Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (16 page)

Other than that. What. The. Fuck. Like that wasn’t enough. Sexual assault.
The words kept rattling around in my head like the last ice cube in a glass of sweet tea.
Oh motherfuckingsonofabitch no.
Turning my head to face Dr. Malone, removing my attention from Brooklyn for just a split second, I explained by just my face that she needed to stop fucking talking and remove herself from the room.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “It looks like I should give you two sometime.” With that, she pivoted on her feet and left the room. The message had been delivered loud and clear. When I heard her pull the door closed, Brooklyn and I were alone. Letting out the air I had been holding in my chest, I realized that I had not been breathing the entire time the good doctor was speaking. With a push of air from my lungs that took my strength with it, I dropped to my right knee. As my knee collided with the floor in one colossal thud, the proverbial dam broke. My still sore eyes began to spill forth more tears. My chest felt like I was trying to breathe with a gorilla giving me a hug and my face covered with plastic wrap. The level of trauma set in. When I felt her thumb brush across my hand that was holding on to the bed railing like my only lifeline in the shit storm that had become my life, I was relieved. She was reaching out to console me. It was hard to believe in that moment, as shattered as her body was, she was the one comforting me.

“Synister.”

I tried with everything I had to will my legs to regain power, but they didn’t. With my head hung down, I watched as the tears dripped from my chin, making a pool on the floor. With each splash, I wished I could remove the pain from her body. I wished I could turn back time. That I was the one taking the hits instead of her.

“Synister, please look at me. You can stay down there all day and sulk, but I believe I am the one currently hospitalized.”
Now that’s my baby girl.

Reaching my hand to my face, I wiped away more tears and regained an upright posture. Grabbing her hand in mine, I carefully wrapped my fingers around hers—not too tight because her hands were bruised, and there was an IV in the top facing me. I never let go of her hand. I was
never
letting go of her, or letting her out of my sight again. As I reached out to touch her, to feel her skin against mine, I stopped. She was so swollen and bruised I wasn’t sure where I could touch her. I recoiled my hand and hung it in midair. The look on her face changed to fear. My visual pause shouted through the white-on-white hospital walls like a shotgun blast to the brain.

“It’s that bad, huh? Man, I thought a little concealer, and I would be back to beautiful. Damn.” I watched as her lip made the slightest curve, and when she attempted a laugh, she winced in pain. Bringing her right hand to her stomach, she was trying to hide the discomfort. The severity of everything Dr. Malone had said. The visual of a bloody, beaten Brooklyn lying before my eyes was more than I could handle. I wanted to be strong for her. I wanted to be what she needed. But with every passing second, I let this reality sink in. I was emotional, dropping the gate on my heart inch by inch.

When her eyes refocused on mine, I knew she was looking to me for peace, reassurance. I needed to open my big mouth and give her that. I owed that to her. I just couldn’t. There was no way I was going to lie to her. So, how do you find the words to tell someone their life will never be the same? That everything they knew just twenty-four hours ago was gone? The irony of this situation was not lost on me. I was essentially ignoring the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room in my own life. She must have sensed my discomfort because she turned and looked toward the window. I only then realized that she had let go, and I was left empty-handed.
So fitting.
Even in this moment, she would be the one making the decision on where to go next.
I am a coward.

Brooklyn pulled her arms to her chest and crossed them over her body. She was pulling away. Recoiling into herself.
Was it because of the attack? Had I done something to upset her?
This whole feeling shit was uncharted territory for me, so I was just trying to keep up. There was so much I wanted to tell her. That I needed her to know. My brain couldn’t find the words. How do you tell the love of your life that she is the only reason you wake up each morning?
Were the words really that simple?
My brain and my heart were waging a war within my head. Pulling my hands to my head, I interlaced my fingers behind my head and mumbled under my breath, “Fuck.”

The silence of the room came to a screeching halt when her voice filled the space between the beeps and alarms of the medical equipment. “Dr. Malone said that I would most likely never be able to have kids. Thank God we never wanted any, right? I mean, they are like tiny mental assassins waiting to strike. Never happy. I guess
he
did us a favor. One less decision to make.”

We.

“
Goddammit, my head hurts, Synister.” Pulling her eyes closed tight, she took a deep breath. I could only imagine the images that were flashing behind her eyes, the pain she was in. I wanted to take it all away. “It’s like a wolverine is loose in there and trying to claw its way out. If the heat on the right side of my face is any indication, I probably look like I went three rounds with an MMA fighter in a cage match. It’s bad, isn’t it? Every time a nurse comes in, they gasp. I know they are trying to be strong. They all keep telling me what a fighter I am.”

“You are, baby girl. They know how strong you are.” My words seemed misplaced, wrong.

“I called for you. I could see you at the end of the alley standing against the SUV. Before everything happened, I was planning on playing a joke on you. Scaring the shit out of you and then telling you yes. Yes. I would come back to L.A. with you. That I would give us a try, a real try. But you never came for me. I knew in the back of my head why you never came. I wished so hard that you would hear me. That you would save me.”
She is calling me out. What can I say? She knows the answer. Her words are rhetorical. An effort only for the sake of me hearing what she knows I need to. Had I addressed the issue, this would not be my reality or hers. I’m a fucking asshole.

“Brooklyn, do you have any idea who did this to you? What he looked like?” I wanted to add
so I can find the motherfucker and make him beg for his life.

