Heartache Every Moment pt 12

..................................................Heartache Every Moment........................................              
  ............................................................Chapter 12 ....................................................
....................................................'Love's  Lies Cruel'..............................................


The ambulance pulled up 15 minutes later, the multi-coloured lights bouncing around the inside of the bus. Joey was nearly catatonic, unconcious on the couch. He was still quivering slightly, and his skin was unnaturally warm to the touch.

After the paramedics had given him the all-clear to be moved, Mick picked him up carefully. A medic trailed him, holding up the saline bag, as they made their way down to the ambulance outside. There was a crowd gathering, and despite security's attempts to keep them clear, they were like flies to the dramatic lights. It was a mixture of roadies, members of other bands, stage and venue crew and various hangers-on, and fans that had bypassed security.

Shawn was sitting on the ground, his head in his hands. He looked up as Mick came out, staring at the bundle in his arms. Sid looked as though he had been crying; Craig still had an arm around his shoulders. Paul and Chris stopped in mid-conversation, and Jim stood up from where he had been sitting. Corey snapped his phone shut and came over.

They all stood close in support as Mick lay Joey onto the stretcher that had been pulled out of the ambulance. The paramedics bustled around the drummer for several minutes, preventing Mick from having any contact with Joey. Shawn approached him and slid an arm around his shoulders, squeezing. He didn't say anything, for which Mick was grateful – he didn't think he could talk at this moment.

All he could do was watch as Joey was prepared for the trip to the hospital. He had no idea what he was looking at, only that they must have thought it might happen again if they were doing all that to him. Mick tried not to think about that, and instead concentrated on the fact that they were finally getting Joey some decent treatment, something he should have done days ago. It ate away at him that he hadn't been there for Joey tonight, right when he'd needed him the most.

Sid had started to sob again, and Craig led him away. Seeing the tears on Sid's face had nearly sent Mick off, and he bit his lip hard. Folding his arms, he tried to look strong and in control, but the reality was that Shawn was now propping him up. He wished he could sit down. He suddenly felt incredibly tired.

Suddenly, Joey was ready to go, and the stretcher was lifted into the ambulance and snapped into place. Mick climbed in the back with a paramedic, his legs so wobbly he thought he'd mightn't make it for a second. Grateful to be sitting, he relished being close to Joey again. Sitting at the head of the stretcher, he stroked Joey's hair off his face and felt slightly reassured by the peaceful look he had.

"Um, how long will this take?" Mick asked the paramedic, trying not to let his voice tremble or croak.

"Not long," the man replied, with a sympathetic look on his face. "We'll have him there before you know it."

Mick nodded, continuing to soothe Joey's face. The starting of the engine made the ambulance tremble, and as they passed out of the bus park Mick could see the reflection of the flashing blue and red lights in the windows of the stationery buses. He took Joey's tiny hand and squeezed it gently. A part of him wanted Joey to squeeze back, but Mick knew that he was so out of it that would be impossible.

The journey to the hospital seemed to be never-ending. Everytime they slowed down, Mick hoped they were finally there, but his hopes were dashed everytime they drove away from the traffic lights. At one point, Joey started squirming, uncomfortable, and Mick reluctantly moved away to let the paramedic tend to him.

Once he was back at his side, Mick took hold of Joey's hand again.

"How much longer?" he asked the medic, just wanting to be there already.

"Just a couple of minutes. It's just up the road."

Thank god, Mick thought. He just wanted to get Joey settled and comfortable. Was that too much to ask? Leaning over Joey, he wanted to tell him they would be there soon and everything would be alright. But he knew it was pointless – Joey was drugged up to his eyeballs, and the medic probably already thought they were strange enough.

So he sat and clung to Joey's hand, and when the ambulance slowed and turned into the hospital, sagged his shoulders in relief. They backed up to the bay, and the doors were opened. The stretcher was carefully lowered to the ground, and rolled through the emergency doors into the hospital.

To his panic and anger, he was told he could go no further. There was a room he could wait in, the nurse told him patiently, but Mick was blinded by the fact he had to leave Joey yet again.

"Why can't I go with him?" he asked, anxiety tinging his voice.

"I'm sorry, but only patients and doctors are allowed into the diagnostic rooms. We'll get you when he's transferred to a room." With that, the nurse gave him a look that told him she wasn't to be moved, and with one last glance at the small figure being wheeled away on the stretcher, Mick trudged off to the waiting room.

