Chapter 18
Ella
Blatant Reminders
I’d never felt anything like it before.
The way my heart tore at the seams as I watched it all unfold before me. The way the headlights seemed so much brighter in the dark of the night. How his face was confused, then almost…settled…calm. The tires screeched to a halt just as the impact hit its end.
I couldn’t move.
Everything seemed to slow down in that moment. The man behind the wheel of the large SUV came out, running frantic hands through his hair. He looked around in a hast, searching for someone to help the man in the middle of the road. Traffic was building up behind his car, some drivers finally realizing what was going on.
I couldn’t breathe.
I heard the sirens in the distance. No matter how close the emergency vehicle was coming towards the accident, it still seemed far off…so out of reach. It was cold, but my body wasn’t registering the bitterness of the whipping wind. My hair was blowing everywhere, getting into my fogged vision. I felt something wet cascading down my cheek, no focusing on where it came from. I wasn’t sure if it was raining…or if I’d been crying.
My limbs were frozen.
His blood was pooled in the street, creating masses of attention. It was like he was an act in a circus, the way they gaped and shrieked at the sight. The harsh wind managed to move the bottle he’d once had in his hand. It rolled, the glass clinking against the rocky, black concrete of the road before me. It veered to a stop at the sidewalk, where I was glued to the rubble. My eyes finally moved from the scene to the bottle…the wretched, life-altering bottle.
Then I ran.
I ran as fast as my previously stiff limbs could carry me. I screamed so high and frantic that I was pretty sure I scared the innocent bystanders. I kneeled down next to his body, still not quite zeroed in on the situation. I still felt distance, feeling like I couldn’t reach out and grab it. I tried to find his hand, searching frantically with my own. When I did, I felt the tingle that always happened when we touched. The wetness falling down my cheeks was going down a road of its own. I couldn’t seem to stop the shivers…the tremors that reverberated throughout my body. He wasn’t reacting to me. He wasn’t looking at me. I needed him to look at me.
Then he was pulled from me.
I held on until the man dressed in white, scrub looking clothes wrenched our hands apart. He tried saying something to me, but I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t look away from his body being dragged away from me. I couldn’t escape this gut-wrenching, heart tearing feeling. I needed to be by his side. He needed to open his eyes.
I finally reached up to my face to clear some of the wetness. My heart chilled when I realized that the wetness only became worse. I slowly put my hand into view, almost feeling close to vomiting. The bright red in sight was only digging the knife in my heart deeper, pulling me back into reality.
This all had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real life.
And then I screamed.
I jolted awake, the dark locks whipping away from my face as I did. I scowled, feeling the tension building in my neck. I rubbed at it with a hard hand, trying to massage away the pain. I looked around as I did so, taking in deep breaths. I hated this room. I wanted to get out of it.
My eyes followed the large machine in front of me, watching the lights dim in and out. I heard the distant noise of beeping from another machine hooked up next to the former. I looked around once more, taking in the pure white of the walls. Everything in this room was so pristine, so plain. Even the furniture for guests was simple, with its cheap, scratching material. It all made me want to run a muck in the room, kick over the machines, splatter paint on the cream colored walls.
It made me want to escape.
As I thought about the pleasures of escaping the painfully simple room, the warmth encased in my hand was enough to pull me back from the scenarios playing in my head. I looked down at his peaceful face. His dark, thick eyelashes lay softly against his cheekbones. He was too pale, the veins in his arms and neck almost visible in the bright light. His once soft lips were now chapped, the lines in his lips matching the scars on his skin. There were the bright red scars with dried blood still lined around the center, the ones that never seemed to heal no matter long he was here. Then there were the baby pink scars lining his arms, where the surgeon had carefully stitched up the open tearing of skin. And finally, there were the bruises, which were present on both him and me. They were scattered all over…his legs, his face, underneath his lips, his hands.
I could feel my heart ripping up at the seams again, the painful reminders of the event a few days before always staring me in the face. In the past, I used to never be able to take my eyes off of his beautiful face. Now…it took all of it in me to stare at him for longer than a moment or two. It wasn’t that he was too ugly to lay eyes on.
It was that it hurt too much to look at those imperfections lined up, then scattered throughout his entire body. The boy lying on this bed wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting his bad. Jagger wasn’t supposed to be induced to a coma to suppress his injuries. I wasn’t supposed to be left feeling this hopeless right now. If he just stayed home with me that night…if I could just get him to talk it out instead of letting him go with the bottle.
The god damn, wretched bottle.
I squeezed his limp, cold hand as the memories from the days before came running back. The way the bottle just lied there in the street, almost taunting me for what it had done. That sole reason for his position in this bed. It all made me want to take a baseball bat to all of the liquor distributors’ stores throughout the county. It made me want to punch the salesperson who sold him that bottle that night.
