A Sense of Belonging - Prologue - The Aftermath
#1 of A Sense of Belonging
Disclaimer: This is (not yet) An adult furry fiction that will contain violence, sex and some inappropriate languages that are not suitable for people under the age of 18. If you do not like furry, M/M, or sex, please do not read this series. The famous brand names within the story is not mine, but the characters are and belongs to myself only.
It is my utmost pleasure that you are choosing to read my first adult-furry fiction! Enjoy, and if you wish, you may leave comments here, or via email at [email protected]
A Sense of Belonging - Prologue - The Aftermath
My eyelids are so heavy.... Don't want to open them yet. At this point, doing anything requires an enormous input of energy, and I just do not have that many to spare. So I kept them closed for a while. It'd be better off that way.
The rhythmic clicking of the IV drop is spinning in my head, accompanied by that beeping heart monitor clamped onto my left index finger. I fussed a little, trying to get the blood circulating to my shoulders again but the tube connected on me tugged lightly. Bad move. Even with the pain killer, my lower back muscles throbs intensely as I laid back down on them again. With each breath, my ribs ache along with every rise and fall of my abdomen.
I can never take care of myself. Joseph Zhu...I... always mean trouble for other people...
My father called me garbage; a trash on the street corner, a boy that's nothing more than an extra mouth to feed. He's not wrong, you know. I could only get A's in visual arts and science, and I'm the only kid in junior high who barely passed PE class. I'm a stupid little kid that knows about scientific theory and draws damn pretty anime pictures, not lift weights or do 5k runs; Papa's a construction worker, one that's in charge of nearly everything on the site and gets along with everyone. It wouldn't be too hard to imagine how much my father wished he never had such a physically impaired child.
Mid school...huh, those are the memories:
'I can beat the shit out of you with one fist, kid. '
'Imma make you swim in your own blood, you stupid punk."
'I bet that small Asian dick of yours is twenty times smaller than mine.'
'Aren't you suppose to get your straight A's like every other Chinese brat is suppose to? Oh right... you probably failed your lapped run... AGAIN.'
Their laughter and taunts still has their effect on me after all those days. It's tradition to just walk away back in those days, because doing anything else would be trouble for me and my dad. Trouble means disturbance, and that kind of stuff isn't something I'm entitled to have at all. Not that I wanted to; no one could just march away without longing to shove a fist down their throat. Heck, I can't even retaliate with something as simple as "Mind your own fucking business," cause that is just an open invitation for a good beating on the way home. Nope, just walk away. They'll leave you alone after mid school.
The droplets ticked more. The monitor beeped more.
I really tried... I tried staying out of the way, but then I would constantly end up doing something brainless. I tried sharing my opinion, but the ideas are all so stupid anyways, so I keep my mouth shut most of the time. I tried being cautious about my actions and speech, but I'm still clumsy and careless after all my wary, but ineffective reminders, why bother anymore? I don't drink for social status, I don't gamble for leisure, and I don't go to nightclubs anymore... 'cause...
'cause... I tried to not be your burden...
You hardly come home after work anymore, and I had to put all my own repulsive cooking down my mouth. I didn't want you to believe it is some kind of formality to show up at seven in the morning, toss out your dirtied clothing, change into a suit, and leave for work; it would really be a lot easier if you'd just take that suitcase I bought for you a while ago. Then, spending the night at Danielle's place is so much easier, wouldn't it? I can pack for you if you'd just ask...
But then, you'd probably hate that color of that lousy oversized luggage. I should have known better than to give you a green hard case. You hated green, right?
I... I just didn't want you to think that you made the wrong choice to live with me.
I know you hated how I smell, and I bought a light cologne for that; I made sure to put some of it on before I went to bed, so you would possibly consider to spend a few more hours with me. I guess it maybe still a little stingy for a tiger's sensitive noise, but it is better than my human stench, is it not? You told me how you thought all my Chinese food was awful, so I went to Italian cuisine class every afternoon when you are still at work. But then, I never asked if you liked Italian food... or maybe I was just a bad cook. I didn't want you to despised me that much... I really did loved you...and I still do...
I'm just not worthy enough to you. I know that now...
Gentle creaking sounds of hospital bed distracted my train of thoughts, and I'm now debating whether or not I should open my eyes to investigate the noise beside me. I tried my eyelids over and over, only to feel the enormous weight of fatigue sealing my visions shut. With more consciousness, I now feel my dry lips, the stretched muscle dying for some sort of lubrication. I stick out my tongue to try and wet them, but something laid on top of it, some sort of...
