Alaska ...
Written for openveinwriting's comment fic party.
She was so sick that even the ends of her hair hurt. All she wanted was to get on the van and get back to the motel so she could sleep until the guys picked her up and over-medicated her so she could survive the flight to Hawai'i. As it was, the flight to Alaska had been hell and only made her sicker. But, in lieu of being able to get back because JJ and Micah were down at the merch table, she'd crash in the van. She just wanted to fucking sleep. It wasn't just the depressive cycle she'd been spiraling into since they'd started recording the album, but she was physically sick and sure she was leaking mucus out of every possible orifice on her body. This was what she got for wandering into a freezing river in Upstate New York. The guys had the merch table covered and it was her turn to do the tour diary so she'd post to the forum as soon as she was out of her stage clothes and in her pjs. But she needed to do it while lying down. It would also help if she could down an entire bottle of nyquil and put a heating pad on her chest. Until all of that happened, the van was a comfortable option. She'd slept in far worse places.
"Get the hell back in there."
Chris' voice stopped her and she turned, still sweating onto the towel around her neck, despite it being twenty degrees outside. Her stage clothes for the night were a barely there costume of a tiny tank top and skirt. Her nylons had runs in them. She could feel the makeup freezing to her face and she was still over heated. "What?" She croaked out. Really, she was about to die. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the security guard step closer and she appreciated the gesture.
"Get. In. There." Chris advanced on her. "Now."
Something about his tone kept her from giving a single fuck. She was done. They should have fired him weeks ago but she'd held on because it wasn't that long a tour. But since she'd stopped fucking him, he'd grown unbearable. "Fuck off, Chris." She shoved him aside. "I'm sick. I will pass out if I stand up for another ten minutes." She pushed past him and moved to the van. The heaven of sleep, even if it was uncomfortable sleep, was only a few minutes away. But a hand grabbed around her arm and she felt herself being yanked back so hard her shoulder wrenched. "Fuck!" She turned around. "Last I checked I need my shoulders, asshole." She started to cough violently but he wouldn't let go until the security guard took another step in.
"You have fans to sign merch for. They show up for you. Get the fuck out there. You've been skipping interviews, not meeting obligations, and now this."
She couldn't stop coughing. "I ..." she gasped between breaths, "have been sick. And if you weren't paying attention, but anything," she coughed again, "that I am contractually obligated to do I have been there for. We all," she wheezed, "all cover for each other when we're sick. It's part of the road. What I do," her chest was heaving, "when I am not obligated to be in front of people is my," she whzzed, "fucking," she coughed, "business."
What happened next was like when everything slowed down in the pit, but she wasn't with it enough to get out of the way.
He advanced on her again. She shrank back. The security guard moved to intercept but Chris' eyes flashed and he moved faster than all of them. Having spent her fair share of time ducking blows and dancing out of the way while moshing, she knew what to expect, knew instinctively knowing what was coming and knew that even with two burly guys right near her, there wasn't anything that could be done to stop what was coming.
Because the difference between a fight and the pit was that the pit was consensual. The pit was a chance to explode. A fight broke the tribal rules.
The back of Chris' fist made solid contact with her face. His size and speed knocked her sideways and Elena fell to the side, grabbing for the first thing she could feel, which was the side of the van and that was covered in snow and ice that had fallen during the set. Slipping, she smacked her cheek on the corner of the side mirror and then again on the running board as she stumbled and then slumped to the ground. Chris stood over her, fist coiled. He raised his hand back to strike again but froze in that position and she realized that the security guy and her tech had breached the event horizon of the black hole that surrounded moments like this. Still in "fight" mode, her foot kicked out and up and while she didn't hit paydirt, she did make solid contact with his knee and he stumbled back.
Their driver, who was the only other one around, ran over and helped her get back to her feet. She pressed her own knuckles into the mark on her cheek; her time in mosh pits had taught her how to keep the swelling down.
Somewhere in the background, she heard a dog barking.
"El, this is bleeding pretty bad. We need to get it looked at."
She hadn't realized she was bleeding. Was that why she couldn't really see? She couldn't tell who was talking to her. But she did level her hazy gaze on Chris.
"You're fired," she told him. "Get out of here."
They stared at each other.
"And don't think about arguing. I hired you. I can fire you."
Micah and JJ came tearing outside followed by two more security guys. Somewhere she registered their mutual cursing. JJ came to her. Micah advanced on Chris, his bulk an advantage. "What the fuck," she heard him say. "What the fuck did you do?"
