Honey Love, Bitter Misery I Adam/Blake I Chapter Five: First Impressions - Right and Wrong

[moonwarrior578]

Title: Honey Love, Bitter Misery

Rating/Warning:  R (NC-17 later XD )

Words: 8,493

Paring: Adam/Blake aka Shevine

Contains: Cursing, violence, mentions of slash, slash, MAN SEX...maybe anyway, but much later, depression, ect.

Summary: The spark to set off the hot mess is when Adam is beaten by a past flame; guess who takes him to the hospital? As the chilling truth comes to life, Blake’s life falls apart…and he has no idea why.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and know nothing.

Dedicated to Untouched-Angel, my Blake. Thank you for the support, stalking, and ass kicking.

AN: Adam’s part is a situation that will come in the future. Meaning that we will get all the Blake feels next chapter. I know it seems out of place, JUST DEAL! Also, rating for this chapter is mostly for Jesse, who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

ANN: This was finished at five in the fucking morning, if there are spelling shit that needs redone just tell me and I’ll fix it. My vision starts to water when I am really tired.

ANNN: The quote is to be taken in the context of Adam/Blake, nothing applies to that bastard.
Quote: “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is a reaction, both are transformed” ~Carl Gustav Jung

Clarification was something he really wished he could do about his personality for the reporters, who happened to get it wrong in the recent days.

He was not a bad mouthed douche bag; he just felt that respect needed to be given where it was due. And the reporter that he had been slightly rude too, they had blown the incident up way too far out of context, had not deserved respect. She had sold her soul to the industry; her face frozen in a Botox induced smile, every part of her body down to the heel of her feet had been changed. She was one big plastic robot, and that was not the reason he dissed her.  She was cold, heartless; it showed in every word.

And it pissed him off.

So he had been labeled a talented bad mouth pixie that needed to shape up.

Usually it didn’t get to him, but this one time he was furious. Because the reporter had labeled the entire band assholes; his behavior should only reflect on him, not on his band. They had all worked extremely hard for this, to make it. It was fucking ridiculous that one interview had put them all in the dog house; it was irritating to no end.

“In other news, the up and coming band Maroon Five is gaining steam despite the bad reputation started by lead vocalist Adam Levine…”

The grimaced look on his face does not disappear even as he sips his second beer of the night; he hated how becoming famous led to a lack of privacy. It was ridiculous, but he knew this was going to happen.  Yet he did it anyway, because he loved music and fuck anything else that got between him and it.

He needed more to drink, he decided as the last drop of amber numbness disappeared from the bottle in his hand; signaling the bartender for another, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. Ripping off the sunglasses he had worn in, the metal frames slid against the old worn wood of the bar, allowing more light to his eyes in the dimmed place.

He knew he was in a bar, but he had stormed in the place so pissed off that he really didn’t know anything about it. It was downtown, obviously since he had exited his hotel in rage before arriving here about a minute later. Due to the shadows and his stylish shades (Courtesy of himself, he had bought them as a ‘making it big’ present) he was not spotted; although he wasn’t that famous to be mobbed yet. Where he was was dimmed in the department of light, the brighter areas filling in for the job of a dance floor; currently it was a like a rich velvet that filled his ears, the classic piano alone in playing since the rowdier of the crowds had gone to more lively places.

He did not know the name of the establishment, but he needed to find out. Jesse and the others would enjoy it; he knew he would more than likely be coming back; because while drums and guitars were pleasant, there was nothing quite like a solo piano to his ears.

It was slow, smooth, with a hint of being sultry in the sense that it sent sparks up the spine with every note. At points it was almost silent, before the master brought a crescendo into play, but never did it become too loud. It seemed perfect, which was exactly what he needed.

Well that and beer.

Getting lost in the music wasn’t too hard; he leaned against the wooden bar while looking out towards the source of the music. Only the shiny gloss of the musical instrument could be seen, very little of its wielder other than the fact that it was a man. The sight of fellow drinkers soon grew boring, his eyes closing on his own accord as the stream of conscious known as his mind grew silent in order to relax and enjoy.

The musical selection was something he did not recognize, but who the fuck cared? The pianist knew what he was doing and was doing it well, which was all that mattered. The tune was warm, like a body wrapping itself around him to hold him. The embrace was welcome as a timed reaction of electricity spread with every few moments that passed.

Unlike most music, this type was not one to dance to; you were supposed to listen, with no emotions or thoughts, just listen as it enveloped you. He felt weightless, the feeling of polished timber against his back dissipating so that he just floated as the streams of notes moved around him.

