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046. Grateful
Ezio glanced up from where he sat, bored, in the damp sand; he didn't see his brother, who just a few seconds before had been coasting on a magnificent wave. He worried for a second, but aside from himself, Enzo had to be the second - strongest swimmer in the family. If he'd wiped out, his head would bob up in a couple of seconds, he'd grab his board's leash, and swim back ashore.
No big deal.
A minute or so later, worry nagging at his mind, Ezio glanced up. Nothing. Around; nothing. His brother... twin telepathy? Even that attempt proved nothing, and Enzo had always had a knack for shouting, smiling, laughing, whenever he was mentally summoned by his little bro.
A closer glance at the waves proved a chilling sight. A slight outcropping of little rock bulges; he remembered what he'd heard about icebergs, saw a wave crash into the rocks, and was in the water before another intelligent thought could form. Ezio's stomach was a chunk of ice, heart pounding painfully from something far, far different than the exertion brought on by thrashing through the water like he was.
We don't die we don't drown but what do we do? Ezio had always been a better swimmer than his brother, he'd worked at it just as enthusiastically as Enzo worked at surfing. 50, 100 laps in a pool, he was proud of his broader back, his lung capacity. He cut through the water like a panicked fish, eyes burning from moving through the salt but there he is and oh my god.
Thin, pale ribbons of red ran down the side of his twin's head (which flopped in the way of those unconscious); that was all Ezio bothered to look at before he slung the other over his back and kicked off again. shoreshoreshoreshore he bailed he hit his head he hit a rock to the ER oh my god please help him. Dios.
Feet hitting the solid damp sand again, Ezio leaned forward so Enzo's face brushed against his shoulder and he could wrap his arms around the other's legs, he didn't want to jostle him too much lest that hurt him more. He hoped someone had a cell phone and that the on-duty hospital personnel were very, very openminded.
A few paces out in the sand and he heard some familiar voices but they weren't important, laying his brother prostrate, people crowded around but they didn't matter. The lifeguard, a mousy girl who was obviously facing her first real emergency, bailed to skitter away, call an ambulance, anything with sirens and people with gloves and oxygen and neck braces. People who knew things.
A heartbeat passed. Ezio's heart swelled into his throat and he couldn't quite believe it but Enzo started choking, coughing, exposed to the harsh beautiful life-giver that was air. Papa rolled him over to his side and he vomited up seawater, coughed more, moaned, dry heaved painfully.
Above his ear a nasty gash was pouring blood, darker than Ezio would have thought, and more sickening, because it's one thing when you read about blood or see it on TV or faked or in a painting and it's another thing to see it being spilled from your half-drowned twin brother's scalp.
Ezio's mind was clear and completely fogged at the same time. He thought of the hospital, the possibility of a neck brace, paralysis, never being able to surf again, the board, rocks, anemone, playing in the fluff of snow and how can people step out of their doors in the morning when bad things like this happen to good innocent people. He also thought of the color red, the color blue, and how strongly Enzo's stomach pushed in, pushed out, and was that mama's shirt being pressed over his gash? He wondered. He waited.
Enzo choked, feeling quite like a fish pulled from the water, and was grateful for the intensity of it. His eyes were sealed shut, mostly because he had some idea that opening them would not reveal anything good.
He wondered what was going on. Sand, warm beneath him, people towering over him, Papa saying something, the cool feeling of Mama's fingers brushing his soaked curls away from the cup of his ear, a pounding ******** of a headache.
He had the feeling that he had to thank Ezio for something, but the words didn't come. He breathed in. He breathed out. And hoped that that was enough.
 men getting pregnant · Thu Jan 07, 2010 @ 06:34am · 1 Comments |
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