Tube ... down my throat so that it helps my lungs breath when I should have been dead all this time... I forgot... I forget everything; it's not like this dense skull could take anything in nor get anything out.
What happened to us? We were such perfect partners back then. Eros and Psyche would envy our love back in those days: we'd do it once every week day, and three times for the holy Sunday, and more if there was a long weekend ahead of us. Pin me down on the sofa, bring me up on the counter top, push me across the desktop... you would have your very lustful and creative way with me, and I would do my very best to keep up with you. Perhaps there would be a relieving and hot shower in between, but out finale would always be on the memory foam of our bed. My favorite part is, after all the heat of passion and thunderous fervor of lovemaking, I get to lay on top of your chest, listening to your labored breath and feel your soft underbelly fur against my cheek. I would draw in a deep breath of your sweaty scent, and look back on to your face I cannot describe with any other word but the killing perfection. The satisfied look on your face tells me your affection for me still burns somewhere deep in you, and the smile would wash away my every other thought of difficulty and unhappiness. You would fall asleep first after a few half hours of cuddling, and I would slowly follow, shutting my eyes gently all while your arms wrap tightly around me.
Never once have I doubted your love for me, even at times when it all seemed so obvious to others, I didn't suspect your devotion when I should've. Because I thought, that inside, you still loved me somewhere in your mind. That somewhere, I still had that special place in your heart irreplaceable by anyone else. That in you, I can still hug you and we would forgive and forget the fights and bitterness and uneasiness in between the both of us. I know it's hard for you to actually say that you are sorry, so we had a secret code: that if you'd just kiss me lightly on my nose, give me a tender massage on the shoulder, and I would let whatever happened between us float to the back of my head. But... I didn't expect to find Danielle's text message on your cell. Her text, her tone in her words, her way of telling you that you forgot your jacket at her house, informed me you two were together for a long time.
It also told me how you are starting to get sick of me...
I can still remember some nights I have to spend by myself. The time would be somewhere between quarter after one and four o'clock in the morning, and I could not stop myself from thinking how alone I was and how much I needed you at that moment. I would convince myself that I am still in the game, that you're just busy at work and you'll come to my side really soon. I said I wouldn't call, but I would lose all my control, pick up the phone and dial your office, because I just wanted to hear your voice over my ears just one more time. It would ring and ring, and sometimes it would be redirected to another personnel at the office. Other times, it would go straight to your voicemail, and all I could hear was your deep voice, distant tone, formal speech telling me to leave a message after the beep. I can't leave a message... no, that would have driven you crazy. No, I know you are just busy with paperwork, typing up a new proposal or having a phone conference with your friends in London. I know you are not at her place... you wouldn't leave me like that...
I had so much faith in you, my love...
Then I would ponder on some... issues... stuff that makes me cry, you know. Stuff that makes me cry really, really hard. I would sometimes wonder if I ever cross your mind, or if you were still trying to find out what to bring home tomorrow for me to prepare as dinner. I wonder if your life still partially revolves around me, that you are secretly planning a surprise for me or an apology and all this would go away, and I can once more fall asleep in that pocket between your chest and your shoulder. I asked myself sometimes if you would still pick up that picture I framed for you on your office desk and smile when you remember our past time.
It's a never ending cycle, these thoughts and tears and pathetic whimpers of mine. Be suppressed only to have another notion of you arise. To stop shedding bitter tears and then burying my face in the dark, wooden floor of our bedroom to sob more loudly. I couldn't stop thinking how my tiger, my man has slipped from me and into another woman because I can't offer what she can.
A warmer embrace. A healthy way of living. A normal family with children...
Then, even more squeaking of the bed comes from my right, closer to me this time. The IV drop continued its steady music as the heart monitor supplied these high-pitched beats that reminded me of my current condition. After all, I did fly out the window because.... No... no... they aren't true; I'm just hallucinating. The doctor told me so.
Finally, I was finally able to peel a bit of light into my pupil, slowly, gently getting used to the bright light from the colorless white room. The first thing to greet me was those pipes of florescent light bulbs, gently flickering in their light haze of bluish-white. I look to my left at the heart monitor, who has the green bright letters of my heart readings. 80-45, and 70 beats per minute. Sounds pretty low to me. I remembered that an average human's heart pressure is about 120 - 80, but then I'm always wrong. What would I know?
