Be Myself! - 42. Break All Ties

strong>WARNING: Oscar's horrible parents and everything to do with them.
Thanks Lisa for editing the chapter and getting it done ages ago!
Oscar finally gets out of hospital. The wounds in his body may be beginning to heal, but those in his mind won't fade so easily. Jean has a plan to make him feel better, though...

“No further comments. No further comments.” Joseph Schubert’s cold voice was immediately recognisable, even though I was technically sleeping in my somewhat isolated hospital room. His voice was distant, separated from me by a glass wall and a corridor, but it still pulled me from my dream with the same kind of abrupt force that his fist once did when he threw me against a bookshelf.

It took me a few seconds to realise what was going on. At first I thought someone had turned on the TV in my room, but this was not the case. I heard another muffled voice, a woman this time, and realised that the sound came from the nurses’ station in front of my room. Three nurses huddled in front of a small television, completely transfixed by whatever programme it was they were watching. Against my better judgement, I decided to try and see for myself exactly what it was. For the first time in my six days of hospitalised recovery, I turned on my private television and looked for the news channel.

“Now that Joseph and Claire Schubert have pleaded guilty to the attempted murder of their sixteen-year-old son, they will await trial under police custody.” A middle-aged woman stood in front of an imposing building. Her tone was serious, professional, but I still felt like her words dealt a painful blow against a part of me that was still far from healed. “The crown prosecutors released a statement saying that ‘the attempted murder of an innocent sixteen-year-old because of his sexual orientation is already one of the most terrible examples of hate crimes to date, but it takes a special level of cruelty to do such a thing to one’s own flesh and blood.’ Dr Schubert and his wife were respected members of the community. The news of this horrendous crime came as a shock to everyone who knew the family, including some of Dr Schubert’s fellow professors at Glasgow University. The university released a note saying Dr Schubert has been temporarily suspended from his position until the trial is concluded.”

The woman kept speaking, but her words no longer registered in my brain. I heard random words like ‘justice’, ‘heinous’, ‘outrageous’, and ‘disgraceful’. I saw the image on the screen switch to my parents getting out of a police car, handcuffed and guided by police officers as a small mob of protesters shouted at them. I hoped this was another nightmare I was still to wake up from.

I had spent almost a week in hospital already. I was almost used to seeing a swollen, disfigured version of my face staring at me in the mirror. I had even overcome my embarrassment of having a nurse help me bathe every day. But it was only when I saw Joseph and Claire marching proudly ahead, with their hands behind their backs, held by police officers, that the weight of my new reality finally settled in. These people did not regret their actions. They admitted to it publically, owned up to their crime in front of hundreds of others. They lost everything they had, embraced their new reputation of heartless criminals, because my life no longer mattered to them.

I cried more than I had cried in my entire life so far. It was grief more than anything else; the grief of finally understanding that my parents were dead to me like they wanted me to be dead to them, and also the grief over years of good memories, happy moments, that were now worthless. Grief over what could have been, of having my hopes of one day being accepted by them shattered into thousands of pieces. It was not enough to just consider Joseph and Claire dead. I had to bury with them all the memories from the past and the hopes for the future. Failing to do so would only bring even more pain.

It was during this crying fit, this emotional outburst that Ms Savage found me that day. By the time she arrived, the TV had long stopped showing any news of interest, but she understood what had happened anyway, and hurried to cradle me in her arms as best as she could, considering I still had a drain attached to my abdomen and my face remained very sensitive to touch.

“Oh, Oscar, I’m so sorry.” She hugged me and ruffled my hair, kissing the top of my head every time I sobbed. Breathing was difficult because of my swollen nose and the oxygen tubes. Tissues did not help as much as they should have, but I could not stop. The tears kept coming, the pain inside my chest and around my wounds refused to go away. “I’m so sorry…” She kept repeating those words, rocking me gently, like I was a tired child that needed to go to sleep.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed until I was finally able to stop crying. The grief turned into something dull and throbbing at the back of my mind, but it left behind a grey cloud of non-thoughts and emotionless reactions. After so much crying, it felt like my body had gone numb and my emotions retreated into deep hibernation.