Bliss had been foreign these last few months, between everything happening in the somewhat organized chaos known as his life and career; now it seemed as though nothing else existed. A clean slate; as though his mind and body were in a pristine balance.

The notes slowed, leaving him hanging as he waited for them to pick up again and continue the sweet song. But instead it stopped.

Falling back into his body took only a moment, but he refused to open his eyes. He hoped that if they remained closed, that perhaps the numbing morphine version of music would return. The sound of soft applause registered in his pain, as a sign of it ending completely.

Sadly, he soon, as relenting for a few more moments, relinquished his lack of sight for light in order to turn and take a sip of the quickly warming beer that had been placed before him. He knew that the liquid would not bring the same sparks as the keys had, but it was better than nothing.

In the edge of his slightly blurred vision, he saw tanned fingers wrap themselves against a bottle similar to his own. They were strong and long, similar to his own, looking as though they were precise enough to perform surgery or play piano.

“What did you think of the song?” Another melody, almost as smooth and warm as the song, reached his ears in the form of a question. He looked up to find the owner of the fingers, and apparently the piano skills that were so amazing, looking at him with interest.

He swallowed quickly or perhaps slowly due to the alcohol, before thinking of an answer for the performer. As he was doing so, details of the man seemed to seep into his brain, slightly distracting him.

He was tall and slender, as his musical digits were, dressed in very simple but tasteful clothes. Blonde locks were styled short, in a way that framed the face and his eyes. Two brown circles with the faintest hints of green, like stars outlining planets in the sky stared at him with a hint of amusement.  The demeanor, the air around him, was cold, but not in the sense expected. It was like a frost swirling across the skin, making every hair stand on end and every brain cell focused on one thing.

Maybe he was drunk, to not have noticed the man before.

Perhaps it was the silence, due to him not speaking, but the man chuckled lowly. He felt himself mirror the vocal gesture, the muscles called his body attempting to relax with the resonating echo of the happy hum.

This went on for a moment, the two of them chuckling as the world and it’s craziness went right around them. Somewhere, a glass dropped to the floor, creating a mess of glass and drink; but none of the shattering or cursing reached their little bubble to interrupt.  It was silence around all, like they had disappeared from the public sight despite the fact that there were persons only a touch away.

Finally it stopped, as the song tragically had, and the soft chaos came back to his ears. There was no longer a bottle in his hand, instead it has somehow found itself on the bar to where his loosen muscles could not drop it.

His eyes were locked with those milky way colored orbs, connecting there during their small moment. While he rather say nothing and just keep exploring, and keep guessing the exact color of those damn things, the thought that he really needed to say something hit him like a logical eighteen wheeler coming through the lusty fog to run him over.

Quickly, or perhaps slowly due to the fuzziness of his mind, his hand stuck out for one of the oldest ways of greeting someone. Licking his lips due to them suddenly becoming bone dry, he took a breath and put on a classic smile of his.

“Adam, Adam Levine”

Soon a cool hand, with the slender fingers, wrapped itself around his firmly. They shook twice, before he gave his name; he watched the thin lips curve into a pleasant smile with the name. It slipped out smoothly, like the beer had gone down, winding through the air into his ear.

"Silvanus Colt...”

The man was interesting, he’d admit that.

“....but call me Silas”

The slow hum of consciousness slowly filtered through the sweet static of darkness, bringing with it an unwanted but familiar ache in every nerve. Unlike it had been then, there was no music to his ears when his heart finally stopped being the only thing heard.

Surrounding him were sheets rougher than his own personal set, meaning that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be; in the haze of pain there was no memory of why he was anywhere else but home.

His eyelids refused to move, giving up was the only option since he could barely breathe let alone more due to the pain currently occupying his chest. Helplessness may have set in, had he been lucid enough; but now it was just cool wind of reality sliding across his fever ridden dream state.

Other sounds beside the steady beep of the machines echoed, making him wonder who else was in the room. Words were unrecognizable, only to sound of them winding together as almost silent conversation.

His first response was to panic; he was in a strange room with unknown voices and weird sheets. Had he been able to, he would have moved his arms to see if they were tethered to the sides of the bed, one of his worst nightmares being that of kidnapping, but alas he couldn’t. His mind hinted at the fact that panicking would not solve anything, the logical side of him overpowering the fear as his heart rate slowed slightly.

That seemed to not only be the only thing calming him; a hand had been loosely gripping his, the pressure having increased as the panic had boiled inside him. Now that it had decreased, the grip had not, giving him something firm to hold on to in this strange new environment. It was larger than his own, stable in the way that he craved in the semi-conscious state he was in. Using the warm skin as a tether, he tried to push his limit of awareness further, to discover what was going on.

