I could only stare as Matt walked away from me. Just what did he mean? First and last love? What was he even talking about? I shake my head trying to put order in the mess that is my head. John beat Matt. I was going to kill him. I was. He told the whole school about Matt. He betrayed me. And not only that but he made Matt be angry at me. Matt. The guy that almost never got angry, much less at me. For some reason that mattered to me, but I didn’t want to think about it too deeply. I walk away from our tree and back into the main building. The bell for recess rings and I know where I’ll find John. I walk into the gym where, sure enough, John is talking to his friends with a smug smile.

“… he didn’t do anything. He just lay there and whimpered. Disgusting faggot. He doesn’t even deserve to live,” John sneers.

                I flinch involuntarily stopping right where I was. Did I sound like that when I talked to Matt? It hadn’t seem all that bad at back then but somehow hearing it from someone else makes me feel… What? Angry? Upset? Disappointed?

“Hey Chris!” John yells from where he sits, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Where were you in the morning? You missed the show!”

                The people around John laugh and I feel my blood run hot in my veins.

“Really?” I ask, anger clear in my voice. “What did I miss exactly?”

“I beat that fag to a pulp,” John says proudly. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

                That is the cherry on top of the cake. My vision goes red and I watch, detached from my body, as if I’m watching from a distance, as I stride up to John and grab his shirt with one hand, punching him right in the nose with the other. All too soon, people are pulling my off of John who only has a bleeding nose and black eye and teachers are yelling at us, asking what’s going on here. I have to calm down. I need to calm down enough to explain what happened to the teacher. I just need to. I need to make John pay for what he did to Matt.

“… I don’t know. He just went crazy and started punching me. We were talking and then suddenly he was on me,” I heard John explain to the teacher.

“Liar!” I roar at him. “You beat Matt! You beat him until he passed out! You could’ve killed him!”

“I didn’t do anything,” John says tersely, looking at me with cold eyes.

“How can you deny it?!” I yell at him. “Look at your knuckles! Look at your friends knuckles! If Matt was here I would tell you to look at him but he left a moment ago.”

“Chris,” The teacher says taking my attention away from John. “What you’re saying is very serious. Are you sure it’s true?”

“It is! It happened this morning! He was bragging to his friends about it a moment ago! Ask them!” I yell.

                The teacher purses his lips together, probably considering the whole situation.

“Very well,” The teacher says after a moment. “Both of you to the Principal’s office. We’ll let him deal with this.”

                I sigh later that day, when I was finally released from the principal’s office. I walk down the hallways feeling the worry creep into my mind now that I had nothing to distract myself from it. The principal had called Matt’s parents but they had said that Matt still hadn’t arrived. The whole situation was explained to them, and they said they would call as soon as they heard from Matt. The principal had questioned both John and me, but I really couldn’t offer much since I wasn’t there this morning, but I did tell him the names of the people that had been around John when he was bragging about it. The principal called them into his office and ordered us to step out. We waited outside of the principal’s office and watched the guys step in and then out of the office. Finally there were no more guys but the principal didn’t call us in. Sometime later the principal stepped out of his office and called us in again. He looked different, grimmer, serious. He eyes both John and I slowly and asks us once more about Matt and what had happened.

                I repeated all I knew, and John repeated the lie he’d made up earlier about arriving to school late today, or something like that. The principal then eyed him carefully, and then turned the screen of the computer around. There was a video of some sort there, in black and white. The principal clicked the mouse and the video started playing. I watched as kids moved across a lawn, and understood suddenly that this was the video from the security camera that was on top of the main gates of the school. I watched the video, silently wondering why the principal wanted us to see this.

                Then I saw Matt. He yawned as he walked to the school, he looked around then and everyone around him looked away, but as soon as he looked away the turned right back to looking at him, whispering, and pointing. Then Matt turned around as if he’d heard something. He looked at something that wasn’t in the camera and then turned right back around, probably thinking of walking away but stopping again. This time the tenseness in his body was obvious to me. He turned around again and John stepped into the video. He said something to him and then punched him right in the stomach. I watched the whole scene develop and felt my anger flare inside of me again. More than anger I felt sick to my stomach. Everyone was just looking at what was happening none of them did anything. The way Matt just laid on the floor, crumpled like a rag doll, unmoving, after John kicked him in the head. The way they just grabbed him by the legs and dragged him out of the camera range.

