Where We Started [Joetrick]

8. Calamity

Joe Trohman:

A soft, rhythmic, beeping roused me from my sleep. Harsh lighting bloomed against my eyelids, stirring me into consciousness.

Pete probably forgot to turn his alarm off.

Someone was repetitively mumbling something under their breath and there was a faint, warm pressure on my left hand.

I groaned. "Pete, turn off your alarm."

The mumbling stopped suddenly. "Joe?" The voice asked uncertainly.

I opened my eyes and instantly regretted it. The bright, white light did nothing to soothe the headache from my raging hangover.

"Pete, can you please shut the blinds. My head is killing me." I groaned.

I waited for a sassy remark about how I complained too much; instead, someone shuffled around, and the bright light was gone. But the damned beeping noise continued insistently.

"I asked you to turn your alarm off Pete-" I opened my eyes to see Patrick leaning above me, his blue-green eyes worried.

He smiled. "You're awake. Finally, I couldn't be sure, you've been talking in your sleep for the past two days."

"Patrick, no offense, I've literally been dreaming about waking up next to you for at least two weeks. But, what are you doing in my dorm room?" I raised an eyebrow. "And sleeping for two days? What did they put in that beer?"

He took my hand gently. "Joe, you're not in your dorm room," he said quietly.

"Wh-what do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow. "Of course I'm in my dorm room. Where else would I be?"

Patrick bit his bottom lip. "You're-" he struggled with his words, "you're in the hospital."

I looked around the room. Suddenly the constant beeping noise and bright, white light of the room made sense.

"H-how?" I stuttered, panic clawing at my chest. "I don't remember anything." My panicked eyes met his. "Why can't I remember?"

Patrick helped me into a sitting position. "Brendon was driving you, Pete, and I home after the party. He was going too fast and came up on a tight curve; the car rolled three times and hit a tree. You hit your head really hard."

I softly traced the soft bandages wrapped around the top of my skull. "I don't have amnesia right? I mean, I remember you."

He smiled a little. "Nothing as severe as that. You had a bad concussion though. The doctors put you under a medically induced coma."

There was something he wasn't telling me.

"And Brendon, is he okay?" I leaned back against the bed.

Patrick twiddled his fingers anxiously. I took his hand in mine, and he smiled at me gratefully.

"Brendon's okay, his legs got pretty banged up though. He has to go to rehab for extensive nerve damage," Patrick reported. "He'll be confined to a wheelchair for a while."

Again, I got the feeling that I didn't know the whole story. But by the way Patrick was acting, I seriously questioned if I wanted to.

"A-and Pete?" I swallowed the lump on my throat. "How's Pete doing?"

The melancholy look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

I shook his head. "No. This is a joke. This isn't real. This can't be real!"

His sullen eyes told me that this was real.

"He-he died on impact. It was horrible," Patrick said quietly.