I know that I should always address someone with "miss" or "mister," followed by their last name. I know that I should never call you from 8 AM to 6 PM, because that is the time you work or social at the parties. I know that you don't want to be seen with me in the general public, a person your status should never be found with another rubbish like me.
Even more shuffling. I turned my head slowly to face the direction, curious as to who would be there next to me in my current pathetic state, wondering who would have such patience to donate their valuable time to someone as useless as I am? My answer is a tiger, a magnificent blend of orange and black stripes filled my eyes, with that neat black suit, deep blue tie. The strong, 6'4, muscular frame I've been looking at for eleven years, the feline purring breath I've yearned every single night for seven years, and those light greenish-grey eyes....
My answer is you.
I looked away, quickly. You usually get mad if I look at you directly eye to eye. It poses a challenge, something I dare not to place forth to you.
You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't stray around in the hospital, the paparazzi will get you, and the people will know what happened. They would know what happened between us. I did what you told me; to stay quiet, so that it would not interfere with your business with that new partner, the Kenyan government.
Don't stay. You mustn't be here. You have so much work to do back at the office, meetings to go to, press conference to hold, useful employees to hire. You warned me not to show up ever again in your office... you need someone to replace me then. I doubt if that Danielle cougar is your top priority; she seems to be a nice gal, right? Definitely, 'cause you execute the best judgments, though you made one mistake....
That mistake is you chose me as your lawful mate... and I beg your forgiveness for all those years I've held you back.
I'm sorry....
I'd thought you'd never be here. I am unpleasant, I am cynical, I am uncontrollable, unpredictable; I am mannerless, brainless; I am ugly, repulsive, stupid, thickskulled, underhanded, dishonest, a bitch, an inconsiderate prick, a kid that doesn't know any better.....
I don't deserve you, I know that much......
That is why I signed our divorce letter you left on the table that morning.
It hurts so much. It slays my remaining soul to see your name, Thomas Hahn, signed on the bottom left hand line. I could still remember the form: the separation of property, the legality issue of our stock in the company, the settlement of terms regarding to our funds and accounts; the end of us.
I cried, I begged you to stay, I clasped onto your leg in my last attempt to save myself and what was left between us. But you hated me. You hated me so much you walked out that door, and never looked back at anymore. You gave me a nice little shake and I fell to the cold, marble floor, watching you slammed that door and listening miserably as you drove your car away.
Away. From me... I was your threat to success...
I signed; I know I was that heavy pain in your chest, the nail in your eye, that flare of pungent smell in your nostrils. It hurts to sign beside your name for one last time; it hurts as my own heart was pulled out and demolished to pieces, and then forcefully squished back together, only to be shattered once more. I constantly asked myself if I loved you more, or if I loved being with you more. Do I want to still see you unhappy every day during those brief ten minutes, 7:00 AM sharp? Or do I want to let you go with that cougar you've been seeing for the past 2 years? The choice was clear then, and the choice still stands. No turning back.
I can feel my tears now on the rim of my eyelids, threatening to drop any minute. I'm so useless in front of you. I can't standing up and walk away, leaving you in peace and quiet. I can't speak, telling you that I'm fine and that you can go back to work, that this is really not necessary, 'cause you are not my husband anymore. I can't... do anything...
Wait... What are you doing? Wh...Why are you raising your hand? In the corner of my eyes, I notice you're palm faces me, ready to strike my face any second now. I shut my eyes, a single tear raced down my cheeks while I braced myself for your cast.
It never came.
Why, Tom? Why didn't you hit me? I deserved it; every smack on my skin, every slap across my face, every kick you placed on my belly, I know I had a reason to anger you. You always had a reason, and you weren't wrong in any case. So why not now?
The beeps sped up with my heart's thumps, my ribs hurt more from my increased breathing. I crack open my eyes once more, little by little. My face burned where my tears left their damped mark, and I can't help but realize how lame I am. Go ahead, Thomas. Do it. I know you'd still want to.
Your hands retracted for some reason; probably because I didn't not even worthy for you to slap me, correct? I can tell from the way you are clenching the bed sheets, love, I know that you are mad. You don't even want to look at me right now, don't you? Looking up, I see your face stowed away, facing the yellow door frame like you wanted to be out of here, out of my presence. You hate me so much. You detest my look previous to my injuries, so what makes it better now? All I can do right now... yes... I have to go back to sleep again. If I sleep, or at least pretend to sleep, you won't need to be here, and not have to deal with me longer than you needed to. It gives you an excuse to get you out of this hellhole I got you into in the first place.