                I shake my head. I don’t want to remember that. I think instead about the police officer that arrived earlier to take John away to the police station. I don’t know what awaits him. Juvie? Jail? I’m not sure. He is in senior year while both Matt and I are in sophomore. Do the laws of violence towards minors apply to him? I don’t know. I sigh again and walk silently in the fading light of sunset toward my house. Matt’s parents called earlier to say that Matt had arrived but was holed up in his room. Worry creeps into my mind again as Matt’s last word to me repeat themselves in my mind. Thank you for being in my life. You’ll always be my first and last love. His tears. It sounds a lot like a goodbye but I tell myself that it could not be. Matt isn’t like that. He’s not the kind to do something that stupid. It’s just my imagination.

                I arrive home and walk straight to my room. Tonight I don’t feel like listening to my dad telling me I’m too delicate-looking, or too effeminate, or whatever he thinks of tonight. I had enough with my own criticism to deal with his as well. As I walk through my room I see my reflection in the mirror. I see the dark circles under my eyes. The worried look. The haunted look. I sigh and look away. I undress and step into my bathroom, planning to shower to clear my head. Instead my head feels even messier. My words to Matt ring through my mind. John’s words as he talked about Matt. Matt was gay. Matt was gay and he looked completely normal, just like any other guy. I looked like any other guy too. If he could be gay then… My words to Matt go through my mind again. Back then… was I talking to Matt or was I talking to myself? I sounded a lot like my dad, were they really my words or was I repeating his words?

                I turn off the water and step out grabbing the towel and drying myself before stepping into my room again. No. Being gay is wrong. It just is. Two men can’t be together. I pull on a pair of sweats and collapse on my bed, feeling tired, both physically and mentally. I crawl under the covers and close my eyes, feeling exhaustion take over my body. But before I can fall completely asleep a last thought makes its way into my mind. I sound a lot like a liar, too.

                A ringing wakes me up and I realize that it’s my phone. I scramble before I manage to grab it and see the number. It’s an unknown number. I frown but take the call anyways, a weird uneasy feeling spreading through my body. It’s two in the morning. Who could call me at two in the morning?

“Hello?” I ask when I pick up. My voice sounds groggy and rough from sleep.

                There are voices coming from the other sound of the line. I hear sobs and a man talking, the voices sound familiar, but I can’t quite place a name or face to them.

“Hello?” I ask again, feeling confused and little scared. What’s going on? Who’s calling me? Why is there a woman crying?

“Christopher?” A voice say into the phone.

                I frown. There aren’t many people that call me by my complete name.

“Yes. Who is this?” I say warily into my phone, the uneasy feeling growing and making my chest feel tight.

“Christopher this is Sean, Sean Quinn,” the voice says.

                Sean Quinn. The name sounds familiar. From where? I frowned, trying to think about why it sounded familiar. Matt. Matt is Matthew Quinn. Matt’s dad. It’s Matt’s dad on the other side of the line.

“Sir. Hello. Sorry. I couldn’t quite place the name. Sorry. What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?” I ask, my heart feeling heavy with dread. Why’s Matt’s dad calling me?

“Christopher. It’s Matt. He’s in the hospital. He tried to commit suicide,” Matt’s dad says into the phone, his voice cracking and I could tell he was battling tears.

“What? Is he alright?” I ask, my own voice coming out choked up. Matt tried to commit suicide.

“We’re in the hospital, we brought him a while ago and they wheeled him right into surgery. We still haven’t heard anything about him,” Matt’s dad says, his voice not cracking up but wavering. I admire him, I feel so close to breaking down and I haven’t even seen Matt yet.

“I’m on my way,” I say before hanging up, already pulling off my sweats and stepping into a pair of boxer briefs.

                I dress quickly, throwing on whatever I can find first. I think about telling my dad that I’m on my way to the hospital but decide against it. My dad didn’t like Matt and would probably tell me not to go to the hospital. I write out a quick note explaining the general situation to him before grabbing my car keys and house keys and stepping out of the house. I lock the door behind myself and walk quickly to the car I barely use. School was ten minutes away from my house, walking. Wasting gas to drive to school when I was perfectly capable of walking seemed stupid to me.

