they were both old hat at this, by now. in the years after the war, when they’d taken up lodging together, it was a weekly occurrence — one of them would jolt awake, panting and sweating and choking on screams, and once they had calmed themselves back down into lucidity, they’d slip down the hallway to seek company. neither of them had ever minded providing this service for the other. they knew each other’s suffering well enough not to resent any reactions.
but of course, neither of them knew everything. henry was not naive enough to believe that gabriel had told him everything that had gone on in the trenches; he, after all, had not told gabriel even half of what had gone on in the field surgery. tonight proved amply how much neither of them had said.
perhaps, in the end, that was preferable. however earnestly henry had tried to offer his support, letting the secret out seemed to have broken gabriel. in all the times that henry had seen gabriel cry — which, admittedly, was not terribly often, as gabriel never liked to let him see — it had never been as severe as this. every convulsive sob seemed in danger of sending utterson’s body spilling out of its own skin.
and by god, could henry blame him? if gabriel knew the secret he kept hidden, would he not feel precisely the same terror and misery that now gripped his friend? even the thought of it made his stomach lurch. henry could hardly fault gabriel for the intensity of his response.
“ i know. ” the rest of the sentence didn’t have to hit the air for henry to understand the sentiment. “ i know, gabriel. we needn’t speak of it again, if that’s what you’d like. come on, now, breathe — nice and slow. you’ll make yourself ill if you keep hyperventilating like that. ”
He knew, he knew, he knew. How long had he known? How long had he known and yet foolishly not abandoned him? Gabriel couldn’t stop thinking about it. What had been his tell? He must have made him uncomfortable, overstepped, let his mouth run far enough for the poison to eke out. He covered his ears with futility, trying to escape that damnable voice coming both from inside and out.
What he wanted was an incomprehensible question that Gabriel was not keen to answer, let alone consider. What he desired had seen him reduced to this wretch, fanning the flames of his dearest friend’s worry. He couldn’t let him worry about him, at least not about this, because this was unending and corrosive and beyond taming. Acknowledgement only seemed to make everything worse. His breathing, quickened again and he suppressed another sob.
Struggling to regain control over his breathing, Gabriel leaned away from the presence of Henry, whose kindness only seemed to make him feel sicker still. With shaking hands, he released his head and fumbled around the dresser in the dim light from the oncoming dawn, his hand finding purchase on the wooden prosthetic, and clumsily dragging it off the dresser, clattering onto the floor.
“I need,” he muttered, the rest of the sentence getting lost. He needed to get out, have a cigarette in the darkness of some foreign corner, completely and utterly alone. He needed to disappear. His body would remain behind, stoically smoking in a dark alleyway, but the rest of him would be gone, retreated, until the calm of dawn would come fully and draw him out.
“I need fresh air,” he muttered, his voice raw but otherwise devoid of emotion, his bleeding heart already retreating swiftly into its prison. If he left, Henry could have some peace, some sleep, maybe he’d forget, maybe he’d just forget everything.
For the first time in a long while, Gabriel wished to disappear.
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