The voices from before his slightly panic attack came back, bringing more information he could use. Only one was higher, making it easy to assume that there was only one woman, the rest of the hushed tones being that of a masculine origin. The hand seemed to be one of them, the slight vibrations that he felt by the contact corresponding to a deep frequency.

The amount of people in the room, despite him trying, was a fact that he could not discover; and after a moment, he decided in frustration that he really had not wanted to know anyway. The noise level of the surroundings seemed to be muted even more, the numbness of darkness seeming to be creeping back.

Normally, he would have fought it; but the voices were not smooth or cunning, but warm making him feel as though he was somehow safe. The hand holding his was another factor that was leading to his surrender, the grip feeding him love and comfort with a word.

Letting his guard down was something he never did due to his past and present dilemma of being somewhat head over heels for someone of not only high social status but of being of the opposite sex as well; but this time he couldn’t help it.

One of the fingers stroked the back of his hand, slowly bringing sparks as well as the message of ‘It’s alright’ with it; any and all doubts were gone by the gesture. It was something he expected not even from his closest friends, and yet he felt as though he knew the person. Had his mind not been going fuzzy, distorted as one’s television was with a lack of signal, he may have given it more thought.

His body ached for sleep, for darkness to block everything for healing and he obliged it.

Darkness was welcomed this time around.

Out of all the colors, they picked the cleanest and the one most likely torture one retinas.  They just had to pick that bloody color. Already it was burning his eyesight out of focus, any amount of time staring at it screwing with his focus levels. Humans were not meant to be surrounded by the blank abyss, especially not in a time of worry or mourning.

White.

He hated the color with a passion that almost rivaled how much he hated the institution he was currently a guest of. Almost being the key word in that sentence; some thought the devil’s color was red or black, being that of blood or darkness, he would strongly beg to differ. In modern times, the color of evil was that of white, due to the fact that he was currently surrounded by it as well as the psychopath who committed the attack had more than likely been in when the person had been locked up.

Every wall, every surface, every uniform, EVERYTHING was white; making him feel as though he did not belong.  His person was wrinkled, from the jeans he had been sitting in since he had arrived in to his hair that was lusterless from his hands running through it consistently. The colors of what he worn only made the room that much somber, not even the morning light streaming through could help. Actually, it only made it worse as it made the stupid fucking color of white that much brighter.

The nurses had already tried to get him to go home, telling them he would be called when anything changed; he glared at the nurse who was peeking in the room currently. A growl could come from his throat if he chose it to, but that could put his position of belonging at risk.

He belonged, he did.

He did; if he didn’t, then fuck them. He didn’t care, he was not moving; he was not going to leave the room, much less the hospital. He had seen at least one nurse sizing him up, as if researching him for if something happened; he had only given her a ‘you’re fucking crazy if you think you are moving me’ look that had sent her scattering.

There were two security guards for this building, neither of which could take him if he was calm; both were fucked if he was pissed. They would have to use their Tasers, because the pepper spray was going to do jack shit, to drop him and then drag his fat ass out before he would leave.

The thing was that he wouldn’t even be here if the doctor had fucking done his job and diagnosed Adam correctly. They said he would be awake by now, they said that he was healing and there was nothing wrong. They had said this and that which had all turned out to be fucking bull shit since Adam was still out. Christina had already talked to the doctor, not because she was any less angry, but because she could ‘communicate’ with him and not punch him in his lying mouth like he did.

One look at the patient in the bed shifted the tide of emotion streaming from him to the other end of the spectrum. Anger dissolved as the worry blanketed everything, even the look of the nurse who was again checking in on the hospital’s celebrity patient.

Pale, so close to white; the color mocked him in the form of an unmoving and unresponsive body. It had already destroyed his nerves, ripping them into shredded coils of paper having gone through a shredder five times. Soon, his brain cells having been driven to insanity, he would probably being doing more than mumbling to himself.

He was the only color currently existing in the room, Christina having left to feed the press and get food for them. Despite the fact that it had been at least (he had lost count when the first splinter had hit the floor) ten hours since the show and fifteen since his last meal, he was not hungry. It was if his stomach had been swallowed by a black hole, there being nothing to hint that he was in need to food; it seemed to worry everyone more since he was not a small guy. He had told her this, that he did not fucking need or want food, but she wouldn’t listen as she rubbed his shoulder affectionately.

He was really glad that she had come; it was a little bit easier to deal when you had a guard dog that was as ferocious as a German shepherd and as loyal as a golden (blonde) Labrador. Somehow he had slept an hour, when she had threatened him to the point of him closing his eyes so she would quit yapping. It wasn’t much, but it was enough so that he was less delusional from lack of sleep more than he already was.