                I get in the car and put the key in the ignition, turning on the engine and changing gears quickly, getting off my driveway and into the road. I speed down the dark, empty roads, breaking about a thousand driving laws. Once I arrive to the hospital I find a parking spot but instead of stepping out I just sit there in front of the steering wheel. Matt tried to kill himself. He could be dead. It could be too late. God. I close my eyes as tears make my vision blurry. Please don’t let him be dead. Please.

                The first thing I notice is the white blinding lights through my closed eyelids. I groan, or at least attempt to. Then I notice a second thing, I can’t move. Why can’t I move? I try to open my eyes but it feels like they’re glued shut. I feel heavy. Like I’m buried under tons and tons of rock. Things sound and feel distant, as if I’m here but not at the same time. There’s a chemical and sick stench in the air. The smell of death. I know in some part of my mind that I’m cold. Inhumanely cold. There is a beeping sound in the distance. A labored breath. The sound of air going in and out of something. Where am I? What happened? Why can’t I wake up? I feel panic rise in me and the beeping sound comes more often.

“Matt?” I hear a voice say close to me. A voice I recognize very well.

                Everything comes rushing back right then. School. John. Chris. My parents. The razor. The blood. I tried to commit suicide. And failed. I failed in my own death. How pathetic is that?

“Matt, can you hear me?” Chris says, worry clear in his voice.

                My heart skips a beat but then more memories stump all hope out. He hates me. Chris hates me. He said it himself.

“Matt. Please. Stay with me. Can you hear me? Wake up Matt. Don’t die. Please I need you to wake up. If you can hear me, wake up please,” Chris says in a broken voice, and it sounds like he’s crying.

                Chris was crying. He never cried. Why was he crying? Then his words sank in. Wake up? I’m already awake, how could I wake up? Die? Wasn’t I already alive? How could I die? Why did he sound so broken, so desperate? Where am I? What happened?

“Visitor time is over,” says an annoyed voice. Visitor time?

“No. Please. I just need a few more minutes please,” Chris pleads, sounding frantic.

“You know the rules,” the voice comes again, sounding even more annoyed.

“Please, just a few more minutes. I promise to leave after that. I just need to tell him something,” Chris says his voice, teetering dangerously on the edge of begging.

“He can’t hear you, you know? He’s in a comma. Has been for the past month. He died in surgery about two times. He most probably won’t wake up. And even if he does he will probably have brain damage,” the voice says again, slowly, like he was talking to a stupid person. In a comma? I was in a comma? I died? Not just once but twice?

“Just one more minute, it’s all I’m asking,” Chris says his voice, sounding even more broken now. He sounded so desperate, like he was begging.

“Fine. One minute,” The voice said. There was silence for a few moments and then the voice came again. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“Would you please step out? I kind of need privacy,” Chris says, sounding nervous now.

                The voice huffs but I hear the click of the door as it shuts.

“I don’t care what he says,” Chris said softly now. “I know you can hear me. I feel it.”

                I want to open my eyes, to speak, to move, do something to tell him that I am listening, and that I’m awake, but the command is just not reaching my body.

“I know you can hear me,” Chris says again. “Wake up Matt, please. Don’t leave me. I need you. I…”

                Chris’ voice breaks off, and he sounded nervous by the end. There is nothing but silence for a few moments and then I hear it, whispered.

“I love you.”

                Chris loves me. Oh God. The beeping sound comes more often right then.

“Matt?” Chris asks again, sounding surprised and a little hopeful.

                It’s a heart monitor. The beeping sound is a heart monitor. The labored breath is mine. The coming and going of air is the machine that is helping me breath. Suddenly the sensations start to travel through the tar that is muddling my brain, fighting to reach me. I start to feel the cold myself, the softness of the bed, the warm hand in mine.

“Matt, can you hear me?” Chris asks his voice, gaining more hope. I try to squeeze his hand but the thought never turns into action. I try again but nothing happens. I try a third time and then a fourth time, and then on the fifth, I manage to move a finger. “Matt…” Chris starts to say when he’s interrupted.

“Times over,” the voice comes again, interrupting Chris. “You need to go now.”

“No,” Chris says sounding frantic now. “He moved. He moved his fingers.”

“Right,” the voice says. “Like he moved the last time you said that and the one before that and so on. Out.”

