(no subject)
Title: Mistakes (1/3)
Author: me
Rating: R cuz they haz potty mouths
Summary: “There’s been an accident,” she whispered and it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Disclaimer: i own none of this.
Author's Notes: so....i decided to write something that's not hot, smexy, smutty and what not. this first part is....well idk. i can't believe i wrote this but after seeing that (ridiculous) pap vid of adam and drake leaving that club, it just came to me and my fingers must have minds of their own cuz they pulled up mic. word and started typing away. i've been working on it, revising, fixing but i'm still scared of it. hopefully, you guys will like it. comments are very much appreciated! :) oh and this is kradam friendship. oh, oh! and the very last line in this part is from the song "permanent" by david cook, only one of the best/saddest songs EVER. okay i'm done now
He can’t breathe.
He feels like all the precious oxygen circulating around him is getting nowhere near him and his chest in constricting with pain. He can’t think. His mind is a muddled mess, driving him insane with the need to get out of Arkansas and to California. He can’t comprehend much as he shoves random clothes into his duffel bag and an extra pair of sneakers on top of the clothes. He barely registers snatching his keys off the kitchen table, or Katy running after him out the door with tears in her eyes.
“Kris,” she calls out and, hand grasping the door handle tightly, he turns to her once more, “be careful.”
“I will.”
He shoves his bag over the driver’s seat into the backseat before sliding in, cranking the car, and peeling out into the street.
***
As Kris drives he thinks. The whole afternoon keeps replaying in his head like some stupid broken record that won’t stop.
He got home from an interview pretty late. It was well past lunch when he walked inside his and Katy’s small house just outside of Conway. Every day he feels the immediate rush of happiness and love when he walks in. But today something was different; something was off. He found Katy’s cell on the floor in the kitchen, but no Katy. So he searched the house until he saw her sitting on their bed wiping away tears.
When she looked at him he knew something had happened to somebody. He knew it in his gut. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’s been an accident,” she whispered and it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Adam.
Kris didn’t think he’d ever felt so breathless and hurt until that moment. That moment Katy told him his best friend was in the hospital because he wasn’t wearing his fucking seatbelt was the worst moment of his life.
And now, as he parks on the curb at the airport and grabs his bag, he thinks he just might break.
***
The ride feels like years. When the plane touches down, Kris is already leaping out of his seat and he’s the first to exit into the terminal at LAX. He absently gets his bag from luggage claim before he’s running. He sees the car already waiting for him because these people must be mind readers or something.
The driver doesn’t say anything as Kris gets into the backseat. He presses his forehead against the window, the glass cool on his overheated skin. The car lurches forward slightly and he’s sent into an image he’d rather not see. A car wreck. Lights flashing, sirens wailing. Paparazzi snapping millions of pictures because one of their popular subjects is being wheeled away on some stretcher. Kris squeezes his eyes shut, doesn’t want to think that that’s how it all went down.
Adam can’t be in that bad of shape. Katy’s tears said something totally different, Kris. Kris squeezes his eyes harder hoping it’ll make the voice in his head go away. The voice is right, though. Katy’s tears were enough to tell him that the accident was bad. Bad enough for him to take the first flight out to L.A.
The driver takes Kris straight to the hospital. As Kris gets out with his bag he thanks the driver who only nods and flashes him a sympathetic smile. Kris instantly hates it, knows that’s what’s coming from anybody that sees him and knows he’s Adam’s best friend. The first thing he sees when he runs through the sliding doors of the emergency room are the reporters cornering nurses and doctors. He can barely make out Adam’s dad over the cameras and microphones propped in the air. Flashes are going off every which way; he can barely make sense of it.
A reporter catches him coming in, practically attacking Kris with questions and asking for his opinion on shit he doesn’t want to comment on. He struggles to push through the chaos that is Los Angeles reporters. Finally he has enough of it and whips around to one of the camers pointing in his face.
“Get the fuck out of my way so I can go see my best friend!”
He’s starting to break.