*

He couldn't sit still. Everytime he tried, his legs would start to twitch, and he would have to stand up to relieve the annoyance. Standing proved too much as well. He walked to allow an outlet for the myriad of thoughts that were overflowing his head. Someone brought him coffee, and he drank it without noticing it was white – he never drank white coffee. Everytime someone in a uniform walked through the room, he would bug them for information. And each time he was told that they didn't know yet, but someone would tell him when they did.

He was on his 50th circuit of the room when a familiar figure stepped in. It was Shawn.

"Hey Mick."

The guitarist didn't acknowledge him. He had hoped that this time it was a doctor with some answers, and once again he was disappointed.

"Mick," Shawn spoke again. "Sit down. You'll wear out your shoes."

Mick glared at him. What a stupid thing to say at a time like this.

Shawn sighed. He knew there was no use trying to talk to Mick when he was like this. He was the one who had been nominated to come down here – they'd only let one of them come down into the emergency waiting room, all the others had to wait in the usual waiting area – and he wondered why he'd bothered. Then, he checked himself. Mick was probably extremely worried and anxious, and he shouldn't be annoyed at him for that. Shawn knew what this was like, his wife had spent half her life in the hospital. He had covered many a circuit of a hospital waiting room himself. He, of all people, should be able to sympathise with Mick.

So he approached the bigger man, and with a hand on his shoulder, stopped him.

"Mick," he said, this time with a tone that made the other man raise his hand and look at him. "Joey is in good hands. They're gonna find out what's wrong, and they're gonna help him. There's no better place he can be right now, I promise. You'll be back beside him soon."

Mick drunk in his words, and nodded silently. He let Shawn lead him over to the chairs, and sat down heavily. He lent his head against the hard wall behind him, and sighed, closing his eyes.

Mick had never been one for religion. He'd thought it was all a load of crap, that followers were like sheep, heeding a deity that didn't exist. That praying was a waste of time, and so was church. But right now, Mick thought he understood. If he was a Christian, he'd be on his knees, praying like the Rapture was approaching. Instead, he settled for a brief, desperate invocation in his head. God, if you can hear me - it was at this point that Mick started to feel stupid - please, please look after Joey. He doesn't deserve this!

Opening his eyes, Mick didn't feel like anything had changed. Shawn still sat next to him, and apart from them, the room was still empty, no doctor with news of a miracle. The clock on the wall was ticking away as usual, as slow as it could possibly go. Mick thought he'd been in that room for a lot longer than the time on that clock dictated. He felt his heart pumping in his chest, a lot like the sensation he got when he was preparing to go on show. But the circumstances couldn't be any different; this was so much more important, so much bigger than that, that it made show time seem like a inconsequential act of nothing.

He listened as hard as he could for the tap-tap of shoes approaching the room, and everytime he heard that sound his heart stopped and his stomach quivered. Each time though, he was let down, as the shoes' owner passed through. He just wanted to know how Joey was, that they were looking after him and he hadn't woken up, wondering why Mick had abandoned him again. He wanted to know if they had found out what it was, why Joey was so sick. And if they could fix him, so Mick could take him home and get him better. His head and his heart were so full, he felt like he was drowning.

He didn't know what it was that was different about the sound that this pair of shoes made. But somehow, Mick knew that the person about to enter the room had news for him. And when the nurse stopped in front of him, he stood up so quickly he was dizzy. Shawn stood up too, and Mick was vaguely aware that a hand was gripping his shoulder.

"How is he?" Mick asked, desperate.

The nurse smiled. Goddamn it, hurry up! "He's sleeping. You can see him if you like."

Mick nearly collapsed in relief. "Do you know what's wrong?" he choked out, trying not to cry.

The nurse shook her head. "We're still waiting for some tests that will take another couple of hours. For now, he's comfortable."

Mick nodded his head roughly, and followed as if in a haze when the nurse turned to lead him to Joey's room.

There was a tug on his shoulder.

"Mick? I'm gonna wait here, ok?" Shawn said quietly.

Mick smiled at him wanly, grateful that Shawn knew he just wanted to be alone with Joey.

And he knew that Shawn would make sure they weren't disturbed by the others for a while.

As harsh as that might have been, Mick was no mood for the others crowding their space right now.

The walls passed by in a blur of white as Mick trailed the nurse down the corridors. He lost track of the turns they made and Mick knew he'd never find his way back to the waiting room. The hospital seemed neverending, like some vicious maze that befuddled and confused it's prey. Finally, the nurse began to slow her pace and entered a private room.

