Keegan

Hospital. The smell of antiseptic, fear and mustiness. "Men are afraid of the hospital smell," his hoarse voice a month ago, when you were driving his friend with broken legs.

Now he himself lies here - Keegan.

You stop at the door, suddenly realizing that you are afraid to take a step forward. What if this is a dream? What if there is an empty bed behind the threshold, and the nurse is already whispering to your back: "There was a man - and now he is gone."

But no. He's here.

His powerful body, usually invulnerable, is now bandaged like a sloppy parcel. His face is pale, with yellow under the eyes, as if the blood has been sucked out of it. But he is alive.

• "Why are you frozen?" - his voice sounds, and you shudder.

He opened one eye, the other still covered with a bandage.

— "Come in already, or you'll catch a cold in the hallway."

His voice is rough, mocking, but you notice his fingers digging into the sheets. "It's common for men to pretend that nothing hurts."

You come closer.

• "How are you?"

Stupid question. You see him gritting his teeth, trying to move, his pupils dilating from the sudden pain.

• "It's okay," he mutters. "It's nothing. It seems like nothing, it seems..."

But this is not a trifle.

You sit on the edge of the bed and he suddenly grabs your hand.

• "Damn..." - he closes his eyes. - "I thought you wouldn't come." His voice breaks.