JJ put his arms around her shoulders and guided her back to the green room. Once inside he grabbed one of the beers from the cooler and wrapped it in a t-shirt. "Put this on your eye, Elena," he said. She obeyed.
A security guy came in with the club owner, an ice pack, and a first aid kit. JJ swabbed at her face as gently as he could, but she still cried out from the sting. "We gotta get you to an ER, El. This needs to be looked at."
"Fuck that." Elena shook her head. It hurt to move. "We'll go to an instacare sometime tomorrow. I'm not hanging out all night in some ER."
"You could need stitches," she heard someone saying. Things were so foggy all of a sudden. Where was Tobie? Where was her dog? The van. He'd been in the van with their driver. She needed him. "And if you wait too long, they can't stitch it up and you're more likely to get infected if it doesn't heal right. It's right near your eye. That's not anything to fuck with."
"And, Elena," a voice caught her attention. The club owner. "It would help me if you made this official. Insurance and all. No offense and I know it wasn't your fault, but shit like this needs to be documented."
"Yeah ..." she winced. God this was humiliating. "I'm so sorry." Why was she dizzy? The beer bottle had been swapped for the ice pack and she pressed it to her face until it hurt to much to hold it there and when she pulled it away all she could do was stare at the bright red spot on the white towel around it.
"Don't worry about it. You don't hit girls around here, unless they're in the pit. Wasn't on you." Was that the club owner?
She almost started laughing but then the coughing started again and she tasted blood trickling down the back of her throat, which only made her gag.
"Anyway, they can give you something for your cough," JJ said. "And the paramedics are on the way."
Elena shivered and pressed the ice pack back to her face. Why wouldn't they listen? She just wanted to go to bed. She'd be okay in the morning. She wanted her dog. She was cold. Someone handed over a hoodie, which she appreciated, and she dropped the pack long enough to shrug into it. But she looked down. Looked down at the towel, which had even more blood on it than before. Her blood. The hoodie fell to her lap, forgotten, and she shivered and stared at the ice pack and her hands and her wrists. Everything was bloody. Everything was covered in her blood. What had she done? She hadn't meant to do anything? What ... she didn't remember ... the show had been so good even though she was sick and she'd just been outside. When had she hurt herself? The towel wrapped around the beer bottle was covered in blood. Her blood. She shivered and stared at it, suddenly pressing her thumbs into her wrists. No. She hadn't done it. She hadn't ... she ...
No. It wasn't hers. It wasn't ...
It was hers.
It was hers.
Her fingers grazed the towel and she stared at her hands. Covered in blood. Her blood. What ...
She clawed at her wrist covers, searching for the source of the blood, staring at her wrists. Staring ...
"Fuck!" She heard Micah say. "Get a washcloth! Something to wash her hands off. Quick."
Everything was a fog. She hurt. Why did she hurt? Why was everything so far away?
"Elena ..." she felt his fingers on her cheeks and she flinched. "Elena, you didn't do this to yourself. You didn't hurt yourself. It's okay."
Such a fog.
She through through the haze as he took a washcloth from someone and wiped her hands down. "See, Elena," he said to her, "no cuts. No harm. You didn't do this to yourself." But her head hurt so much. Why did her head hurt? He pushed the ice pack into her hand and then her hand to her face. "Hold that there. You're okay. The paramedics will be here soon."
"No. No cops. I ..." She didn't want to go back to psych. They were in Alaska. They'd keep her here where it was dark and gray, so gray, most of the time. They'd admit her and she'd be stuck in a room and they'd cancel the shows and the label wouldn't give them another album and no one else would pick them up because she was a risk because look at what she'd done to herself while she was on tour. Why the hell had they called the cops? the press was going to be all over this because cops at a show in Alaska and they wouldn't be invited to come back and her father was going to read about how she went crazy and hurt herself and no one would ever trust her again. No one.
"We're getting you to an ER, okay? You could have a concussion and you need stitches."
"No. No ER ..." Why wouldn't they listen? The ER would admit her to psych! She just needed to sleep.
She closed her eyes.
Hands moved her. A man in a blue coat asked her questions but she couldn't remember answering them. He touched the side of her face. It hurt. Micah's low baritone rumbled around her. She heard words like fight. But she just wanted to close her eyes. Just ... close her eyes.
She woke up on a stretcher in an ER. Tobie was stretched across her lap.
"What ...?"
Elena jumped and tried to pull her arm to the side but tape and tubes and needles kept her still. The warmth of her dog grounded her and she took a breath, adjusting herself, trying to figure out what was happening. There were fluids attached to her and her face felt tight. She raised her hand and felt a couple of stitches on her forehead. In that moment she realized she wasn't restrained and her breath started to come easier.
