Taking the long way home, he drove slowly down any side roads he could, just to draw out the drive as long as possible. The back roads were riddled with dips and uneven pavement, and somehow he managed to hit nearly every rough spot while he was busy doing his best to avoid going home. The bouncing jarred the blond's body in a way that made his eyes cross and his breath catch in his throat, and he groaned quietly every time the car hit a pothole, but it was almost, not quite, but almost, worth it.
He knew there was a bit of a time crunch, but he still wasn't too sure about facing his home all by himself. It was morning, the sun was out and he was okay, so far. The singer had no reason to believe that things would suddenly take a turn for the worst once he was there, so he might as well just face the fucking music and get it over with.
Josh pulled into the parking lot and stepped out of the car, key to his front door at the ready. Do it, do it, do it, he silently repeated with every footfall until he reached the door. Jamming the key into the lock, he turned it until he heard the tell-tale click, the one that signified that all he had to do was twist the knob and he'd be face-to-face with what sent him running in the first place.
Sucking in a deep breath, Josh pushed the door open and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind him to make as much noise as he could, filling the house with sound and vibrations rather than letting the silence suffocate him. Anything that might help was worth a try, he figured as he stomped his way through the rooms and over to the stairs. Climbing them quickly, he refused, flat out denied himself the opportunity to look around or let himself think too much about where he was.
He went straight to his bedroom and dropped his bag onto the bed, unzipping it and turning it upside down. Clothing spilled out in a pile onto the bed, and the blond didn't stop to pick up what fell to the floor, nor did he bother to move the dirty clothes into the hamper where they should have been placed. He just didn't care. He couldn't let himself worry about something that minor right now, even though keeping himself busy would have helped to keep his mind off of where he was and why that dreaded feeling was once again settled in the pit of his stomach.
Josh turned his back on the bed and the dirty clothing, opening one dresser drawer then another, pulling out clean socks and underwear and dropping them into the bag until the drawers were practically empty, save for a few random articles left in the bottom drawer that he couldn't be bothered to drag out. If anyone else saw this, they'd think he was moving. He didn't even pack this much when he went on tour with the band, but he didn't know how long he might be gone, and he wanted to be as prepared for anything as he possibly could.
Abandoning the dresser, he moved over to the closet and pulled the doors open. Reaching his hand in, the singer yanked one thing after another off the hangers and tossed them into the bag as well. He truly didn't own a lot of clothing, generally preferring to stick to old favourites like novelty tshirts and jeans that made his ass look great and his legs look a mile long. But this time, he couldn't be too picky and he took anything he could get his hand on, whether he actually liked it or not. Tshirts, long sleeve shirts, hooded sweatshirts, loose, comfortable jeans and two pairs of sneakers. The final thing he added was a jacket. Once the sutures came out of his shoulder and he was in physical therapy, he'd be able to move his right arm again, allowing him to be able to put on more normal weather-appropriate clothing without too much of a hassle. He hoped.
Josh leaned down, folding down the arms of the jacket and squishing everything in as tightly as he could so he could get the zipper closed. He couldn't think of anything else he needed, though he felt fairly certain that he would come up with something else once he was back at the studio. But, no matter. If he had to go to physical therapy once a week, he could always pick it up the next time he was at the condo seven days later when he pulled the same yeah-I'm-living-here-all-by-myself-look-at-me-go! stunt he was pulling today. There was nothing he couldn't do without until then.
Picking the bag up by the strap, he slung it over his shoulder. Josh didn't bother to close the dresser drawers or the closet door, shaving seconds off his time spent in the house alone. There was no point in bothering to do something like that since no one else would be seeing the mess anyway. He also left the dirty clothing right where it sat, figuring that he would deal with that when he was finally home for good, eventually, whenever that might be.
With ten minutes to spare, Josh raced through the house and out the front door again, locking it behind him. He threw the bag into the trunk of his car and was just laying a hand on it to close it when he heard the engine of Matt's car from about a block away. Smiling to himself, he realized how grateful he was for the first time that the brunet came with a warning. As it was, he was just jumpy enough to be about two seconds away from making everyone in his life wear a bell.