***
Kris is yanked into a hug by Adam’s mom and the first of the tears are drawn to his eyes. He holds them back, though, and kisses her cheek in comfort. “How is he?” he asks quietly so as to avoid any prying ears and eyes from those damn reporters.
“They won’t let us in right now. They’re still trying to get him stable,” she whispers and tears start streaming down her cheeks.
Kris takes a deep breath and forces himself to ask the question he’s been dreading to ask since he found out. “What happened?” He breathes, just breathes, while waiting for the inevitable response. He’d found out the gist of the accident from Katy: he was too scared to ask what really happened. All he really cared about at that moment was getting to L.A. in time.
She sniffles and wipes her tears away with a kleenex. “He had just dropped Drake off at the airport and he was on his way home. Someone pulled out in front of him at the light. The driver said Adam couldn’t stop in time to keep from hitting their car. It was bad, though. Adam’s car spun a couple of times before hitting a pole.” She has to stop to cough through her tears and Kris feels his heartbreaking ten-fold in his chest. “He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. I’ve told him a million times to wear that thing but he never listens to me, Kris. He thinks I’m being a tad bit overprotective when I talk about that kind of stuff. I don’t care that he’s twenty-seven and knows how to take care of himself; he’s my baby.”
Kris pulls her back into a hug, muttering apologies that really mean nothing into her ear, and they stand that way for what seems like hours when it’s only a few minutes. He holds her tight until he thinks his fingers will go numb from clutching so hard. “How bad is he?” he asks in her ear, dreading the answer just as much as he dreaded asking the previous question.
“A couple of broken ribs, broken arm, several major cuts from where the windshield busted. He’s got a mild concussion from where the airbag popped him in the face. The main thing is the internal bleeding. The doctor said they were having a hard time getting it to stop.”
His heart clenches in his chest and the pain is immediate. “Excuse me.” He breaks away fast and takes off for the nearest corner. A couple of reporters follow him but he just ignores them and finds a chair to sink into. He’s gasping for breath, running his hands through his hair desperately, trying his hardest not to break down. He has to be strong for when he gets to see Adam. He has to.
What if he doesn’t make it, Kris? What if he’s worse off than you think, than you know?
That voice in his head keeps whispering filthy things in his mind, fogging it up with doubt and filling his eyelids to the brim with unshed tears. He sits up and bangs the back of his head against the wall, hard enough to sting. It doesn’t help much.
“Kris Allen, can you tell us more about what happened? Is Adam Lambert going to be okay?”
Kris drops his head away from the wall and just stares at them incredulously. “You know what, Mr. Big-Shot-Reporter? Get the fuck out of this hospital, get the fuck away from my friend, and get the fuck out of my face. You don’t really give a shit if he’s going to be okay because you just want some damn story to put in the Enquirer or some shit like that. So GO AWAY!” He doesn’t feel bad about poking the reporter in the chest, nor does he feel bad about the language he just used probably on live television. He doesn’t feel bad about the anger boiling in his system because of the insensitivity of reporters these days.
“Woah, man. Calm down,” the reporter says calmly. Kris shakes his head roughly, his expression an icy glare. “Fine. Whatever. I’m tired of having to film shit about that loser anyway.”
That’s when Kris really “loses his shit”. The guy makes to turn around but Kris grabs the guy’s shoulder, yanks his fist back, and pops the guy right in the nose. He yells in pain and Kris doesn’t feel sorry for him at all. There’s blood leaking onto the guy’s shirt and the camera’s laying broken on the floor.
“Kris!” Kris barely hears the shriek from Leila Lambert. He doesn’t feel Neil’s arms around him dragging him away from the scene.
“Let me go,” Kris mutters. He stumbles away from Adam’s parents and Neil, and he slides to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest.
The final inch of his resolve is gone and he’s a mess as he sits in the hospital corridor of the emergency surgery wing, sobbing into his hands and not caring if the reporters get an eyeful of Kris Allen sucessfully breaking.
***
It’s an hour later when Kris manages to pick himself up off the floor.
