Disclaimer: I don't own Austin and Ally.
A/N: Hi guys, this idea woke me up the other night and had to be written. It all came together pretty fast and was basically complete from the start. I know the idea isn't totally original and I've read some other fics like this. Blame that and me recently starting the Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan. If you haven't read his stuff yet, I recommend it. Anyway, I haven't abandoned Blindsided and will finish that shortly, but this kind of ambushed my brain. It's done and I'll post the next part very soon. Then I'll finish my big multi-chap. I promise! As always, I love to hear from you so please review!
. . .
Journal of a Fractured Mind
Chapter 1
July 30th, 2017
My name is Austin Moon. I am 19 years old. I was in a car accident and should be dead. The doctors don't want me to think about that though. They want me to write down any memories I have. There aren't many. They say that some amnesia is to be expected, considering the extreme trauma I experienced. It should be temporary. I hope. They gave me this journal because I stutter and talking is slow. They tell me it will get better. I get frustrated and so angry that I can't get my words out, but I can write, so this is where I am supposed to put my words, my thoughts, my memories.
It's a blank journal, a book bound in leather and filled with lined pages I am supposed to fill. The leather feels good in my hand and I think of red: a red leather jacket. I want one. Maybe I have one but it's at home and I can't go there yet. This feels strange, like this book isn't mine but should be someone else's. And its cover is too plain. In my head I see a book with my first initial on it, an A, but it's not mine. I'm not supposed to touch it or read it. I'm not supposed to find out that she likes me. I don't know what that means.
. . .
August 1st, 2017
I woke up four days ago. They told me I was in a coma for two and a half months. My body just hurts.
My mom was there when I opened my eyes. It hurt so much, the sunlight was too bright and my eyes watered. I didn't recognize my mom. It made her cry and later a man came and held her and watched me carefully. He's my dad. We've had some good talks since then. Well, he's talked to me. I've tried to talk, to ask questions, to try and figure out who I am. He tries to help, they both do, and I know they love me. I only have a few scattered images of them in my head, but I love them too. They are here every day and take turns at a store they own. But they always come to visit and I know I'm not alone.
I think I had a nice car. It was black and it was fast. But that's not how I got in an accident. I was at a light and when it turned green I entered the intersection. Then a drunk guy in a truck ran the light and t-boned my car. He hit the passenger's side and totaled me and the car. The doctor told me if he'd hit my side of the car I definitely wouldn't be here now.
It's weird to look in the mirror. I can't explain it, but I know I don't look like me right now. I'm skinny, like sickly skinny, my hair is limp and my eyes have dark circles around them and it's strange. The first time I took a shower (yesterday, which was tricky with a cast) I stopped to really look at myself for a minute. There is a scar all along the left side of my torso that looks new. I think they had to sew me back together or something. They won't tell me everything, but I was in bad shape and it's a miracle I survived. The stitches are gone but its still healing and tender. My muscle mass decreased while I was in the coma and I'm still weak and tired a lot. I'm starting physical therapy so I can get my strength back. I'm always hungry. I was really healthy and in great shape before the accident so the doctors are confident I can recover quickly. My grip strength is almost back to normal. One of my legs was broken in the accident and the bone has mostly healed but I have to rebuild that muscle after the cast comes off next week. They make so many promises. The only one they won't make is about my mind. They never promise that I will remember everything: that I will be me again. That scares the hell out of me.
Most of the time the doctors and nurses are pretty nice. There's a guy named Damon, a nurse, who works at night. He's funny and is pretty nice even when he has to wake me up to take my meds. He stops by my room last and we take turns throwing all the little plastic cups at the garbage bin across the room. I'm a better shot than he is. One of the female nurses acts like she has a crush on me. She's got nothing on the girl I dream about though.
My parents and grandparents are my only visitors so far. I am too weak, too fragile of mind still, so no one else can come. If anyone even wants to. I have no idea.
But I see her all the time. I dream a lot because I sleep a lot. And she is always there, so real, so vivid. She sings to me in my dreams with the voice of an angel. I look forward to sleeping because I know I will see her. But then I wake up with the memory of touching her and I ache inside. I can feel her hand warm inside mine. I feel her tiny perfect body pressed against mine in a hug. I see her white smile and I know every version there is of it. Some things were fuzzy at first; her brown curly hair which sometimes looked lighter at the ends, sometimes not, has now solidified in my mind. Her beautiful brown eyes with a whirlwind of emotion: happy, sad, frustrated, angry, gentle, laughing, proud. I know all of her moods because they are so clearly reflected in those eyes. And she's always looking right at me.