I told you that you don't have to stay. Fuck, why did you wake up, Joseph. Why did you open your fucking narrow eyes? Now Thomas can't leave without you noticing. He doesn't want to be here with you, you useless piece of crap...... 'knew I shouldn't have woken up. I knew I would cause trouble. I knew I couldn't do anything for you. I'm...
I'm sorry......I'm so sorry....
I let you down again. I could never keep our promises, because I could never find the right timing to do anything. Damn it... I'm not even making sense anymore.... I'm sorry I couldn't be a better mate for you. I'm so sorry I wasted so many years of your precious time. I vowed that I would be there when you needed me, but I'm so inadequate for your love...
I turned my head and body to the left as much as the breathing tube will let me. But I noticed a high, screeching pitching from the heart monitor, a flat line indicated as I hastily peered at the screen. The IV drop clicked loudly and abnormally, for some reason, as if one part of the tube was malfunctioning. Then the breathing device detected a major difference in pressure, blaring its alarm to notify that the air is not passing through to my lungs. I can feel that jab in my ribs, as my body tensed from the pain and the fear of your irritation and the sounds.
God, I can never make anything right. And of course that got your attention; please don't get mad, I'm so sorry... so sorry...
You didn't say anything. Instead, you calmly reached over and clamp the heart monitor back on to my left finger, which must've went loose as I tried to flip over. Then you untangled that IV pipe, straightening it so that I don't rest my arm on it again. After, you carefully set me back down on my back, smoothed out my blanket, and examining my face for a few seconds. I looked down. I'm not suppose to look at you, remember? You hated that. Soon, the pain in my lower stomach hit again, an unfriendly reinforcement of my idiocy. I tensed my grip on my right hand, closing my eyes to brace the sting. Tom then reached to my left again for something, and all I hear was a few small clicks, and the pain was lessened.
Pain killers, I figured. I relaxed a bit with each decreasing level of soreness, and he sat back down into that wooden chair no one would find comfort in. I listened to his sigh, which I am sure is something that displays the tiredness and annoyance of me. "You should be more careful next time," Thomas said softly, looking back down at the cheap tiles on the floor. I should be more aware of my surroundings. You're right. I'm always so clumsy... stupid... fuck...
I promise I'll never be in your way again. I close my eyes as I felt the pain subsided. If I sleep, I won't be able to bother you anymore. When I wake up later, I'm sure you'll be gone.
I promise that I'll get better soon. I promise that as soon as I get better, I will go home while you are at work, so you don't have to pick me up. I'll pack up all of my belongings I would just need, and I'll leave you so that she can move in with you. I promise that I will never disrupt you again, ever. It'll so hard, but I can manage to stay out of trouble, your trouble, at least... I have to do that for you. I promise that I'll live on by myself for the rest of my days. I would alert the media if I were to be with anyone else, that I, Joseph Zhu, was the one cheating on you, and then you will not be upset with me again. I promise that I'll stay far, far away from you. You don't want to see me forever, and I can do that, Thomas. I really can.
I promise that I'll be well soon. That way, you can go back to work again. That way, you'll enjoy that new and joyful life with your new found love.
That way, you'd be happy again.
I promise.
Goddamnit. I'm just right beside the hospital. Traffic is terrible, and I am 2 hours later than I was supposed to be. I honked at the SUV in front of me, because all I need is one more inch of space so I can finally turn into the parking lot.
He moved a bit, thankfully, and I turned at the fastest pace my BMW could let me. Along the way, I sped through the bumper, sending my flowers flying off my car seat. The flower pollen pollutes my Armani suit, and I can tell that the wet water at the base of the orchid isn't going to help with the situation, either.
Nice way to go, Thomas Hahn, just great.
With one hand on the steering wheel, I tried to pick up the batched orchid, but the bumper came again and this time, I had to stop for the pay station. This brown rabbit in their blue uniform welcomed me with her bubble gum chewing and headphones in her elongated ears. She faced me, her crude way of abusing her gum visible Monthly pass. I gotta get it.
"Sir, how long are you staying?" The rabbit asked nonchalantly, the face spelled boredom and the usual crap she has to take on a daily basis. Of all the time I've driven by, don't you know that I have a pass that gets me in and out?
"No worries, got my pass somewhere..."
"I see it now, it's on your dash board," she said in that indifferent tone, lifting the gate and going back to her Ipod. "Have a good day."
Have a fucking good day yourself too, whore.