Ms Savage still held me in the same position, with the same tenderness and care. She had been crying too from witnessing my pain. From inside my cave of hollow feelings, I felt something else try to come in. It was warm and dissolved part of my grey cloud of non-emotions. This warmth came from her. It entered my body little by little and settled inside my chest, in a tiny corner that had been destroyed by Joseph and Claire’s ultimate betrayal. The warmth built a little nest for itself there. Once it settled, it began to grow, spreading warmth and light through my entire body. I realised what that warmth was, and despite my emotional exhaustion, there was no stopping the new flow of tears that came with that realisation. But those were no longer tears of grief. They were tears of hope, of relief. Because that warmth from Ms Savage was more than I could ever have hoped for, something I thought I had buried along with my parents, and thus thought I would never feel again.

A mother’s love.

(...)

Something definitely changed after that Saturday morning. Whether it was because my emotional state influenced my recovery or because it was about time the wounds healed anyway, the fact was that the swelling on my nose decreased considerably, and on that same afternoon the nurses finally removed the drain from my abdomen. For the first time in almost a week, I was free to walk around without having to worry that something was going to move out of place and potentially hurt me, or that I had an open, exposed wound that was the perfect entry spot for a new infection that could potentially ruin my recovery. I no longer needed a nurse’s help to clean myself or use the bathroom. It was just one small step in the whole recovery process, but it amazed me how much difference it made.

On Sunday, the Viñas spent most of the day with me. I was strongly encouraged to get used to moving about again, despite the giant scar on my abdomen. It had been so long since I had done any significant amount of walking that at first even standing up for five minutes was tiring. Every time I walked, it felt like something inside me was moving around. It was a disturbing sensation, but according to the nurses it was to be expected.

“Your organs are kind of rearranging themselves now that the place where your spleen used to be is empty,” they explained. “You might feel weird for a while, but by next week it will all be sorted.” I did not feel very reassured by that. The weird feeling bothered me so much that I started to walk with my hands pressing gently against the left side of my abdomen. My scar was still covered by bandages, but I could feel its shape and the line of stitches underneath.

On Monday, my stay in the hospital finally came to an end. In the morning, the nurses removed the bandages, allowing me to look at my scar for the first time. It was huge, starting in the middle of my abdomen, halfway between my bellybutton and my ribcage, and continuing to the left in a downward arch. The nurse took the stitches out one by one. I counted twelve, and then lost my concentration. There were just too many.

“A few more things before I let you get ready to leave…” Dr Rankin said. It was almost lunchtime, but Mr Viñas had not arrived yet, so Ms Savage was still the only one keeping me company. “I need to remind you that, although you did not suffer extensive brain damage, you had a minor concussion. Once you return to your normal routine, you might feel the effects of it over the next couple of months. Those effects include difficulty in concentrating, particularly at school, temporary memory loss, and headaches. If you feel disorientated, or your headache lasts for more than one hour, or if you feel anything else that is not expected, you need to see us again. Understood?”

“Yes.” Ms Savage and I answered at the same time. She smiled at me.

“Excellent. I have arranged for you to have an appointment with the plastic surgeon two weeks from now to see about your nose.” Dr Rankin gave Ms Savage a sheet of paper with the information about my appointment. She still had another few papers in her hands, which turned out to be more appointment and treatment information. She handed them out one by one to Ms Savage, not giving me too much time for me to register everything. Hopefully Ms Savage was following her better than I was. “You should also arrange with your GP to have your vaccines around the same time, even on the same day if possible. Once you have gotten your vaccines, you should be ready to return to school. The wires in your jaw should be taken out in five weeks, and after that you can see your dentist about getting new teeth to replace the three you have lost. Your liquid diet may go on for a little longer than that, because your jaw needs to recover its strength before you can use it to chew food again.”

After that Dr Rankin’s words became even more complicated and confusing for me, although Ms Savage seemed to understand everything just fine. Maybe this was the effect of the concussion that she spoke about. Thankfully, though, our final chat did not last for much longer. Dr Rankin assured us I would be ready to leave by late afternoon, once all the paperwork had been dealt with.

