Novel contest=over=YES! ! ! I am FINALLY free again and summer vacation for me is only two days away! ! Meaning, MORE UPDATES! However, I am still awaiting the results of the contest, and if I make top 50 I go to Ottawa, so...hmm. The point is, I WILL finish this fic, and SOON! There's only one chapter left plus a short epilogue, or at least that's the plan, so...In the meantime, please enjoy this WAY overdue chapter and please disregard my EXCESSIVE use of CAPS LOCK in this AN. What can I say? Excitement=BIG LETTERS!

I would also quickly like to give a huge thanks and shout out to Leena, for reviewing every chapter from the start! You're an amazing girl, and I look forward to the day when you get an account of your own and start writing! LOVE YA!

Breakdown

Chapter 37: Suffocating

Carlos had always thought red was such a pretty colour. It was a bold colour. It represented love. But it was also the colour of blood. The blood that was oozing in a steady gush from his shoulder.

And pain. The pain was so intense, it made Carlos see red. Red was also, ironically, the colour of rage. Love and rage, represented by the same colour. It made no sense to Carlos.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was the fact that a sticky, wet, red substance was running down his arm and dripping off the tips of his fingers. And along with the red blood came the red haze that signified pain. Only Carlos couldn't feel the pain. He only felt terror. Because the gun that had put the bullet in his shoulder scared him. Because the man behind the gun that had put the bullet in his shoulder scared him. But even the LA Self Healing Center where the man behind the gun had put the bullet in shoulder scared him.

He was scared for James. He was scared for the future. He was scared for all of his brothers. But right then, the person he was most scared for was himself. And he didn't care how selfish that seemed. He had a reason to be scared.

He was about to die.

Another bullet was about to be lodged into him, and this time, Carlos knew, it was going to be aimed at his head. And Dr. Clark wouldn't miss.

Carlos didn't scream as the bullet pierced through the air. He only gasped and his body stiffened. It seemed a strange reaction to being shot, but after a moment Carlos realized he wasn't reacting to being shot. He was reacting to waking up with a jolt.

Carlos blinked and looked around. He was still in the hospital waiting room, just as he'd been for the past hour, where he'd fallen asleep. But where had his mother gone? And Logan, and Brooke, where were they? Surely they wouldn't have gone to see James without waking him. Maybe they'd all had to go to the bathroom at the same time? It seemed unlikely to Carlos.

It seemed even more unlikely that all of the waiting room occupants and even the hospital staff would have had to go to the bathroom at the same time; save for Carlos himself, the waiting area was completely vacant. In fact, the only chair in there was the one Carlos was slouched in.

Carlos hastily jumped from his seat and frantically looked around, but the action was pointless; he was deserted, completely alone.

"Wh-what is going on?" he stuttered aloud. His voice echoed loudly in the big, empty room. Only...it wasn't so big. Carlos knew it should have seemed bigger, the waiting area, with less people in it, but the walls seemed to be closing in on him.

It was when the ceiling began to descend, threatening to crush him from above as well as from either side, that Carlos realized he was no longer alone.

One look at the other person in the ever-compressing room, and Carlos wasn't so sure being crushed to death would be such a bad thing. Because somehow, he knew that, this time, his death wouldn't be quick, like his dream. It wouldn't be a simple bullet wound. It would be much, much more painful. Torturous. Because really, that was all Dr. Clark cared about in life, being a major sadist.

Carlos watched in growing horror as the despicable man walked slowly toward him, his eyes dark and cold and evil as ever.

"B-but y-you're dead," Carlos sputtered, astonished. He'd seen the dead eyes staring back at him, open for the last time. He'd felt the pressure of the body, never to move again, on top of him. Through the terror and confusion, it felt stupidly ironic. The dead weight of Dr. Clark on top of him right after they'd both been shot; it had practically been suffocating him. Now here he was, suffocating, as the walls and the ceiling bore down on him. Or maybe he'd suffocate in a different way entirely; maybe he'd stop breathing and his heart would give out from utter fear. Plain and simple. Literally scared to death.

Clark was laughing now. "I am? I don't feel dead. Do I look dead to you, Carlos?"

"You sure did when the cops shot you!" Carlos blurted without thinking. Then again, this man was already planning on killing him as agonizingly as possible. What harm could a few harsh words do?

The smirk morphed into a scowl. "Yes, well, if I recall, you'd been shot, as well. How can you be sure your mind wasn't simply playing a trick on you?"

"The police told us you died! You died right away! This isn't real!"

The smirk made a reappearance. Carlos blinked when he shouldn't have; in the nano-second it took for his eyes to flash shut then open, Dr. Clark had moved across the room so that he was right in front of him. Or maybe it was just that the room was growing smaller still.