"There she is," JJ was standing close by. "You kind of passed out."
She groaned and sat up a bit more. Tobie whimpered and adjusted himself around her legs. "What time is it?" She was about to ask why she was here, but hazy images started to appear in her mind.
"Four AM. You passed out in the green room. But they've got you stitched up and full of fluids again. You've got a concussion and possibly walking pneumonia, they're waiting on the tests. But you're going to be fine."
"Shit ..." she sat up completely and swung her legs over the cot. Tobie grumbled but let her move. She stroked the soft spot between the dog's eyes. "What the fuck happened?"
"You remember the fight with Chris?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Just feels like a lifetime ago." She shuddered. "I remember blood ... on my hands." She looked down. Her hands were clean. Her wrists in tact. Her heart rate returned to normal.
"Head wounds gush and yours gushed everywhere. You're fine." JJ grinned. "It's nice to be in an ER with you and not be waiting for psych."
She appreciated the comment and offered the appropriate chuckle because she totally agreed. "What happened to Chris?"
"Cops took him down based on witness statements but we aren't sure if they're going to hold him and they still need to talk to you. Some CSI type was here a bit ago, snapping pictures of your face. Someone is supposed to come talk to you before you go. I guess they want a statement and stuff."
"Okay." She shivered. "I'm cold and covered in blood and sweat." She did feel better though.
"Micah's been dealing with the label and the press stuff since, you know, we don't really have a tour manager right now. But, he brought you a change of clothes." JJ handed over her backpack and she peeked in. Her usual road jeans, a t-shirt, and her favorite hoodie. He'd even grabbed extra shoes.
"As soon as they unhook these IVs, I'll change."
"I'll go get a doctor."
Elena nodded and after he stepped out, kicked off her boots and pulled her jeans up over her nylons. She wiggled her skirt down and pulled on clean socks and her canvas shoes before they came back. Already she felt more human. She wanted to ask JJ if they'd called her parents. She didn't want them to hear about this through some gossip channel or something. Where the hell was her phone?
"Ms. Munez, hi." A tired looking woman stepped around the curtain. "It's good to see you up. You gave your bandmates quite a scare. I'm Doctor Lindt."
"Hi, Doctor." She couldn't help but glance over the doctor's shoulder, expecting to see a social worker standing there, ready to admit her to a psych ward. Only JJ. She chewed on her lip, suddenly anxious. Suddenly trapped. What were they going to do to her?
"You're going to be fine. You've got a nasty cold that is mirroring flu symptoms, but it doesn't look like you actually have the flu or pneumonia, which was something we were worried about. The head wound looked worse than it was, but the concussion and the dehydration from being sick and the show, that all just created a perfect storm. You'll have a shiner to talk about for a few days though."
"I can go then?"
"Yes." The doctor nodded to a nurse who came over to unhook the IVs. "I wouldn't recommend traveling for 24 hours, if that can be arranged."
"We have to be in Hawai'i..." she realized it was already the 24th. "Tomorrow." She swallowed and looked at JJ who shrugged.
The doctor continued, "If you need to travel, you're going to need to get a lot of rest and stay well hydrated. No booze for at least forty-eight hours." She offered a smile and Elena shrugged, suddenly nervous again. But it didn't seem like they were going to keep her. No psych techs had showed up. There weren't orderlies here to hold her down. "Now, the cops needed to talk to you before you leave. They're waiting out by the desk. I've given a list of instructions to your bandmates on how to treat your stitches and how to deal with the concussion. It really isn't too severe, so mostly, watch your head when you are jamming away on stage."
Elena chuckled. "No headbanging. Got it."
"If you feel any pressure, any ringing in your ears, any sudden headaches, or if you suddenly start to vomit, get to an ER right away. We're releasing the xrays we took with you so you'll have them. You'll need to get those stitches out in about a week, but any instacare can do that for you."
"Okay."
A nurse came back in with all the paperwork. Elena let out a breath and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. They'd been cleaned, but she needed to do it. "Um, I'm going to change and then I'll talk to the cops I guess?"
"There's a small lounge area where you can." The doctor handed her the checkout papework and a prescription for a pain killer. She signed her paperwork and handed it to JJ and then looked back in the small mirror over the sink. Suddenly she needed to wash off the rest of the makeup. She turned around and grabbed her backpack, which had her small makeup bag. Inside was a fresh pack of makeup removal cloths and she scrubbed the last of the Halloween makeup off. It hurt to touch her face, but it was better than looking like half a monster. JJ hung out just past the curtain. She appreciated it.