Supposedly Cee-Lo was supposed to be here right about now, as he had understood when Christina had explained the arrangement, but had been held up due to the fact that one of them needed to be there to find out information to convey to the others through the police that were currently at the studio. Since Cee-Lo was available, he had taken the job; leaving him without a babysitter.

Not that he really needed one, but the white was getting more boring even though it did not seem possible. He could have walked the spotless hallways aimlessly or visited the cafeteria to see what food he did not want to eat; but it all seemed like a waste of time. He just wanted Adam to wake up and make the white disappear through the colorful force of nature that was the never ending storm of craziness known as Hurricane Addy.

He wished he could paint the room with what was swirling in his mind, so that when the man finally woke up he could see a small essence of himself on the walls instead of the blank emptiness. Vibrant paint to convey the colorful language he wished to hear; verbal fireworks to burn into the white. The favorite adjective of the man, a firm yet fine black FUCK, would stretch across three walls and would be the centerpiece of the chaos. Piano notes would be intertwined around each letter before flowing onto the celling where quotes of the memorable kind would congregate. Then coming out of that would be song lyrics that would spread from the hub of the ceiling down every wall to the floor in the organized mess one would expect of a weeping willow tree.

I am in Misery…a deep red before colliding with the blue of a randomly placed star wearing sunglasses. The man would get a kick out of that, knowing that the cartoon like symbol was him, especially with the slight stubble the star had.

Feels so good to be back…silver on a slick black outline, flying to partially outline the guitar on the back of the door. It would be the last thing he and Adam would see before they left this retched room, a lyrical promise of freedom and a return to normalcy. It would perfectly mirror the tattoo that the man had on the underside of his left forearm, one that he had seen in person when performing on stage with Adam.

Filling in the blanks, the few that were left, would be random logos and other images that seemed to be in his head when thinking of Adam. Such as doves and cherry blossoms, which was supposedly another tattoo that occupied the man’s chest; he had yet to see since well Adam had not decided to go shirtless on the show….yet.

It seemed as though it was a miracle, since the man was known for sensual dance moves involving those hips of his and nudity. Perhaps it was just part of a bromantic plot to judge his first reaction to Adam’s bare skin on live television; it did seem like something the man would do.

And he was fine with it, after all he knew that Adam would just be kidding and doing it to screw with him, although he would probably throw a hissy fit about in on the show just for drama purposes or he could just pull the man closer to turn the tables…

Put your hands all over, put your hands all over me…Surprisingly, well maybe not since everything had gone to hell, the first through that those lyrics came to mind was a whole hearted and deep: Yes.

Perhaps it was that the white had fried his brain, or that the antiseptics smell of pine sol and Clorox bleach had prevent air flow leading to brain damage, or maybe it was a mixture of both, but the idea of Adam’s hands sliding across his skin wasn’t one that was instantly banished from his mind.

Shaking hands, the man’s had been smooth ever so much that they could be when playing the guitar on a regular basis. That moment had been the genesis, as some (Christina) had playfully referred to it as, of the bromance between himself and Adam.

It seemed almost like it had been yesterday when he had first seen that slightly evil smirk and those eyes that had had enough of a tint of amusement that he knew he was going to like the man.

Sometimes he hated Los Angeles. [AN: Or wherever the hell The Voice is filmed]

Sure it had sights, sounds, and booze to offer but none of that even came close to balancing the scale when he didn’t need a thermometer to tell him that it was really fucking hot. Oh, so the city wasn’t as humid…a hundred degrees is still a hundred degrees no matter the moisture in the air. If an egg could be cooked before it hit the sidewalk, then it was not the time to be outside.

Yet here he was, watching the concrete sweat with the fluids of squirt guns and sprinkles being used in a desperate attempt to get cool.

The day was too hot; the sun seemed to be on a destroy him mission, not caring if it boiled the seas in the process. Despite having been in a cool as ice care, one step out of five to the studio had left him sweating and thirsty. This quick change, as his driver had pointed out in humor (or attempted humor anyway), could be due to the fact that he was taller and therefor closer to the hot boiling hell circle known as the sun.

Entering the shade of the building gave a few degrees of chill back, but not enough to halt to stream of sweat he could feel drifting down his chest under his short sleeve shirt. Miranda had forced him not to wear the long sleeve plaid shirt, he was ready to bow down to her right about now. Thank god he had no sleeves longer than what he had.

“Hey country boy, you’re late” A teasing feminine snap came to him, bringing him out of his heat caused daze.

