Anterograde (21 page)

Eli
shook his head. “Calden,” he started, but lost his voice when Calden’s hand
suddenly wrapped around his cock. His hips jerked forward of their own accord,
pushing his length through the ring formed by Calden’s fingers. The tip of his
cock, slick with precome, painted a wet line against Calden’s abdomen.

“Neither
of us is going to sleep any time soon like this,” Calden said very low,
nuzzling Eli’s neck. “And I’d very much like to have you inside me.”

Whatever
reservations Eli had vanished when Calden squeezed his prick gently, sending
tendrils of want to wrap around his balls.

“So
what you’re saying is, you want me to do all the work, huh?”

Calden
arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, as you pointed out, I
am
exhausted. But
if that’s too much of a hardship…”

Another
squeeze of his fingers and Eli had to pull away before the point became moot.

“Demanding
bastard,” he muttered, but his shaky voice rather ruined the effect.

He
tried to get a grip on himself while retrieving the lube from the night table.
Turning back to Calden, he had to ask, “Are you sure? We could just—”

“Quite
sure,” Calden cut in. His next words, however, hesitated slightly, catching in
his throat. “How do you want me?”

Eli’s
self-control threatened to slip again.

“Hands
and knees,” he demanded, more roughly than he meant to, and pulled the covers
off Calden, revealing his hardened cock.

A
shudder traversed Calden’s body as he rolled over and pushed himself to his
knees before resting his head on his folded arms. Before he even uncapped the
lube, Eli couldn’t resist running a gentle hand over the lovely ass just
waiting for him. Calden pushed back against his hand with a quiet, whiny sound.

“Impatient?”
Eli asked, finally slicking his fingers. “Of course you’re impatient. When are
you not?”

Any
other night, Eli would have dragged things out just to hear more of those pretty
little moans, but it was already long past Calden’s bedtime.

And
that wasn’t an excuse, not at all.

As
he teased Calden open, stretched him, and slicked him, each slide of his
fingers accompanied by more encouraging noises from Calden, Eli made a point
not to touch his prostate, so that when he finally knelt behind Calden, pushed
in, and took his first tentative thrust, the brush of his cock against the
small nub sent a shudder through Calden. He gasped Eli’s name as his body
jerked, though it was hard to tell if he was trying to press back to get more
of the contact or pull away because it was too much. Eli held him in place, his
hands tight on Calden’s hips.

“I
usually like to take my time,” he said, timing each word with a thrust, “but
tonight I think hard and fast will work fine. Objections?”

Calden’s
answering moan did not sound like an objection at all.

True
to his words, Eli established a fast pace, and before long Calden extended a
hand to brace himself against the headboard as Eli thrust into him with fast,
deliberate motions. Every time Eli pressed into his body again, a quiet “Eli”
passed Calden’s lips; every time Eli pulled back, Calden’s body tried to
follow, as though to keep him in.

Eli’s
teeth were biting down into his bottom lip, a desperate effort to hold on to
his control, but he could feel it start to slip away already. Sliding his hands
higher on Calden’s torso, he pulled him up until Calden was kneeling up, too,
his back arched, his head lolling back to rest onto Eli’s shoulder.

“God,
look at you,” Eli gasped, one hand splayed over Calden’s chest and the other
wrapped around his cock, moving to the same rhythm as the quick, shallow upward
thrusts of his cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Calden
keened. Eli knew that noise, how close Calden was, and how to push him over to
the other side.

“I
love you.” He pressed the words to Calden’s shoulder like kisses. “I love you, Calden
Hayes.”

One
last thrust, one last pull of his hand, and Calden was shuddering against him,
around him, warm wetness filling Eli’s hand, and Eli, as always, was all too
happy to follow where Calden led.