I don't know if I made her up or remember her. Maybe she is an angel - I almost died after all. My psychiatrist doesn't want my parents to just tell me everything. He wants to see how much I remember on my own for a little while, push my brain to bring it back. They don't talk about other people: friends, girlfriends, anyone. But man, I hope she's real.
. . .
August 2nd, 2017
There is music in my head. I don't know how to write the notes down or if they mean anything, but I like music, that's clear enough. I could be stealing someone's song I heard on the radio for all I know. 'They wanna know know know your name name name. They want the girl girl girl with game game game. And when they look look look your way way way you're gonna make make make em do a double take.' It looks a little funny written down but it sounds great in my head. Really catchy.
Words run through my mind all the time. I don't know if they are mine or not. Maybe if I write them down I can claim them later. I can be some sort of musical prodigy that came out of a coma. That would be awesome! But I do like music. I turn it on all the time but they won't let me listen to the radio. Don't know why. My parents brought my cd's from home and I listen to the music I listened to before, I guess. But some of the songs in my head aren't on any of those. I hear the music clearly, I feel the beat inside like this music is part of me. It's different than the stuff I listen to. Here are some of the parts I remember:
'Summer in the sand he's a drummer in a band, dropping a beat. She's a dj on the boardwalk.'
'I love the things you do, it's how you do the things you love, but it's not a love song.'
'I know it's on when I can't stop myself from watchin' ya mo-o-o-ve. It's automatic gotta have it 'cause you got that boom da boom boom. When the lights come up it's hard to hold back so come on, let it flow. Can you feel it coming down. .. '
'I'm going home and I'm coming to you. Chasing the beat of my heart.'
'Whatever it is I got it, don't know what to call it, there's no way around it, yeah I got it too.'
'I heard you talkin like I lost my swagger. Said I was over you were wrong. I'm always improvin' always on the move and workin' on my flow, to take it to the studio.'
'Hey now, baby, no doubt about it girl you drive me crazy. I'm pleading guilty to the way you make me wanna steal your heart.'
I don't think in complete songs, just snippets. And sometimes in my head I hear me singing them, or I hear her singing them. They are so connected I can't pull them apart, like the songs belong to her.
I see her all the time, in my dreams, both at night and during daytime naps. I told you I sleep a lot right now. I get tired easily. I hate that. Anyway, back to her: maybe she is an angel but she feels so real to me. She likes music too. I see her at a piano all the time. Sometimes I am with her, sitting close, feeling her warmth, our fingers touching as we play together, leaning in and kissing her lips softly. Sometimes I'm holding a guitar and I have to move it out of the way so I can get close to her, so I can hold her. We hug a lot. And she is so small I have to lean down to wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder and despite her height she always throws her arms up around my neck and I love that. It would be so great if these were memories, if she was part of my life. If only she could come visit me.
There are a few other people in my head. Oh, I pray they are not just in my head. There is a guy with red hair. His name starts with a D. D, d, d Dexter? That's a real name, right? His face is almost always partially blocked though. Is he holding a camera? He's lots of fun: I know that. But then with him all I see is a lineup of strange animals following him around. Camel. Kangaroo. Llama. I hope I'm not really losing it.
There are two other girls but they aren't like her. They both have dark hair and one has skin like milk chocolate. They are my friends. I can picture the shorter one standing beside Dexter in the room with the piano. The room where I always see my angel. They know her too and they care about us. And they argue a lot.
The other girl is on a stage singing. That's the other thing. Sometimes I dream I am on a stage in front of a billion people and I love it. They scream my name and I am happy. I can't see their faces though. They are just a sea of people who change every few seconds but somehow that doesn't bother me. I still feel connected to them and these are good dreams.