His eyes went to the insult’s origin, for some reason he expected an unspeakable evil; like a video game boss that always laughed at you when you lost. Every single time you would hear that laugh. Well he found it, turns out the boss like red heels, spandex, and blonde hair.

They had met once before in passing, but due to the new gig, he would get to get to know her better. His thoughts sounded sarcastic even to him, adding a mental eye roll and a ‘joy’ to the comment.

“Ain’t my fault the tires decided to melt on the way here” He replied while smirking in her direction; she seemed amused, perhaps she wasn’t completely evil.

The dark skin male to her left laughed, filled with enough heart to match his physical build, before drinking some water. Supposedly the man was hip hop and blues, while the blonde was pop and r&b. He was to fill the country slot, since they wanted each coach to have an area of expertise.

Which left one coach and he hadn’t heard a lot on the guy…

Before he could consider it any more, he decided to add on to his comment “ ‘sides Christina, by my watch I’m not late. We were supposed to be here at noon and it’s only eleven fifty five”

The black man laughed again, to which she flatly rolled her eyes at. She was enjoying the banter, so everything was alright.

“You were the last one to arrive, no matter the fucking time, you are still late” A new voice came from his left, Christina’s right. Moving his gaze, he found the sentence to have come from what had to be the fourth coach.

His eye brows raised, well that was a nice choice of language; he had a feeling he was going to like the guy. He didn’t even know a name yet but the way the man seemed to be embracing the heat in his casual jeans and white tee seemed to say one thing, not to mention the slightly gnarly beard that could use a bit of a trimming, …’don’t give a fuck’. The tattoos he could see snaking up the man’s arms affirmed this theory, as well as the devious and slightly bored look the man had.

He liked it, it was nice to see someone in this town that wasn’t a hard ass like most of the other singers/actors/others.

Before he could respond, the man, who seemed to want to verbally state the spitfire attitude that his current stance was putting off spoke with his silver tongue again “How’s the weather up there?”

Well that was blunt; he knew he was a big guy, most didn’t mention it since they thought it would embarrass him or something. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck if they mentioned it or not; he came from a family where his brother was just as big as he was and wasn’t afraid of telling him to move his fat ass. [AN: RIP Richie Shelton] And truth be told, his sister had done it too, when she wasn’t being all sweet and innocent. His father, his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father had all been large men; what could he say, it was in his blood.

With all that said, he did not react badly to the comment, instead he retaliated.

“Hot as hell, how’s it down there short stuff?” He made it a point to look down on the man, letting his eyes sparkle with amusement which he hoped would translate to the man. The other guy did not seem as though he would react violently, but then again anything could happen, a lesson in which show business had taught him.

The man, who was in no way short, he just happened to be a giant, stared up at him for a minute. Two brown eyes were unreadable as they just looked at him, he really hoped he hadn’t pissed the man off; he actually wanted to be friends with the guy.

The man laughed, making his fears of anger disappear, and smacked his shoulder at the same time. He returned to blow by poking the man in the chest, in saying ‘I am going to get you for that’. The man just laughed harder instead of swatting his hand away. Laughing as it seemed, was as contagious as the heat today, especially since the man’s laugh was neither deep nor high, just a nice mix.

“Bromance alert” The laughter ceased, his head turning in what seemed like perfect synchronization as the still nameless man’s, them both staring at the blonde who was grinning as widely as the man beside her.

“Fuck you Christina” The man he was standing shoulder to shoulder with spewed with little reaction time needed to the comment. There was little blush on the other’s cheeks, which he contributed to the heat, perhaps she thought it was something else?

“I’ll make sure to remind me of this moment later on when you are hanging with your new best bud here, okay Levine?” She whipped back, as the other man just watched.

So she had thought the same as he had? They did seem like they would make good friends, but who knows…the last name hit him like something from the shadows. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what the hell it was…Levine, Levine, what the hell was the guy’s first name?

As he tried to figure it out, the battle continued; no true verbal response came this time, as Mr. Levine (the title he was using for the man until he could think of the damn first name. The fucker was escaping him though, which was irritating him more than the sun at that point, though it seemed impossible) just stuck his tongue out to resemble a grown up, with a kid heart.

She did not replied, just giving him the biggest eye roll of what seemed like the day, if not the year.

Seeing his slightly strange look to the situation, the black man came closer to him. “Siblings” The word explained so much, he didn’t question why the two were acting as they were after hearing it.

“Ah” He said, keeping an eye on the fight while still trying to think.

“Cee Lo Green” A big hand, somewhat like his own, was held out, which he shook. The name was familiar, almost as familiar as the name Levine. He took a mental note to listen to some of the man’s music when he got home.