I drove passed and parked at the nearest empty spot I can find. The blue Mazda to my left parked a little too close to the parking line, and I had to squeeze my body out of that dang small space it provided. My suit brushed along its body and shit, did it leave a splendid mark of grey against my black suit. Note to self, got to take this to the dryer later this week. I went to the passenger side to retrieve the flower before I'm on my way to see my special someone.
My special someone?
He's not yours anymore, dipshit. From the moment you walked out that door... you lost him. Actually, you abandoned him. He cries and begs and hugs your leg, but all you cared about was that the suit would be wrinkled. He asked pathetically for one more day, and all you did was kick him in the shoulder, adjusted your belt, and left.
Yup. That was all you worried about. Getting to Krystal's party at 8:30 that night even thought it was 7:15 in the fucking morning.
I tried cleared my head as I headed for the entrance, jogging a bit faster through the automatic door all while looking for the elevator that would take me to the rooms on the fourth floor. He's been there for the past three months, so the route to his room is something I can recite in the back of my head. Walk out the elevator, turn right, to left, and you are there. Don't I sound full of myself? I'm proud that my ex is in the hospital for three straight months.
Three months...
We've been married for seven years; when we had our marriage, it was all over the news. How the two bridegroom kissed for three minutes long in front of a camera; how he toppled our four-layered cake onto our flower girls and page boy; and how we managed to hold our wedding with six world leaders all in a room together without talking politics, economical crisis, or health issues, but simply just there to witness that holy moment we are having together; how they came together to create history for this city.
And now here I am, in the elevator, flowers clutched in my left, right hand pushing the number '4'. I looked up at the ceiling of this rather small box, listening to those music that is supposed to be calming, yet irritating every single strand of my nerves. The number flickered from M or 2. I waited. 2 to 3. Waited more. And 3 to 4, the elevator smoothly decelerates and the door slides open.
Room 409. Turn right out of the elevator and left again after the counter. 409 is the second last room on your right walking down this hallway.
"Code blue, 418. Code blue, 418." The announcement barked, and I hear the nurses scramble to work as the crash cart was rolled across the pink tiles. Somewhat irrelevant, just the daily stuff anyone can see in the hospital. So I continued, dragging each of my steps, each one of them getting heavier and heavier as I approach his room. I stood in front of his door, nervous each time I am about to enter the room with the never-ending list of thoughts popping out of my head. I just stood there, wondering if I should open the door to witness his misery or leave to give him more space to forget me. leave, and I'll be the last to sign the visitor's list in front of his door, like I had been for three months straight. I stay, and he has to expose himself to all the memories, memories that would haunt him again and again and again and again.
"Can I help you, sir?" One of the gold retriever nurse walked by, her blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and rubber band on her wrist to secure her furs from her arms from falling out of her sleeves. She casually walked up to me, stepping in front of me as if to prevent my entry."He would not like to be disturbed. He's still sleep..." The concerned nurse stops her speech suddenly, studies my face for a brief second before the hands went to cover her mouth, "Oh, Mr. Hahn!" Her elegant eyes widened with the rise of her pitch, immediately followed by the apologetic look she's now giving as if it was embarrassing not to recognize me.
I simply place a hand up, a gesture that tells her to save the formalities, "How's he doing?" I simply asked, looking down at Joseph's blood test results. "Is it okay to take off the endo.....endo..."
"The endotracheal tube?" The nurse asked politely, flipping through the stack of details in her paws."Dr. Aboy'er said it would be safer to let it stay on for a little while longer. The doctor isn't that confident that it is safe to let him breathe on his own. His white blood count is still a bit lower than what he should be getting." A little while longer? They said that a month ago. They said that two month ago too. My Joseph could surely breath by himself just fine...
'My Joseph'... I'm sorry... I was so used to calling you that...
I nodded politely; It seems like the only thing to do, thought I swear I would see through it with that idiot, who charted Joseph with all the symptoms of schizophrenia. A person with Schizo is someone who is hallucinating and dreaming of weird shit, my mate is not, and sure the hell not making up the crap and abusive I've given him for the past year. Joseph doesn't hallucinate, nor does he hear voices. He's just...
He's just hurt... really hurt.
He didn't dash out of the second floor of our office build because he believes he can fly. No, you imbecile, he was ready to forfeit himself for someone he foolishly loved with no hopes of getting anything in return. He was alerting his tiger that the office is crept with unwelcomed people, people that were ready to die to put a bullet between my eyes. He grabbed the fur that aimed for my head and took him down with himself. It was not fake, you retard, just another media cover up that helps get their tail out of the fire.