But most of all, it made me wish I’d only found him sooner.
I’d left the house twenty minutes after he had left. I almost thought he would come back instead of heading to get a drink. A small part of me was convinced that he was smart enough to make the better choice, to come back to me and talk about whatever was going on with him. Another small part was hoping that Cooper had somehow gotten to him again, hoping he would save the day once again when Jagger just couldn’t.
I roamed he neighborhood for two hours, wrapping my jacket tighter against my body when the wind picked up. It was almost half past nine and I hadn’t found him anywhere. I remembered calling his name everywhere I looked. I checked all of the distributors in the area, asking if they seen a boy with the same description I’d given them. When most shrugged their shoulders or shook their heads in protests, I almost gave up. I almost left him in the hands of Wyatt or Cooper, hoping they found him when I couldn’t. It wasn’t until I reached the park on the walk home when I finally decided to search one last place.
I called throughout the grassy expansions, crossing my fingers silently that he would be somewhere in the green. Maybe I would see him clumsily lying against a tree, or maybe even without the disgusting stench of liquor on his clothes while he sat on a bench. I walked almost every inch of the park, not finding a single sign of him. When I finally decided to take a seat after roaming the neighborhood for hours, my heart lurched in my chest.
It was his phone.
It was lying there on the bench beside me, contrasting brightly against the dark wood. I picked it up with shaky hands, trying to convince myself that he was okay. He was a grown man after all, and he could certainly find his way home. That was probably why I couldn’t find him, because he didn’t have his phone and he couldn’t call without it if he reached the apartment on his own.
I slipped it slowly into my jacket pocket, using all the strength left in me to get up from the bench and make my way home. I had exited the park, calling out his name one last time, using the last ounce of hope I had left. When he didn’t answer, I walked the pavement with heavy footsteps. I heard a beeping sound far off at first, and turned in human interest towards the noise.
In the bright, blinding headlights of the SUV, was the boy who took my heart. It was the boy who helped me create the little being inside of me. The same one who wrote me songs and gave apologies by dragging me to concerts. It was the same man who couldn’t seem to deal with anything in his life anymore without help from his precious bottle, without the poison of the liquid courage.
And all hope was gone.
*~*~*~*~*
A soft knock came from the door across the room. I turned my head towards it, taking my eyes off the wall I’d been staring at for what felt like years. Cooper walked through with the boys behind him. All of them had looks of grief, sadness and regret sketched into their features. If I hadn’t felt so tired…so empty from all of this, I would have tried to ease the pain.
But I just couldn’t anymore. Not when the pain was coursing through me too.
“Ella,” Cooper said almost breathlessly. His dark eyes were trying hard to remain serious, to keep their cool. I knew Cooper was always the tough one. He never stepped down to his emotions, because he was supposed to be there to support everyone else. But I also knew that Jagger was like a son to him.
I merely nodded at him as he looked away from me and to his prodigy lying still in the bed. His dark eyes swept over his bruises and scars, and then cringed when they found the harsher injuries throughout his body. He let out a husky sigh, running a hand through his already messed up locks. Cooper threw off his suit jacket and pulled up a seat next to Jag’s bed, putting his head in his hands. As much as I wanted to be left alone with Jag, I knew that I couldn’t kick out Cooper now. They both meant too much to each other.
“What are those?” I whispered, my voice hoarse from all of the crying. I nodded my head towards the few magazines behind Carson’s back.
He smiled sheepishly at me, masking the hurt for only a few seconds. “I tried to steal them from the waiting room. You don’t sit out there do you?”
I raised an eyebrow. “No. I’m always in here. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” he coughed, clearing his throat. He tried to shove the magazines further behind his back and out of eyesight, but I watched him carefully.
“What are you hiding, Carson?” I said, my low voice seeming almost menacing.
His strained posture dropped at the tone of my voice and he sighed heavily. He walked from across the room to my chair beside Jagger’s bed, handing them to me slowly. When I tried to take them from his hands, he wouldn’t let go. I eyed him hard once again, and he finally dropped them. I picked through each cover, my heart dropping at the titles in bolds and italics.
His face was one everyone, smiling up at me. It was almost like the boy in the picture wasn’t real. He couldn’t be smiling and singing into a microphone. He couldn’t be posing for pictures with fans and signing autographs. None of this could be happening while he was cooped up in these four white walls. It all didn’t seem like reality.
The words were thrown at me one by one, hitting me like a freight train. It was almost like they cared more for the story than if he was still alive. You’d think they would be sincere and considerate. Maybe some would try to dig deep to find the story, but at least have a little regret for the family. But they didn’t. They seemed to seethe at me while I read them one by one, throwing each to the floor as I read the titles in fancy italics that were meant to catch the reader’s eye.
