Mike tilted his head to the side. “We don’t know a guy named Charlie,” he creased his eyebrows.

“Ch-Charlie,” I croaked, my eyes beginning to soak with tears. “She… my girl…” I said incoherently, shaking my head. “I never got to tell her that I love her…”

“Vic? Do… do you mean… Spence… Vic, Spencer isn’t… who is Charlie?” Mike looked more confused than ever.

“No, not Spencer,” I whispered. “Charlie… please let her come in. I need her,” I cried.

Mike shook his head, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed back a sob. “Vic, you don’t know a Charlie,” he said firmly.

“Fuck you, Mike! Yes, I do. She saved me from myself after I saved her from almost dying. She lives with us! Well, at least she did live with us… she moved out into her own apartment while we were on tour,” I explained. “Mike, are you okay?” I asked, unsure as to why he didn’t remember her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Vic,” he hissed. “We haven’t been on tour in three years,” he snipped.

I glared at him. “Now you’re confusing me, Mike. We were just on tour,” I gritted my teeth.

“No, Vic. We weren’t just on tour, because you’ve been lying there,” he pointed at me almost accusingly, “in that fucking bed, for three fucking years. In a god damned coma, for three years,” his face twisted in anger and sadness. It was then when I noticed how thin Mike looked. He also had a shaggy, unkempt beard, and it was evident that he had let himself go.

“What…” I whispered.

“You’ve been rotting there like a damn potato for three years, Vic! Do you know how hard it was, everyday, someone telling me that it would be best to take you off of life support, but I fucking said no! I wouldn’t fucking let them!” he screamed. “You are my big brother! I’m not going to kill you!” he moaned in agony, breathing heavily.

“Mikey, no, it’s not true,” I cried.

“It’s true, Vic,” he said sadly. “You nearly killed yourself. They thought you were never going to wake up!” he collapsed at my side, burying his face into my shoulder. Even though he was contacting me, his touch felt distant. Like he wasn’t really there. “I can’t believe you’re awake,” he croaked.

“It was… it was all… it was all made up?” I cried, my chest feeling as if someone had simply raked my vital organs out. “None of it was real?”

“What?”

“Everything wasn’t real… I was so happy, Mikey. I restarted my life. I learned to love again. I didn’t get to tell her, though. We were going to be so happy, everything was going so good finally,” I cried.

“I’m so sorry, Vic,” Mike whispered hoarsely. “What made you wake up?” he asked curiously, looking up at me. His eyes were glossy with tears.

“I… I don’t know… we were so happy. We were touring, having fun. And then bang,” I said.

“Bang,” Mike repeated in a low whisper.

“Bang!”

Bang! Bang!

“Fuck!” I coughed, sitting up and immediately leaning over, spilling the contents of my stomach. It tasted like cranberry Smirnoff.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I rolled out of the bed, collapsing on to the ground. “Mike…” I groaned.

“Shit, man,” Mike chuckled. “You are so smashed.”

“Fuck…” I groaned again, more vomit slipping out of my parted lips. I coughed and convulsed weakly as my stomach continued to lurch. “Oh, my God…” I mumbled, shivering intensely. “What is real…” I moaned.

“Come on, buddy,” Mike sighed, lifting me up from my underarms. I slouched against him as he dragged me to the bathroom. I noticed that we were on the bus, not in a hospital. I was wearing my clothes from… last night… no hospital gown. I got a peak of myself in the mirror before I huddled around the toilet, seeing no bandages on my head—only messy hair and hung over eyes.

“What is real…” I moaned again as I threw up a few more times.

“Damn, Vic, you must have had a lot to drink last night,” I heard a new voice: Jaime. He came bouncing in and patted my shoulder in support. “You normally keep your alcohol down well, this is surprising,” he noted.

“Yeah, Vic. This is a new one for ya,” Mike laughed, rubbing my back.

“What is real…” I moaned for a third time.

Mike laughed. “Himes, he doesn’t even know what is real life right now. This is so funny,” he said.

I swatted my hand back at him violently.

“Hey, dude, calm down,” Mike said, unaffected by my weak attempt to hit him.

I got sick one more time.

“Alcohol poisoning is a bitch, man,” Mike said. “Damn, how much did you drink last night?”

“Too much…” I murmured. “This is real…” I whispered.

Mike laughed again. “Yes, buddy, this is real. You’ll feel better later. You’re lucky we have today off,” he said.

“Pinch me,” I whispered.

“Huh?”

“Fucking pinch me, Mike! Or give me something to hurt myself with. I need to know that this is real,” I slurred angrily.

“Holy shit, Vic, don’t fucking say that!” Mike yelled, appalled. I felt too miserable to care.

“Pinch me!” I screamed, terrified that I would lose myself if I never determined what the fuck was real.

Instead of pinching me, Mike bopped the back of my head forcibly with his bony hand. “How’s that?” he snapped.

“Fuck you,” I mumbled. Except it felt real… very real. The back of my head felt like it was split. I brought a hand up to it tenderly and held it, tears springing in my eyes. “Ow,” I cried.

“Oh, shit, Vic, I’m sorry,” Mike’s tone softened up, and he replaced my hand with his own. My hand dropped from my throbbing head and lazily slumped on my thigh.

“I just needed to know that I wasn’t dreaming,” I whispered hoarsely through my tears.

“Vic, it’s okay buddy. You aren’t dreaming right now,” he reassured.

“Are you sure? I didn't almost die, did I? I’m not about to wake up in the hospital, am I?” I asked, worried. “Charlie’s real, right?”

Mike chuckled nervously. “Of course not, Vic. And of course she’s real,” he said. I nodded, sighing. I focused intently on every sensory detail—Mike’s hand on the back of my head, the way my stomach twisted, the way my heart throbbed, the way my breaths came out in short, shallow huffs. It all felt real—I felt real. This was real.

“I don’t want to wake up and see everything was a dream,” I cried. The salt water down my cheeks burned; they felt real.

“You’re not going to. I promise you this is real life, okay? Everything’s okay,” he said, his tone extremely worried. His voice rung in my ears—it felt real.

“Mike I think I am in love with her,” I blurted.

“I know,” he said. I relaxed against the wall of the bus, sighing.

“You know?”

“Yes. It’s okay,” he said.

“It’s not too soon?” I asked quietly, biting my lip.

“Who the fuck cares? No ones judging you guys. And if they do, then fuck them!” Mike exclaimed.

I nodded; it all made sense, suddenly.

I wasn’t dreaming right now. I wasn’t in my nightmare anymore; this was real life.

I was afraid of love.

I was afraid of losing the girl I loved.

But, as exhibited through my horrific nightmare, I was afraid of losing her at the hands of myself.

Notes

I figured it's been a while since I've given y'all a good heartache, so here ya go!
Don't hate me!

But I don't simply find enjoyment in all of your reactions (although they were great in my opinion muaha). Don't worry, I didn't do this for no reason--there's a purpose to all of it.