Infinite

Ronnie was halfway through his burger and fries when his doctor knocked on the closed door and came in. The guys and I were seated in chairs that we'd swiped from empty rooms and we all sat up accordingly. Ronnie quickly stuffed another bite into his mouth and wrapped his items back up, shoving them into the bag as he straightened the best he could to greeted her.

She smiled at him warily. "I heard you wanted to talk to me," she said, hardly acknowledging the rest of us except for a half-smile between words, "Which is surprising considering me all the grief you've been giving me."

Her tone was serious, but there was a playful undertone which said that she was already smitten with Ronnie in the way that doctors were with their crazy patients. She took another look at our row of chairs and then did a double-take when she saw me centered among them. She smiled, glanced at the singer, and then looked back to me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there," she said, stepping around his bed with her hand held out, "I'm doctor Tavida Mehmet," she introduced, smiling brightly and confidently as I stood to greet her.

"Atticus," I answered, shaking her hand, "here to oversee and tame."

She grinned at the news. "Finally someone to keep him from walking out," she answered, giving him a look of playful discouragement, "Are you family or friend?"

I pulled my hand slowly back to my side and looked at Ronnie as though he would have some idea what we really were now. "Both," I said in return, not wanting to drag out the awkward silence, "I'll be here as long as he is, so you'll be seeing a lot of me."

"That's good," she said, faltering slightly at the vague answer, "he needs someone to keep him in line. It'll make things easier on everyone." She looked lightly at him and I glanced back at the four men to my sides who had obviously failed to do so.

Ronnie shook off her words. "We were wondering what you thought the best option would be for my collarbone," he explained to her as she stood at the end of his bed and nodded, thinking it over.

I clarified, "I just want to know if you recommend surgery or if you would chose to let it heal naturally."

She slipped a piece of paper from the medium sized binder she carried with her and took a good look at it, her eyes squinting in the slightest as she concentrated. "Whenever we have someone who comes in with a break like this, where the end of the broken piece still lines up pretty well with the other end, I always allow it to heal naturally unless I feel that the patient will do something to alter its position, such as another fall." She looked up and then asked, "You said you're a musician?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Fell off stage."

"Does that happen often?"

Ronnie shook his head. "I haven't actually had anything like this happen since I was a teenager."

She looked at the rest of us for reassurance, her pony-tail sweeping back over her shoulder as she turned her head. She sighed softly and slipped the photo away. "Ronnie, I would recommend that you take an easy for awhile," she answered, everyone watching the displeased expression come onto his face, "With practically the entire left side of your body injured, there really isn't much you can do right now. I know you disagree with me, but I don't recommend such a busy lifestyle right now."

"You don't understand," he rebutted, pushing his hair out of his face with his good hand, "We have over a month left on tour. There are thousands of fans who bought tickets to see us. Those are all people that we can't disappoint right now. I trip and fell and it'll heal, but I'm just asking you which way you recommend that it does, not for your opinion on my lifestyle."

"Ronnie - I'm a doctor. It's my job to make sure that you're in a good environment to promote healing. How can I discharge you right away knowing that there's a decent chance you'll compromise your injuries? You have to take it easy, even if you do go back out there."

He made it obvious that he was frustrated by the way he dropped his head back against his pillow and whispered a few choice words in the direction of his injuries. I stood up again, deciding to take over.

"Doctor Mehmet, he's not reckless on stage and I can guarantee that he won't be back in any hospital any time soon due to more injuries. There's no way for him to come home, so in light of everyone making the best of the situation, what do you recommend we do here that will allow him to get better and to get out of here soon?"

She took a look at the singer as he turned his eyes back on her and then she answered, "Luckily the injuries to his ribs were hairline fractures so those will heal on their own with time. There's nothing else to can do right now, we were just waiting to figure out the ramifications of him hitting his head and decide whether or not we believed that surgery would help maintain the position of his clavicle."

"So what now? What are we waiting for?" I questioned, sitting down slightly on the edge of his bed.

"We're worried about the severity of his concussion," she said, speaking directly to me rather than him, "He passed out when he fell and then began throwing up when he woke up. That worries us. His moods are very easily manipulated and he refused to eat and he's had trouble sleeping. These are all signs of pretty severe trauma to his brain."

"They'll fade on their own, won't they?" I asked.

She agreed. "They will, but I was concerned that he wouldn't be monitored properly if he left. His attitude about the entire thing causes me to believe that they'll all shrug it off when he goes back to touring. This is serious and it shouldn't be taken lightly."

I instantly crossed my arms over my chest and gave the band my best glare. "No one could reassure her that you would look after him?" I asked, my tone malicious, "I had to fly all the way out here just to babysit him because none of you were convincing enough to do it yourself?"

The four men shrunk back in their seats and I turned from them, too angry to want to hear what they were going to say. "And you," I said to Ronnie, my tone brutal, "If you would just promise to take care of yourself, you could've left already, but you brush everything off because you think you don't matter." I looked away from him before I saw what he was feeling in regards to my words.

"Doctor Mehmet," I said, turning 180 degrees to face her, "I flew out here from California. I left my son at home being watched by a friend so that I could come out here and be the adult. I promise you that Ronnie won't be partaking in anything even remotely dangerous until you think the concussion has passed."