He was willing to die for me. And look at me. I left him for someone I thought would be a better life partner than he was.
The nurse gave her warm smile and pressed the handle of the door, entering Joseph's room. "He's still sleeping," she said quietly, motion me to go into the room. "He should be awake in a bit." Walking to his chart, she started to record whatever the heck they all record. Blood pressure? heart rate? millimeters of pee he made this morning? I don't care.
I just wanted him out of here.
I just remembered about the flower I'm still holding. The glass vase, I remembered, it's rested on top of the drawer beside the bed. Wrestling with the knot on the bouquet, I settled the white orchid down into the glass. It drops down at first, stems too long and the vase too short to hold it in. After some delicate efforts, I made them stand. The store owner told me that this is the flower of simplicity, innocence, delicate beauty... what I still see in you.
Yes, Love... you're beautiful to me... Your sound is the melody of the world's best chorus I could listen to over and over again. Your smile is like a sun shining through the morning fog that dissipates night's darkness. Your smell is like the distant thunder of the sacred woodlands which blesses the land with life. I swear, my dear, that I am true to my words...
But then... I...
"Sir," The dog's tone a bit stern, rudely knocking back to the reality. "It says that he's allergic to pollen on the chart..."
Shit, that's right. How could I have overlooked that? "Yes, I'm... sorry, I'd ...thought he would like them... "
"No worries, I can take that out for you." She waves nonchalantly as she walked up to me, setting Joseph's chart down on to bed's bars, " It'll look great in the lobby, I'm sure," the golden retriever simply took the vase from me and walked out the room, gently closing the door behind her.
Joseph... That leaves you with me and this room filled with the smell of disinfectant. The same old beeping. The same old clicking. The same silence between us. But who am I to complain? I'm not the one chained to the bed by all these devices that you are hooked up to. I sit down in the wooden chair beside your crib. Not the best thing to be sitting on, but we both know it is probably the closest thing to a sofa this hospital has to offer. I relieved the buttons on my suit and pulled the chair closer to your side. The bed sheets screeches lightly as I pressed my hands onto sheets, the cotton balls indicating the repeated use of this scratchy material. Gods... how I wish we could trade our places as of this moment.
Some of our friends and family don't think we belong to each other. Todd thought I deserved better than a 5'8 little Chinese boy back when you were still in that cheap technology institution, and god, you should see the look on his face when I told him that you were the best person I have ever met, and that I plan on living with you till eternity. You didn't have a high school diploma, you sometimes speak that adorable broken English, and your family background is a completely inadequate for my father and mother's overly self-centered ego. And...
You're a human, my Joseph, and I am a Siberian tiger. This is what was on everyone's mind when you and I got married. Furs think that you guys are low life. Humans think that us furs are full of ourselves. And reptiles... I don't really know what they think, but... but the points is that you understand... and you saw through with that, Joseph. You fought against all these forces so that you can hug my chest tightly in the open public, and I can kiss you in the forehead without feeling out of place. Your family didn't stop you, nor did mine stopped me when we settled on fleeing away together to New York. You left your alcoholic dad and I, my traditional parents. You said that you always wanted to go to France with a handsome, tall tiger and see the Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower yourself. We didn't have the money nor the time back then, and I promised you that we'd do it sometime after we are married, and still... didn't think it ever came true.
I didn't think any of my promises did come true....
Forgive me....
I promised I would love you as if you were a part me, yet I thrust you into the ground as if you were dirt, inexpensive, a worthless being. I promised how I would never let you be hurt, but... here you are, IV in one arm, tube in your mouth , and a stitched skin that marked your surgery a few weeks ago.
I vowed to share my happiest moments with you, to be with you in times of hardship and occasions of sickness, and yet I am the one who brought grief and isolation and illness to you. I swore I would stay faithful to you under any condition, but I cheated on you with three different people. Can you believe me? Three. And you've only heard about Danielle, that cougar name that appeared on my cellphone while I was taking that shower.
I promised to stay with you until our days on earth has finished, and that I would wait for you at the other end if we were to separate by death. Look at us now... look at you....
Of all the promise I made to you on our wedding, of all the utterance of love I gave when we were so intimate, and of all the vows I forged on days we called special, I didn't keep to my word on any single one of them. Not one, my precious, not a single one for you. Have I completely destroyed what is left between you and me, my love? Have I lost your undying faith in me yet?