Those last couple of hours went on for an eternity. The worst part was that I ended up being left alone for a considerable portion of that time, because Ms Savage and Mr Viñas were busy sorting out the bureaucratic regulations for my release. I felt excited for finally being able to leave the hospital, but also bored because I had nothing to do while I waited. Now that I was not so sick and fragile, I had more energy to move around, more of a wish to do things, but the room that had been my home for the last week became too small for my newfound health. Even if I still walked around holding my abdomen, I wanted to walk all around the hospital, all the way home (not that I could, realistically speaking, but I still felt like it). All I could do in my room was re-read the cards sent by classmates and teachers wishing me a good recovery. I did it until I found Wendy’s card again, which forced me to be distracted by thoughts about whether I could really forgive her and my old friends. I still had not found a good answer by the time Oliver’s parents came to get me.

(...)

Oliver and Sam would not have had time to leave school and meet us at the hospital by the time I was finally discharged, so I left with just Ms Savage and Mr Viñas. The hospital had a weird rule that meant I had to be brought to the front door in a wheelchair, even though I could already walk short distances pretty well. Ms Savage pushed my chair while Mr Viñas carried all the cards and assorted objects I had received from my friends, as well as the little suitcase with a few of my other personal belongings. His hands were so full he had some difficulty seeing ahead, but thankfully no accidents happened.

“Oliver says he and Sam are already home,” Ms Savage announced. She was sitting in the back of the car with me and had her mobile in her hand. “And apparently they’re preparing some kind of surprise for you.”

“Oh…” I could not imagine what kind of thing Oliver had in mind, though if I did, it probably would not be a surprise.

From the moment we entered the Viñas’ street, I realised two things: the first was that I really missed the place after so much hospital boredom, and the second was that calling it ‘home’ took a lot less effort than I thought. Mr Viñas found a parking space a bit further from his front door than usual (there seemed to be a lot more cars parked in the area than the average for this time of the day). When we got out of the car, I spotted a few people standing by the front door. As I got closer, I realised they were the ‘surprise’ Oliver and Sam had prepared.

All of my friends from the LGBTI Club were waiting for me. Oliver spotted me first, shouted my name, and ran to meet me halfway through my slow walk home. Jean, Henry, Charlie, and Luce followed suit.

“It’s so good to have you back!” Oliver carefully hugged me. “The house has been so boring without you!”

“You’re looking good!” Luce gave me the thumbs up. “Oliver was telling us all sorts of horrible things about your face; I thought I wasn’t going to recognise you!”

“That’s not true!” Oliver protested. “I just told them your face was swollen and a little bit different…”

“I like your new nose.” Charlie winked at me, hoping to dissuade her friends from the early argument. “Is it going to stay crooked like that?”

“I hope not. Apparently I have an appointment in two weeks to check up on it, but I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t go to see you at the hospital, but I really don’t like that place…” Henry said. His arms immediately crossed in front of one another, touching the area where his scars were hiding under his jumper.

“I understand. I don’t think I like that place much either…” Henry blushed slightly with my answer, but was promptly distracted by Jean invading his personal space.

“Actually, Oliver told us it was not a good idea to go,” the blond boy explained. He leaned close to Henry from behind, gently touching Henry’s scars too. “I tried to warn everyone it was just a plot to not have to share you with me, but nobody listened…”

“That’s because it isn’t true.” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. “It was the nurse who said that large groups of people would disturb the other patients and make Oscar more tired.”

“Ok, fine. I’ll pretend to believe you so we can go ahead and party, but this isn’t over yet.” Jean winked at me, kissing Henry’s neck.

“Party?” I asked.

“Yes, party. This is your Welcome Home Party, that’s why we’re all here!” Luce enthusiastically explained. “Don’t worry, we won’t make you dance.”

“Thanks, guys…”

“Oliver prepared everything over the weekend. He wanted to make it a surprise,” Ms Savage explained. Oliver’s cheeks became the same colour as his hair, but he was saved from further embarrassment by Sam, who ran to tell us that we were taking too long and the party was getting tired of waiting.

