Warm March sunshine poured through August's window, falling on the two sleeping creatures. Taylor was deep in a dream, and mumbling something about cheesy poofs and Kenny being Cartman's father, and August was sighing contentedly about every other breath. She had cuddled herself into a ball in Taylor's arms, and had buried her face in his hair. It was, in all essences, and Kodak moment. *smile* When a fat, furry black cat bounced up onto the bed and started pawing at August, telling her she had to get up, August buried her nose deeper into Taylor's neck and slept undisturbed. Minou, (Pronounced MIN-OO, my adorable black pillow with legs) not bothered at all by her mistress's stubbornness, jumped up onto Taylor's side and sat down, digging her back claws into his flesh. She purred happily, knowing damn well he'd wake up soon enough if she dug deep enough. With a spirited mew, she began to lazily lick her paws. Taylor's eyes suddenly flew open, having noticed the sharp pains in his side. Minou mewed at him.
"Meow?"
Tay smiled, and started chuckling. He scratched her behind her ears, making her purr deeply.
"You are one persistant little bugger, aren't you?"
"Meow," she replied. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, amused by the fat little mound of fur. August suddenly sighed deeply, and opened her eyes. At first sight of her open irises, Minou crawled over Taylor onto August's stomach, and began to lick her face with a rough pink tongue.
"Aww, Minou...not now...I want some food."
The cat obediently jumped off the bed, and the two sat up. For just a split second they were silent, looking into each other's eyes and thinking on the night before. August stood up, and Taylor took her hand.
"Come on...let's go get some breakfast before that little furball attacks me again."
It was much later that afternoon that the trouble started again, around three. August and Taylor sat on the driveway, with cans of Coke and a bag of chips, the stereo blasting Blink 182. August was writing in a notebook, another of her infamous romances, and Taylor was reading one she'd finished before. The sun had gone behind the house at that point, but it was still surprisingly warm, and they were both in shirtsleeves. August looked up when she thought she heard a rumble in the distance, but didn't think much of it. She looked again, when it came again, but went back to her notebook. It was when they weren't paying attention, though, when the music was loud enough to block out most everything else, that the roar became evident - a Harley motor. August's father careened down the street, plastered and not seeing much more than three feet in front of him. August barely had time to look up, before he peeled into the driveway...and straight at them.
Decidedly, Taylor hated blood. He didn't ever want to see it again. Ever. All he could see was blood, blood, and more blood. It was everywhere. And not just on August, but him, too. But August...he wanted to look at her, but he didn't. He wanted to see her, but she looked dead. And that was the one thing he was afraid for, was for her to be dead. Everything had been a huge blur...a scream of tires against pavement, a scream from August, and a sickening crunch...then temporary blackness. The next thing he remembered was colours...blue and red. Lots of it. An ambulance, he supposed. Probably a few police cars, too...if they were lucky. Probably just the ambulance. He didn't personally care. He couldn't see August, and that's all he wanted, was for to see her alive. He looked around, and one of the paramedics nudged his partner.
"The kid's awake," he mumbled. To Taylor it sounded like the teacher on Peanuts, just a trumpet blaring different notes. Didn't care. Didn't matter. A face looked at him for a minute, then held up a few fingers.
"Hey, kid...how many fingers?"
Tay groaned in pain.
"Three," he replied. The paramedic smiled, his goatee seemingly larger while he grinned.
"Good. What's your name?"
"Jordan Taylor Hanson," came the reply. That stopped the paramedic cold. There were two options...either the kid was delirious, or...he looked at the bloody face carefully. There was a resemblance...despite the blood-clotted hair.
"You mean, the MMMBop kid?"
Taylor nodded, and the paramedic knew he wasn't delirious. They were gonna have problems getting into the hospital if any of the neighbourhood girls found out about this...Taylor grabbed the man's arm.
"My girlfriend," he started. The man nodded.
"She's fine," he said. "Unconscious, but she should be okay."
Relieved, Taylor relaxed, and closed his eyes. Blackness sunk in.
Diana was a nervous wreck. Her eyes had bags under them, she had bitten every fingernail until it bled, and she looked ready to crawl into a hole and die. Taylor had come out of the ordeal with a sprined wrist, two cracked ribs, and a bad concussion, but he was allowed to go. He refused to leave. It was sweet, Diana supposed, that he wouldn't leave August. It was also sort of amusing. The minute he and August had been taken into the emergency rooms, a flood of girls had come. One by one, each girl went to the desk, stated her name, and claimed she was Taylor's girlfriend. Finally, in frustration at watching this, Zac had stood up and exclaimed,
"Would you sick freaks fuck off? He only has one girlfriend, and she's in the Emergency Room being worked on as we speak!"
The girls had stopped after that, and only a few brave ones had bothered to ask Zac and Isaac for autographs, which they refused to give. And Taylor...he wouldn't talk to anyone. He only wanted to be left alone until he could see August. The doctors finally came out, telling him she was unconscious, but would be okay...they thought. They weren't sure. After that, he wouldn't leave, and stayed in her room all night.
"Promise me you'll never give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, and never let go of that promise."
-Jack, Titanic
I probably didn't get that right, but tough shit. It still suits.
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Seventeen