Calvin didn’t get in touch until the evening.
Before then, Mitch spent his day fretting, napping, and aimlessly scrolling on social media platforms. At one point, he painstakingly got undressed and showered, sometimes poking at the tender areas out of curiosity; it came as no surprise that they still hurt. The most exciting moment occurred when Ingrid stopped by the room to chat for a while, her candid attitude refreshing when compared to the swaths of compliments and sympathy that he no longer had the energy to endure. She asked to see his bruises, which he proudly displayed, and earned a delighted “Yuck!”
When the call came, his pulse quickened at seeing the name on the screen.
“Hi!” He chirped, thankful that Jodie was out fetching their dinner.
“How’re you holding up?” came Calvin’s voice through the other end, and Mitch couldn’t gauge the mood.
“Painful,” he answered honestly. “I mean, it’s a hazard of the job, y’know?”
“Right.”
“I don’t uh…think I can drive right now. The doctor doesn’t advise it.” Mitch continued to talk to avoid gaps in the conversation. “Luckily it was my right arm, so I’m still pretty functional, but I don’t think that I can get back home on my own.”
He hoped that would have prompted some kind of reaction, something supportive, but all he got was a distant “Mhm.”
“I guess I could leave my car at Jodie’s and take a train back? I think The Amtrak goes to down New Haven, maybe you could grab me from the station?”
“Well,” Calvin started, then stalled. It was a tone that Mitch had grown increasingly familiar with over the last few years, and his blood froze. “Mitch.”
Like the night before, white noise filled his head; he panicked, worried that his brain was swelling or bleeding, and that the doctor missed it, and maybe he should return to the ER just to be safe. His limbs went numb in the meanwhile. Everything was wrong, so wrong. “Yeah?” His teeth sunk into the mucosa of his cheek, and he gripped the fabric of his shirt as tightly as he could, knuckles going white.
Calvin spoke again. “I just-“
Mitch didn’t know if he was saying “no no no no no” either internally or under his breath, but regardless, the mantra tore through his skull with the force of a bullet while Calvin gave the annual spiel about how “this isn’t working anymore”. Usually this happened face-to-face, and Mitch could argue in favor of handling their issues like adults, that it wasn’t fair to do this when Calvin didn’t ever communicate his grievances in the first place. How the hell was he supposed to read his mind?! They’d talk about going therapy. They’d spend a night apart, then they’d fuck next day. They’d be OK for a while, and Mitch could put off things like figuring out getting his own health insurance for a little while longer.
It always sucked in person. This was so, SO much worse.
During a stretch of strained silence, Jodie appeared with several Chinese takeout containers in her arms. Mitch tried to turn away from her, but it was no use: she already saw his face, which surely gave away the situation unfolding.
“Hey, I…I think I’m gonna go,” Mitch’s voice cracked; like fissures forming in the earth’s crust, he knew that he was moments away from all of his insides spilling out. If Calvin said anything in response to that, it didn’t register. Nothing did.
The call disconnected, and the phone dropped onto the carpet.