Recount the Seconds (Muke)

Chapter 10

Present - Ashton

"You've gotta stop him," Luke begs, again. 

I clench my fingers around the phone receiver and fall back into my arm chair. What can I say to him? That maybe it's for the best? That maybe this is what they need? No. It's not what he wants to hear. "I'm sorry, Luke," I repeat. "I can't -- he think's he's gotta do this."

"But--" 

"You have to let him do this."

"What if it ruins everything?"

"What if it fixes everything?"

"He's never going to remember me."

"Don't say that."

"Ashton?" Matt repeats. 

I jump to attention, focusing on our frustrated manager. "Sorry. I'm somewhere else right now." 

"Yep," he sighs. 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's fine, Ashton. Whatever. I just need a progress update." 

"Not much has changed, honestly." 

"In two months?" 

I try not to be angry with Matt, reminding myself that we agreed to do this: we'd let Mikey go home, keep Cal and Luke in London, let things work themselves out, and in two months, we'd regroup. The idea was a lot could change in two months. The reality is nearly nothing did. Except Luke. One stupid phone call, one wrong step, and I lost Luke. 

*****

Present - Calum

"Ten," Ellen chants. 

I lift my shoulders from the mat for the last time, relishing the burning in my torso. I can do this, I tell myself. I can move again.

"Aaaaand we're done for the day," the toned, blonde woman smiles down at me. "Good job, love." 

Nodding, I close my eyes and take deep breaths. Physical therapy feels great because, after months of feeling trapped in my own body, I'm realizing I'm free. Stiff and weak, granted, but free. Eventually, I get up off my mat and head for the showers. 

The cabbie returns my Oyster Card and with a tip of the head, I jog toward our front door and whip out my key. Inside the flat, I hear rapid-fire tapping coming from the kitchen. 

"All right, Ash?" I call. 

Receiving only a grunt for a reply, I toss aside my jacket and head toward the noise. When I step into the kitchen, I see my bandmate moving about the room shirtless with tousled hair, a spoon in his mouth, and a slightly wild look in his eyes. He taps the counter top while peering into various cabinets.

"Need help?"

"Where's the goddamn Vegemite?" he mutters through the spoon. 

"Rough morning?"

"You didn't finish it, did you?" he turns and glares at me. 

"Nope," I shrug. "Luke?" 

"Not here." 

"Is something burning?"

"Fuck," he growls, turning toward the toaster. 

I shuffle my feet uncomfortably. Ash gets flustered and distracted when he's angry, and because it almost never happens, seeing him like this makes me nervous. Instead of saying anything, I shuffle over to the open cabinet and reach toward the back of the top shelf, procuring the Vegemite.

"Here," I sigh.

He pulls the plug on the toaster and bends over to lean his elbows on the counter, dropping his head into his hands. "I talked to Matt." 

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"What'd he say?"

"That he doesn't know what to say to me. Basically."

"He shouldn't say that."

"What's he supposed to say?"

"He shouldn't be annoyed with you. If he's mad at anyone it should be m--"

"Don't. I've fucked up, I was supposed to fix this..."  

"You've done everything you--"

"I didn't help Luke." 

I go silent. Luke isn't Ash's fault, or Michael's...well, I think of it as Luke's and mine. My fault for starting this, and Luke's for letting himself go dark side, so to speak. Ash couldn't have held him together.  No one could, really. Not even Liz. 

It's sad, how Liz has withdrawn. How we've all withdrawn, really. Mikey's back with his parents in another hemisphere, our families have gone home, our manager has given us space...and that leaves Luke, Ashton, and me to our various coping mechanisms. Luke to his room, his fucked up sleep schedule, his loud music, his crappy food, his alcohol. Me to physical therapy, girls, long walks and public transport, anything to get my mind off the situation. Ash to media and prolonged silence, to coffee and restless ticking and a goddamn Sense of Responsibility. To his...God, I worry he'll go back...Ash always seemed so well adjusted and comfortable with himself, but bright smiles and good will have always been his shield. Now, even that front's slipping. 

And I want to say something, but there's a wall of silence even between the two of us now. Speaking to him feels like yelling across a room. We never say exactly what we mean, and our words barely reach each other. So much and so little is left to be understood. 

I pluck the burnt bread from the toaster and toss it in the trash can. In its place, I pop in two new slices of bread. Slapping a hand on Ash's shoulder, I peer down toward his hidden face. "Please don't be so hard on yourself," I whisper.

When he remains motionless, I turn and, wordlessly, head for my room. 

*****

Present - Luke

Dangling my feet above the dirty water of the Thames, I watch my wavering reflection, noting the hollowness in my eye sockets and under my cheekbones. Ash tries to get me to eat more, but--

Well. We don't talk much, not since Mikey left, only business now. I forget what happened. A lot feels fuzzy, but I guess I've been drowning it all out--

One blow out too many, probably, one more instance where we can't quite bridge the gap--

I got tired of pretending to hold it together, that's it, Mom's sick of me, Ash is sick of me, Matt's sick of me...they can piss off--

I don't want to talk to anyone. They're all so sympathetic--

Drinking alone is better. Edges go soft and I find some corner, some bench to nap on, no one would recognize me anyway and the anonymity of the city is beautiful when one is trying to lose himself--

If my thoughts never go quite steady, never settle, I don't have to think about them, about him, don't have to--

I glance at my phone screen, at all the unanswered texts, and for a second I think about dropping it in the river, right there, gone--

But I can't throw away that key, the last little link I have with him, I'm broken, but I can't let go, not yet...

Not yet. 

*****

 Hey all! 

Another short one tonight...and everything is sad. I promise things get happier soon! Seriously. But a couple of things need to happen first, and we're working on our way. I had another part I wanted to add to this chapter, but it got late and I'm exhausted, so I decided to cut it and start next chapter with that section instead. We're gonna learn a bit more about Mikey's injury and prognosis, and (as usual, I guess) shit will go down. BIG shit though. Hint hint. Anyway. Hope you had a good weekend. Love you all. 

xx,

baconastronaut