It was 5 AM.
Clean t-shirt and hoodie, comfortable shoes, her hair up off her face - it still smelled of blood - she sipped a cup of weak coffee and stared at the officer who had waited all night for her statement. Tobie had refused to leave her side and now he curled up under the chair in the room, staring intently at the feet of the officer on the other side of the table. JJ waited outside. She wished they'd let him come in but realized they'd already questioned him. They wanted to make sure the statements were all the same. She was the one with the facial damage but apparently she'd really done a number on his knee when she kicked him.
"Chris Dawson is my band's tour manager," she said quietly.
"And did you have a personal relationship with him?"
"Yeah. Nothing serious, but yeah."
"Nothing serious?"
"We hooked up after shows sometimes. It happens on the road. Part of the culture, honestly." She shivered, sure they were going to just chalk it up to a lover's quarrel and walk away. At the moment, she was too tired to care.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Since the beginning of September but really, it's only been a few times." The cop scribbled some notes. Elena stared at her reflection on the oily surface of the coffee. She just wanted to sleep.
"So what happened tonight?"
"Um. We came off stage and the band always signs merch after the show. We meet with fans as long as we can. But I'm sick so I went back to the van. He objected. Firmly."
"Where did the altercation start?"
"In the parking lot."
"And it ended by the van."
"Yes."
"Where he hit you?"
"Yes."
"Did he hit you more than once?"
"Um ... not that I remember. He grabbed me a couple of times. Wrenched my shoulder a bit. When he hit me, I slipped and banged my face against the side mirror on the van and then I guess I scratched it on the running boards. I don't remember a lot. things got foggy really quickly." Suddenly she regretted saying it. What if they called for some kind of a psych consult because she couldn't remember?
"Had either of you been drinking?"
She sighed and curled in a bit on herself, wishing they'd have let JJ in. "I don't know about him. But we always do shots on stage. Fans buy us drinks."
"How much had you had to drink?"
"Three tequila shots over the course of an hour and a half. A couple of vodka shots. Not all that much, really."
"Did you feel intoxicated?"
"No."
Had they done a blood alcohol on her? What would it show? How much had she had to drink?
"So what else happened?"
"Nothing. We just fought and he hit me and I kicked him."
"And it was about you not returning to the merch table."
"Yeah. I'm sick. I just wanted to go to bed, you know."
"Was this behavior a surprise?"
She sighed. "No. Not really. He's been controlling but I chalked it up to his role as tour manager. He has to keep us all going and on task and that's hard sometimes. Running a tour is like trying to reason with a cat." That wasn't quite the right idea, but she couldn't find the words.
"Had you fought before?"
"Yeah, but not ... I usually didn't fight back like this. I usually just let him boss me around." She stared down at her coffee and sighed. "I just ... I'd had it tonight."
"Ms. Munez, I'll be honest with you, he has talked about filing charges given the damage to his knee. The best thing might be to just chalk this up to a bar fight and let it be."
Her stomach sank. Because she'd fought back, he could press charges. Because she'd defended herself, he could get away with hitting her first, with threatening her, with controlling her. She kept staring at her cup trying to keep from vomiting all over the table. He was fired and he'd have to get home on his own. So she nodded, accepting it. "Okay."
"Okay." The cop nodded and handed over a pad of paper. "You need to write down what happened and sign it." Elena took a minute to finish her statement and then passed it over along with all of her contact information and, at the last second, she had a moment of clarity and fished her phone out of her bag and quickly scribbled down the number of the family lawyer as well. The cop looked at the information and nodded. "I've got what I need. You can get on your way."
"Okay."
She got up and shook the cop's hand, feeling dirty and angry all over again. He'd hit first and she was the one who was getting a side-eye. Fuck. All she wanted was to sleep.
Micah and JJ were waiting. She felt them take up positions on either side of her and she walked with them, feeling small but still strong and they wouldn't let her fall. The van was outside waiting and she curled up in the passenger seat while the driver navigated them back to the motel. In the room, she curled up in her bed and plugged in her phone. Tobie pressed up against her side and she appreciated the dog's warmth.
Micah had called her parents and she had three messages - one from her mother, two from her father. She dialed his phone, knowing that they'd be together.
"Mija?" Came her father's worried voice after only one ring. "Mija, what is it?"
"Papi ..." she sniffed and started to cry, which only made her head hurt.
"Mija, honey?"
Over the line she heard her mother's voice and she cringed. Fuck. It wasn't a crisis, was it? After all, psych hadn't even been called. She gasped for air and finally started to talk. "Papi, I'm okay, I just ..." She shivered. "It's been a long night."
