Dying In LA ||Frerard/Ryden/Petekey||

George Ryan Ross III

*presant day*

"Hey, kid" someone in the alley yelled, they sounded aggressive. "Wanna make $20?" They said. Almost a whisper into the night.

"Depends, i'm not sucking you off for $20" I said back, a sarcastic smirk on my face.

"Oh no, nothing like that, but I need someone to drive for me" he said, annoyance and frustration flowing in his gravelly voice.

"Yeah I guess, when?" I questioned. I knew to be weary of strangers, but hey, $20 is $20.

"Right now." He said back, laughing slightly as he finished the sentence.

"Where are we going?" I questioned "my ma' will be worried if i'm not back by Wednesday." I said childishly. I know i'm a dork, but I love my ma' and I don't want her to worry and call the cops like the last time I spent the night with my ex boyfriend, Dally.

"We'll be back by Tuesday night" the gravely voice said. I could hear light footsteps coming from the alley.

"You ready?" The voice said.

"Yup. Where to?" I said as we got into a crappy old mini van.

"New Jersey. I have some business I need to attend to."

"What type of business"I said "if you don't mind me asking." I said feverishly.

"You'll see, we need to make a stop, you know where palm boulevard is?" He questioned.

"I want my $20 first." I said. There was no way I was gonna drive him from L.A. to New Jersey.

"Goddamn kid.!" He exclaimed before reaching into his pocket and grabbing a 20. His calloused hands shoved the bill into my hand.

37 hours later...

We pulled into palm boulevard. As soon as we reached the first stop sign, I yanked the car door open and bolted.

"HEY KID, GET BACK HERE!" I hear him yell.

How could someone be so stupid?

As I ran, I felt something pierce my skin, and rip through my chest. A loud bang rang through the air.

Before I knew it, I was out on the ground. A searing pain went throughout my chest, and pullsed through my body.

The last thing I heard were sirens, blaring through the air.

And the license plate to the car that read "BR1GHT"

*3 days later*

I open up my eyes slightly.

My eyes go fuzzy as I strain them to focus on any one thing in the room.

There is a painting of a moon over the ocean on the left side of the room. And on the other side there were three chairs, one of which a man with raven black hair was sitting in, his elbows resting right above his knees and his face in his hands.

I tried to speak which sent searing pain down my throat. Apperently the nurse put one of those breathing tube-y things down my throat.

Instead of trying to speak, I started thrashing violently in my hospital bed, I could feel the IV in my arm, the cold metal of the needle in my wrist.

Suddenly, the dude sitting in the chair stands up, rushing to my side.

He reaches over my head presses the nurse button. Then he dashes to the door and runs left down the corridor.

"HEY GUYS, HE'S AWAKE, AND HE IS TRYING TO TALK." He yelled down the hallway.

He had a gravelly voice, he probably smokes and drinks a ton of coffee which is basically suicide for your throat.

The door to my room flew open and two nurses and the guy with the fucked up voice walk into my room.

"Hey, don't try to talk" The female nurse said. She has blonde hair cut into a pixie cut, darker roots peeking out ever so slightly, with green eyes. The other nurse was male, with dark brown hair and small crows feet in the corners of his dark brown, almost black, eyes.

The second man, who I assume was the one yelling down the halls, has dark black, chin length greasy hair, and has striking hazel eyes.

No homo.

But he is hot.

The nurse pressed a few buttons on the moniter next to my bed, turning down the loud volume of the beeping from my pulse.

"Mr. Way, could you take a seat over there while we remove the tube from his throat?" The female nurse said, barely understandable under her thick jersey accent.

"Yeah sure, afterwords will he be in a state where we will be able to do a brief questioning?" He asked the nurses. He also had quite the accent, but his was a little lighter, almost like honey.

"We'll see what state he is in, his throat may be a little scratched from trying to communicate with us through the breathing apparatus" the male nurse said "but if not most likely tomorrow morning." He said. He sounded northern, probably Virginia or D.C..

The doctors adjusted the pillows behind me and pulled out the tube thingy. It stung slightly but I guess that's what I get for trying to talk to people.

"What time is it?" I managed to mumble.

"12:38" the man with the dark hair said.

"How does your throat feel?" The female nurse asked politely.

"It's ok, could we do whatever that 'questioning' thing is tomorrow?" I asked.

I wonder what shit I got myself into this time.

"Of course, Mr. Way is that OK with you?" The male nurse said, twisting his body so his eyes met with 'Mr. Way'

"Absolutely" he said, turning off his phone "but please call me Gerard" he said with a cheeky half smile.

That was the last thing I saw before I fell into a deep sleep.

At least that's what the nurses thought.

I opened my eyes as soon as they turned off the lights and left the room.

I wonder what shit storm this is going to be.

I've always had a thing for finding trouble when I definitely don't need it, so this should be interesting.

And who was that guy with the black hair? And why was he in my room? I've never seen him bedore, at least I think i've never seen him before.

Hopefully he's not a news reporter.

This should be fun.