Everyone went straight to the living room. The first thing I noticed was that the three-seat couch had been given a flowery cover. I only realised later it was a temporary measure to hide my bloody stains until they managed to get it cleaned, so for the moment I had no reservations about sitting with Oliver and Charlie on that very same couch. Everyone else sat around us, and most of the party was spent with them filling me up on school gossip. They tried not to mention the hospital or the events that put me there, but it was obvious they were curious. I wanted to be able to invite them to ask the things they wanted to know, but I was not sure I was ready to answer, so I just felt thankful for their restraint.

After a while, Mr Viñas brought some snacks to the table. It would be a long time before I would be able to eat any of them, so instead I got a heavenly chocolate milkshake. Our group scattered as people hopped to and from the table, and conversations turned to smaller groups. Barely a few seconds after Oliver and Charlie decided to get some refreshments, Jean and Hannah jumped on the now empty spots around me.

“How are you holding up?” Hannah whispered. She and Jean inched closer to me, so that the others would have more difficulty listening to our conversation.

“I’m fine, I guess…?” I was not sure exactly what Hannah was referring to, and why she was being so secretive about it. The strangest of all was seeing Jean imitating her.

“You know, it’s easy to take for granted that our blood families are not supposed to hurt us,” Hannah spoke again. “I don’t think the others realise how difficult it is to accept this isn’t always the case. They don’t have a clue what it’s like to be hurt by the ones who are supposed to protect you.”

I looked over my shoulder at the rest of my friends. They were talking, laughing without a care in the world. The contrast to Hannah and Jean’s sombre demeanour made her words all the more poignant. “But you do?” I asked.

“We’re in foster care for a reason.” Hannah’s tone sounded like she wanted to punch me for being so slow to catch up.

“We just want to let you know that if you want to talk about that stuff, we’ll probably have an easier time understanding you than the others.” Jean smiled and winked. “Those guys all have perfect families who accept them and love them for who they are. They’ve never been called ‘cursed’ or hated for things that weren’t really their fault…”

“Were you…?” Jean’s mention of a ‘cursed’ child rang a few bells in my mind, but I could not remember where. I was more taken by the sudden darkening of Jean’s eyes, and by the fact that he had stopped smiling and was instead frowning.

“I’ll give you an once-in-a-lifetime chance to know the answer.” Jean was completely serious. It was so different from his usual carefreeness I was almost scared for a second. “I’m doing this because your parents are arseholes and you don’t deserve to waste any kind of feeling on people like them. If you want it, we’ll go to Oliver’s room now before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to share your past with me?”

“Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ before I regret what I’m about to do,” he insisted. “This is all Hannah’s idea.”

“We’ll do this together, if you want.” To my surprise, the more Jean closed up, the more tranquil Hannah became.

Jean had suddenly decided to give me a key to his past. The mystery of his life before our meeting in the school toilet had equally intrigued and horrified me for half a year now. There was a chance that knowing the full story would make me sick and traumatise me for the rest of my life (hints pointing to that had popped up with alarming frequency), but I could not simply walk out on his offer. Jean had always looked really uncomfortable and was quick to change the subject every time we came close to talking about his past. What he was doing now was something very difficult for him, and most likely painful, all in order to help me. It was a weird way to show he cared about me, but it was the first time I ever saw something this meaningful come out of him. It was not an opportunity I could simply dismiss.

“Ok, tell me, then. Tell me everything you want.”

Jean, Hannah, and I left the living room in silence, under curious and confused glances from our friends. But I could not worry about them. The party would go on fine without us for a while.

The three of us sat on Oliver’s bed, with me at the head and Jean and Hannah on the other end. She squeezed his hand. He looked towards the window, but I doubted he was really paying attention to the view. He smiled briefly, like he was convincing himself to keep going. His tone came out cheerful, but strained. Forced.

“My parents never tried to kill me directly, though I think if they thought they could, they wouldn’t have hesitated. I killed my mother. I was cursed from the day I was born.”

Thanks for reading!
I'm sorry for another evil cliff-hanger, and for another short chapter. In my defence, I am hoping people now look forward to the next chapter (and let me know they do), so I can use that as motivation to recover from hectic-October sooner. 
(Yes, that means comments bring motivation and chapters on-time)
I also thought having two or three short chapters would've been better than missing three updates because I hadn't had time to finish one long chapter. I'm hoping I learned something from the two hiatuses this story has gone through so far. Please let me know if I took the right decision.