“Blake Shelton” He replied, the name coming out smooth and unchanged by his accent as it was said after years of practice. It was his name, the first defining factor of his life, it fit him like a glove as it should.

Cee Lo seemed to take it upon himself to introduce him to the others, who were still fighting in a way to where he half expected either to give the other an Indiana burn in the next moment. Pointing to the blonde, he began with the feisty female “That’s Christina Aguilera, someone who can be your best friend or sister in his case…” A black thumb motioned to the shorter man squaring off with her “…or your worst nightmare”

“So don’t piss her off” The dark man nodded, with a small smirk somehow knowing that it was going to happen anyway.

Next was the man, perhaps he could finally know what the man’s name was. It would probably be a, god dammit how did I forget that moment, but he really didn’t care. He wanted to know now. “And that there is…”

Before the sentence could be said, said man decided to introduce himself.

“Adam, that’s all you need to know because if you call me Levine like her I will verbally beat your ass” The man huffed in Christina’s direction, before looking for a reaction from him.

Whatever he did expect, he didn’t get since the next emotion on the man’s face was surprise “Good to know, since any physical ass kicking will be done by me”

He heard another laugh from Cee Lo beside him, along with a soft ‘Burn!’ from Christina; both of which seemed to go by Adam’s ears. Adam, while it had holier beginnings and meanings, it seemed to perfectly fit the self-made badass in front of him.

“Name’s Blake by the way” He held out a hand, which was soon in contact with a smaller version of another singer’s.

“Well this is going to be interesting” Adam smirked

“I’ll say, you two are going to be scheming against me from the beginning!” Christina pouted in the dramatic way that seemed to be second nature to her.

He was about to reply that they were not, before he caught an evil look in Adam that was directed at him. Deciding against his former plan, he went with the gut feeling he had that said to go with it. Whispering, but not really, to his newest buddy he said “Damn, she caught on fast”

“Don’t worry, we’ll still get her” The dark haired man replied, on his tip toes now trying to get to his ear level; he crouched slightly to help.

She seemed to pout a bit more, glaring at them; although it was all fake, amusement clearly on her face.

“Don’t worry Christina, I’ll help keep them away” He barely heard Cee Lo’s comment as they all moved towards going deeper into the building.

He did not hear the response of the woman, if she did respond.

All he heard was Adam.

“Let the games begin”

That would be the quote over the door, to remind him that is was all part of the game of being a coach.

He needed his tag team partner though, his Bonnie to his Clyde (although Adam would probably say it was reversed role wise); everything was getting a bit too boring and serious for his tastes.

Another look at the man, he was still unconscious.

Back to redecorating then.

Surrounding the FUCK, would be little shits and damns flying around the notes. For some reason he also found that bees belonged in the mess as well. Little bumble bees, he wasn’t really sure why…but he’d put them by the cherry blossoms transferred from Adam’s chest to the wall with a bit more color.

Everything and every space would be covered; moving in time as it swirled inside the mess currently known as his brain.

He needed to sleep, instead of musing what he would be doing when he was doing nothing. Truth was that his logical mind strayed when faced with exhaustion, bringing him into thinking modes such as musing about the color white and it’s evils; but there was no way he could sleep.

Not when the bastard who did this was still out there, not when he was the only one watching the room (sure there were nurses and doctors, but who could you really trust?), and not when Adam was lying there with no way of protecting himself.

He needed to be there, he needed…

…close your eyes, his internal self said, almost begged due to the lack of sleep.

No. If he did that, he would be out.

It’ll just be for a moment…the other side cooed.

Resisting was something he had been doing for the last few hours, the fight was almost gone out of him right then.

“Just a minute” He confirmed by saying it allowed; a promise to himself and Adam.

Darkness swept over his light sensitive eyes, from too much exposure, making the feeling of drowsiness turn to wonderful bliss in relief. Before he was gone, he acted without thinking; not recognizing that he perfectly found and held Adam’s hand in the dark. It was like connecting a circuit, any thoughts of uncertainty gone as well as guilt for the decision.

The skin seemed like a live wire against his, one who’s created a hum like a lullaby to rock him off.

Just a moment…

The dark windows, to ensure comfort by blocking glares as new persons coming to the city looked out to the sites, did nothing for him as he sat in the overused leather seats.

Normally, he wouldn’t use transportation such as this, but from the restaurant he had been hanging out in, this was the quickest way to the hospital. With traffic starting to swell to its normal height of frustration and time consuming - ness, the only exceptions being really early in the morning when the partiers were gone and the workers will still sleeping, about five am, it would have taken too long for him to back his car out and drive.