For
a while, they remained as they were, panting together, their bodies molded as
though they were one. As Eli’s heartbeat returned to its normal pace, he kissed
the nape of Calden’s neck before easing him down to the bed. Calden curled up
onto his side, his eyes already closed. Asleep, Eli thought, or at the very
least well on his way. He wanted nothing more than to join him, but he managed
to stand, picking up Calden’s discarded towel on his way to the bathroom. He
cleaned up before bringing a wet washcloth back to the bedroom and running it
gently over Calden’s cock, belly, and ass. Calden never so much as twitched.
But when Eli turned off the light and slipped into bed, curling up behind him,
a murmur escaped Calden.

“Love
you too, Eli Wright.”

(
next chronological chapter
)

June 7
^th
to June 20
^th

Calden
wakes up. Or does he? His head feels heavy, too heavy to lift, just like his
eyelids. He’s not aware of much more than the hand curled up around his own,
holding it as carefully as if it were a frightened bird. He doesn’t know whose
hand it is, but he knows whom he’d like it to belong to. He drifts back to sleep
with Eli’s name on his lips.

*

Calden
wakes to the sound of Eli’s voice. It drifts through his sleepy mind: meaningless,
soothing sounds, their rhythm as regular as a heartbeat—and that beeping sound
in the background.

Little
by little the sounds become syllables, then words, then sentences. A book, Calden
understands at last. Eli is reading a book aloud. Some kind of mystery, maybe.

With
great, great effort, Calden opens his eyes, and there is Eli, sitting by his…
bed? Hospital bed? Why is Calden in the hospital?

His
eyes close again before he can ask the question aloud, before Eli notices they
even opened.

*

Calden
wakes up, but his eyes refuse to open. As he struggles to blink, he becomes
aware of the mask fastened over his mouth and nose and the oxygen it brings
him.

Hospital,
he finally realizes, and it explains the quiet beeping and buzzing that fills
the room, and the slight discomfort in his arm; IV drip, he sees when his
vision clears at last.

His
other arm is held down, and for a second he thinks—fears—he’s restrained and
bound to the bed, the way he was long ago after an unfortunate dosage
miscalculation.

But
no. It’s not restraints that hold him down, but the gentle weight of Eli’s
head, laid against his arm as he sleeps, hunched forward in a hospital chair.

Calden
wants to say his name, wake him up, ask him…

But
already sleep is claiming him again.

*

Calden
wakes up. His head is pounding. He doesn’t drink often, because he doesn’t like
the way alcohol dulls his mind, but when he indulges too much, this is what the
aftermath feels like.

And
he must have indulged quite a lot, actually, because he doesn’t even remember
drinking at all.

Groaning
lightly, he tries to sit up, but his body feels weak, too much so to do what he
wants. Which is about the point when he realizes he’s not in his own bed. And
there’s an oxygen mask over his face. And an IV attached to his arm. And two concerned
people standing on either side of his hospital bed.

Lana
looks rumpled, though in that way of hers that only she can manage. To an
outsider’s eye, she looks perfectly respectable in her uniform shirt and pants.
But her shirt sleeves are rolled up and her hair, usually drawn back in a tight
ponytail, falls freely over her shoulders. She’s been wearing those clothes at
least twenty-four hours, maybe more. The dark circles under her eyes hint that she’s
been awake far longer than that. Calden hasn’t seen her so frazzled in years.
He doesn’t like it.

Opposite
her, Eli looks even more tired, with facial hair darkening his cheeks. Eyes
wide, he takes Calden’s hand and squeezes it lightly.

“Hey.
Calden? You awake?”

Calden
would like to speak, but his throat is parched and no sound comes out. He gives
a slow, deliberate blink, and Eli’s face breaks into a smile.

“Oh,
good. That’s good. Welcome back.”

“I’ll
get Caroline,” Lana says, but Calden barely notices.

“Are
you in pain?” Eli asks next, his hand a little tighter around Calden’s.

Calden
thinks about that one before answering. His head hurts, yes, but is it worth
mentioning? It’s just a headache. Before he can try to shake his head, Eli
amends his question.

