A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(31) Break A Little

( SCOTT )

My fists and jaw are clenched in pain when the door is quietly pushed open. Agonizingly, I slowly turn my head towards it to see Kirstie nervously standing in the doorway, her cheeks wet and eyes bloodshot. I try to smile a little, but instead grimace in pain. Fuck.

"Hi," she says softly, sliding into the room and then quietly shutting the door behind her. She gingerly makes her way over to the bed, her eyes glued on mine. "How are you feeling?"

A low groan escapes my lips. "Aside from the fact that my chest is on fire and the anesthesia hasn't fully worn off yet, just swell." I squeeze my eyes shut as a new wave of pain washes over me, radiating from my chest and all the way up to my head, where it pounds like a motherfucker. It hurts to fucking breathe, and it even feels like my beating heart is aiding the pain, too. Well, this is just fucking great.

I can hear Kirstie wince. "I'm sorry, Scotty," she says softly. "You had,... well, the bullet hit two of your ribs and they needed to reset them in the OR. The doctors are expecting you to make a full recovery, though."

"Yeah," I say through gritted teeth, clutching the sheets as I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. "They didn't tell me all this motherfuckin'—ow—pain was part of the deal."

Kirstie doesn't say anything for a moment, though I wish she would. I need something to distract myself from the throbbing, the aching, the hurting, the flaring pain that's resided itself in my torso. I try to take as little breaths as necessary, and this is one of those times that I'm thankful I'm a singer for a living, that I've been trained to take short breaths and function on little air.

"Do you need pain—" she starts, her voice small, and I immediately feel guilty when I accidentally snap at her as I interrupt her.

"I'm on some already," I spit, finally opening my eyes to see Kirstie's apologetic ones staring down at me, filled with tears. Suddenly the pain doesn't matter as much anymore, because I've just made my best friend cry and that's something I can't deal with.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, focusing on her eyes and the way they shine with tears. Focusing on her wispy blonde locks that look like they've been air-drying for quite some time now. Focusing on the way her make-up-free skin glows in the sterile hospital lighting. Focusing on her eyebrow rings, on the several piercings in her ears.

"It's okay," she whispers back, though I know it's a lie. "You're in pain. I get it."

Squeezing my eyes shut again, I inhale and exhale three quick breaths, clutching onto the sheets the whole time. With a wince, I reopen my eyes and ask hoarsely, "How's Avi?"

"He's okay," Kirstie tells me, pulling her arms around herself in a tight embrace. "He was shot in the stomach, but he's expected to make a full recovery, too. Jonathan got here less than an hour ago. We're all okay." She smiles weakly at me, her eyes still wet, and I wonder if she's hiding something. If there's something she's not telling me.

But the pain returns and I'm screaming in agony before I can pry more information out of her.

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After the show, Avi and I decide to head out back to greet some fans hanging out by the tourbuses. We're sweaty messes, but nobody seems to take notice—or, if they do, they don't comment on it (not even any of the parents). The two of us spend about a half hour with the fans, chatting, taking pictures, signing autographs, accepting gifts. There's at least five people who hand me neatly wrapped presents and ask me to give them to Mitch. It's quite adorable, actually.