He notices that Adam’s parents aren’t standing there anymore. Neil is gone, too. But someone he’s only seen in those pictures and TMZ videos is. Drake LaBry. Kris’ eyes go wide. “I thought you were on a plane to Louisiana?” Kris numbly asks and wipes at his eyes. They’re dry and crusty from the tears.
“The flight change wasn’t too far from here so I came back as soon as possible. Just got here ten minutes ago.” Drake shrugs, hands stuffed far down in a pair of jeans. Kris blinks fast at the sight of the slightly older man’s bright pink polo shirt. “Have you heard anything?” Kris glances up past the shirt and into the face of someone young and seemingly innocent. Big blue eyes, scruffy brown hair, a baby face almost. Definitely Adam’s type.
“No. I’ve only been here for almost two hours. When I got here the doctor’s still hadn’t come out. His parents and brother are somewhere around. I don’t really know where they went.” Kris shrug and starts fiddling with his wedding ring. Drake sighs and Kris listens as his footsteps fade away.
Kris feels drained, almost. Kind of like he’s not there, but is at the same time. He feels far away and tired and emotionally hurt. He has no resolve left and that rope he was so desperately clinging to dissolved when he punched that guy in the face; it was his last ounce of patience. Reporters have been fluttering in and out of the corridor with their stupid cameras and their stupid microphones and tape recorders. They’re just waiting to some juicy gossip for their stupid websites.
His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out and punches the appropriate button with a shaky finger. “Hello?”
“Kris…” It’s Katy. She trails off and Kris notices she’s crying right away. “Is he…is he okay?”
Kris bangs his head on the wall for the millionth time in the past hour. “I don’t know,” he chokes out and here comes the tears again. “The doctor hasn’t been out.”
“Oh, Kris, baby. I’m sorry. I ho-“
“Katy, please…don’t.” Kris shakes his head even though she can’t see it through the phone. She sighs through a sob and Kris wishes he could be there to hold her and wipe her tears away.
“Call me when you find something out?” Kris can sense the hesitance in her voice and his gut twists in the most painful way.
“Sure.” She mutters a goodbye but before she can hang up Kris stops her. “Katy…I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Then she hangs up. Kris lets his phone drop to his lap and he cards his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to draw his attention elsewhere for the moment.
He closes his eyes and his mind drifts back to Idol days when they would all laze around the mansion or work on their group number. He and Adam would help each other with their songs for the next performance. He would watch Adam give support and help where needed. He would watch Adam joke around with the others, not once showing his discomfort with certain members of the group.
He goes back to a time when it was himself and Adam; the top two. He was the underdog, the black horse, of the competition. Adam was the rock god that was sure to win the title. He goes back to the night before the finale. That night they had to stay in hotel rooms. Kris went over to Adam’s not long after saying goodbye to their families. Adam dug out the ice cream and the chocolates and the alcohol. They stayed up forever that night talking, laughing, nearly making themselves sick from all the sugar and alcohol.
“It doesn’t matter which one of us wins because we’ve already ‘won’” Adam had said before they went their separate ways for bed. It left Kris with a nice feeling.
He’s broken out of his reverie by the door opening. Kris shoots to his feet, legs a little wobbly, and starts calling for everyone else. They all come running around the corner to Kris. Kris stares at the doctor standing in the doorway of the operation room. His face is set in a grim expression as he takes off his latex gloves and pulls off his mint green scrub hat.
“We’re going to transfer him to ICU. Once he’s settled you can see him.”
Kris’ heart settles down a little in his chest and he breathes a short sigh of relief. At least Adam’s done in that room.
Kris stands by Adam’s parents while Drake and Neil stand behind them. The door is opened wider for the hospital bed to be rolled out. Kris has to turn his face away and the gasp Mrs. Lambert lets out tells him enough. Neil and his parents hurry after the nurses and the doctor, Kris and Drake staying behind for a moment.
Drake doesn’t say a word as he sighs heavily and heads in the same direction as the others. Kris forces himself to calm down. His knees are shaking and his palms are sweating. Before he starts walking towards that room holding his best friend, he silently thinks to himself,
Oh God, is there some way for me to take his place?