A few other faces appear in the background of my thoughts and dreams but they are hazy. A plump friendly older man who is always smiling. Instruments float all around him. A plump young man with glasses who is not smiling, who fights with Dexter. A brunette threatening me with flowers. A dark haired woman who is cackling at me and stealing my pancakes or my guitar. She is followed around by some cats. Cheerleaders. A man in really cool suits and shades who shakes my hand and bosses me around a little but I don't mind. Very few names come to mind. So far Dexter and my parents are it. The girl I like, my dream girl, doesn't have a name but I constantly see her next to the letter A. It's big and yellow which is my favorite color and it's often floating in the air around us. Weird. The dark haired girl with Dexter is usually speaking Spanish when I dream, but I don't know Spanish so I don't understand a word she says. But she makes me laugh and I care for her like a sister. Dexter is like my brother, but I know he isn't really. We are just that good of friends. I wish they would come visit me so I can know for sure if they are real, if these are memories or something I just made up.
I'm still young but school feels like a distant thing. I remember some things: books I've read, dreading math homework and tests, lunch. I must have graduated last year or something, but I feel like school wasn't that big a deal to me. I had a lot of other things on my mind at the time. Like basketball? But then, no. argh! I can't get a handle on it.
My leg itches in this stupid cast. I can't wait to get it off!
. . .
August 5th, 2017
My parents are becoming more familiar to me and some memories are coming back. Only, I have this really strange image of them in my mind standing in a sea of beds. Crap. I hope this isn't some weird Fruedian thing, cuz I really don't want to think about them in bed together. The only person I think of that way. . .
So my parents are really nice. Mom is calming down and doesn't look like she's going to break every time she sees me. Dad just cheers me on and is really supportive. But, I think I've heard him arguing with the doctors a few times. I asked him about it and he's trying to get my friends in to see me but the psychiatrist is still against it. He thinks my brain won't heal and function on it's own. Blah blah blah.
I finally got the cast off so I can start physical therapy on my broken leg and my speech has improved a little. Yesterday I was humming and sang a few lines to my mom. It was actually easier than trying to just talk normally. Then she started to cry for a different reason than usual and she hugged me tight. It felt familiar and good.
I like singing and I think I remember being good at it. Maybe that explains all my dreams about being on stage. I don't know if it's a goal of mine or if I really have sung for a stadium full of people though. Man, I wish my memories would come back faster. My mind feels so hazy. But I try to talk through things I remember with my parents. Most things they do assure me are true, real memories so that's good. I just wish I had more of them.
. . .
August 6th, 2017
My psychiatrist wants me to finish what I was going to write yesterday. The part about beds and someone. Yeah, he reads this journal. I would complain but it's easier than trying to talk to him so. . .
Two days ago I was kind of pissed off when Damon woke me up to take my medications. I hadn't realized I was only dreaming until he came in with the stupid little plastic cup of colorful pills. Fine. The shrink is staring at me: he thinks this will be a helpful exercise. I just hope he's as understanding as Damon was if thinking about this affects more than just my brain.
I woke up in bed next to her. She was lying on her stomach bathed in early morning light, her beautiful brown hair a mess of curls all over the pillow. She wore a black lace nighty that barely covered the curves of her perfect body. The color contrasted with her creamy skin so nicely and I reached out and ran my hand down her back and over the curve of her bottom. She made a contended sound but didn't wake up. I got out of bed and pulled on my boxers which we left on the floor the night before. I had a gold ring on my left hand. Then I left our room and went to the kitchen where I moved some dishes from the sink into the dishwasher and then I made some pancakes. She came out of the room, still in her nighty, and gave me a quick kiss as we sat down to eat. We talked. We were happy, newlyweds. When we finished she got up and climbed onto my lap so she was straddling me and I kissed her, sliding my hands up her smooth legs and around her nice bottom. The kiss deepened and her hands were all over my bare chest and in my hair. I was just thinking that my wife is so sexy when I was woken up.
That's it. Just a freaking dream! But it seemed so real at the time. (I hope you enjoy reading this doc. And don't you dare fantasize about my girl! That's my job apparently.)
This does bring up a disturbing question though: if I am married, why haven't they let her come visit me? I see two options and both make me feel sick to my stomach. 1. I imagined the whole thing. I really don't want that to be true. Or 2. She died in the crash.
. . .