She was so sick that even the ends of her hair hurt. All she wanted was to get on the van and get back to the motel so she could sleep until the guys picked her up and over-medicated her so she could survive the flight to Hawai'i. As it was, the flight to Alaska had been hell and only made her sicker. But, in lieu of being able to get back because JJ and Micah were down at the merch table, she'd crash in the van. She just wanted to fucking sleep. It wasn't just the depressive cycle she'd been spiraling into since they'd started recording the album, but she was physically sick and sure she was leaking mucus out of every possible orifice on her body. This was what she got for wandering into a freezing river in Upstate New York. The guys had the merch table covered and it was her turn to do the tour diary so she'd post to the forum as soon as she was out of her stage clothes and in her pjs. But she needed to do it while lying down. It would also help if she could down an entire bottle of nyquil and put a heating pad on her chest. Until all of that happened, the van was a comfortable option. She'd slept in far worse places.
"Get the hell back in there."
Chris' voice stopped her and she turned, still sweating onto the towel around her neck, despite it being twenty degrees outside. Her stage clothes for the night were a barely there costume of a tiny tank top and skirt. Her nylons had runs in them. She could feel the makeup freezing to her face and she was still over heated. "What?" She croaked out. Really, she was about to die. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the security guard step closer and she appreciated the gesture.
"Get. In. There." Chris advanced on her. "Now."
Something about his tone kept her from giving a single fuck. She was done. They should have fired him weeks ago but she'd held on because it wasn't that long a tour. But since she'd stopped fucking him, he'd grown unbearable. "Fuck off, Chris." She shoved him aside. "I'm sick. I will pass out if I stand up for another ten minutes." She pushed past him and moved to the van. The heaven of sleep, even if it was uncomfortable sleep, was only a few minutes away. But a hand grabbed around her arm and she felt herself being yanked back so hard her shoulder wrenched. "Fuck!" She turned around. "Last I checked I need my shoulders, asshole." She started to cough violently but he wouldn't let go until the security guard took another step in.
"You have fans to sign merch for. They show up for you. Get the fuck out there. You've been skipping interviews, not meeting obligations, and now this."
She couldn't stop coughing. "I ..." she gasped between breaths, "have been sick. And if you weren't paying attention, but anything," she coughed again, "that I am contractually obligated to do I have been there for. We all," she wheezed, "all cover for each other when we're sick. It's part of the road. What I do," her chest was heaving, "when I am not obligated to be in front of people is my," she whzzed, "fucking," she coughed, "business."
What happened next was like when everything slowed down in the pit, but she wasn't with it enough to get out of the way.
He advanced on her again. She shrank back. The security guard moved to intercept but Chris' eyes flashed and he moved faster than all of them. Having spent her fair share of time ducking blows and dancing out of the way while moshing, she knew what to expect, knew instinctively knowing what was coming and knew that even with two burly guys right near her, there wasn't anything that could be done to stop what was coming.
Because the difference between a fight and the pit was that the pit was consensual. The pit was a chance to explode. A fight broke the tribal rules.
The back of Chris' fist made solid contact with her face. His size and speed knocked her sideways and Elena fell to the side, grabbing for the first thing she could feel, which was the side of the van and that was covered in snow and ice that had fallen during the set. Slipping, she smacked her cheek on the corner of the side mirror and then again on the running board as she stumbled and then slumped to the ground. Chris stood over her, fist coiled. He raised his hand back to strike again but froze in that position and she realized that the security guy and her tech had breached the event horizon of the black hole that surrounded moments like this. Still in "fight" mode, her foot kicked out and up and while she didn't hit paydirt, she did make solid contact with his knee and he stumbled back.
Their driver, who was the only other one around, ran over and helped her get back to her feet. She pressed her own knuckles into the mark on her cheek; her time in mosh pits had taught her how to keep the swelling down.
Somewhere in the background, she heard a dog barking.
"El, this is bleeding pretty bad. We need to get it looked at."
She hadn't realized she was bleeding. Was that why she couldn't really see? She couldn't tell who was talking to her. But she did level her hazy gaze on Chris.
"You're fired," she told him. "Get out of here."
They stared at each other.
"And don't think about arguing. I hired you. I can fire you."
Micah and JJ came tearing outside followed by two more security guys. Somewhere she registered their mutual cursing. JJ came to her. Micah advanced on Chris, his bulk an advantage. "What the fuck," she heard him say. "What the fuck did you do?"
JJ put his arms around her shoulders and guided her back to the green room. Once inside he grabbed one of the beers from the cooler and wrapped it in a t-shirt. "Put this on your eye, Elena," he said. She obeyed.