“Your
head,” he says. “Does your head still hurt?”

Well,
since he’s asking… Calden gives another slow, deliberate blink. But right as
his eyes open, they insist on closing again.

“Calden?
Look at me. Stay with me. Calden.”

Not
going anywhere
, he wants to say.
Not
ever again
.

But
words are beyond him, and darkness wraps around him once more.

*

Calden
wakes up in a dimly lit room he identifies at once. Hospital room.

He
frowns at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he did to end up in the
hospital as a patient when a voice intrudes on his thoughts.

“Calden?”

He
turns his head on the pillow toward Eli, who is pushing himself out of a chair
with a quiet groan. Calden tries to say his name, but what comes out is a
rather frightening croaking sound.

“Here,”
Eli says, picking up a glass from a nearby table. “Drink a bit. It should
soothe your throat.”

He
slides a hand to the back of Calden’s head and helps him up a little as he
brings the glass to his lips. Calden takes a sip. The first mouthful hurts like
he’s swallowing crushed glass, but the second one is much, much better.

When
Eli pulls the glass away and lets Calden’s head rest back down on the pillow, Calden
tries to speak again.

“Eli.”

Eli
smiles at him. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Calden
tries to shrug, but his body barely moves, as though caught in molasses.
“Groggy,” he mutters. “What happened?”

Eli’s
smile fades to a thin line. “You had encephalitis. You were in a coma for five
days. Gave us quite a fright.”

When
Calden frowns, he adds, “But you’re going to be fine now. Just a few days of
rest and you’ll be ready to go home.”

Speaking
is hard, so Calden just nods.

“Let
me get your doctor,” Eli says. “I’ll be right back.”

Calden
closes his eyes to wait for him to come back.

*

Calden
wakes to the sound of his name. Eli is there, next to his bed—but no, that’s
not his bed. Where is…

Hospital.
Eli is there, with Doctor Bonneville standing at his side. Why does Calden need
a neurologist?

“There
you are,” Eli says with a faint smile. He turns to Bonneville as she leans over
Calden, a pen light in her hand.

“How
are you feeling, Calden? Any pain? Discomfort?”

He
blinks repeatedly when she shines the light in his eyes.

“No
pain. Why am I here?”

Bonneville
explains. Next to her, Eli is frowning, worry inscribed on every line of his
face.

*

Calden
wakes up, and the two voices that intruded on his sleep fade immediately.

He
blinks several times, taking in the hospital room, the IV attached to his arm, Eli
and Lana standing by the door, where they were talking quietly. They approach
together, and before Calden can ask one of the dozen questions on the tip of
his tongue, Eli asks in a gentle tone, “Calden, do you know why you’re here?”

Calden
licks his lips. They feel dry; how long has he been here?

He
shakes his head. “I… I’m not sure.”

Eli
and Lana exchange consternated glances.

“Try
to remember,” Lana says. “Think. You know the answer. It’ll come back to you.”

Frowning
at her, Calden thinks hard, sifting through his memories, but can only make an
educated guess.

“Did
I overdose?” he asks, his voice blank, his eyes remaining on her rather than risk
seeing Eli’s disappointment.

Lana
looks pained. “Are you using again?”

“No
he’s not,” Eli says strongly before Calden can reply that he doesn’t remember
getting high, but that’s hardly proof of anything. “His tox screen was
negative. Calden, are you sure you don’t know? I told you why you’re in the
hospital just a few hours ago. Try to remember, please.”

Calden
shakes his head again. He really has no idea.

*

Calden
wakes up in the hospital. Eli is there. He looks a lot worse than Calden feels.
Before they can do more than exchange a few words, Bonneville walks in. With an
irksome compassionate smile, she tells Calden he’s been in the hospital for two
weeks. Tells him he had encephalitis, but that’s all cleared up now. Tells him
he’s been having some memory issues and she’d like to run some tests.

