“David can you hear me?” I touched his face.

“You fucking moron,” he moaned. I tried holding his head up from the sidewalk and then I felt

something wet in his hair too. He moaned again and I looked at my fingers; they were bloody. He must

have hit his head pretty hard on the concrete tiles.

“David can you still hear me?” I asked, my voice trembling with worry. “You hit your head. I think

you’re hurt pretty bad.” I was shaking uncontrollably. I looked around to see if there were some other

pedestrians that could help us. Nobody was coming out of the hotel to give us some aid.

“I’m okay,” he moaned again. “My head just hurts pretty bad.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, so sorry, so so sorry,” I rambled and started crying. His nose looked

swollen and a little crooked. I must have broken it. I never imagined that I’d be able to break someone’s

nose, let alone break the nose of the guy I loved.

“You need to get to the hospital,” I sobbed. “I’ll call an ambulance.” He shook his head and grabbed

my arm, trying to get up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, just drive me to the ER, I’ll be fine.” He tried to get up again. “Everything is

spinning.” His voice sounded a little slurred. I helped him up, almost hauling him to his feet and dragged

him to the car, which was parked close-by.

I put him in the passenger’s seat and buckled up his seat-belt. He looked terrible, white as a sheet and

covered in blood. His hands touched his face and then he looked at his own bloody fingers in disbelief. I

looked at his scalp to see how bad his head wound was. There was a lot of blood there and it was making

me sick. I felt so nauseated that I had to throw up in front of the car before I could get in and start driving.

The taste of bile was lingering in my mouth and I tried to swallow a couple of times to make it go away.

The ER was only a couple of miles away, we could be there within fifteen minutes. But now those

fifteen minutes seemed to last forever; traffic lights, people crossing the streets, jerky drivers, there were

so many things slowing us down. David was sitting slumped beside me in the passenger’s seat. His eyes

were closed and I didn’t know if he was still fully conscious. “David do you hear me,” I asked in a

panicked voice.

“Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “It hurts and I feel sick.”

“We’ll be there soon,” I tried to comfort him.

“I think I have to throw up Michael.”

“It’s alright,” I said and before I’d finished my sentence he was puking his guts out on the dashboard.

“You’re going to be fine,” I said, more as a reassurance to myself than to him. I had on hand on the

wheel and with the other I held his arm to let him know that I was there for him. “I’m so sorry David,” I

cried, “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“You were right you know. I love you and I do want you. I’ve wanted you since high school. You are

just everything to me. Why does everything have to be so fucked-up?” He moaned a little and I didn’t even

know if he was really listening to me. I just kept chattering away like an idiot, I didn’t know what else to

do.“

You know the first time I really knew that I wanted you was right after we’d played basketball one

time and I’d said some stupid shit about your biological dad and then you were crying your eyes out in

your room.” I choked back some tears. “You were on your bed and I tried to make things alright and then I

felt your body against mine and I just knew from that moment that you were the one for me.”

“I remember that afternoon,” he moaned. “You were such a jerk.”

“Yeah I was. I’m a jerk most of the time. But I do love you, I love you more than anything. When I was

in Paris, I though about you every single day as well. I even thought of you when I was fucking other guys,

I tried to pretend that they were you.”

“I know what you mean,” he tried to laugh, although it was painful. I squeezed his hand.

Then we finally arrived and I drove up to the ER and helped David out of the car. “I can walk,” he said

and I helped him in to the waiting room. He looked so dramatic, covered in blood, that we got help right

away. They took him somewhere to fix his nose and head wound and I was left in the waiting room.

Sitting there alone was the first moment I realized how much my hand hurt too. I’d never punched anyone

before, not even when I was a kid. The knuckles of my right hand were swollen and painful. I went to the

bathroom to try holding it under some cold running water. When I was in the bathroom and looked in the

mirror, I was shocked at how I looked . Streaks of blood were on my face and in my hair. I must have

gone through my hair with my bloody hands. My shirt was splattered with bloodstains too. I was

dreadfully pale and my eyes looked sunken in my skull. I splashed my face with some water and tried to

wash to blood of me as good as possible. I went back to the waiting room and just sat there in agony for

an hour before someone came to pick me up.

It was a young intern, he looked impeccable with a shiny white coat and nicely trimmed hair.

“Are you the one who brought David Adams in?” he asked me and I nodded. “He’s asked for you,” the

guy said. I was brought to a little room where David was laying in bed. His nose was covered in plaster

and they’d stitched up his head wound too.

“The blood made it seem worse than it was,” a nurse said. “The head wound was only superficial but it

bleeds a lot in that area, as you saw. We had it stitched up. I’m afraid his nose is broken, but it was a

clean break and it will probably heal up nicely. He does have a slight concussion however so we want to

keep him here for the night just in case.” I nodded. I sat down next to David and stroked his cheek. He took

my hand and squeezed it tightly.

The intern came in again. “The nurse has told you that he needs to stay here for the night?” I nodded.

“You should get him a fresh set of clothes and maybe get yourself cleaned up too.”

“Is there something else I need to bring? Like his insurance papers?”

“His insurance card was in his wallet. Just get him some clean clothes.” Another, older, doctor came in

too. “Could you step in to the hall with me for a second?” he asked me.

“Yeah sure,” I said and let go of David’s hand. We walked outside the room. The guy looked serious.

“Could you explain to me what happened between you and your boyfriend?” he said. “Clearly you

punched him in the face, why?”

“We had a fight while we were arranging things for a party that we’re throwing for our parents. David

is my…” What was I going to say? David is my brother, my stepbrother, my lover? I continued: “I

punched him…I didn’t mean to hurt him like this but he tripped and hurt his head on the sidewalk.”

“He told the nurse that you were goofing around and you didn’t mean to hit him,” the guy said

accusingly. “He said you hit him by accident and then he tripped.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt him,” I said and started shaking.

“We won’t call the police, but domestic violence is a really bad offence. I hope you remember that.”

“We are both lawyers, I know how bad it is…” I said. The guy looked at me dismissive. I could tell

from the look in his eyes that he had the lowest of opinions about me. I didn’t feel like defending myself.

There was nothing to say.

I walked back in to the room where David was waiting for me and sat down next to his bed again. I

stroked his hair. “David, I’ve got to go to your place and pick up some of you stuff. I’ll just take your keys

and drive to your apartment alright?” He nodded. He was already drifting asleep. They’d given him some