A security guy came in with the club owner, an ice pack, and a first aid kit. JJ swabbed at her face as gently as he could, but she still cried out from the sting. "We gotta get you to an ER, El. This needs to be looked at."
"Fuck that." Elena shook her head. It hurt to move. "We'll go to an instacare sometime tomorrow. I'm not hanging out all night in some ER."
"You could need stitches," she heard someone saying. Things were so foggy all of a sudden. Where was Tobie? Where was her dog? The van. He'd been in the van with their driver. She needed him. "And if you wait too long, they can't stitch it up and you're more likely to get infected if it doesn't heal right. It's right near your eye. That's not anything to fuck with."
"And, Elena," a voice caught her attention. The club owner. "It would help me if you made this official. Insurance and all. No offense and I know it wasn't your fault, but shit like this needs to be documented."
"Yeah ..." she winced. God this was humiliating. "I'm so sorry." Why was she dizzy? The beer bottle had been swapped for the ice pack and she pressed it to her face until it hurt to much to hold it there and when she pulled it away all she could do was stare at the bright red spot on the white towel around it.
"Don't worry about it. You don't hit girls around here, unless they're in the pit. Wasn't on you." Was that the club owner?
She almost started laughing but then the coughing started again and she tasted blood trickling down the back of her throat, which only made her gag.
"Anyway, they can give you something for your cough," JJ said. "And the paramedics are on the way."
Elena shivered and pressed the ice pack back to her face. Why wouldn't they listen? She just wanted to go to bed. She'd be okay in the morning. She wanted her dog. She was cold. Someone handed over a hoodie, which she appreciated, and she dropped the pack long enough to shrug into it. But she looked down. Looked down at the towel, which had even more blood on it than before. Her blood. The hoodie fell to her lap, forgotten, and she shivered and stared at the ice pack and her hands and her wrists. Everything was bloody. Everything was covered in her blood. What had she done? She hadn't meant to do anything? What ... she didn't remember ... the show had been so good even though she was sick and she'd just been outside. When had she hurt herself? The towel wrapped around the beer bottle was covered in blood. Her blood. She shivered and stared at it, suddenly pressing her thumbs into her wrists. No. She hadn't done it. She hadn't ... she ...
No. It wasn't hers. It wasn't ...
It was hers.
It was hers.
Her fingers grazed the towel and she stared at her hands. Covered in blood. Her blood. What ...
She clawed at her wrist covers, searching for the source of the blood, staring at her wrists. Staring ...
"Fuck!" She heard Micah say. "Get a washcloth! Something to wash her hands off. Quick."
Everything was a fog. She hurt. Why did she hurt? Why was everything so far away?
"Elena ..." she felt his fingers on her cheeks and she flinched. "Elena, you didn't do this to yourself. You didn't hurt yourself. It's okay."
Such a fog.
She through through the haze as he took a washcloth from someone and wiped her hands down. "See, Elena," he said to her, "no cuts. No harm. You didn't do this to yourself." But her head hurt so much. Why did her head hurt? He pushed the ice pack into her hand and then her hand to her face. "Hold that there. You're okay. The paramedics will be here soon."
"No. No cops. I ..." She didn't want to go back to psych. They were in Alaska. They'd keep her here where it was dark and gray, so gray, most of the time. They'd admit her and she'd be stuck in a room and they'd cancel the shows and the label wouldn't give them another album and no one else would pick them up because she was a risk because look at what she'd done to herself while she was on tour. Why the hell had they called the cops? the press was going to be all over this because cops at a show in Alaska and they wouldn't be invited to come back and her father was going to read about how she went crazy and hurt herself and no one would ever trust her again. No one.
"We're getting you to an ER, okay? You could have a concussion and you need stitches."
"No. No ER ..." Why wouldn't they listen? The ER would admit her to psych! She just needed to sleep.
She closed her eyes.
Hands moved her. A man in a blue coat asked her questions but she couldn't remember answering them. He touched the side of her face. It hurt. Micah's low baritone rumbled around her. She heard words like fight. But she just wanted to close her eyes. Just ... close her eyes.
She woke up on a stretcher in an ER. Tobie was stretched across her lap.
"What ...?"
Elena jumped and tried to pull her arm to the side but tape and tubes and needles kept her still. The warmth of her dog grounded her and she took a breath, adjusting herself, trying to figure out what was happening. There were fluids attached to her and her face felt tight. She raised her hand and felt a couple of stitches on her forehead. In that moment she realized she wasn't restrained and her breath started to come easier.