"If it wasn't real, would you be able to feel this?"

Carlos didn't even need to blink this time. Dr. Clark moved to quick for the eye to follow. And then his neck was on fire. Burning, searing pain. A blanket of hurt and agony washed over him, and there he was, suffocating again. Choking on his own blood, as it poured down his neck and clogged his throat. And yes, damn it, he could feel it.

And the walls, the ceiling...now he wasn't just suffocating from the outside; he was suffocating inside, too.

Carlos tried to scream, but all that came out was a sick, bubbly gurgle as more blood gushed from his mouth and neck. Carlos gagged and gasped, coughing, choking, drowning, suffocating...

Dying.

Sigh. "No, I'm seventeen."

"And you're famous?"

"Yes."

"...I don't recognize you."

"Yeah, well, that's because we don't wear orange jumpsuits on stage. Besides, you've been in here too long. We just made it big, but now..."

"Now what?"

Kendall glared at the wall. "Now nothing."

"Hmm..."

"What?"

"You beat a guy half to death."

"Yes. And I'd do it again in a heartbe- why am I telling you all this?"

"I dunno. Cause you're my cell mate and it gets pretty boring when you have no one to talk to. I've been waitin' months for someone to room with."

Kendall scoffed, not bothering to hide his disgust. Room with? What did Hammer think this was, a college dorm? It was a freaking prison cell!

Kendall bit his cheek so he wouldn't say something that would tick Hammer- his cell mate's chosen name-off. Kendall didn't know his real name. Nobody did. But they did all know why he chose to be called Hammer. It didn't need much looking in to; hammers were his choice weapon. If the tool didn't exist, he wouldn't be in the hell hole called jail right then; he wouldn't have had nearly killed several people.

Anyone who would hear the name 'Hammer' would most likely picture a big, beefy, greasy, intimidating man. That had been Kendall's first thought when the guard had told him he'd be holing up with 'Hammer'. But that wasn't reality at all. Hammer looked like an average guy. Longish blond hair, blue eyes that were neither lively nor dull, just kind of seeing and accepting. He wasn't filthy or anything. He was a joker, smiling much too often for someone stuck in this tiny cell. He wasn't much older than Kendall, only 22. He'd been in here for eleven months already, and had one more to go. A year for multiple cases of battery. Other than his obvious hindered intelligence, he didn't seem like a bad guy. Friendly enough. But Kendall wasn't here to make friends. He wasn't planning on having time to make friends. He was planning on being out of here sooner than that could be possible. He wasn't sure how long an undercover mission to catch Hawk would take, but he hoped it would be sooner than the two months he was sentenced to. That was, if the undercover mission even took place. Kendall prayed Officer Gerald would pull through for him.

"Hey, wait a- I know who you are," a voice said from the next cell. Kendall lifted his eyes to see another young man on the other side of the bars dividing Kendall's cell and this new guys'. Like Hammer, he looked decent.

"Big Time Rush, right?"

Kendall nodded.

"Right on. My little sister loves you guys. Followed you around on tour, made her friend's 'rents drive to all of your venues. Spent a crap load of money. Hey, you the one who blew chunks all over the stage in Jersey?"

Kendall rolled his eyes. He knew the last thing James wanted to be remembered for was that.

"No, it wasn't me. And tell your sister thanks a bunch." If you ever get out of here and see her again.

"So, what's it like, bein' famous?" Hammer asked. Kendall noticed that he, along with the guy who recognized him and the latter's cell mate, were as close to him as they could get, ready to listen intently. Kendall had never felt so out of place. Having casual conversations in jail? No, scratch that, talking about his profession in jail? It was too weird...

Kendall sighed. He saw no other way to pass the time.

"You'd think being famous," he began, "would be a dream come true. Living the good life. Every road's the high road. Acting, singing, whatever it is you're famous for, it's fun and easy. And that was true. For the first six months. Then we kind of fell apart. Got ripped apart, actually. That's when things started getting bad. Really bad."

James and Logan jumped when Carlos unexpectedly began coughing and gagging in his sleep. Before Logan could get to him, his eyes flew open, wide and shiny and terrified, and Carlos sat up straight in his chair as he continued to hack uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face.

Logan grabbed a bottle of water that was meant for James off the stand beside the bed and hurried to hand it to Carlos, rubbing the boys back, knowing that, contrary to popular belief, patting some one on the back while they are choking is the exact opposite of helpful.

Carlos gasped for half a minute more, before finally gaining his breath back enough to sip shakily at the water.

James watched the entire scene unfold without moving an inch. Only his eyes wavered, widening.

Logan moved his hand to Carlos' uninjured shoulder and continued to rub gently. "You okay now?" he murmured, his concern completely unhindered despite his soft tone.

