'Ashley sat with Jake by Andy's bedside. They were both wide awake and alert, Jake eyeing the sleeping vocalist warily, as Ashley played with the design of his leather gloves, absent-mindedly, mind focused on the old days, when Andy was clean and happy.
Jinxx had left for the caffeteria to get coffee.
CC had broken down when he'd seen him, and had gone home, unable to accept the fact that Andy, the tall boy with a big dream and an even bigger heart, and become this...monster.
Ashley knew how hard it was for him - CC was an empathetic, friendly, sensitive person - and so understood the fact that CC would probably stay away from the Rehab Center.
Andy looked worse than before, though he'd been cleaned, his skin had broken out in a cold sweat, and he was shaking uncontrollably. They watched as he woke, dark eyes darting like a rabbit caught in headlights. "W-where am I?" He asked, quietly, refusing to look at the two. "Let me go!" He struggled against the heavy velcro straps holding him down.
Jake's eyes were fixed on the gauge in his cheek. It was almost to the bone. "You're safe..." He said, warily, then after a pause, elaborated, "In Rehab." Andy's eyes flew open and he glared at the man. baring his yellow, cracked teeth.
"Let me out!" He screamed, angrily, desperately, already beginning to thrash against the bonds that held him to the bed. "I need a hit!"
Jinxx walked in, holding three paper cups. When he saw that Andy was awake, he shook his head, pushing the cups into his bandmates hands and leading them out of the room. Neither man protested, Jake all too willing to leave the room. It was too much for him, like it had been for CC, to see his brother go through that.
Andy was a different person.
He didn't remember. No matter how much they tried...he just didn't.
In all honesty, Jinxx realised, as he gently pushed the two out of the door, that Ashley, who looked back over his shoulder, tears running freely down his face, Ashley, who had an angry, dark bruise around his neck, Ashley, who suffered more than all of them: was the only one who truly believed that Andy could get better.
He'd seen the look of heartbreak on Ashley's face. The way those honey brown eyes shone with hope and fear, how pained he'd looked when Andy had first been brought in. The way he was so agitated. The way he'd been the one who'd kept the search going, months after the others had given up.
Ashley loved Andy, and if Andy didn't overcome his addiction, if Andy died, then Jinxx knew that Ashley would die, too.
Months passed, little changed.
The only reason the band members continued going to that god-awful was to wipe the tears from their bassist's face, as he sat in silence for hours. Their youngest brother was a lost cause, to them, and while it was horrible to leave him like that, they knew they had to move on with their lives, and stop clinging to the past. Now, if they could just convince Ashley of that...
Andy...well, he wasn't screaming, anymore. In fact, he rarely spoke. Just lay there, brokenly. His hair began to grow back, at different lengths, and lacking the shine it had once had. At this point it was almost all a dirty, vaguely healthy blonde, years of dying it black meaning the colour was slightly different from natural. His teeth began to whiten, slowly, skin clearing up from the angry, red acne that had covered a lot of it.
"Andy," Ashley called, coming in one day, setting his coat on the chair by the door. "I brough-" he froze, seeing that the bed was empty, covered thrown back. He sighed in relief with he heard the shower running. Andy must've just been washing. "Andy, are you almost done? ...Andy?" No response. Something was wrong. Throwing back the curtain that covered the door, he screamed. "WHAT ARE YOU doing?!"
The addict's recovery was compromised massively after he was found, remembering nothing before the highs he'd put his body through. Nails digging into his legs, hips, and arms, until they bled. Who were these people? What did they want with him? Why were they taking the one thing that he loved, and loved him, away? And those brown eyes, that man... He sat there, rocking, murmuring incoherenty. Ashley took a hesitant step backwards, to get help. Suddenly, Andy jolted up, and nails began to rake into Ashley's flesh until the staff heard his cries and managed to seperate them.
"You need to give up, Ash." Jinxx said, softly, watching the bassist sip his coffee, new stitches the focus of all of their stares. Ashley hadn't slept in days, worried sick about his friend, and it was showing. Jinxx watched sadly as he destroyed himself. "Please tell me you haven't..." He cautiously began to roll up the sleeves of the man's shirt, tattoos coming into view. And many red slashes, angry and deep, new and old, scarring and bloody. "Oh, Ashley." Jinxx's eyes softened. "Please, talk to us, we're here."
"I'm fine." Ashley insisted, yanking down his sleeve and walking down the hall, sitting down in the familiar room, next to the bed that held his best friend. And he was fine. As long as he had Andy, he was fine. Happy...content...alright...not bad...dead inside. The only nights he got sleep were the nights when he would accidentally pass out beside Andy's bed, wishing that this had all been a nightmare, and wishing he'd done something differently.
He woke up the next morning, as usual, to the sounds of Andy waking, yawning and stretching as best he could, against the bonds that held him to the bed. However, this time, for the first time in so, so long...Andy spoke, deep, husky voice filling the room.