Tommy heard voices, and he knew he was conscious. He couldn't open his eyes, he felt too exhausted to do anything. He heard a lot of commotion around him, people crying, some device beeping. Finally, after a lot of effort, his eyes opened, and connected with those of a doctor. At least it looked like a doctor. He was wearing a white lab coat and scrubs. He had a mask on his face, covering his nose and mouth. "Hi there, buddy. How do you feel?"
Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he threw up into his lap. He heard the doctor call for a nurse, and he fell asleep again.
When Tommy woke up, his eyes opened with ease. He moved his fingers and wiggled his toes, to make sure everything was in place, because it sure didn't feel that way. His whole body was aching, and he had a terrible headache. Pretty bad hangover. He looked around and noticed he wasn't on the tour bus anymore. He was in a small room that had a TV wired to the wall, and he was in a bed with metal bars. He was underneath a white blanket, and he had a needle in his arm. His heart fluttered when he realized he was in the hospital. Then his stomach did a cartwheel when he realized that the nightmare he had about crashing the bus wasn't a dream, it was a reality.
"Help, somebody, please help me!" He heard himself start to scream. Within seconds a few nurses came rushing in followed by a doctor. It was that doctor in his dream, well, rather the doctor he saw earlier. "Help, I need to know what happened!" Tommy demanded, his heart racing. One of the nurses saw his heart rate accelerating, and she walked up to his side.
"Shh, if you calm down, we'll tell you everything you need to know. You need to calm down, okay? You just came out of surgery. Your heart can't be strained yet. Please calm down."
Tommy took a few deep breaths in, and slowly let them out. When his heart returned to a normal pace, the doctor dismissed the nurses and he sat at the edge of the bed. He put his hands in his lap and looked at the ground. "You were in an automobile accident two days ago, Thomas."
Tommy interrupted him. "Tommy. My name's Tommy."
"Right, of course, Tommy," The doctor continued. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you were under the influence of marijuana and alcohol, is my theory correct?"
Tommy's throat clamped up. How could he have been so stupid? "Yeah, I had something to drink before I got behind the wheel. Why?"
The doctor pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Toxicology report. I already knew you had several drinks and at least one joint. I just had to make sure you knew you had done drugs and drank."
Tommy's stomach flipped again. "What happened to Vince, and Mick, the driver? And Erik?" Tommy stuttered. His hands started to shake. If he had killed any of them he would never forgive himself.
The doctor let out a distraught sigh. "Vince and Mick were badly burned in the explosion that set fire to the back half of the bus. Armando, your driver, was also badly burned. He was put on life-support, but his family took him off of it a few hours ago. Erik suffered severe burns and deep wounds to his face and chest. He's in a medically induced coma so we can hopefully replaced his charred skin with new skin."
"And.. Well, who survived?" Tommy asked, a few tears already dropping from his eyes.
"Mick, Vince, and Erik have all survived. Vince isn't looking that good, but if worse comes to worse we'll do what we did with Erik to him and replace his burnt skin with new skin. Mick is actually doing okay. He was particularly lucky, he wasn't burned so badly. You're lucky you weren't killed. I'm sure there's a lot of people who want you killed, though. The driver for the 18-wheeler died immediately when you crashed into him. You also injured at least 47 others, who got burns, scrapes, and bruises from flying debris from the back half of your bus. You had a build up of pressure on your brain, so we're draining some of the brain fluid from it. Once your brain swelling has reduced, you're looking at a minimum of 2 years in jail. We won't know until your trial."
Tommy stared blankly at the doctor. This was happening too fast. 47 injured? Two dead? Three severely wounded? How the hell could this have happened? He just had a few drinks...
"I've got to go check on my other patients. If you need anything, buzz the button for a nurse. I'll check back in on you in a few hours." The doctor stood up and left, closing the door slightly behind him. Tommy burst into angry, upset, and guilty tears. It was all happening so fast. He was so confused. His tears soon ran empty, and he found himself falling asleep. It only seemed like a few moments until he woke again, and he let his thoughts collide together. "This must have been what Vince felt with Razzle... but this is so much bigger," Tommy whispered to himself. His life was spiraling downward right before him. Nikki was dead, he was responsible for two deaths, 47 injuries, and 3 severely injured people. The pressure was too much for him to handle. He felt tears bubble from his eyes, and he heard a bloodcurdling scream. It must have been him, since a nurse ran into his room. She checked his vitals, and then left the room. Tommy put his head in his hands and rocked himself back and forth slowly. There was a knock at his door, then. "Come in," Tommy mumbled. The door opened slowly, and a cold, black chair pushed itself in. Mick was sitting in it. He didn't look amused. "Hi."
Tommy looked relieved. "Mick, thank God, you're alive. What happened?"
Mick scoffed at him. "Got burnt, scraped. The accident broke my back, can't feel my legs now."
Tommy's heart twisted. How could this have happened? "Mick, I'm really sorry..."
Mick sneered. "Fucking asshole. I thought you'd have learned your lesson with what happened to Vince and Razzle. You can't drink and then fucking drive. Look what happens."
Tommy sighed, defeated. "I can say that I'm sorry as many times as possible, but it's obvious you're never going to forgive me. Why don't you just kick me out of the band, out of your lives?"
Mick looked at him before chuckling. "Nah, I do want you to suffer for this, though. You can stay with us. Watch me try to play my guitar in a wheelchair. See Erik crippled and burned. Look at Vince's scarred face. Live in your mistakes. That sounds fitting."
"I always knew you were one fucked up individual," Tommy muttered before Mick wheeled himself away. Tommy sighed again, and began to think of his life in the past few years. He became a famous teenager, a child, and fell to all the partying and drugs that everyone else was doing. He angrily listened to the dripping of his skull post, hoping it would drain faster, so he could get jail over and done with.