Loyalty, faith, trust: they are mirrors: to fix it takes work, the work of piecing each fragment back to its original place, one bit at a time. Each bit needs careful handling, for it might pierce you or break itself. Each piece takes trials and errors to find the right spot, the right method, the right orientation. Each hole of the puzzle needs you to flip through the cracked glass for that perfect fit. But after you assemble them all back together, after working through the tiresome way of trying to make up for what you have horribly did, after cutting yourself over and over again, the cracks remain. The cracks that tells you that things will never be the same. That the reflection you see of yourself is duplicated, triplicated, quadtriplicated and more. In it, you find that side of you that is selfish, and that side of you that lies for pride. You find one that is abusive, domineering, and arrogant. You see that face of yours torn and distorted and far from what others perceive of yourself. You now see what your once-adored-mate sees you as now.
I heard a small drop of tear drop onto the bed sheet. Mine, obviously. Heh, look at me, completely forgotten my purpose here. I dropped work so that you won't be alone when you wake up to this white room. Don't worry, hon, never again will I force you to comply to anything. Nothing. Not by me, not by anyone you wouldn't want to listen to. I'll die first before I let that happen.
I try to reach for your hands that has its palm faced up. Oh god, how I missed those soft fingertips against my face. How that pad glides across my face during hard times, and you whispering that everything is okay.
But then again... I... I'm not entitled to...
I pulled back my paws slowly, sorrow fills me again and all I can do is sit back and wait. I could only wait for the doctors and the nurses to come in and check you up. I sit by and watch you drown in your pain all over again with every breath, and all I can do is give you more of this depressant. All I can do is whine like I am the victim while you lay there suffering for something I have caused.
Joseph...oh, you're stirring. Your head often bobs side to side a little bit before you wake up. Perhaps it's from that damn tube that is still clinging to your throat. I'll make sure I'll do something about it, Joseph, promise...
I want to smile when you look at me...huh... hold on...Should I smile when you wake up? Smiling is a indication of happiness, joy, a reassurance of everything being okay. But at the same time, it stands for mockery, satisfaction, approval of your current condition. Should I crack a joke like I always do? Does that bring in a unpleasant effect of ridicule? Should I apologize? Would I make you remember how I had always demeaned you and hurt you?
None of that now, you woke up. You cracked open your eyes, red and purple veins still course through the tired eyes. You are still very weak, physically, and you gaze at the white light emitted by the florescent light bulb. I smiled, and I can't say I'm forcing that lips to curl upward. A part of me is overjoyed to see you awake, and I had to resist ever part of my being to not lunge forward to hug you your favorite way. I wanted to bring you in between my arms, let your face buried in my chest and my face in your hair, sniffing in the smell I can never get enough of. Then, I would rub your back in that little love circle you ease yourself into, and your hands would reach up and grab that sensitive spot right behind my triangular ears, and scratch them so nicely until I purr and growl. You'd giggle every time, and you'd moan ever so sweetly when I nip your lobes.
You turned to me, and suddenly, as if the devil's taking my place, you turn away in fear. No... No, don't look away, sweet heart. No, I won't hurt you, Joseph. I won't ever hurt you again. No... please... look at me. Please, I'd do anything to take my word back. I recalled so long ago that I told you not to stare, that eye contact is rude for your species to be making against ours. I remembered so well how you painfully sniffled your tears back after I slapped you. You didn't need to be reminded twice about that ever again, and I'm terrified at myself now that I used to think that it's better off that way.
That defeated look in your eyes tells me how I am forever in debt to you. How the debt would never be repaid whatever I do to repair our connection, the connection that link you and me together for eleven straight years, and it kills me to see that you see yourself with the burden of my mistakes. Don't cry, no tears, my dear, no tears... here, let me wipe them from the corner of your swollen and darkened eye.
Suddenly, your head jerked away. Your fingers grip the bedpost. Your eyes nailed shut. Your heart sends the monitor fasten with emergency. You... what on earth... what did I...
Oh, my poor beloved.
I would never hurt you. Not again. Never again would I hurt you.
I can't blame your pain on anyone but me. I can't help but ask you these questions in my head, as this hatred for myself build layers upon layers with each successive visit:
When's the last time I've touched you with affection, hm? When was the last time I took interest in where you were going? When was the last time I gave you a kiss on your forehead before I left for a meeting at the office?
When was the first time I so eagerly strike you across your ,now-scarred, face?
When was the first time you screamed because I didn't care if I broke something on your inside?