She shook her head from side to side. “No, I never saw his face. It was like he was intentionally keeping it hidden. He just knew how to stay in the shadows.” Brooklyn let out a shuddering breath. “I can still smell him. Still feel his hands on my neck and the weight of his body. Fuck, Syn, stab wounds really hurt,” she said with a smile. All the while I knew her making light of the moment was to shield herself and me from the horror of this reality. “How bad is it, Synister? Don’t fucking lie to me either. I’m in no mood. I feel like I have been mulled by a bear. Come clean with me. How bad is it with Push? With me? Please just give me a straight fucking answer.”

Leave it to Brooklyn to lay everything on the table. When she faced me, I saw the tracks the tears had made down her face. Dropping my head in disgust, shame, total, and complete mental exhaustion, I responded, “It’s over for me, B. I was going to tell the guys tomorrow, and then leave with you in the morning. I had everything planned. For once, I was prepared. I was taking the initiative to deal with shit before it hit the motherfucking fan. And then this happened with you...and...and...now I don’t know...what to do. You are the one who always fixes shit for me when I fuck up.” My words were broken, the lack of breath, the bitch ass rant I had thrown myself into—pick any one of the likely culprits. Leaning forward and grabbing the rails of her bed, I knew I had seen my last show. The adrenaline of the drums as it kicked through my body. The encore. The rush of the crowd. As cliché as it sounded, the house lights had burned out for Synister Smith. By some grace, I still had her by my side.
I felt her hand as it searched for me in what was her temporary darkness. With a trail of wires and tubes, she ran it over my back. In all of this, she was trying to soothe my pain. Looking up at her from under my heavy eyes and my raven black hair that was long overdue for a trim, she motioned for me, and I conceded. Walking to the opposite side of the bed, I climbed over the railing, and with the precision of a surgeon and the ease of the wind, I nestled in beside her. I wanted to hold her, to latch on to her and put everything back together, but that was impossible. As useless as I was, I knew this was only the beginning of my pain.

I felt her breathing intensify, and then I saw her thumb press down on a button she had pulled into her hand. As the pain medicine was dispensed throughout her body, she became almost docile, floating in a state of here but not present, a fog. I just stared at her. With my teeth clinched together, I was willing her to be all right. I needed her. Her eyes began to blink over and over as the weight of the medication won the battle with her consciousness.
Fuck, I want to touch her.
I settled for holding her hand and lying awkwardly jammed between her body and the metal bars pressing into my back. As ridiculous as I felt, there was no place I would have rather been than next to her. She was still with me. She was going to need me to be strong. In that, I had to find my purpose to move forward.

“Synisther...” Her words were a tangled mess. Brooklyn was spaced out. She had to be on heavy narcotics for them to make her that loopy that quickly. I found solace in the fact that the pain was at ease, if only for a moment.

“Yes, baby girl, I’m right here. Always.”

“You neeed to tellll them. Tell Scottthheee...heeee dessserves to know.”
Her speech was slurred. She was fighting a battle with a medication-induced sleep, and she was bound to lose. She mumbled a few more words, none of which made any sense, then drifted off to sleep.

She was right. I knew the time was now to deal with what I had been hiding from Scottie and the rest of the band for months. Hell, from the rest of the world. Synister Smith was leaving Push. At what might have seemed like the pinnacle of a long-fought battle for greatness, I was bowing out. They had to understand there was no other option. I would never leave via a conscious decision. This one was made for me. Signed, sealed, and delivered with an
Amen
for good measure. A combination of too many shows and equal parts too many hits to the head by dear ol’ Vince. Three months at the most, well, that was as of two months ago.
Procrastinate much?
It was over for me... My fate was sealed by one word, written in Times New Roman font on an insignificant piece of white paper on a Tuesday.

Deaf
.

It was amazing how one word. Four letters. In a world full of millions could end you. Break your heart and leave you in pieces so quickly. With a silent nod to my newfound acceptance, I looked at B one more time just to make sure she was okay.
And then it hit me like a thunder punch to the dick.

Love
.

One word. Four letters. In a world full of millions.

Synister
- Dreams Never Last, Memories Fade, Reality Blows

I woke up to a slight tap on my shoulder. Blinking my eyes for a second, I needed to gain my bearings. When the nurse looked at me, crossed her arms, and gave me the best resting bitch look I had ever seen, I got the hint. It was a combination of
what the hell are you doing
with a
side of
get out
. Pulling myself over the bedrail in a completely horizontal state, it was a damn miracle I didn’t hit the floor face-first. My right leg was asleep. I felt like I had spent hours in a vise. But looking over at Brooklyn, who appeared to be resting peacefully, my current state of sore and crippled was well worth it. Thinking back, I realized that we hadn’t discussed much or come to any resolutions about what happened to her. Now was not really the time. I was sure Dr. Clinical and No Heart would be collecting the details and more than willing to tell us all about them.
Some people really suck.

As I made my way past Nurse Not-So Nice and into the hallway, I had no idea what time it was or where Scottie and Tony were. I also didn’t know when Brooklyn was going to be sprung from this gateway to death or a multitude of other things. It was impossible to get your head on straight when the glow of the fluorescent lights gave an odd sense of day to night. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I headed to the elevator and then decided to take the stairs. Pushing open the metal doors, I started down the steps one by one. Each impact of the step collided with my still sleepy legs and my clouded heart. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I saw the battery indicator on red, and the time was seven-oh-five a.m. After swiping my hand across the screen, I sent a text to Scottie.

Me: Get the guys and meet me in my hotel room in an hour.