"There she is," JJ was standing close by. "You kind of passed out."
She groaned and sat up a bit more. Tobie whimpered and adjusted himself around her legs. "What time is it?" She was about to ask why she was here, but hazy images started to appear in her mind.
"Four AM. You passed out in the green room. But they've got you stitched up and full of fluids again. You've got a concussion and possibly walking pneumonia, they're waiting on the tests. But you're going to be fine."
"Shit ..." she sat up completely and swung her legs over the cot. Tobie grumbled but let her move. She stroked the soft spot between the dog's eyes. "What the fuck happened?"
"You remember the fight with Chris?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Just feels like a lifetime ago." She shuddered. "I remember blood ... on my hands." She looked down. Her hands were clean. Her wrists in tact. Her heart rate returned to normal.
"Head wounds gush and yours gushed everywhere. You're fine." JJ grinned. "It's nice to be in an ER with you and not be waiting for psych."
She appreciated the comment and offered the appropriate chuckle because she totally agreed. "What happened to Chris?"
"Cops took him down based on witness statements but we aren't sure if they're going to hold him and they still need to talk to you. Some CSI type was here a bit ago, snapping pictures of your face. Someone is supposed to come talk to you before you go. I guess they want a statement and stuff."
"Okay." She shivered. "I'm cold and covered in blood and sweat." She did feel better though.
"Micah's been dealing with the label and the press stuff since, you know, we don't really have a tour manager right now. But, he brought you a change of clothes." JJ handed over her backpack and she peeked in. Her usual road jeans, a t-shirt, and her favorite hoodie. He'd even grabbed extra shoes.
"As soon as they unhook these IVs, I'll change."
"I'll go get a doctor."
Elena nodded and after he stepped out, kicked off her boots and pulled her jeans up over her nylons. She wiggled her skirt down and pulled on clean socks and her canvas shoes before they came back. Already she felt more human. She wanted to ask JJ if they'd called her parents. She didn't want them to hear about this through some gossip channel or something. Where the hell was her phone?
"Ms. Munez, hi." A tired looking woman stepped around the curtain. "It's good to see you up. You gave your bandmates quite a scare. I'm Doctor Lindt."
"Hi, Doctor." She couldn't help but glance over the doctor's shoulder, expecting to see a social worker standing there, ready to admit her to a psych ward. Only JJ. She chewed on her lip, suddenly anxious. Suddenly trapped. What were they going to do to her?
"You're going to be fine. You've got a nasty cold that is mirroring flu symptoms, but it doesn't look like you actually have the flu or pneumonia, which was something we were worried about. The head wound looked worse than it was, but the concussion and the dehydration from being sick and the show, that all just created a perfect storm. You'll have a shiner to talk about for a few days though."
"I can go then?"
"Yes." The doctor nodded to a nurse who came over to unhook the IVs. "I wouldn't recommend traveling for 24 hours, if that can be arranged."
"We have to be in Hawai'i..." she realized it was already the 24th. "Tomorrow." She swallowed and looked at JJ who shrugged.
The doctor continued, "If you need to travel, you're going to need to get a lot of rest and stay well hydrated. No booze for at least forty-eight hours." She offered a smile and Elena shrugged, suddenly nervous again. But it didn't seem like they were going to keep her. No psych techs had showed up. There weren't orderlies here to hold her down. "Now, the cops needed to talk to you before you leave. They're waiting out by the desk. I've given a list of instructions to your bandmates on how to treat your stitches and how to deal with the concussion. It really isn't too severe, so mostly, watch your head when you are jamming away on stage."
Elena chuckled. "No headbanging. Got it."
"If you feel any pressure, any ringing in your ears, any sudden headaches, or if you suddenly start to vomit, get to an ER right away. We're releasing the xrays we took with you so you'll have them. You'll need to get those stitches out in about a week, but any instacare can do that for you."
"Okay."
A nurse came back in with all the paperwork. Elena let out a breath and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. They'd been cleaned, but she needed to do it. "Um, I'm going to change and then I'll talk to the cops I guess?"
"There's a small lounge area where you can." The doctor handed her the checkout papework and a prescription for a pain killer. She signed her paperwork and handed it to JJ and then looked back in the small mirror over the sink. Suddenly she needed to wash off the rest of the makeup. She turned around and grabbed her backpack, which had her small makeup bag. Inside was a fresh pack of makeup removal cloths and she scrubbed the last of the Halloween makeup off. It hurt to touch her face, but it was better than looking like half a monster. JJ hung out just past the curtain. She appreciated it.
It was 5 AM.