Fuck it, he’d take a cab; it was Adam after all.

The cabbie was going to rip him off and might get him killed, they had already driven on the sidewalk twice as well as almost getting hit three, but he didn’t fucking care. Whatever got him to his band mate the fastest, he didn’t fucking care that he could barely keep the phone in his hand due to the bumps of rolling down not the finest streets at twice the speed limit.

“Pick the fuck up Mickey, come on you fucker” Currently he was trying to get ahold of the other major part of the band, who was either hung over (as he had been until this morning when the story with an update had come on the TV) and unaware of the news or on his way already. Whichever it was didn’t fucking matter, he just needed to coordinate with the man; someone needed to call Ryan and the other members if needed. He would do it, but since Mickey probably had a longer time before he got to the hospital, it may be more time efficient for him to do it. Because when he entered those walls, he knew wasn’t going to get shit done.

He was still listening to a frankly annoying ring back tone as he looked back up at the cabbie “How long?”

The man rolled his eyes, seeming irritated that he had asked the question again for the five thousandth time in five minutes, it may not even had been that long. “Five minutes”

“You said that five minutes ago” He tried not to put malice in his voice, but it seemed the cab was going so fucking slow, he was not at the hospital with Adam yet.

“I said that ten minutes ago, cool it” The man glared in the mirror, seeming tempted to add a few other choice words in the mix but resisted because he wanted a tip.

The ‘fuck off’ was on the tip of his tongue…

He glared back, but resisted mouthing off, it wouldn’t be a good idea since the cabbie could drop him off anywhere and say fuck you and drive away. It had happened before, especially when he and Adam had encountered an especially nasty cab driver.

“Jesse, man, what’s with all the messages?” Finally.

“You fucker, why the fuck did you not pick up your phone, Adam is in the hospital man!” Had that last part not been tacked on, Mickey more than likely would of cussed his ass out, starting an all-out shit storm in result. Instead there was just silence, just for a moment…

“What?” That idiot must be hung over, even if he wasn’t that wasn’t the right response.

“You heard me” He repeated, trying to not let the cocktail of fucking EVERYTHING get to him.

“What the fuck happened, it he alright?” That was better, at least the man was fucking focused now. He loved the band members to death, but he did not have time nor the patience for stupid shit right now.

“Mostly banged up, I’m going to be at the hospital in…” He couldn’t finish his sentence as his head literally hit the ceiling. Turns out that there had been a pothole the size of his head that the fucker driver had to hit at high speeds.

Instant headache.

His tongue reacted to the pain “Fuck, hey fucker, try and avoid those!”

“Do you want to get there or not motherfucker?!” The cabbie yelled back in his accented tone, apparently not able to hold his tongue any longer either.

“Just fucking drive!” He snapped in a death voice before going back to the phone “I am almost to the fucking hospital, I’ll update you with the details”

“K, do you want me to call Ryan and the others?” Ah, the band mind sharing thoughts thing had finally kicked in, thank fucking god.

“That would be wonderful” He huffed as the breath he had somehow been holding slide out of him.

“Will do, txt the hospital address to us”

Then the call had ended, he was on his own. Well, him and the fucking psycho cab driver. And the thoughts of what the fuck had happened.

He had only caught a few details of the story when it had come on, mostly they had gone in one ear as he bolted for the door right after the name of the hospital had been said.

Slash marks.

Male.

Please, he begged to whatever the hell was up there, please please PLEASE don’t be him. Mickey and Ryan would be thinking the same exact thing when they heard and would be doing the same thing he was doing right now.

His mind was swimming, trying to comprehend…he couldn’t be back.

Talking to the man was…interesting.

He seemed to know everything there was to know about everything, it was almost a struggle to hold a conversation with him. But he was doing this for Adam, so he would suffer if he had to.

“So I heard your family owns a business…” It was a last ditch effort before they ran out of things to talk about.

“Have you heard of Colt industries?” The man’s voice was cool, smooth in the way of thin ice that with one crack could send you to an icy death by drowning or hypothermia; neither of which was fun.

He nodded his head no, before taking a drink of the liquor in front of him. Although it seemed there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make the man go away.

“Oh course you haven’t. My father, James Colt, created the company and was the CEO for years, god bless his soul. I have since taken over for him, but have a board to make decisions so I can live my life. Colt Industries is an investment firm if you will, we have power in most areas of business but we don’t really show face. The company is like a puppet master, we control everything without ever being seen.”

He felt a chill go down his spine, something about that montage of company pride did not sink well with him. This man had power and it wasn’t hard to see nor was he shy about sharing.

