Lying in bed six days later, he was connected to a machine, a tube in his mouth preventing movement. He wore a neck brace, keeping still. The hum of a machine accompanied his new fear of being connected; the fear almost as vast as the day he woke up in a correctional facility, with nothing but the meager comfort of a small, cold bed, frozen in the backyards of California. He was hyperventilating, afraid of what had happened, not remembering much more than his mother's smile. He tried to move, but everything was so dark; that he couldn't move his body.
God! What was happening? He was scared, almost immobilized. His soul felt heavy, and the environment did nothing to ease the terror. He fell asleep after a few minutes, even though he wanted to stay awake like a wave, drowsiness robbed him of clarity. He fell into a deep sleep, still sedated; the anesthesia was enough to keep him asleep for another week.
He woke up a day later, in a more conscious state, his eyes seeing beyond the palm of his hand. He was in a hotel room; everything was beautiful, fantastic, and lovely, one of the benefits of the medical insurance provided by being a singer at Warner Records. He no longer had a tube passing through his throat, but he felt a sharp pain in his body; it was uncomfortable, and swallowing saliva terrified his throat.
Even though he wasn't famous, he was provided with the best care, a slight transfer to a hospital after he was out of danger, to a private wing, with even more care than was already present. He focused on the television, muted, in front of him. They were showing an old movie, one he hadn't seen in a long time... that's how the nurse found him.
Lost in his thoughts, death always ends up reconnecting life, giving him enough material to move, the motivations that can arise from such a threat are either key or fatal for some people.
-Good morning, dear, - the nurse said, turning up the volume of the television from mute to a low sound that filled the room.
The harsh reality, between Billy's thoughts and his mother's death, the end always ends up shattering hopes. The love Billy had for Agustina is enough to break the heart. Billy tried to move.
-Calm down, I'll help you. You must be feeling exhausted; your body has been sedated for a long time. If we look closely, you must be careful, you're very exhausted, - the nurse commented, taking control of the situation. She adjusted the bed to make it more snug, and she observed Billy's vital signs, the treatment bag, lactate treatment, and other routine procedures, from scanning his eyes, sticking out his tongue with a wooden spatula, to tapping on his condition.
The medical certificate stated that Billy suffered a punctured lung, fractured ribs, a head contusion, a broken arm, and various lacerations on his chest, while his legs suffered minor damage, such as an ankle bruise that caused serious tendon problems.
He underwent surgery in the early hours of the same day; in critical condition, he had a kidney problem due to the blow, inflammation, along with other complications.
-I'll serve you some broth with gelatin, dear, - the nurse said. Now that he looked at her closely, she was short, slender, wearing glasses with a colorful cord around her ears, her grayish-black hair. She had a muted smile but acted with the gentleness of threading a needle; her care was swift, her cold hands causing slight shivers in Billy.
-We'll call your guardians; they've been asking about you frequently. For now, rest and try to sleep. I'll dim the lights; you should rest, - the nurse said as if casting a spell. Billy fell asleep as soon as she said those words, so quickly that he fell asleep as quickly as the first time.
***
"Nurse Hughes," Jerry Wrexler asked, with a hint of guilt. He had been up to his neck in trouble these past few weeks; someone, he wasn't sure who leaked the news to the press, causing a commotion. Unfortunately, people love stars who suffer; Billy's charts and songs shot up to number six, reclaiming the size they had lost, and some songs even entered.
There was a lot of uproar in the news, and it was mentioned that Agustina Gonzales, the mother, died in a car accident. The mother of the new singer who is moving masses in the United States is now globally known for her mother's death and her son's accident. The sensationalism was a great trick of the record label, but Billy is just a kid, a lost youth who needs more than fame: a mother to nurture him, to understand him, someone to lean on. In the world of showbiz, that's not allowed; everyone seeks pleasures and benefits, making them oblivious to vague ideas, the ruin of young people who seem like candles in abandoned churches, worshipped only at times. Even the fans wish the best for these artists, as long as Jerry keeps what he calls the artist's illusion.
-The patient woke up yesterday afternoon; he is stable, and will soon be out of intensive care. For now, his recovery is rapid, but he will need to undergo physiotherapy processes, - commented the head nurse, Mrs. Hughes.
-Thank you, Nurse. Will visits be allowed soon? -Jerry asked.
-For next week, we are taking care of the patient, and if it's not an immediate family member, it's not something we accept in the hospital, - replied the woman, her voice firm, her neck veins visible in haste.
-Of course. I apologize for my boldness, -Jerry said, sighing with relief at how everything was resolved. At least Billy is okay, alive, and safe... His mother's death is a burden he carries in his heart; he doesn't know how to break the news.
-You can cut any news; he's a critical patient, and his mother died... - His voice trailed off. - I don't want the boy to find out in this state. Can you promise to be discreet with the information that comes out? - Jerry asked.
The eagle-eyed gaze followed him. A slight nod was enough for Jerry to take another breath.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around and prepared to leave the private hospital. He could see some paparazzi, waiting for the news. Jerry kept silent and went on his way, caring more about the flashes than anything else. Public relations were a headache.
The radio played Billy's music; now it was everywhere. What a headache it was to see success in such a poor light, along with the rushed release of the MVs. Jerry could only continue with displeasure, but as he listened to Billy's gentle voice, which now seemed as deep as a work of art, even the new reviews in music magazines were different. The album easily positioned itself as the best rock album of the year; the Grammys were practically won. Jerry thought as he drove.
He had never looked so tired; even his hair was grayer.
...