Clean t-shirt and hoodie, comfortable shoes, her hair up off her face - it still smelled of blood - she sipped a cup of weak coffee and stared at the officer who had waited all night for her statement. Tobie had refused to leave her side and now he curled up under the chair in the room, staring intently at the feet of the officer on the other side of the table. JJ waited outside. She wished they'd let him come in but realized they'd already questioned him. They wanted to make sure the statements were all the same. She was the one with the facial damage but apparently she'd really done a number on his knee when she kicked him.
"Chris Dawson is my band's tour manager," she said quietly.
"And did you have a personal relationship with him?"
"Yeah. Nothing serious, but yeah."
"Nothing serious?"
"We hooked up after shows sometimes. It happens on the road. Part of the culture, honestly." She shivered, sure they were going to just chalk it up to a lover's quarrel and walk away. At the moment, she was too tired to care.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Since the beginning of September but really, it's only been a few times." The cop scribbled some notes. Elena stared at her reflection on the oily surface of the coffee. She just wanted to sleep.
"So what happened tonight?"
"Um. We came off stage and the band always signs merch after the show. We meet with fans as long as we can. But I'm sick so I went back to the van. He objected. Firmly."
"Where did the altercation start?"
"In the parking lot."
"And it ended by the van."
"Yes."
"Where he hit you?"
"Yes."
"Did he hit you more than once?"
"Um ... not that I remember. He grabbed me a couple of times. Wrenched my shoulder a bit. When he hit me, I slipped and banged my face against the side mirror on the van and then I guess I scratched it on the running boards. I don't remember a lot. things got foggy really quickly." Suddenly she regretted saying it. What if they called for some kind of a psych consult because she couldn't remember?
"Had either of you been drinking?"
She sighed and curled in a bit on herself, wishing they'd have let JJ in. "I don't know about him. But we always do shots on stage. Fans buy us drinks."
"How much had you had to drink?"
"Three tequila shots over the course of an hour and a half. A couple of vodka shots. Not all that much, really."
"Did you feel intoxicated?"
"No."
Had they done a blood alcohol on her? What would it show? How much had she had to drink?
"So what else happened?"
"Nothing. We just fought and he hit me and I kicked him."
"And it was about you not returning to the merch table."
"Yeah. I'm sick. I just wanted to go to bed, you know."
"Was this behavior a surprise?"
She sighed. "No. Not really. He's been controlling but I chalked it up to his role as tour manager. He has to keep us all going and on task and that's hard sometimes. Running a tour is like trying to reason with a cat." That wasn't quite the right idea, but she couldn't find the words.
"Had you fought before?"
"Yeah, but not ... I usually didn't fight back like this. I usually just let him boss me around." She stared down at her coffee and sighed. "I just ... I'd had it tonight."
"Ms. Munez, I'll be honest with you, he has talked about filing charges given the damage to his knee. The best thing might be to just chalk this up to a bar fight and let it be."
Her stomach sank. Because she'd fought back, he could press charges. Because she'd defended herself, he could get away with hitting her first, with threatening her, with controlling her. She kept staring at her cup trying to keep from vomiting all over the table. He was fired and he'd have to get home on his own. So she nodded, accepting it. "Okay."
"Okay." The cop nodded and handed over a pad of paper. "You need to write down what happened and sign it." Elena took a minute to finish her statement and then passed it over along with all of her contact information and, at the last second, she had a moment of clarity and fished her phone out of her bag and quickly scribbled down the number of the family lawyer as well. The cop looked at the information and nodded. "I've got what I need. You can get on your way."
"Okay."
She got up and shook the cop's hand, feeling dirty and angry all over again. He'd hit first and she was the one who was getting a side-eye. Fuck. All she wanted was to sleep.
Micah and JJ were waiting. She felt them take up positions on either side of her and she walked with them, feeling small but still strong and they wouldn't let her fall. The van was outside waiting and she curled up in the passenger seat while the driver navigated them back to the motel. In the room, she curled up in her bed and plugged in her phone. Tobie pressed up against her side and she appreciated the dog's warmth.
Micah had called her parents and she had three messages - one from her mother, two from her father. She dialed his phone, knowing that they'd be together.
"Mija?" Came her father's worried voice after only one ring. "Mija, what is it?"
"Papi ..." she sniffed and started to cry, which only made her head hurt.
"Mija, honey?"
Over the line she heard her mother's voice and she cringed. Fuck. It wasn't a crisis, was it? After all, psych hadn't even been called. She gasped for air and finally started to talk. "Papi, I'm okay, I just ..." She shivered. "It's been a long night."