August 10th, 2017
I haven't written in here for four days and the doctors are giving me a hard time about it. I can't even look at the last thing I wrote, that's why I left two blank pages between. It kind of put me into a funk and the doctors are talking depression and how that won't help me recover. I'd been doing so well until that moment. Mom got upset. I can't stand that. The shrink tells me there are more options for my dream girl but I won't talk to him about it. I said to let her come see me or leave me alone about it. He's leaving me alone and now I feel worse.
So I'm writing again, under duress. My speech hasn't improved and I haven't been working on it like I should. Then this morning, after a nice long lecture by my shrink, I sang to my mom some more and that seemed to help us both. The only problem is that the song was inspired by her. And I still don't know if she is real or not.
'I think about you every morning when I open my eyes. I think about you every evening when I turn out the lights. I think about you every moment every day of my life. You're on my mind all the time, it's true.'
And now I'm crying. This sucks. I'm pretty sure that I, Austin Moon, do not make a habit of crying. Being in the hospital sucks. Having huge chunks of my life missing sucks. Not knowing if I am crazy or will ever be whole again sucks. Not seeing her sucks.
And oddly enough it feels slightly familiar. Like, I've been separated from her before and I hated it. And then I get this weird thought about hugging a security guard who I thought was her. That makes no sense. I'm losing it and now this journal is only making me know it for sure. I can't do this.
. . .
August 11th, 2017
Physical therapists are cruel. Okay, they aren't really, but my leg hurts so much. I just want to be able to walk again and get out of this place!
I am improving again though since I started working on stuff again yesterday. I can now hold short conversations with only a little stuttering. Singing is still the easiest thing for me. My mom finally brought my guitar into the hospital room because I begged her to and the second I touched it I felt better. It was normal and right and music flowed from my fingers like I'd been born to do this. Maybe I was. Maybe that's why I dream of being on stage. I see myself on stage with my guitar or dancing while I sing. There are other dancers too and the crowd is always singing along and reaching for me. I reach for them too but I can't touch them.
If I did sing and dance, it would explain why I keep planning out dances to the songs I listen to and hear in my head. Not that I can imagine dancing right now. My leg barely holds my weight and walking is just a goal. I've been awake for twelve days now and every morning when I wake up I feel like I just barely got run over by a truck. My psychiatrist tried some hypnotherapy on me this morning and I started to remember the crash. That was fun. (man, I wish sarcasm came through better on paper). I remembered my car. It was a sweet ride, and fast, and now it's flattened. I remember that I was driving home from work or something when it happened. I was happy. I had plans that night with Dexter.
There is a new nurse who looks at me funny. She's young and blonde and awkward. She stands there and just watches me sometimes which is a little creepy. She tries to find reasons to touch me, put her hand on mine or something, and then she looks like she's going to faint or cry. Damon caught her listening outside my door when I was singing earlier. It's strange. Yesterday she got chewed out for taking a picture of me on her phone. I really don't get why she'd want a picture of me. I mean, I look healthier now because they let me eat whenever I'm hungry, my black eyes are gone, mom even trimmed my hair the other day and it's looking better. But a half broken guy in an old t shirt and pajama pants who can't walk? I'm not exactly the sexiest guy alive right now.
And as always: she's not the girl I want.
My parents read this journal with the psychiatrist this afternoon. Great. That's not embarrassing at all. Only now mom is looking at me like she has to tell me my dog died. Crap. Did I have a dog? I don't think so. Dad is arguing with the doctors again. They are outside my door but I can still hear it. I look to the door and catch a glimpse of red hair. It makes me think of Dexter. Why can't I see him? It would be nice to have someone else to talk to. My parents are great and the nurses have been friendly and all, but I miss having friends.
I just heard a snippet of Spanish and saw dark curly hair. No way. This can't be a coincidence. I was about to get out of bed but mom stopped me. So I'm writing in this journal, or pretending to anyway, so I can listen. The fight outside has been going on for a few minutes. If mom weren't here I would go out there and see for myself.
. . .
August 12, 2017
I asked mom about the girl. I've been avoiding talking about her out loud or asking because I don't want to lose the dream. If she wasn't real, I didn't want to know because that would shatter me.
She is real, and she's alive, but we aren't married. Her name is Ally. That sounds right. When mom said her name my brain supplied the rest and a little more. Dawson. Her full name is Ally Dawson. She likes pickles. She has a book like this and I can't touch it.
