Strolson Twins

Chapter IX (Camaros and Pink Casts)

Asher's POV

As I walked towards the building, I didn't note that there was no sign, just what looked like a dealership that got shut down, but was still in good shape. It was a concrete building, nothing more, nothing less.

But it didn't faze me at all. The target car was a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro SS 396. A red paint job and white racing stripes. Chrome shining. I was drooling. Rushing to the metal door, I found it to be locked.

I searched the ground around the sidewalk and curb and finally found what I was searching for.

I picked it up, and muttered, "Bingo."

Holding up the rusty bobby-pin, I smiled widely. I walked to the metal door and started to pick the lock.

Click.

I sat in the car, to find that the keys I had fit the car's ignition. Hmm. My still-drunk didn't quite understand the situation.

~~~Sometime Later~~~

The Camaro purred and growled, depending on if I were cruising or speeding up. Now I was cruising to the hospital, pretty smooth compared to what could have happened. I could be hitting other cars like there was no tomorrow, or speeding like I was on a chase, being chased to giving chase. As I pulled into a parking space, my iPhone rang. I looked at it and frowned.

Ignore.

Turning back to the road, I realized that I missed the turn for the hospital.

Oh well.

I made a probably-illegal U-turn, and made a sharp turn to the parking lot of the hospital. The sharp movement caused a pleasurable chorus of low horns for the bass and high-pitched beeps for tenors. How lovely.

As I carefully pulled into a parking place-thingy, I winced as I scraped the mirror against my neighbor's window. I imagined a decent scratch there and probably a nice scuff on the Camaro's mirror.

Damn. I still need to get my board. Never went through with that, did I?

I still didn't know whose car this is, but oh well. I pulled away, turning the wheel too early and deepening the scratch on the car next to me.

Speeding to the resort, I called for a rental board and strapped my boots to it, and got a ride to the top of the mountain.

~~~Another Time Skip~~~

I skid to a stop at the dreaded collision site, and saw all the footprints and my splintered board. The shattered pieces were scattered everywhere.

My beloved board. Irreplaceable. Absolutely, undeniably, irresistibly, truly, without question, beyond doubt, sincerely, definitely, genuinely, legitimately, positively, devotedly, through-and-through, righteously, faithfully mine. All mine, resulting in the best months so far in Whistler.

And that's saying something. My heart hated this feeling of loss, so my drunk brain suggested another drink. My body agreed on autopilot and moved to the car and drove home and grabbed a bottle of something I've never had before. Also saying something.

The liquid fire ignited my throat as it slid to my stomach. The burn was so bad, I coughed to the empty mansion, save for the fucking cats. Ugh.

~~~Later That Hour~~~

As I walked to Alex's room, the green gym bag of alcohol at my side, a strange feeling enveloped my insides. I brushed it off, but didn't notice a nurse walk from a room to my left a little quickly, and my sluggishly drunk reflexes didn't help me to move, or stop out fall to the floor, the bag making a dull clang as it fell.

I thanked my brain for thinking of wrapping a shirt around each bottle to muffle the sound of glass on glass as the bag moved at my hip as I walked.

A groan came from the figure next to me, whom I narrowed my eyes at, and stood to leave it there. I walked away, and no other sounds came from the form on the floor. Oh well.

Continuing to walk, I passed a number of rooms, some mauling my senses. Some, my eyes. Others, my nose. The rest, my memories. My unicorn-barf brain finally found a solution; only look forward, and hold the breath, letting it out at each desk-area-thing-that-are-located-by-every-exit. Taking a deep breath, I began to walk again, and finally found Alex's room.

This room held the answer to the worst question known to mankind. Does my only friend hate me now? What will happen to said friend's skating career? Will he forgive me? Letting go the breath I was still holding, I put my hand on the doorknob, only to have it opened for me by an exiting doctor. He looked at me like a grew a foot on the top of my head.

"Twin," I explained, and he nodded, understanding.

Continuing past him, I walked to the empty doorway, and stepped to the enemy's territory. I walked past another door, and then saw Alex, who was looking elsewhere.

"You broke my board, bastard. That was the best board I've ever had," I growled, unreasonably angry and agitated.

Jumping a mile, his head snapped to my direction and made eye contact, looking at me as if I were a ghost.

"Sorry," he replied, looking at the sheets he was covered in.

"Well? Do you hate me for breaking your leg?" I asked, somewhat amused now. I didn't show it, of course.

"No. I'm more angry at myself at myself," Alex admitted, "I should really stop looking for you."

I smiled, feeling a little victorious. "Do you wanna do something about that anger?"

He formed a fist with one hand, and asked, "What would that be?"

"Mailbox smashing," I revealed. From behind my back, I pulled the bat from the sling I had beneath my shirt, and smiled wider.

"You are an idiot."

"What? Why?!"

He tapped his knuckles on my arm, probably a lame attempt at a punch, and quietly informed me, "I have an immovable leg."

My face drooped slightly, and it must have shown because his eyes saddened, and his frown deepened.

"Oh," I breathed.

"It's fine," I tried.

"After you have healed, you promise that you'll go smashing with me?"

I couldn't help it; my face lifted to a smile, and I felt a bubbly feeling rise. The feeling was exaggerated from the alcohol inside me. I practically jumped in joy.

"Sur-" Alex began, but was cut off by the doctor bursting through the door.

"Here, open these. I need to get the hot water going," he said, rushing to the sink-thing.

He handed me some packages of something I couldn't tell you for the life of Dutch, and I looked inside. Bright pink bandage-things. I giggled, and the sound brought bubbly things inside me again. Alex tried to look, but I tilted the package away. I was confused for a second, then busted out in full-blown laughing.

"What?" Alex demanded.

"Nothing," I denied, then giggled schoolgirl-version-2.0.

Alex crossed his arms, and pouted like a four-year-old girl.

"Tell me!" he demanded again.

"Okay, ready!" the doctor affirmed.

The doctor lowered the sling that held Alex's leg, causing a wince from said patient. He unwrapped the bandage, and put gauze over it. He then took bandages from me and I put my hands over Alex's eyes.

When the doctor was finished, I uncovered his eyes, and they practically rolled out of his head, as he ogled at his leg. Hot pink was spread about his leg, and I smiled at his expression.

Alex shot a weak glare at the doctor and he looked back, smiling.

"You said to pick 'the first one you see,'" the doctor smirked/choked out, laughing his ass off.

I followed suit, but beat him in volume. My lungs and diaphragm were dying soon, so I quieted. Alex was glaring at the pair of us, but the small smile was giving him away.