Author: me
Rating: R cuz they haz potty mouths
Summary: “There’s been an accident,” she whispered and it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Disclaimer: i own none of this.
Author's Notes: so....i decided to write something that's not hot, smexy, smutty and what not. this first part is....well idk. i can't believe i wrote this but after seeing that (ridiculous) pap vid of adam and drake leaving that club, it just came to me and my fingers must have minds of their own cuz they pulled up mic. word and started typing away. i've been working on it, revising, fixing but i'm still scared of it. hopefully, you guys will like it. comments are very much appreciated! :) oh and this is kradam friendship. oh, oh! and the very last line in this part is from the song "permanent" by david cook, only one of the best/saddest songs EVER. okay i'm done now
He can’t breathe.
He feels like all the precious oxygen circulating around him is getting nowhere near him and his chest in constricting with pain. He can’t think. His mind is a muddled mess, driving him insane with the need to get out of Arkansas and to California. He can’t comprehend much as he shoves random clothes into his duffel bag and an extra pair of sneakers on top of the clothes. He barely registers snatching his keys off the kitchen table, or Katy running after him out the door with tears in her eyes.
“Kris,” she calls out and, hand grasping the door handle tightly, he turns to her once more, “be careful.”
“I will.”
He shoves his bag over the driver’s seat into the backseat before sliding in, cranking the car, and peeling out into the street.
***
As Kris drives he thinks. The whole afternoon keeps replaying in his head like some stupid broken record that won’t stop.
He got home from an interview pretty late. It was well past lunch when he walked inside his and Katy’s small house just outside of Conway. Every day he feels the immediate rush of happiness and love when he walks in. But today something was different; something was off. He found Katy’s cell on the floor in the kitchen, but no Katy. So he searched the house until he saw her sitting on their bed wiping away tears.
When she looked at him he knew something had happened to somebody. He knew it in his gut. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’s been an accident,” she whispered and it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Adam.
Kris didn’t think he’d ever felt so breathless and hurt until that moment. That moment Katy told him his best friend was in the hospital because he wasn’t wearing his fucking seatbelt was the worst moment of his life.
And now, as he parks on the curb at the airport and grabs his bag, he thinks he just might break.
***
The ride feels like years. When the plane touches down, Kris is already leaping out of his seat and he’s the first to exit into the terminal at LAX. He absently gets his bag from luggage claim before he’s running. He sees the car already waiting for him because these people must be mind readers or something.
The driver doesn’t say anything as Kris gets into the backseat. He presses his forehead against the window, the glass cool on his overheated skin. The car lurches forward slightly and he’s sent into an image he’d rather not see. A car wreck. Lights flashing, sirens wailing. Paparazzi snapping millions of pictures because one of their popular subjects is being wheeled away on some stretcher. Kris squeezes his eyes shut, doesn’t want to think that that’s how it all went down.
Adam can’t be in that bad of shape. Katy’s tears said something totally different, Kris. Kris squeezes his eyes harder hoping it’ll make the voice in his head go away. The voice is right, though. Katy’s tears were enough to tell him that the accident was bad. Bad enough for him to take the first flight out to L.A.
The driver takes Kris straight to the hospital. As Kris gets out with his bag he thanks the driver who only nods and flashes him a sympathetic smile. Kris instantly hates it, knows that’s what’s coming from anybody that sees him and knows he’s Adam’s best friend. The first thing he sees when he runs through the sliding doors of the emergency room are the reporters cornering nurses and doctors. He can barely make out Adam’s dad over the cameras and microphones propped in the air. Flashes are going off every which way; he can barely make sense of it.
A reporter catches him coming in, practically attacking Kris with questions and asking for his opinion on shit he doesn’t want to comment on. He struggles to push through the chaos that is Los Angeles reporters. Finally he has enough of it and whips around to one of the camers pointing in his face.
“Get the fuck out of my way so I can go see my best friend!”
He’s starting to break.