The only thing mom would tell me is that we are good friends and I've known her for years, but I need to remember the rest on my own and all that stuff. Curse my psychiatrist and all his rules! Then, since mom has read this journal, she told me that my 'special dream' wasn't that unusual and she had thoughts like that about dad when they were engaged, and. . . I really did not want to hear all that from my mom.
But at least now I know she is real.
Ally. Ally Dawson. Ally Moon.
No. I shouldn't do that. Man it looks good though: her name with mine. Crap. What if we are just friends and she doesn't want anything more with me? But then what about all my thoughts about kissing her? Did I make that up too? I swear I know how her lips feel against mine. And it can't be an accident that I dreamed we were married. Gah! I'm going to drive myself crazy. I don't care how: I just want to see her.
. . .
August 14th, 2017
I get to go home tomorrow and I can't wait! I still have to come back for physical therapy every other day, and there are exercises I have to do on my own, but at least I get to be in my own room, in my own bed, surrounded by own stuff again. If that doesn't help with the missing chunks in my memories than I don't know what will. I just want to get back to normal as quickly as I can. Sure, I'll be on crutches. Okay, so I have some scars now and I still have some weight to gain, but that will come.
I want to see Dez and Trish and Ally. Yeah, my best friend's name isn't Dexter, it's Dez. I remembered his real name this morning when Damon came into my room wanting to use his phone during his shift and not get in trouble. He showed me a funny video online of a kangaroo and it suddenly hit me. I remembered the kangaroo that Dez hooked a video camera up to and it got loose in the mall. The four of us laughed so hard. I looked it up and showed it to Damon. Then he took his phone back before I could check out a video Dez posted of me. What was that about?
That moment opened a lot of things for me and I started remembering more crazy moments with Dez. The only one I can't make sense of yet involves a giant crab. I'm not sure how that can be real, but for some reason I'm positive I saw one at the beach. And I saved a girl from it and from the beach umbrellas. Yeah, I'm not making much sense now, but I really did have a break through with my memories!
And I also remembered more about Ally and I being friends. It's still jumbled, but there are a millions moments with her in a music store and that piano room. We sing together, we goof off and hang out and she likes dumb jokes. I think she may have a boyfriend or something too because I remember her crushing on a guy with brown hair. Maybe that's the problem: I like her but she's with someone else. I hope not, but I'm trying to prepare myself. I don't know exactly what I'm going to find when I go home.
I just know I want to see my friends.
I had a good final session with my psychiatrist after writing that first part. I'm getting better at focusing, concentrating on people and remembering things. He helped me remember my Mom's favorite movie and how she likes to wear clothes that match dad's because it makes her feel more connected to him and she's proud that no matter where they go or what they do people can tell that they belong together.
On my own after that I meditated after dinner and I thought more about Ally. She's kind of my favorite subject. She loves cloud watching and reading and all sorts of dorky things. We are pretty different from each other but it's one of the things I love most because she surprises me and makes me laugh. Not that I used to laugh at her, just laugh because she's so cute. I've liked her for a long time but I didn't always love her romantically like I do now. We've tried to date several times over the last few years but we are careful not to ruin our friendship. We don't tell each other 'I love you' out loud but I'm going to change that. I almost died. I almost lost everything and I'm going to make sure she knows how I feel when I see her again. No more hesitating or wasting time.
. . .
August 15th, 2017
It's been a long day and I am tired, but I'm getting used to this journal thing and I have some things to sort out.
When I left the hospital this morning Dez was waiting outside. It turns out that he's been trying to visit me ever since I woke up but my doctors wouldn't allow it. Something about him being banned because of an incident a few weeks ago. . . I don't know. My dad kept pushing for my friends to visit and the doctors wouldn't give in. So he was waiting outside for us and rode home in the back seat with me because he took the bus to the hospital. He talked non-stop almost the whole drive home and it was good to see him and he was so funny he made me forget about my pain and worries for a while.
He confirmed that I did hear him and Trish outside my room the other day, trying to get in to see me. Trish was really upset because she's been out of town with family and was only here for a few days so it was her only chance to see me and we missed it. The two of them and Ally did come to sit with me all the time when I was still in the coma, but of course I had no way to know that.