“No!” Chris yells. “I swear! He moved. I swear he moved! He moved his finger!”

“I said out,” The voice says more firmly, sounding angry now.

                No. No. Chris can’t go. No. I need him. I need him to stay. I have to move. I have to wake up. Suddenly it feels far more urgent that I make it through this tar. They’re going to take away Chris. I need to wake up. I concentrate everything I have in squeezing his hand but it feels like trying to see through a blurry window. The things just won’t focus. My thoughts just don’t register into actions.

“Please you have to believe me. He moved!” Chris pleads.

“That’s it. You’re forbidden from visiting. You can’t come back again. Not now, not later, not when we disconnect him, not ever,” the voice says angrily.

                What? Disconnect me? No. They can’t do that. I can’t die. Chris loves me. I can’t die. I continued focusing all my thoughts in squeezing Chris’ hand but it feels useless. I’m not doing anything. Chris is going to leave. I’m going to die. I hear Chris’s pleas and feel his hand leaving mine, a sense of dread and frustration filling me. If only I could move my stupid hand!

                And then it happens. I feel my hand move. I squeeze Chris’s hand, tightly.

“Matt?” Chris says his voice, sounding somewhere between happy and broken.

                I try to speak, but only manage a huff, a light stir in my breathing.

“Let go of him!” The voice says.

“I’m not holding his hand, he’s holding mine. Matt!” Chris says his voice, sounding closer to me again. “Matt can you hear me? Wake up Matt.”

“I told you he’s in a comma! He can’t hear you!” The voice comes again.

“Matt,” Chris says urgently. “I need you Matt. Wake up. Please. I love you. Please come back to me.”

                I feel exhausted as if just moving my hand took all of my energy but I need to keep going. I need to wake up. I need to see Chris. I try to speak again and manage a grunt. The room is silent for a few seconds.

“What was that?” The voice says quietly now, sounding surprised, or scared. I don’t know.

“It was him. He’s awake.” Chris says, his voice full of hope now. “Come on. Matt you can wake up. I know you can.”

                I try to speak again and manage little more than a croak, my throat feeling like it’s been scrubbed raw with sandpaper.

“Chris.”

“Matt,” Chris says, his voice full of tears but sounding happy at the same time, barely above a whisper himself.

“The patient is awake!” The voice says urgently. I hear the click of a door and his voice resounding far away.

“Matt,” Chris says again, and he sounds clearer.

                The tar starts to clear up. Things sound less distant, nearer, and I know I’m waking up. I try to open my eyes then, even though all I want is to go right back to sleep. I need to see Chris. I need to see him. I manage to open my eyes for a small part of a second but the blinding white lights make me groan and close my eyes again.

“Come on Matt, come back to me. Wake up,” Chris says through tears.

                I open my eyes again managing to keep them open this time, feeling like I’m wearing granny glasses. Everything is blurry, unfocused. I see only white. I close my eyes again.

“Matt. Look at me, come on,” I turn toward the sound of his voice and open my eyes again.

                I can’t see him, I see only blurs but it’s better like this, less blinding. I blink a few times and very slowly things start to come into focus. Then I see him. He’s sitting right beside me, holding onto my hand like his life depends on it. He has dark bags under his eyes and he looks a little pale but it’s still him.

“Matt,” Chris says, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

                I swallow and groan, my throat feels like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together and it burns. I swallow again and the burning eases a little. I repeat the process a few times until it feel like I can speak again.

“You’re turning into a girl,” I croak a little louder this time, but not quite my voice yet.

                Chris looks a little taken aback but then he smiles, his tears spilling down his cheeks and laughs, he just cracks up right there. I smile a little any movement still feeling exhausting. Then his laughter turns into sobs and leans into the bed, hiding his face, the tears hitting our joined hands.

“Matt,” Chris says, choked up. “I thought I had lost you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said before. I was lying. I was lying to you and to myself. I’m sorry Matt. Don’t ever do this again. Don’t ever leave me. I need you with me Matt. I love you.”

                I feel my eyes sting as tears make my vision blurry again. I swallow, trying to make my voice sound a little better.

“I love you too,” I croak out.

                Things aren’t alright. In fact they’re the exact opposite. I’m still in a hospital. I still had to face school. John. My parents. My life screwed up life in general. But there’s one thing that is alright: Chris loves me. That’s all I need.