Big Star Makes BIG Mistake. The real story on pg. 35.
Infamous Jagger Linden Isn’t A Little Boy Anymore. Who knew such a young kid had such big issues.
The Bottles That Led To The Downfall.
Jagger Linden In Car Accident. Photos on pg. 96.
Just How Long Has Hollywood’s Upcoming Rock Star Been Such A Drunk?
“Where the hell do they get off?!” I seethed, throwing the remaining magazine on the smooth, tiled floor.
Carson winced as I threw it, throwing his hands up in an attempt to come off innocent. “I just tried to hide them from you. I didn’t want you more upset…then you are now.”
“They don’t know anything!” I whispered harshly.
“It comes with the territory, El,” Wyatt piped up from near the curtain. He pushed himself off of the wall with a foot, looking at Jag with sad eyes. “They want to make money off of things like this.”
“I don’t give a shit if they want to make money! He isn’t some drugged up rock star that belongs under the likes of some trashy, tabloid headlines. This is Jagger we’re talking about here!”
“That’s the point, Ella. This is Jagger,” Cooper muttered underneath his hands. I snapped my head towards him, ready for him to have it for thinking so low of a boy who was lying in a hospital bed like this. But he raised a hand, cutting me off. “You haven’t known him for as long as I have. This is who he is, Ella. This time he just…we just…couldn’t save him from himself.”
“He’s not who you’re all pegging him to be!” I shrieked, finally letting them all have it. I wasn’t about to let his own closest resemblance to family put him down like this. I knew he had issues with drinking, and that sometimes some things were just too hard for him to talk about. But they were making it out to be like Jagger was this terrible excuse for a person. “You’re making it out to be like he’s some drug addict, rummaging for coke on the streets! This is your friend!” I yelled, eyeing the boys. “And from what I can recall, the closest thing you have to a son!” I said, pointing a finger at Cooper.
“Ella, calm down. You do not understand what I’m saying! He needs help!” Cooper said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “That’s why I’m saying all of this! Because he is the closest thing I have to a son!” he cried out, smacking a fist against his leg roughly.
As we eyed each other with heavy tension filling the room, I finally saw him crack. Cooper Tally broke down for the first time since I’ve known him. And probably for the first time in a really long time. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks, past the dark stubble. He wiped feverishly at his eyes beneath his glasses, trying so hard to stop the tears from falling. “I could have helped him!” he cried out. “I should have helped him sooner!”
“Coop, you did…” Matty went to say, cowering somewhere in the corner of the room.
“But that wasn’t good enough!” he boomed, still looking down at Jag. “I should have put him in rehab before the tour. I shouldn’t have even let him on the road before getting him help. It only got worse after that. God damnit!” he shouted, throwing himself back from the chair and stomping out the room.
His footsteps echoed outside of the room and down the hall. We all stared at each other in sensitive silence, wary of who was going to speak first and what they were going to say. Wyatt returned a grieving look back to Jag, looking like he was willing himself not to cry.
“Was there any news?” he said, his voice matching Cooper’s only a moment ago.
“Nothing new. They’re just waiting for him to wake up…hopefully,” I winced, my own voice thick with new, unshed tears.
“I’m so sorry, El,” Matty squeaked. “Especially with…you know,” he gestured, not wanting to recall the obvious elephant in the room.
What was going to happen to me now? If all of the prayers and best wishes weren’t enough, was I capable of raising our baby alone? No one knew what was going to happen, the things that were about to spiral out of control if no one could fix my mess of a boyfriend lying in that bed before everyone. I knew in that moment that I wouldn’t…couldn’t function without him there. Just like he had said to me that night at the show where he sang the duet, one of us wasn’t able to function without the other. We were meant to lean on each other, no matter the situation.
“We’re going to make sure Cooper’s okay. We’ll be by later, Ella. I hope you’ll be okay,” Wyatt said, walking over to drop a kiss on the top of my head. All I could do was nod in response.
“Yeah Ella, we’re all rooting for him,” Carson piped up, trying to keep the small smile on his face.
“Thanks guys,” I murmured, my eyes fixated back on the boy who stole my heart.
I stayed like that for hours, repeating what was becoming a daily ritual of sorts for me. I held onto that hand, hoping to feed him the warmth he needed through a simple touch. My eyes followed the maze of colors and scars on his skin, wishing there was a way to make all of this go away. My eyes fogged up as I thought of the things I’d have to do without him. The tears followed when I thought of our baby growing up without their father. He had to be fixable. He just had to be.
Because I couldn’t do this without him.