlishly, he watches Eli come closer and
can’t find anything to say other than a quiet, “Eli.”

“Ten
minutes,” Eli says, shaking his head as he stops in front of Calden. “I leave
you alone for ten minutes to find something actually edible, and you disappear
right under everyone’s nose, climb on this damn roof and try to poison yourself.
Ten fucking minutes, Calden.”

He
holds his hand out. Calden looks at it, then at Eli again before he grinds
what’s left of his cigarette against the wall and takes Eli’s hand. Eli helps
him back to his feet. His palm is damp; he was afraid.

“How
did you find me?”

Eli
snorts quietly. “I asked myself what’s the last place where I’d like you to be
and tried that first.”

“I
didn’t know,” Calden says, his throat so tight that the words are little more
than a whisper. “I woke up, and I was alone. I didn’t know you were there.”

Eli’s
features soften a little. “You fell asleep?” he says with a quiet sigh. “So you
don’t know why you’re here?”

“I
read my chart. The nurse said I’m being discharged today.”

Eli
nods. “Bonneville wanted to see you one last time before we go home.”

Three
words. That’s all it takes for the knot in Calden’s chest to loosen.

We
go home
.

There
are still a hundred, a thousand things he doesn’t know, but it’s okay. Eli will
tell him.

Eli
will be there.

Isn’t
he always?

(
next chronological chapter
)

November 15
^th

It
would always be the joy in Calden’s eyes that undid Eli.

Whenever
Calden heard those words, those three ridiculous little words that he himself
had so much trouble saying, his eyes seemed a little clearer, a little
brighter. He always looked at the same time like he couldn’t believe Eli and
wanted nothing more than to believe him.

His
mouth curved into a smile against Eli’s lips, and he started to push a little
harder into the kiss, his hand resting tentatively on Eli’s knee. Eli let it
last a second longer before he pulled back, shaking his head ruefully.

“Oh,
no, you don’t,” he said with a slight smile. “I fell for that last night, but
now I can actually think straight.”

Calden’s
eyebrows arched up, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Straight? Are
you sure about that?”

Eli
snorted. He dropped his hand from Calden’s face and covered the fingers rubbing
lightly against his bare knee. “Very funny. But I’m not joking. You’re going
back to bed. And alone.”

Calden’s
almost-smile turned into a pout. “I’m not—”

“Tired,”
Eli cut in, softening the interruption by squeezing Calden’s hand. “Of course
you’re not. You never are. But three hours of sleep after being awake for four
days? That’s nowhere near enough.”

It
wasn’t that Calden’s mulish expression was a surprise, really. By now, Eli knew
quite well that Calden regarded sleep as a waste of time. In fact, that wasn’t
even anything new; he’d thought so even before June. But Eli knew what argument
was rising to Calden’s lips—and knew how convincing he could be, too, if Eli
let himself falter even for a second.

“Calden,
please,” he said preemptively. “Don’t you trust me?”

It
was a low blow, and he knew it. Calden did trust him—after all, it was Eli he’d
called when he overdosed; not his mother, not 911, but Eli. Still, how else
could Eli impress on him that this
was
, in the end, a matter of life and
death? Sleep deprivation weakened the body; as doctors, both of them knew that
quite well, even if Calden liked to think these rules, like all others, didn’t
apply to him. As for Eli, he only justified to himself allowing Calden several
days without sleep with the knowledge that, for Calden, that was what had
always passed as ‘normal,’ and not a change brought by his illness. Normal
pattern or not, though, he needed to play catch up on his sleep every few days.

“But
if I go to sleep now,” Calden protested right on cue, “I’ll forget this.” His
hand turned under Eli’s so that they were palm to palm, their fingers entwining
easily. “Everything I read. Everything you just told me. I’ll have to learn it
all over again.”

Eli’s
throat was threatening to tighten, but he refused to let it. Every word was
true, of course, but it was also true that Calden was much too good at
manipulating him.

“And
you find it difficult to learn things?” he teased. “Since when?”

