München, October 25, 2018
Controlling my feelings for too long
Forcing our darkest souls to unfold
Pushing us into self-destruction
And they make me
Make me dream your dreams
And they make me
Make me scream your screams
The walls of the small waiting room seemed to have shifted closer. James's leg was jumping up and down, and by now his hair was standing on end from all the times he had run his hands through it. He had been sitting in this spot since he arrived, except for a brief excursion to find a loo, where he puked his guts out. Maybe it was just the shock of the whole situation, but the pills he'd washed down with a shot of vodka before the concert suddenly felt like poisonous lead in his stomach. The past year had been a never-ending joyride; playing one sold-out show after another, each venue bigger than the last; getting wasted on expensive champagne and exotic drugs before enjoying the endless lines of eager, beautiful women who followed them wherever they went. But now, reality was catching up, and he knew beyond a doubt that he had popped his last pill and snorted his last line.
Not able to sit still any longer, he got up and paced from one end of the small room to the other. Seven steps from wall to wall. He repeated this trip over and over, but it did nothing to alleviate the restless energy in his limbs. He debated the merits of simply breaking down the door and demanding answers, but he knew it would be useless. It was more important for the doctors to focus on Sirius than dealing with an erratic best friend, but he still inwardly cursed the lot of them. He jumped when a phone rang in his pocket, breaking the oppressive silence. Caradoc's phone. He had forgotten he had it.
"Hello?" he said, rubbing his face.
"Hey, mate, how is he?" Caradoc said from the other end.
"I don't know. The damn doctors wouldn't let me in the room, so I'm forced to sit out here and fucking kick my heels. I tried to corner a nurse earlier, but she didn't speak English. I hate this, Doc!"
"Do you want me to come over there?"
"No... it's fine, you probably have your hands full right now," James said, suddenly realising that he had just left five thousand people hanging.
"We've managed to get most of the crowd out by now, but the crew are really anxious to hear news."
"How much have you told them?" James asked, sitting down as the energy seemed to seep out of him.
"No more than they needed to know. I talked to everyone who was in the room with us—it was mostly the German staff—and they've agreed to keep the details to themselves."
James mentally thanked the stars that they'd been blessed with a tour manager like Caradoc. He always kept his head cool and sorted out the details that no one else had even thought of yet. James felt immense gratitude but couldn't muster more than a weak 'thank you' at this point.
"What about the twins?" he went on.
"They have a lot of questions, naturally, and you probably need to deal with Fabian at some point," Caradoc said.
"What's new…." James snorted humourlessly and scratched the back of his neck. "Listen, I'll—" He broke off when the doors suddenly opened, and a doctor stepped through.
"Are you… James Potter?" the doctor asked, checking a chart and giving James's attire a once-over. James knew he must look totally out of place in his concert gear and smeared make-up.
"Yes! How is he?" he said, jumping to his feet.
"He is stable. We have pumped his stomach and started detox, but we had to induce a coma, since we do not know how long his brain was without oxygen," the doctor explained.
A dizzying wave of relief flooded over James, and he closed his eyes for a second, taking his time to exhale.
Sirius was alive.
But then the rest of the doctor's words registered.
"Wait, what does that mean?"
"We are not sure yet, but there is a risk of brain damage, I am afraid. We will need to run more tests, but treatment-wise we have done what we can for now, so the rest is up to him."
James fell back down in the seat and put his head between his knees, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. Brain damage….
"It would help us if we knew exactly what he has taken?" the doctor prompted.
James struggled to collect his thoughts. Brain damage…. This was fucking serious…. What the hell was he going to do?
"Erm, I'm not sure, really—" He cleared his throat. "Alcohol and weed definitely, but I think he took something else after I left… most likely blow, but it might have been Molly or speed, I dunno…" James said, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Sorry, I can't be of more help." He sniffed and rubbed his nose.
"From what I hear, he has you to thank for even being alive right now. If you had not started CPR, he would have been gone before the ambulance got there." The doctor placed a hand on James's shoulder.
James didn't know how to respond to that. A thousand thoughts were whirling in his brain. If he had got there two minutes later….
"We will get back the tox screen in the morning, and we will go from there."
"Can I see him?"
"Yes, he should be back from his CT in a minute. I will have a nurse come and take you." The doctor offered a kind smile and then left James sitting in the cold waiting room, his whole world crashing down upon him.
A/N:
Lyric credits:
Muse - Showbiz
