Beautifully Broken

Break Bones

Ashley

"You need five hundred of these?" The runner stares down at our grocery list, eyebrow hitched up to his hairline. "Am I reading this right?"

Rolling my eyes, I nod, moving out of the way as Ryan slides past with another bucket of chocolate syrup. It'll be a miracle if we aren't slapped with an insane cleaning bill. There's no way I'm letting Bert get away with this one without retaliation. The pranking started out on our first tour together. It was innocent enough back then. Stealing each other's shoes, replacing coffee grinds with dirt, stupid kid stuff. This is taking it to a whole other level. When the hell did he even find the time to fill the whole fucking bathtub with chocolate syrup?

While trying to find a way to rid the bath of congealed syrup, Ryan, Matt, Andrew, and I cooked up an equally devious plan. Sure, it sucks for the runner, but we aren't going to just take this laying down. This calls for a prank war to end all prank wars. Bert set the bar high. We're accepting the challenge to raise it.

We'll have a solid two hours while The Used is off the bus to do soundcheck and interviews. We're here to make sure they come back to the shock of a lifetime. The four of us wait anxiously for The Used to drive away. Ryan jumps around, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. As the yellow cab pulls away we spring into action. Starting at the back of the bus we fill every inch of space in mousetraps. Andrew and Matt work to line the top bunks while Ryan and I line the bottom ones. All of us walk on tiptoe, aware that one misstep could ruin our work. Gently placing the final trap on the last step, I shut the bus door. Everyone falls into each other, letting out a collective sigh. We go into the show full of excited energy.

Three songs in. The crowd going wild, feeding off of each other. Bodies tumble through the pit, disappearing over the barrier. A black snake sits in waiting, coiling itself around my ankle. Jumping from the amp, I get caught, tumbling to the stage. Filled with adrenaline, I slide my back over the dusty surface, trying to play off the mistake as intentional. No one will ever have to know. My ankle throbs, my heart finding its beat inside my boot. Lying out, I finish the rest of the song on my back. As the drums kick in, I try and jump up. Shooting pain, like hot pokers to the leg. Kneeling up, I play the rest of the show from my knees, attempting to play guitar and shout lyrics into the microphone.

Ryan and Matt help me hobble to the center of the stage, the four of us quickly bowing off. I can feel my skin pressing against the edge of my Doc Martin. People rush around me, Andrew calling for a medic. Against groans of protest, my shoe is ripped off, ankle turned at unfriendly angles. Someone says something about the hospital. Before I can protest EMTs swirl into view, the back of an ambulance encasing me. My adrenaline high begins to wane, shivers wracking my body. Rolling over on the gurney, I hug myself trying to breathe through the tremors traveling up and down my spine. In and out. In and out. Closing my eyes, I count each breath, tugging my tongue into the back of my throat and away from chattering teeth.

"She's going into shock!"

Forcing my eyes open, I see Matt spring into action, blocking the EMT from hooking me up to some kind of fluid bag, "No! She's fine. Her bodies trying to come down from the adrenaline. This happens every time. She's fine. No needles."

Andrew rubs my back, holding my hand as I'm wheeled into the emergency room. Two hours and a cast later, I'm propped up in my hotel bed. Bert joins us, his hands littered with little red marks. Proof he's discovered our payback prank. That'll teach him to fill my tub with syrup.

"What happened?"

Shrugging, I grab another handful of popcorn, "I guess I got tangled up in the mic chord. I jumped off the amp like every other show and just hit the ground."

"And you just kept playing?" Bert flips through the channels on the television, nothing seeming to keep his attention.

"Fuck yeah I kept playing. I just hopped up on my knees and gave them all the best show I could."

Matt beams over at me, "My sister the badass."

"What would've been badass is if I hadn't broken my ankle," I laugh back, turning my attention to Bert's fingers that are now laced through mine. "What happened to your hand?"

Bert frowns, shooting me a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. The friendly sparkle of a smile in his eyes lets me know I'm not in too much trouble for the stunt. I mean, after all, it was only payback for what he did. "Someone filled our bus with mousetraps."

"I wonder who could have done that," I stifle a laugh, biting hard into my bottom lip.

The singer rolls his eyes, settling back against the pillows, "I wonder."

He's already sitting out at the picnic table when I hobble down. Lowering myself onto the wooden bench, I cast the crutches aside. Not even a day in and I despise the things. They click when I walk, pushing uncomfortably into my armpits. Being stuck in a wheelchair would have been better than those. Propping my foot up on the seat opposite me, I pull out a cigarette. Frank raises an eyebrow as he stares down at the neon pink cast that now encases my foot and ankle.

"What happened?" He nods in the direction of my foot, letting out a cloud of smoke.

"I broke it."

"Wanna talk about it?"

There's not much to talk about. I fell, it broke. Real interesting story. Letting out a sigh, I shake my head. "No. How're things with Gerard and Lindsey?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it."

We lapse into silence. To say it's comfortable would feel wrong. Nothing about this little routine we've created is necessarily comfortable. I'm not even sure why I've continued this for as long as I have. But that's a lie. I know why. I'm just not quite sure I'm ready to let those thoughts come out of their cage. Sometimes it just hurts less when I don't have to keep up the façade of complete indifference. Sometimes it's easier to just exist around him, even if it does feel forced and awkward. Even if the things he says and does still piss me off to no end. Sometimes I need to live in a cloud of smoke and a daydream that things might be okay if I let them be.

"Can I tell you something funny?"

Frank drags his eyes up from my cast, letting them linger on me, "If it's actually funny."

"It is."

"Then by all means," Frank makes a grand gesture with his hand, tugging another cigarette from his pack.

Snickering I launch into the story of how Bert filled the tub with syrup and how in return the band and I filled his bus with mousetraps. I expect Frank, who holds a deep-seated loathing for Bert, to find this hilarious. I expect him to burst into a fit of giggles, feet pounding against the sand riddled parking lot. I expect his eyes to shine with tears brought on from laughing too hard for too long. I expect him to go into a rant about how much he hates Bert and how he deserved every snap of the mousetrap on his hand. I don't get what I'm expecting at all. I get a blank stare and a puff of smoke. For what feels like the thousandth time in too short a period, I get Frank walking away.