***
Kris is yanked into a hug by Adam’s mom and the first of the tears are drawn to his eyes. He holds them back, though, and kisses her cheek in comfort. “How is he?” he asks quietly so as to avoid any prying ears and eyes from those damn reporters.
“They won’t let us in right now. They’re still trying to get him stable,” she whispers and tears start streaming down her cheeks.
Kris takes a deep breath and forces himself to ask the question he’s been dreading to ask since he found out. “What happened?” He breathes, just breathes, while waiting for the inevitable response. He’d found out the gist of the accident from Katy: he was too scared to ask what really happened. All he really cared about at that moment was getting to L.A. in time.
She sniffles and wipes her tears away with a kleenex. “He had just dropped Drake off at the airport and he was on his way home. Someone pulled out in front of him at the light. The driver said Adam couldn’t stop in time to keep from hitting their car. It was bad, though. Adam’s car spun a couple of times before hitting a pole.” She has to stop to cough through her tears and Kris feels his heartbreaking ten-fold in his chest. “He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. I’ve told him a million times to wear that thing but he never listens to me, Kris. He thinks I’m being a tad bit overprotective when I talk about that kind of stuff. I don’t care that he’s twenty-seven and knows how to take care of himself; he’s my baby.”
Kris pulls her back into a hug, muttering apologies that really mean nothing into her ear, and they stand that way for what seems like hours when it’s only a few minutes. He holds her tight until he thinks his fingers will go numb from clutching so hard. “How bad is he?” he asks in her ear, dreading the answer just as much as he dreaded asking the previous question.
“A couple of broken ribs, broken arm, several major cuts from where the windshield busted. He’s got a mild concussion from where the airbag popped him in the face. The main thing is the internal bleeding. The doctor said they were having a hard time getting it to stop.”
His heart clenches in his chest and the pain is immediate. “Excuse me.” He breaks away fast and takes off for the nearest corner. A couple of reporters follow him but he just ignores them and finds a chair to sink into. He’s gasping for breath, running his hands through his hair desperately, trying his hardest not to break down. He has to be strong for when he gets to see Adam. He has to.
What if he doesn’t make it, Kris? What if he’s worse off than you think, than you know?
That voice in his head keeps whispering filthy things in his mind, fogging it up with doubt and filling his eyelids to the brim with unshed tears. He sits up and bangs the back of his head against the wall, hard enough to sting. It doesn’t help much.
“Kris Allen, can you tell us more about what happened? Is Adam Lambert going to be okay?”
Kris drops his head away from the wall and just stares at them incredulously. “You know what, Mr. Big-Shot-Reporter? Get the fuck out of this hospital, get the fuck away from my friend, and get the fuck out of my face. You don’t really give a shit if he’s going to be okay because you just want some damn story to put in the Enquirer or some shit like that. So GO AWAY!” He doesn’t feel bad about poking the reporter in the chest, nor does he feel bad about the language he just used probably on live television. He doesn’t feel bad about the anger boiling in his system because of the insensitivity of reporters these days.
“Woah, man. Calm down,” the reporter says calmly. Kris shakes his head roughly, his expression an icy glare. “Fine. Whatever. I’m tired of having to film shit about that loser anyway.”
That’s when Kris really “loses his shit”. The guy makes to turn around but Kris grabs the guy’s shoulder, yanks his fist back, and pops the guy right in the nose. He yells in pain and Kris doesn’t feel sorry for him at all. There’s blood leaking onto the guy’s shirt and the camera’s laying broken on the floor.
“Kris!” Kris barely hears the shriek from Leila Lambert. He doesn’t feel Neil’s arms around him dragging him away from the scene.
“Let me go,” Kris mutters. He stumbles away from Adam’s parents and Neil, and he slides to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest.
The final inch of his resolve is gone and he’s a mess as he sits in the hospital corridor of the emergency surgery wing, sobbing into his hands and not caring if the reporters get an eyeful of Kris Allen sucessfully breaking.
***
It’s an hour later when Kris manages to pick himself up off the floor.