It was dark inside, the only illumination coming from a light fixture above the hospital bed that dominated the room. On it, Joey lay, impossibly small and pale. His dark hair was messed around on the pillow, and he appeared deeply asleep. They had dressed him in one of those ugly gowns, and evidently, they didn't have any small enough for Joey. The horrid material seemed to swim on him, and Mick wanted to take it off and hurl it through a window. It symbolised something that scared Mick, that this was what it had come to. He had wanted Joey to be admitted to hospital, but now that it had come to be, the realisation that there really was something wrong with Joey hit him hard.

He sat in the solitary chair that stood next to the bed. He ignored the nurse as she checked on a machine that was beeping away next to the bed. He didn't know what it was, but the fact that Joey was hooked up to it unnerved Mick. Was it that bad? Reaching out a shaky hand to Joey's face, Mick soothed the hair that encroached his skin.

There was some sort of tube running into Joey's nose, and Mick stared at it in confusion.

"It's a feeding tube."

Mick looked up. The nurse was standing on the other side of Joey, having finished her tests. "This pump" - she pointed to a small machine that sat by the bed - "makes sure that he's receiving the right amount of nutrients through the tube. It'll help him get stronger. This one," she continued, her hand on the machine that Mick was looking at before, "is a cardiac monitor. It measures his heart rate, and it'll tell us in the nurse station if he's under stress."

"Like those attacks he's been having?" Mick questioned.

She nodded her head. "During them, his heart rate will rise. The monitor will start beeping and we'll be able to administer medicine into his IV to control it."

Mick took it all in silently. The nurse smiled at him. "If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. And if you need us, just press this button, and we'll come as quickly as she can." She showed Mick the bed controller that would alert the nurse station. "Someone will be in soon to change his saline bag. As soon as we know the results of his tests, a doctor will be in to explain it to you." She smiled reassuringly, and Mick tried to smile back. She turned to head out the door, and Mick thought of something.

"Excuse me?" he asked quietly.

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

Mick swallowed. "I – we – have friends waiting outside. Are you able to tell them he's ok? They're the weird guys."

The nurse smiled again. "Of course. I'll let them know."

And with that, Mick was finally left alone with Joey.

He let the tears slide down his cheeks now.

He was as still on the chair as he had been fidgety in the waiting room. His hands were pressed between his knees, and he stared at the small body on the bed.

Joey was so tiny.

Slowly, cautiously, as if the little drummer would fall apart when he was touched, Mick extended his hand. His fingers landed on Joey's warm skin, and Mick let his hand slide up his arm, and down again to hold the little hand within his own. His thumb stroked the back of Joey's hand tenderly.

For what seemed like hours, Mick kept a vigil over Joey as he slept. A nurse came in to change his IV bag, as promised, but they had no other visitors. The relief that Mick had felt when the nurse appeared to take him to Joey was disappearing, and being replaced with that familiar anxiety. Where was the doctor? Had they figured out what was wrong yet? What if it was something really bad? Maybe that was why it taking so long?

Mick told himself to stop thinking so negatively, but he couldn't help it. As long as he didn't know what was wrong, his mind was free to create all sorts of horrible scenarios.

He desperately hoped it was something simple, but there was nothing simple about the seizure Joey had had on the bus. Mick knew nothing about illnesses and how the human body worked, but he was sure attacks like that weren't good. Maybe he should have taken Joey straight to the hospital after that first attack. What if Joey had just gotten sicker because of it? And Mick was to blame, because he hasn't gotten help for him, just naively thought he could fix Joey?

Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave.

He sat numbly on the chair, not moving. He stared at Joey, still asleep, and wondered what he could have/should have done to make it better. He had seen what was happening, watched Joey throw up so many times, and counted the pounds he lost as a result. He held him through the seizures and soothed him when he cried because of the pain. And he never phoned a doctor, or insisted on getting him to a hospital. And he'd even made him worse by saying 'yes' to Joey's request for sex, when he should have said 'no'. But he couldn't keep his cock in his pants, not when it involved Joey.

And now, sitting here, holding Joey's hand as he lay unconscious on a hospital bed, Mick felt like he was sinking into shame. Everything seemed to hinge on what the doctors had to say. If Mick had caused irreparable damage by not getting Joey help when he needed it, he would never forgive himself.

He was still wading through the depressing thoughts that clouded his head when footsteps echoed down the corridor. It was so late at night that the footsteps stood out for their appearance. Mick eased back into the chair. Could it be that this was finally the doctor?

The footsteps stopped outside the door, as if the person who generated the noise was checking the name on the card at the entrance to the room.

A head poked around the frame. "Jordison?"

It was the doctor.