A New Perspective

Crash

The next few minutes make me glad I've never been a blusher. With my oldest and best friend, my ex-girlfriend, and no less than three staff looking on, the doctor examines me. He asks quiet questions, some of them threaten to brush up against the truth. But he doesn't say anything, just thumbs up my eyelids and flashes each pupil with a penlight that feels like he's stabbing needles into my brain.

"Sorry, Crash," he says, as if he means it, "but I need to make sure your pupils are responsive. Are you nauseated?"

"A little. It was worse when I first fell."

"Well, that's to be expected with the sudden movement. How's your head? How hard did you hit it on the bed?"

"It aches, but I didn't hit it hard. It just kind of bounced. On the railing."

The doctor questions me and the nurse further and then, very, very slowly for maximum embarrassment, with everyone in the audience still watching, the nurses help me into a chair, and finally into the bed. I'm wishing I could pound sense into my own skull.

Nothing happened! I remind myself. Stop being a child and get a grip!

Everytime I have a flashback like that or I get panicked for no fucking reason, it's like my body travels back to one of those days. One of those nights. One of those moments when someone had their hands on me even though I didn't want to them to. It makes me feel helpless, and weak--and I hate myself for not being able to shake it off. But it's like I'm chained into this body. And my body is imprisoned in my memories.

"Crash?"

I shake off the thought and respond to the doctor, who's apparently been talking to me.

Once he's confident my vision isn't blurred and I won't throw up, he pats my arm and tells me he'll be back to check on me later. "I think, under the circumstances, we should keep you at least one more night, just for observation. But if we don't have any more mishaps, you can leave first thing tomorrow, okay?"

Which means you can bill my insurance and forget this whole exhaustion ruse, right?

I sigh, and wave the doctor off. How the hell did I get this broken?

A minute later, the only people in the room are the first nurse, who's busy tucking my blankets around my bed, Tommy sitting in the chair next to the bed, and Kelly, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, eyes too wide.

I'm surprised she's still here.

"I'm very sorry I scared you, Crash," the nurse says.

"It wasn't your fault. I was thinking about a song and tuned out. Don't worry about it," I finish lamely.

She stares like she's trying to figure out whether to say something. But I glance at Tommy and Kel. "Welcome to the madhouse. We'll be here all week."

Tommy's brow is pinched into lines. Kelly stays near the door, arms folded, one knee bent. She looks towards Dan's room, then the hallway, then back to me. The nurse finishes tucking in my blankets, makes a note in my chart, and excuses herself.

I wait until she's closed the door to let go of the breath I'd held onto for too long.

"What was that?" Tommy says.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You spaced out and fell out of bed. That's not nothing, Crash. How bad is your head? Are you being honest with the docs about not taking anything yesterday? 'Cause you know they won't care. They won't report you. You don't want to mess with that sh—"

"You know I didn't." My Mom's an addict. I will never be.

"Are you all right, Crash?"

She'll hear the truth in my voice, so I nod.

After who-knows-how-long of me staring, and her not giving an inch, Tommy steps between us.

"I'm cashing in my chip, Crash."

"No," I say. "You're not."

"I'm cashing in my chip, or I'm walking out on the tour," Tommy says. I snort. "You think I'm joking?"

"You'd walk out on the band for this?"

"I'd walk out because you're lying to me."

"I'm not."

His pierced brows lift.

"Anymore," I say.

"Cut him some slack, Tommy," Kelly says. Her voice is too thin. Weary. But I can't see her face because Tommy's in the way.

"You're sticking up for this piece of shit after what he did to you?"

She sighs. I want to pull her into my chest the way I did that first night in my house—

I kill the memory in its tracks.

"He would've got you in the divorce anyway," she says with a watery smile she doesn't mean.

"Shared custody," Tommy says with a grunt.

"Nah, his fancy Hollywood lawyers are too good for that." At least her grin holds a little warmth this time.

"If you two are finished talking about me like I'm not in the room," I say. Without looking away from Kelly, Tommy gives me the middle finger, which I ignore. "I need to tell you both about a chat I had with Dan when you were gone."

Kelly's already pale face loses another couple shades.

"Don't worry! It's good. I hope." For the first time, it occurs to me that Kelly might balk at the idea of me interfering. Well, she can hang with Tommy if it's an issue. I just want to help get her out of that house.

They both stare blankly. I beckon them closer to the bed, just in case the asshole's listening at the door. Kelly comes only as far as the foot of my bed. I speak directly to her. Tommy can kiss my ass. "I told Dan I was struggling with the album and need your help with the songs." Which is partly true. "I said I needed you to come to the house and work with us. He said yes."

Tommy grins. "Fame-hound, for the win."

"Exactly. So here's the idea: You come to my house—or Tommy's—every day after school and hang out. Get you out of that house."

Kelly's face is unreadable. "Wait, what?"

Aware of Dan in the next room, I lean in and whisper, "It would be great to write with you again, Kel, but even if you don't want to do that, at least it'll give you some space, right?"

Right? Why doesn't she look excited?