I pulled back, reluctantly. Sorry... I made you remember again. It was me, wasn't it? You're scared of me, weren't you? That side of me I cannot describe without making me want to puke. Hate? You're right, my dear. I hate myself. I hate myself for putting yourself through all this bullshit. I hate myself for not even thinking twice before I broke you so eagerly in the past. I simply can't look at myself in the mirror 'cause ...
I didn't want to see that evil that lives inside me. Ashamed. Disgrace. Humiliation.
Lost.
And out of nowhere, the devices connected on to you gave their loudest screams and curses. 'IV pressure disabled', 'danger: heartbeat undetected, emergency resuscitation cart may be required', 'warning: oxygen pressure is not equalized: recheck tubing to make sure the tubing are clear and air passage is undisturbed.' I smell the fear from you, and you started to shake...
No worries, my pup. Big tiggy to the rescue.
First was to get that heart monitor to shut up. Leave it till the last, and the nurses will be all over you in half a minute. I clamp back the clip onto your index finger, where you would used to so proudly show our friends our ring....
None that now, first things first, Thomas.
Joseph must have tangled the IV nod, the horrible clicking noise was one of the clues. I climbed a little bed onto the edge of the bed to close my distance between the tubes and the machine. There, I noticed a clear knot that formed while you tried to move away from the monstrous tiger. A few good shake, and the tie untangled, and the light dimmed. Your endotrache.... Whatever... breathing tube is last, and that... needs me to ever so carefully lower you onto your back, Joseph. I didn't give you any choice this time - sorry, my precious Joseph - as I gently rested one hand on your right shoulder blade, the other on your right chest, and rested you back in your original position.
Damn it. I keep on doing that. How many times do I need to remind myself that you are once again Joseph Zhu? Not Joseph Hahn, not my husband, not my mate, but back to your old, beer-intoxicated father's name? God must've decided that it is a great time to punish me again as I see you twitch in pain. Guilt ran over me, and yet, I can't do much but reach over you once more to send the depressant down your veins. I wasn't sure if one dosage was enough, so I gave three good clicks.
"You should be more careful next time," was all I can manage, looking back down on the ground.
Pathetic of me. Don't you think?
Sleep more, my dear. No worries, I'm done whatever I needed to do as of this moment. Go to sleep. At least you can try and give yourself a good dream to look forward to. Dream about the time you and I sit under the stars, wishing upon shootin' stars on the Hills of Yinsville. Let yourself be free once more on your favorite bicycle, riding through the shades of the foliage and the bumpy road of the dirt trail with me sprinting beside you. Dream the times you still smile like a midsummer's ray of light. Dream happy, Joseph... and I pray the nightmares stray away from you. I'll warrant that they should be the last thing you would dream, I'll see that it'll be that way.
I'll still be here when you wake up again, Joseph. Thomas Hahn has officially filed a temporary leave at BioArch Institute. Gordan can take my place for now, so I can spend these silent moments with you. Now, I can give in more of time to show you that I love you once more. More of my utmost sincere apologies, more begging for your pity and forgiveness, and more me trembling in tears in front of you when you wake up. But for now, I can only formulate these future promises to you.
I promise, Joseph. For real, I promise you that this time, I would never leave.
I promise that when you walk again, you'll be full of that charming pride and of happy spirit every day. I promise, as soon as you full heal from all this, that we will make our first stop to Paris, then Barcelona, then Athens and Rome. You said that you want to visit these places, so we will go there as you wished. I promise.
I promise, if you choose me to be your mate again, I'll never let go of your endearing hands. Scream at me if you want, punch me in the face if you needed it, kick me in the shin if that is what you have been waiting to do for so long. But I won't leave you again, ever. Honest... honest, my love. If these are the things you craved to act on, then bring it. Cause that's the only thing I can do to make it up to you... cause this time, it's you all I think about.
I vow that I'd make you the happiest man on this planet, that I'll stay with you in times of sick or poor, that I'll be someone new but still your very loved. I'll promise to stay loyal, and no one else would I spend the night with but you. I'll kiss you before I go to work and once more when I get back, I'll call you if I have a spare lunch break, I'll look at you in the eye ever meal and say how much I love you, I'll cuddle you a goodnight and hold you in my arms until you slumber deep in your dreams.
My love, I promise you my full heart till time ends.
I promise.
To be continued...
What happened between them?
What began Thomas' betrayal?
What reasons led Joseph to think the way he does at this moment?
What the hell is BioArch? Some porn industry?
Give me two days, and I'll post up the next series:
Chapter one: A Client to Remember