Three
hours later, Calden has had a CAT scan and an MRI. He still remembers the three
words Bonneville gave him when she started the tests. He remembers every moment
of his life until the headache that was apparently the first encephalitis
symptom—and nothing since, until he woke up.

Eli,
who has been nearby during all these tests, is looking more and more worried.

“I’m
afraid we’re looking at an anterograde amnesia diagnosis,” Bonneville says when
they’re back in his room. “It means—”

“I
know what it means,” Calden cuts in. “Is it permanent?”

She
winces. “We can’t be completely sure yet, but with every day that passes
without you remembering recent events, it’s more and more likely that it’ll be
permanent. I’m sorry to say the prognosis is not good at this point. Studies of
people with your condition show no improvement of memory functions. There can
be some muscle memory achieved through the repetition of tasks, but—”

“The
woman next door has Munchausen syndrome,” Calden says, lying down and closing
his eyes. He’s heard enough about his own case.

Silence
falls on the room until she says in a tight voice, “Calden, that’s not
something—”

“When
the nurse took me to the MRI, I got a peek inside her room. There was a bouquet
of calla lilies on her bedside table and she had one in her hands. When we came
back from the MRI, there was a stem on the floor, no flower, and she was
vomiting rather spectacularly. The nurse said her symptoms are baffling
everyone. It’s because she’s making herself sick. Those flowers are poisonous; she
obviously ate one.”

A
sharp intake of breath, a quiet, “Excuse me,” hurried steps out of the room. A
sigh.

“When
did you figure it out?” Eli asks softly.

“My
brain is fine,” Calden says, keeping his eyes shut tight. “I’m fine.”

Soft
fingers curl around his hand and squeeze gently.

“Of
course you are. You and your ridiculous brain are gonna be just fine. It’ll be
okay, Calden.”

Calden
takes in a shaky breath and nods.

*

Calden
wakes up in a hospital bed.

He’s
alone.

He
has no idea why he’s here and no recollection of being taken to the hospital.
He vaguely remembers a headache, the pounding in his skull suddenly
debilitating after days of being nothing more than an annoyance. He takes stock
of his body. No pain or injury as far as he can tell. An illness, then. But
what kind?

The
answer is on the chart hanging at the foot of his bed. He flips through it,
frowning more and more deeply as he takes in the information. Encephalitis,
with neurological complications. Anterograde amnesia suspected, then confirmed.
No progress or improvement in the past week, which, a note says, hints that the
condition is irreversible.

At the
end, the four digits make Calden glad he’s sitting, because he’s not sure he
could stand right now.

06/20

Today’s
date.

Eighteen
days. He’s spent eighteen days in the hospital, almost three weeks, and doesn’t
recall a single second of it.

He’s
still staring at the chart when a man walks in. Calden looks up. It’s a nurse. Simons,
Calden thinks his name is. The dark look he gives Calden before schooling his
features hints that he still doesn’t like Calden much. Calden couldn’t care
less.

Eighteen
days. Over four-hundred hours. And nothing, nothing left of it all.

“You’re
not supposed to look at that,” Simons says, tugging the chart out of Calden’s
hands and returning it to the foot of the bed. “And you should be lying down.
You’re not going to be discharged until this afternoon, and until then you need
to rest.”

As
he speaks, he helps Calden recline, his words and expression allowing no
protest. Calden is still too numb to object.

“Discharged?”
he manages to say. “I’m going home?”

“This
afternoon,” the nurse repeats. “Your mother said the car would be there at
three. Now stay in bed. Your lunch is on the way.”

With
that, he leaves. Calden scrunches his eyes tightly closed and tries with
everything he has in him, with every last bit of the growing despair that fills
him, to remember something, anything at all from the past eighteen days.

His
very last memory, so tenuous it’s hard to grasp it, is of Eli laying a cool
hand on Calden’s feverish forehead. Eli, who was a little concerned.