Calden’s
expression turned intense, the way it usually did right before he entered an
operating room when he was mentally preparing for what he needed to do, or whenever
he tried to commit something to memory. What could be so important on Eli’s
face that he wanted to remember it, Eli had no idea, though it did send a shiver
down his spine. Being the object of such attention was always thrilling. As
such, he didn’t have it in him to resist when Calden pushed forward, his
forehead nudging Eli’s shoulder until Eli let himself fall back, his head
coming to lie against the armrest of the sofa.

Calden
followed the movement, cautiously draping himself over Eli’s body, his cheek
resting on Eli’s chest but his body tense like he expected to be bucked off.
Eli wrapped his arms around Calden’s shoulders and felt Calden relax against
him. This was nice, he thought as he carded his fingers through Calden’s hair.
Not the kind of rest Calden needed, but for a little while it would be all
right. No longer than a little while, though.

“You’ll
have to explain it all again,” Calden said after a moment. “Isn’t that…
taxing?”

He’d
never worried about that before they’d become a couple. Or at least, he’d never
mentioned it. Had he worried but without saying anything? Too late to ask now.

“It’s
okay,” Eli said softly. “I got used to it. I would even say I’ve gotten pretty
good at it.”

Calden’s
answer was a quiet, “Hmm.”

A
rather skeptical ‘Hmm’, too.

“What?”
Eli asked, frowning down at Calden.

“Nothing.”
A pause, and Calden added, “You’re not very good at it actually.”

Eli
snorted and pulled lightly on a curl of hair. “Are you upset right now? No,
you’re not. You woke up a couple of hours ago and you had your world turned
upside down, but you’re calm and relaxed. But you used to be upset when this
all started, before I helped you figure out how to make it easier on you. So
yeah, I
am
pretty good at it. Thank you very much.”

Calden
made that annoying little noise again. “You left out more than you explained.”

“I
told you,” Eli said with a sigh. “You ask questions; I answer.”

Calden
pushed himself up, kneeling over Eli’s legs. “All right. When did I get the
third line tattooed? And why? It’s different from the other two. Second person
rather than first, more recent, and the answering line on your chest is only
marker.”

Although
Eli’s chest was covered, Calden’s gaze drifted to it; without thinking, Eli
touched the spot where the words hid behind terrycloth, a gesture he’d picked
up from watching Calden unconsciously do the same.

“And
it’s not going to be anything more than marker for me,” he said dryly, “because
that line isn’t going to stay on your chest. You agreed to have something else
tattooed over it to cover it up.”

Calden
frowned at that. “I did? Why?”

“Because
you promised you’d only get tattoos of important things and this is not even
true
.
I’m not going to leave.”

Of
all the things Eli had to repeat so often, this one might have been the most
‘taxing,’ as Calden put it, for the simple fact that it was the one Calden
seemed to doubt the most. Even now, he continued to frown, unconvinced.

“So
why did I think it was necessary to get this written on myself?” he asked.

Eli
rolled his eyes and sat up, dislodging Calden from his legs. “Because you’re an
idiot, that’s why.”

Calden
didn’t say a word, but he was clearly still waiting for an answer. Eli
swallowed a sigh.

“We
argued,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t anything important, but I went out. I needed
to clear my mind. And you decided that meant I’d leave you.”

“What
did we argue about?” Calden asked, like Eli had known he would.

“Like
I said, it wasn’t important.”

“It
must have felt important enough to me if I decided to get a tattoo because of it.”
Calden sounded on edge all of a sudden. Not upset, not yet, but definitely
unsettled. “Your definition of ‘important’ and mine are clearly not the same.
Maybe—”

Pressing
a finger to Calden’s lips, Eli leaned in close. “First line,” he said quietly.
“Your chest or mine, doesn’t matter. That’s the important thing. I’m not going
anywhere. Not because of your illness, and not because you’re trying to be
‘better,’ whatever that means. I’m not going anywhere because I love you.
Because I almost lost you twice before, and I don’t want to go through that
again. Okay?”

When
Calden nodded, Eli slid his hand to the back of Calden’s head and drew him
forward. Calden came easily, licking his lips just a second before they touched
Eli’s. The kiss was as sweet as the one from moments before and just as brief.

“You
do need to get some sleep,” Eli reminded Calden—and himself.

“But
there’s so much I don’t know,” Calden said, his pleading tone jarring, “so much
I forgot, and you’re not giving me all the answers. You don’t even have all of
them.”