He notices that Adam’s parents aren’t standing there anymore. Neil is gone, too. But someone he’s only seen in those pictures and TMZ videos is. Drake LaBry. Kris’ eyes go wide. “I thought you were on a plane to Louisiana?” Kris numbly asks and wipes at his eyes. They’re dry and crusty from the tears.
“The flight change wasn’t too far from here so I came back as soon as possible. Just got here ten minutes ago.” Drake shrugs, hands stuffed far down in a pair of jeans. Kris blinks fast at the sight of the slightly older man’s bright pink polo shirt. “Have you heard anything?” Kris glances up past the shirt and into the face of someone young and seemingly innocent. Big blue eyes, scruffy brown hair, a baby face almost. Definitely Adam’s type.
“No. I’ve only been here for almost two hours. When I got here the doctor’s still hadn’t come out. His parents and brother are somewhere around. I don’t really know where they went.” Kris shrug and starts fiddling with his wedding ring. Drake sighs and Kris listens as his footsteps fade away.
Kris feels drained, almost. Kind of like he’s not there, but is at the same time. He feels far away and tired and emotionally hurt. He has no resolve left and that rope he was so desperately clinging to dissolved when he punched that guy in the face; it was his last ounce of patience. Reporters have been fluttering in and out of the corridor with their stupid cameras and their stupid microphones and tape recorders. They’re just waiting to some juicy gossip for their stupid websites.
His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out and punches the appropriate button with a shaky finger. “Hello?”
“Kris…” It’s Katy. She trails off and Kris notices she’s crying right away. “Is he…is he okay?”
Kris bangs his head on the wall for the millionth time in the past hour. “I don’t know,” he chokes out and here comes the tears again. “The doctor hasn’t been out.”
“Oh, Kris, baby. I’m sorry. I ho-“
“Katy, please…don’t.” Kris shakes his head even though she can’t see it through the phone. She sighs through a sob and Kris wishes he could be there to hold her and wipe her tears away.
“Call me when you find something out?” Kris can sense the hesitance in her voice and his gut twists in the most painful way.
“Sure.” She mutters a goodbye but before she can hang up Kris stops her. “Katy…I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Then she hangs up. Kris lets his phone drop to his lap and he cards his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to draw his attention elsewhere for the moment.
He closes his eyes and his mind drifts back to Idol days when they would all laze around the mansion or work on their group number. He and Adam would help each other with their songs for the next performance. He would watch Adam give support and help where needed. He would watch Adam joke around with the others, not once showing his discomfort with certain members of the group.
He goes back to a time when it was himself and Adam; the top two. He was the underdog, the black horse, of the competition. Adam was the rock god that was sure to win the title. He goes back to the night before the finale. That night they had to stay in hotel rooms. Kris went over to Adam’s not long after saying goodbye to their families. Adam dug out the ice cream and the chocolates and the alcohol. They stayed up forever that night talking, laughing, nearly making themselves sick from all the sugar and alcohol.
“It doesn’t matter which one of us wins because we’ve already ‘won’” Adam had said before they went their separate ways for bed. It left Kris with a nice feeling.
He’s broken out of his reverie by the door opening. Kris shoots to his feet, legs a little wobbly, and starts calling for everyone else. They all come running around the corner to Kris. Kris stares at the doctor standing in the doorway of the operation room. His face is set in a grim expression as he takes off his latex gloves and pulls off his mint green scrub hat.
“We’re going to transfer him to ICU. Once he’s settled you can see him.”
Kris’ heart settles down a little in his chest and he breathes a short sigh of relief. At least Adam’s done in that room.
Kris stands by Adam’s parents while Drake and Neil stand behind them. The door is opened wider for the hospital bed to be rolled out. Kris has to turn his face away and the gasp Mrs. Lambert lets out tells him enough. Neil and his parents hurry after the nurses and the doctor, Kris and Drake staying behind for a moment.
Drake doesn’t say a word as he sighs heavily and heads in the same direction as the others. Kris forces himself to calm down. His knees are shaking and his palms are sweating. Before he starts walking towards that room holding his best friend, he silently thinks to himself,
Oh God, is there some way for me to take his place?