It felt unsafe, he felt his eyes dart to his best friend, who was asking how it was going through the ‘thumbs up, thumbs down’ system. He put on a fake smile before flipping the man off, who just childishly returned to gesture.

He didn’t trust the guy, but he trusted Adam to make good decisions; so he let it go.

God, he should of fucking stopped in right there and then, so none of this shit would of happened. He clenched his temples, about ready to explode at the next noise that entered his overheating organ called a brain.

Thankfully, the next words he heard were heaven.

“Yo, motherfucker, we are here! Fucking pay me!”

Heaven for some may have been more elegantly phrased, but for him he did not fucking care as his eyes flashed open to see the concrete building that he really needed to be in right now.

Throwing money, too much he knew that much, over the seat, he flung the door open before slamming it shut in one fluid motion. The sound of the cab cursing at him before peeling out of the parking lot was ignored.

The crowd he knew would be waiting had died down, but the real killers were still there. Those blood thirty wolves that could smell fear and gossip a mile away, they could still be seen and sensed as they watched him.

They waited for a lead in form of a raw steak that their sharp teeth, over time brought to razor blade slicing capacity, could tear apart.

But none advanced on his position, more than likely how he probably looked like an about to wreck train as he sped towards the doors. Soon, he broke through the glass dividing him from the inside of where Adam was, it shielded him as he looked around for someone that could fucking help him.

“Jesse Carmichael?” He turned to see a blonde woman coming closer, her heels tapping on the floor with every step. She looked familiar, Adam had mentioned something about a ‘blonde devil’ or something along those lines…

“Do you know where Adam is?” The woman must have known and that’s why she was waiting for him and/or greeting him as she was.

“This way, my name is Christina by the way” He followed the woman down the long hallways, barely feeling the name register. He would probably forget it, but that was alright.

Just as long as Adam was alright and it was that fucking bastard.

It was a shame, it really was.

Why they did not serve alcohol at eight in the morning was beyond him, the profit margin that the business would make would be so substantial from men just as himself who really didn’t care what time it was and just wanted a drink.

But then again it was a diner of the mom and pop variety, where no alcohol was served for that matter but instead grease and alright cooking. But this is where he had ended up since it was the closest thing to the hospital and well, he couldn’t let his prey get away.

At the top of his list though, with the brown eyed man still hovering in the back of his mind, was how the area needed a drinking establishment. He had already made a decision, construction would begin and the squeaky stool he was currently sitting on would be gone.

His IPhone was currently lying on the worn, but somehow clean counter, having been turned off after he had sent a message to his assistant to buy the restaurant forcibly and assemble a construction crew to begin tomorrow.

His waitress was more than likely the wife of the owner, one wall proudly  proclaiming with a disgusting amount of joy that the diner had been in some family for x amount of years. She was too happy and overweight by at least thirty pounds, he considered telling her this.

No, he rather not ingest spit today, although it probably wouldn’t make that much of a difference concerning the health content of the food. They would be angry with the comment, but neither of the workers were capable of poisoning his food with anything that would do real damage.

Thankfully, his ham and cheese omelet arrived before his brain could start listening off the names of poisons and the amounts needed to kill a person, because that was something he only did when he was really board.

He shifted the flowers, now near death, over to allow just enough room for the plate, carefully so that the six inch blade wouldn’t show. Not that he couldn’t diffuse the situation, or just kill them all, it was too troublesome, so keeping it hidden was his best bet.

“Lucky lady” The woman said in her happy go lucky voice that made him want to see blood, hers, drip down his blade even more. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

He just smiled, without showing the teeth that were grinding together in irritation. Calm, calm is what he needed. Taking the first bite of baby chicken embryo sandwich seemed to do so to him, as looked back towards the doors of the hospital.

From his seat, he had a perfect view of who went in and out, so that he could visit someone at the right time. Where he was seemed to also be the perfect place to see a yellow car, which was obviously a taxi, screech to a halt before it’s passenger seemed to fling himself out before stalking towards the doors.

Getting a good look at the newcomer, he recognized the man who was classified as a threat.   Oh, goodie, reinforcements. It seemed his quest had just gotten a little bit harder, but not worries…

Taking another bite of his omelet, his began to think of the flower shops nearby to replenish his drooping hiding spot.

…he always liked a challenge.

Review bitches.

Alright, sorry, Please Review?

My sleep deprived self is not so nice.

Will Adam wake up, for good?

Will Blake end up beating someone’s ass?

And will Jesse/Christina walk in on the bromance and push the two together?

ALL THIS AND MORE, NEXT CHAPTER!