When we got to my house it was such a relief to me that it looked familiar. Each step inside brought back more and more to my mind. Memories flooded through me and when I finally collapsed on my bed I could have cried for joy. Dez stuck around and talked to me more while my mom made lunch before Dad had to go to the Mattress store. At least now I knew there was a good reason I pictured my parents with a whole bunch of beds: they sell them.
Dez was way better than my parents too because he didn't feel like he had to obey the psychiatrist. With just a few questions from me, he told me all sorts of things about us and our friends and it opened more and more doors inside my head. A few hours with Dez was better than all the therapy I could ever have because we've been friends our whole lives.
The disappointing part is that I won't get to see Ally for a while. After my accident she came to see me almost every day and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy that she was worried about me. It means she does care for me. Anyway, when she visited she would sing to me, which helps partly explain why her voice was so clear in my dreams, along with our history of singing together all the time.
Both she and I are famous singers, so I have sung for stadiums full of fans. And that's exactly what she is doing right now. Her European tour was scheduled long before my accident, and she tried to cancel and get out of some of the shows but her label didn't like the idea and she was concerned about upsetting her fans. I get that. Her tour started in New York three days before I woke up. Dez said she really didn't want to leave me, but she had to. And I'm not mad. She had no idea if I would wake up or not. Dez isn't afraid to tell me how hopeless it felt to everyone for a while there. My parents won't talk about that, trying to keep everything upbeat and happy and about my recovery, but I know it was hard. If I had to watch someone I cared about go through this it would suck.
Right now Ally is in Germany. She has a show tonight, or last night I guess since there is a huge time difference. Trish is there with her so at least they are together and I am here with Dez. He texted them both to let them know I am home now. Mom brought lunch up to my room which was good because I wasn't ready to face the stairs again yet. Those are still killer on my leg but I was okay with just sitting on my bed talking to Dez for the rest of the day. He showed me some of my music videos including a new one he was working on when my body and car got crushed in that accident.
My music career went on hold the day of the accident. I had just left the studio and was driving home when it happened. I started recording a new track that day and was halfway done with my third record. Jimmy Star, my producer (suits and shades), stopped everything. They completed the tracks I finished and put a hold on the song I was working on. This included Dez and the music video we shot for my new single. It was supposed to be released a few weeks ago, but that schedule went out the window.
I'm guessing my parents told Jimmy I'm awake, but I will have to check on that and talk to him soon. I want to get back to work. I may not be able to dance or do a live show for a while yet, but I can still sing. I can get back in the recording studio and finish my album.
Dez stuck around until dinner and then he went home after helping me get downstairs. I knew I would be spending a lot of time stuck in my room for the next while, so I should get around a bit. Dad came home to eat with us and helped me back up to my room before bed. I felt kind of pathetic going to bed at 9pm, but my body just isn't up to staying up late right now and I didn't rest much during the day like I did at the hospital.
Just after I laid down to sleep my phone rang on my bedside table. Yes, I finally got my phone back! I was glad it was within arm's reach because I'm not going anywhere fast these days. A quick glance at my phone showed a picture of Trish wearing her pirate costume from a job she had years ago. I still love that shot. She screamed when I answered the phone and I had to hold it away from my ear for a second so my hearing wouldn't be permanently damaged too. She was excited. She told me Dez called her and then she started asking a hundred questions and I tried to answer but it wasn't easy. I got out that I was home and it was good to hear her. Then I heard something in the background and she said something that was muffled and the phone was handed off.
Then I heard the one voice that makes my world complete. Ally got on the line and it sounded like she was crying. She apologized for not being here to see me. I tried to tell her it was okay but my words failed me. I stuttered a bit and she cried harder. My broken leg is less painful than hearing her cry. Then I thought of something and sang a line from a Tarzan song. (I watched a lot of movies I the hospital too.) "please stop your crying, it will be alright." It did the trick and she stopped crying with a little hiccup. She sang the next line to me and we did that for a minute, taking turns softly singing to each other. She told me she missed me and so help me a tear fell down my cheek. She promised to call as often as she can and told me she will be home in a month. Then she promised that she would come straight to see me the moment she was off the plane, before she even went home.
And that's when I knew. Ally is going to be mine. I'll do anything I can to make sure of it, to make sure she knows that I love her once she gets home.
. . .
So? What do you think? I have two more chapters. Let me know if you want to read them.