The brunet pulled his car up behind Josh's, obviously having seen the blond standing out in the parking lot. Matt leaned across the seats and tugged on the handle of the passenger door, shoving it outward toward the singer. "Morning," he greeted Josh with a smile that seemed way too cheery for a Monday.
"Hey." The singer angled himself into the car, folding himself down onto the seat and slamming the door.
Matt waited until Josh was settled in the seat before pulling out of the lot and heading in the direction of the hospital. He took the highway to get them there as smoothly as possible, avoiding the more rutted up back roads. The night the guitar player drove the singer home from the hospital the first time, both men learned the hard way that bumpy roads did Josh absolutely no good. Though the blond hadn't learned his lesson enough to stay away from those side streets earlier in the day, he wasn't about to let that be known.
"Have a good weekend?" the younger man asked, taking his eyes off the road briefly just long enough to cast a quick look over at Josh.
Define 'good', he thought, staring through the windshield at the cars gaining length in front of them. If 'good' meant that he hadn't died, then yes. His weekend was fine. And if 'good' meant that he'd spent the last two days hanging around the recording studio and scaring the absolute hell out of a teenage kid he'd never seen and would probably never see again, then his weekend fuckin' rocked. But, if 'good' meant that he'd tucked his tail between his legs and had run home to mommy and daddy for protection because he'd had a complete meltdown all alone, then Webster's would need to redefine the word. But, optimistically, things could have been worse. "Yeah," Josh finally settled on, nodding his head and hoping Matt didn't ask what he'd done to occupy himself over the last couple of days.
Luckily, or unluckily, Matt was distracted from the conversation when a driver in a black pickup truck swerved into the middle lane right in front of him, cutting him off. The brunet slammed hard on the brakes, jerking the car sideways into the slow lane to avoid an accident. "Shit!" he swore loudly, holding the steering wheel with his left hand and throwing his right arm protectively in front of Josh, the palm of his hand against the blond's chest.
The singer hadn't worn a seatbelt due to the pressure it would place against his chest and ribs, but Josh braced his left hand against the dashboard, sliding forward in the seat. The movement jarred him unexpectedly and he sucked in a rough breath, grunting quietly once Matt's hands were both back on the wheel. He wrapped his arm around his chest and splayed his fingers across his side, sighing as he leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and focusing on the pain until it passed.
"Sorry, shit! Sorry. You okay?" the guitar player asked, alternating quick glances at the singer and the road every couple of seconds. The worry in his voice was evident. "Really, are you okay?"
Pant. "Yeah, I'm fine." Pant. He inhaled slowly, then let it out - lather, rinse, repeat. "Not your fault, dude." Pant. Pressing his hand a little tighter against his ribs, Josh flinched at his own touch and pulled it away slowly. He'd have to see about getting those pain pills refilled for sure now.
"You want me to pull over? 'Cause we're a little early and we have time. I could -,"
Josh lifted his head off the seat and grit his teeth before answering. "No, just...fuck...just drive. It didn't hurt that much."
The brunet pointed over at a dirt pull-off a block ahead on the side of the road, cutting his eyes over to the singer one more time. "Seriously, man. I could. There's a spot right there."
"No! I'm fine," the blond huffed. "I just...ow! Fuck. I just wanna fuckin' get this over with." He saw Matt move his hand back to the steering wheel and the look on the guitar player's face turned a bit more stoic. "Please," Josh added, softening his tone.
"Sorry," Matt apologized again quietly, casting one last side glance at the edge of the road as he passed the spot he had pointed toward. "We're almost there."
Josh nodded, but kept his mouth shut. It didn't seem to matter what he said to anyone these days. His words all sounded irritable, even to himself, so he could only imagine what everyone else around him thought. He was fairly certain that he was coming across like a complete asshole, though. He didn't really mean to; things were starting to pile up and he'd just about reached his breaking point. People had sort of come to expect that kind of behaviour from him, but he wasn't sure if he should be thankful or disappointed in himself for that.