Carlos didn't shake nor nod his head. He wasn't sure. Physically, yes, he was okay. Now. It had only been a dream. But he'd heard his mother talking, to the other moms, to the doctors. And these flashbacks, these nightmares, were only further confirmation. He needed help.

But how? From who? Certainly he would never be expected to trust a therapist. But he couldn't go on living like this forever, either. He just prayed the awful memories and distorted dreams would go away on their own, in time. But in just how much time?

"Carlos, hey. You with me, buddy?" Logan's gentle voice got through to Carlos this time, and he still didn't answer. He simply looked up at Logan with an expression that clearly said no. Then his pained eyes moved past Logan, settling on the other boy in the room. James continued to stare at Carlos, but he remained unmoving.

"Is he okay?" Carlos whispered once he could speak again.

"He's worried. About you. Do you need a doctor?"

"No," Carlos replied defiantly. "Logan, it was just a dream. I'm fine. I want to know if James is, too."

Logan studied his shaken up friend a little longer. His shoulder didn't seem to be bothering him. No, but something else was. Something much less fixable.

But he was truly concerned about James, and frankly, so was Logan. A lot. So he sighed. He could ask Carlos about the dream later. When the obvious horror of it wasn't so fresh.

Logan snuck a glance at his bed-ridden friend. James remained motionless. Logan wasn't sure if he was seeing, if he could hear.

"Carlos, do you know what today is?" Logan questioned, quietly enough that James wouldn't be able to hear if he was even paying attention. Logan made his way over to James as Carlos pondered over the inquiry. It was a good one. Hours and days and even weeks were blurred now. Had been for a while. Carlos could not answer the question to save his life. He wasn't sure how it mattered. Their luck wasn't going to change on a certain day. All Carlos knew was that each day only brought on a new horror, pain, or conflict. And then those days melded into a never ending block of time, and therefore the horrors and pains and conflicts never ended.

While Carlos continued to try to figure out what day it was, Logan had come to a stop by James' bed. He peered worriedly at the silent boy. "James-"

James came back to life then, head snapping up so that his eyes could meet Logan's. "Don't. Just- don't say anything. I think I'm finally getting over it. Over everything. And if you say anything, I might snap. Again. So just don't."

Logan opened his mouth, and hesitated. He didn't think James was getting 'getting over it'. He thought he was still repressing it. But before Logan could decide whether or not he wanted to say something despite James' protest, Carlos let out a strange, choked noise from the corner of the room and was beside Logan in a second.

"I know," he murmured to Logan. His eyes were shiny with tears. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin rectangle of wrapping paper.

"I've been carrying this around with me everywhere for a while. Ever since we got you back after the band break up, actually. Waiting for the right moment to give it to you. It was supposed to be a welcome back kind of thing, but so much ended up happening, and I almost forgot about it. And then things just kept getting worse and worse, and I wondered if I would ever be able to give it to you...now seems like the only...like the best time. I don't know, I just figure...things can't get worse, and even if this doesn't make you a little less sad...I can count on it not making you feel more sad."

Carlos handed the box to James, who accepted it, then stared at it for a moment, as if he would rather know what it was before he opened it. But he did open it, after a moment, and when he saw what it was, everything about him became nothing again. Unreadable. And Carlos was sure he'd made a mistake.

Until James started laughing.

It was the first time he'd laughed in an countless number of weeks, and it had to be the most beautiful sound Logan and Carlos had ever heard, genuine and spirited and pure. James was smiling, something his friends had been sure he'd never do again. It was some form of a miracle. A blessing.

"Is this a case for my lucky comb?" James asked, holding up the intricate and extravagantly designed box, just a bit larger in size than his prized comb.

"Y-yeah, it is," Carlos stuttered, still in minor shock from the unexpected peals of laughter that continued to float past James' grinning lips. "It seems stupid now, but..."

"No, Carlos, I love it!"

"I mean, it's just a little box," Carlos continued to babble, oblivious to James' happiness with the gift. "It's so silly, and I just really wanted-"

"Carlos. I. Love. It. It's perfect, really. Thank you so much."

Carlos blushed, glancing at Logan, who had reacted in the same way as Carlos to James' unanticipated laughing; shock, surprise, stupor. But he snapped out of it to say to Carlos "That's...that's so great of you, buddy."

James continued to chuckle as he inspected the case, hardly hearing Carlos' uncharacteristically soft, uncertain "Happy Birthday, James."

James set the box down in his lap and motioned to Carlos. "C'mere, buddy."

Carlos slunk closer to the bed, and James pulled him down so that he was sitting on the edge.

