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It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
But a man can only go so long with secrets inside himself before he bursts open like a pipe, frozen by the winter cold.
And Chief Bromden burst.
He wanted to touch McMurphy, thinking he’d feel alive if he did. So he did. And he was right. But these lingering touches and observations of McMurphy’s character were quickly noticed. And Chief Bromden couldn’t lie, not to him. Not to him.
Looking at his face, touching his arm, grasping at his hand for some grounding in reality, in fear he’d float away. Laying in a shared bed in their motel room with McMurphy half-asleep, feeling the way Chief Bromden traces his fingers on his arm. Up and down. Up and down. Loop. Cross. Curve. Words written on his skin by the letter. McMurphy knew what he was doing. If you had asked him, he couldn’t explain why he decided not to tell Chief Bromden. He wanted to keep it his secret. Just between them, in this dream-like state of night, where they were alone together. If there was anyone else in the room with them, McMurphy wouldn’t have allowed it. But there wasn’t, so he did.
McMurphy was afraid if he confronted the Chief, he would stop doing it.
And McMurphy wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t want him to stop.
One night, thinking McMurphy was already asleep, Chief Bromden began to trace along his back and his arm, like he always had. And he wrote his words, whatever came to mind.
R… E… D…
Oh, yes, McMurphy was a redheaded devil, wasn’t he? McMurphy had to keep himself from smiling.
Chief Bromden repeated red a few times, like a tic, a habit. It numbed McMurphy’s skin. He minded it none.
Chief Bromden moved from one word to the next. Run, river, water… he was on a kick, wasn’t he?
He tried not to move, letting Bromden slowly, ever so slowly, run his fingers up McMurphy’s arm and over the side of his neck and into his hair. It almost made him shiver. Almost .
Bromden was just affectionate. Only a bit… strange . That was it. McMurphy couldn’t blame him, could he? After being in the ward for twenty years, never able to have physical contact in so long. McMurphy could stand to humor him. It’s what he did. He even, daresay, enjoyed most of Bromden’s affections. The way he pets his hair, the way he traces his tattoos, the way he runs his thumb across his cheek. The chaste kisses to his neck when Bromden assumes him deep asleep were foreign to him, but to say he hated them would be a lie. He never had such gentle kisses before.
It was amusing, Bromden not realizing how restless McMurphy really was at night.
Hand returned to his forearm and drew a sun, mindlessly. He heard Bromden move underneath the sheets. McMurphy felt his weight come closer. McMurphy swallowed. A hand on him, a warm body so close, a brother-in-arms, if he could call Bromden that. He could feel Bromden’s legs against his under the blankets and thought about how close he was to being spooned. It made him nervous. It reminded him of when—
“I love you.”
Drifting thoughts came together, and McMurphy, nearly asleep, snapped awake.
McMurphy lay there frozen, for God knows how long, he couldn’t tell. He strained his ears for something else, anything else, but nothing came. Bromden was breathing deeply now, he must be asleep. Was he already asleep when that was said? Did McMurphy imagine it? Was it a hallucination? A subconscious thought murmuring in his ear right before he sank into his dreams?
But it had the Chief’s voice. His sweet-like voice, meek and perfect .
He must’ve said it in his sleep. He had to have, right?
It had McMurphy terrified .
McMurphy couldn’t sleep, he didn’t bother. Not that night. And with the day, he pushed it to the back of his mind and acted as if nothing ever happened. Because nothing did happen. It was an event in the night, their nights, that they never spoke of. There was no need to speak of it.
“Are you okay, Mack?” Bromden asked him that morning, as they walked to breakfast.
McMurphy looked up at him, bags under his strained eyes. “Why’re you askin’?”
“You look real tired.” Bromden had him there. McMurphy felt him put a hand on his back. His hands were so large.
“Are you feeling sick at all?” There was real concern in his voice. How long had it been since he noticed someone show genuine worry?
Sick in the head, maybe.
McMurphy puffed out a cloud of smoke from his cigarette and tapped the ash to the ground. He grinned, showing off his teeth. “...’Course not. I feel great. Picture of health.”
McMurphy began to go to sleep facing Chief Bromden after that. And Chief Bromden was so, so nervous by his staring, he slept with his back to him. The tracing stopped. The touching too. McMurphy wanted to say he was glad. Even if it left him unable to sleep, the words replaying in his head, the ghostings of Bromden’s hands on him. Even if Bromden was there, offering himself to him, displaying his warm belly for McMurphy to dig his teeth into and tear him apart alive.
Even if realizing how vulnerable Bromden was when he was asleep made McMurphy want to ruin him.
The idea of it ate McMurphy up from the inside. He couldn’t let it go any further. No matter how much he wanted him to. Out of everyone, Bromden didn’t deserve it. Why did he want it? Why?
Please . Please .
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.