Now
that was something new. “What do you mean?” Eli asked.

“I
mean, if you don’t allow me to write about us, how can I remember…” Calden
waved his hands. “I don’t know. The way you look when I say those words to
you.”

Eli
opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find words immediately, struck both by
what Calden had just said and the look in his eyes, an odd mix of shyness and
defiance, as though he were daring Eli  to tease him about it.

Clearing
his throat, Eli said very low, “Well, you could just say it again.”

Calden
shook his head, although Eli doubted it was about what he’d just said.

“What
about that promise you say I made about the tattoos?” he asked, his words
coming out faster again as his agitation returned. “What about the reason I got
that third line? I’m missing half of the story. I want to know everything. I
need
to know everything.”

As
he finished, he turned his head to the coffee table. Eli followed his gaze
toward the diary.

“You
want to write it in there,” he said warily.

It
had been one of the few requests he had made of Calden that they remove
whatever Calden had already written about him, and even now, even after hearing
Calden’s new arguments, he didn’t think he’d been wrong.

“The
diary seems like a good way for me to preserve information,” Calden insisted.

“What
if you put things in there as wrong as this?” Eli asked, brushing a fingertip
to the third line peeking under Calden’s half-open dressing gown. “That’s not
worth preserving.”

“You’ll
tell me if I’m wrong.” Calden pressed his hand over Eli’s on his chest. “Like
you told me about this.”

“Can’t.
I don’t read your diary.”

Calden
tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes as he asked, “Never?”

“Never,”
Eli confirmed. “You asked me not to. I promised.”

“I
don’t remember that promise, either. Something else I’m missing. Do you
understand how frustrating it is?”

Eli
understood, yes. He’d watched Calden be frustrated by lack of information
before he’d started writing the diary. It was the same frustration he could see
in him now, had seen in the past few weeks, though without realizing the extent
of it. The only difference was that, before, he’d wanted more information about
everything in his life; now, he wanted to know more about his relationship with
Eli. And while Eli had tried his best to be Calden’s memory, Calden was right:
there were things Eli simply didn’t know, and things he didn’t believe Calden
needed to know—things they might disagree about, but did Eli have the right to
decide for Calden?

“How
about…” He looked at the diary again, remembering it in Lana’s hands. “How
about a second diary. One we’d both read.”

One
they’d keep in the bedroom, out of reach of intrusive visitors.

“And
both write in,” Calden said, practically beaming. “It’s our story after all.”

Our
story
. That, if anything, sealed it
for Eli.

“All
right. We can try that.” Standing from the sofa, Eli held his hand out to
Calden and helped him to his feet. “But only after you’ve had another few hours
of sleep.”

It
was a measure of how tired Calden had to be that he didn’t protest again and
let Eli lead him toward the bedroom.

“You
could start writing while I sleep,” he said instead.

“If
it’ll get you in bed without argument, then all right, I’ll do that.”

“What
would it take to get
you
in bed?”

Eli
laughed as he opened the bedroom door. “You know, before September, I’d never
have guessed you were that interested in sex.”

“I’m
not,” Calden said, shrugging out of his dressing gown. “I’m interested in you.
I want to know what you look like when your brain short-circuits from
pleasure.”

Delivered
as Calden slipped into bed, the words were an invitation, the kind Eli was
always careful to obtain before anything happened between them. Today, though,
it wasn’t enough, not when balanced against the deep shadows under Calden’s
eyes.

“You
will know,” he said, drawing the sheet over Calden before sitting on the edge
of the bed. “But only after you’ve had a good twelve hours of sleep.”

Calden
scoffed. “Twelve hours? I never sleep that long.”

“When
you need the sleep, you do.” Eli brushed Calden’s hair from his forehead. “And
you very badly need the sleep.”

“But—”

“I
love you,” Eli cut in softly. “And I’ll still love you when you wake up. And I’ll
get to see your face when you hear it again like it’s brand new.”

Calden’s
eyes closed even as he gave an odd little smile.

“What
do I look like?” he mumbled.

Eli’s
fingers ran over Calden’s hair again. “Like you’ve just finished some
incredibly complicated surgery.”