"It may seem silly to you, but this honestly makes me feel...a lot better. Really good. Happy. To know that you are still my silly, sweet, caring, awesome best friend." James reached out to grab Logan's hand, including him in the bromance- a word he would never say out loud. "And soon Kendall will be here with us and we'll all be able to go home and leave this town and everything it's brought us behind."

Logan and Carlos stayed quiet. It wasn't easy thinking of something to say to that. But James wasn't done.

"And I don't mean our musical careers are over. With Griffin, yes. But I'm sure Gustavo will fight for us. And even if he doesn't get us back, we're still young, we still have futures. Anywhere. As anything. Okay? So don't let any of this get you down. I did, and look what happened. But I'm recovering, slowly, but I am. And I'm feeling better already. I guess what I'm saying is, we are done letting LA suffocate us. We can move on. And we will, to bigger, better things. Together."

Logan and Carlos were so moved, they were tempting to burst into cheers and applause. If James meant what he'd just said- and he'd said it with so much feeling and conviction that there wasn't a doubt in their minds that he hadn't- then maybe they really would be okay. James had been through the most, gotten the worst of the world's bitter offerings, and he was recovering. And that meant the rest of them finally could, too.

"And, sorry to break apart this little moment we're having, but...Carlos. You're still having dreams. Nightmares, memories. I'm not sure they're going to go away on their own."

"And aren't you still having them?" Logan questioned.

"They're still sedating me at night. I sleep a straight, uninterrupted seven hours. I'm sure once I'm out of here...I will," James admitted.

"Do- do you think we need...help?" Carlos said the last word hesitantly, meekly, like it was something to fear, help.

Logan and James exchanged knowing looks. "You don't want to be woken up every night like this, do you?" Logan asked rhetorically, referring to the awful choking and gagging that had roused Carlos. Said boy shook his head.

Logan sighed. "I know that the last thing you want is...well, you know. But I'm sure if you ever did, you know, you could bring an adult with you. Your mom, your dad. Maybe both."

Carlos just stared at the floor. "I don't think I want to talk about this right now."

Logan nodded, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder understandingly. "Okay."

Logan wasn't sure what to say now. He and Carlos were to wait in James' room until the mothers got back. Mrs. Knight was returning to the hospital tonight, unable to do anything more for Kendall at jail, and James and Carlos' moms were waiting for her downstairs. Now Logan couldn't think of a way to fill the silence until she arrived. But he didn't have to. James spoke up again.

"Logan, the night you went back to the apartment alone, and Hawk was there...you could have killed him."

Logan was startled by the statement. Not question. A blunt declaration. "Yeah?"

"Did you...try?"

Logan blinked. What was James getting at?

"Of course I tried! I still would if I had the chance! After all the crap he's put us through? ! I would do nothing less than at least attempt to kill him!"

"Okay."

"Why do you ask?"

James shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry. The medication they're giving me, plus my Lamotrigine meds... I'm a little fuzzy sometimes."

Logan was sure that was true, but he was also sure that James hadn't asked that question at random. He wanted to know something.

"James, do you think I would be too afraid to kill the man who broke two of my best friends so completely?"

James shook his head again. "No. Of course not. I just...wonder if you have nightmares."

Logan scoffed. He didn't mean to. He didn't want to sound condescending. It just came out. Disbelief.

"James, you're worried about me having nightmares? Compared to what you and Carlos are dreaming about? I'll admit, that was terrifying, being in the same room as him like that, but...I've almost forgotten about it. No nightmares."

Now James nodded. "Well, I wouldn't blame you for having at least one bad memory of that affecting your dreams. And now with Kendall in jail...who knows what he's gonna be dreaming about when he gets out?"

"Kendall Knight, you have a visitor. Follow me, please."

"Aww! He was just gettin' to the best part!" Hammer protested. The guard ignored him as Kendall gratefully got to his feet and followed the guard after the cell had been opened for him to get out, then quickly shut. Kendall had been beginning to get uncomfortable as he approached the part of the story where Dr. Clark was introduced. He'd been planning on leaving that part out, but then he'd have to make up and explanation for why he'd beaten on Hawk. He shouldn't have started spilling out his life story in the first place. Now he was relived for the interruption. Not to mention, curious.

Two guards flanked Kendall, holding his arms firmly, but he wasn't cuffed for the short walk from his cell to a small, square room with telephones and a glass window stretching from the ceiling to desks. Kendall took a seat across the glass from his visitor after a different guard, who monitored to room, told him he had ten minutes max.

Kendall picked up the receiver as he nodded at the man on the other side of the glass. "Well?"

"I ran it by the chief. We're clear." Officer Gerald smiled, and Kendall's heart and spirits lifted a bit. "I'm going undercover."

There's nothing better than the feeling of completing a new chapter. Except for maybe the feeling of reviews even after you've kept you readers waiting a ridiculous amount of time... :) ?