She matched my tone, both of us all business, and slowly nodded her head. "I want someone keeping in touch with me when you go," she said, "I can start his release papers today, but I have to have your word that someone will continue to take his health seriously."

I nodded. "I will," I promised, reaching to shake her hand, "I'll keep an eye on him and keep in touch."

She nodded solemnly and looked at us both, now including Ronnie. "I'll get started on the papers then. They should be ready to go by tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Doc," I said as she turned and headed out of the room, leaving me alone to deal with the injured man and his bandmates. I turned around and looked at the guys. "You can go back to the hotel," I told them, watching as they stood up and gathered their things, "I'll deal with you later."

They left the room after offering Ronnie apologetic smiles, seeing as they were willingly leaving him alone to deal with my anger. When they shut the door behind them, I folded my arms over my chest and stared at Ronnie.

"How could you have that doctor so convinced that you care so little about your own well-being?" I asked, both hurt and angry, "She wasn't even willing to let you leave yet because she doesn't trust you to take care of yourself, Ronnie. Why is that?"

He looked away from me and from my question. "It's not like that Atticus," he said, his gaze not nearing mine, "You know I look after myself, I'm going to take it easy."

"You should've reassured her!" I yelled, throwing my hands out in disbelief, "Not me, Ronnie. I don't matter right now, it's her you should've focused on. Made her believe you, not me."

"I don't care about her," he said, eyes snapping back to mine, "I don't care about some doctor in some hospital in Denver, Atticus. I don't care. The only thing that I care about is getting the fuck out of here so that I can get back on tour and get home."

"Well that's not happening without her approval, Ronnie," I argued, wondering how he could be so blind in rage, "You need her to fix you and to let you go. She wouldn't let you because she doesn't trust you to give a shit about yourself. Who hurt you so bad in your life that you don't even value yourself, Ronnie? You're always so high and mighty and strong and confident, but I know you and I know that it's all just a show. You let people hurt you and you never let it go."

"How could you say that?" he questioned, his eyes darkening as tears threatened my own, "How could you say that I let people hurt me? Because here I am, Atticus, fighting for you. Fighting because letting you go would kill me. It's you, Atti, it's always been you. Your opinion of me is the only thing that matters and if you don't give a fuck anymore then why should I?"

I was stunned silent as tears dropped from my eyes. The thought of his feelings towards himself being linked with mine, and the realization that he didn't care because he thought I didn't made me sick. I grabbed my stomach as I heaved and I turned quickly from him, his eyes widening as I barreled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

I heaved and threw up into the toilet as Ronnie called for me, and then hit the button for a nurse. I continued to throw up and quickly pushed my hair back and tucked it behind my ears desperately.

"I'm fine," I called out to the singer as he told me a nurse was coming, but he ignored me as another round of nausea hit me.

Ronnie was almost shouting as a nurse came into his room and he directed her to me. She heard me and hurried inside. "Sweetheart," she said in surprise and pity. She stepped forward and swept my hair together. I offered her the tie around my wrist as I vomited violently.

When I finally stopped, I flushed the toilet one last time and reached for a towel that hung on a narrow rack. I wiped at my mouth self-consciously and then offered a weak thank-you smile to the unfamiliar nurse who was watching me.

She glanced back through the open door as Ronnie called to me, asking if I was alright, and she answered for me as she stepped into the doorway. "She's fine, honey, relax," she said to him reassuringly, "She just needs to clean herself up a little. Give us a few minutes."

She stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door on the singer. She watched me carefully as I stood up and rinsed my mouth, clutching the edge of the sink for balance.

"You need to sit back down," she advised, reaching to grasp my shoulders and lead me back to the closed toilet. "And take that shirt off, I'll grab you something clean instead. I'll be right back."

She stepped out as I carefully pulled the shirt over my head. My hoodie was left on one of the chairs next to Ronnie's bed, but I didn't get up to grab it. I would either have to walk in what I was wearing or shirtless and neither option seemed like a good idea.

When she returned to handed me a shirt from a pair of pink scrubs and said they were the ones that fathers wore when waiting on daughters to be born. I thanked her and pulled it on.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" she asked softly but strictly, eyeing me for the answer.

"I've just been stressed," I replied, flattening the shirt down over my stomach and unrolling the edges, "I guess I'm not handling it very well." I pulled my hair down and regathered it together to retie it.

She nodded. "Your boyfriend is going to be fine, Sweetheart. There's no need to worry. From what I've heard, he's a fighter."

I nodded and then shook my head, and mixed together it was more bobbing than anything else. "He's not my boyfriend," I corrected her, "Anymore," I added, "and I know he's alright, there's just a lot going on. I'm fine now though, thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, "but it would make me feel better if you let doctor Mehmet take a quick look at you. When someone is so stressed out that she's throwing up violently, it's better to just get checked out. You're here anyway."

I looked up to the mid-aged nurse and agreed due to the obvious concern that she felt and her expression displayed. I stood up, tossing my old shirt into the shower, and stepped up to her as she opened the door.

Ronnie was sitting up in bed, watching nervously as I stepped through. I held my hands up to calm him down. "I'm fine," I said right away, watching his skepticism unfold, "She just wants Dr. Mehmet to take a quick look at me. Don't worry, I'll be back in a few minutes."

His eyes stared at me. "Are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yeah, it's just stress," I reassured.

The nurse put her hand on my elbow and led me out of the room like she was steadying me. Even though it was slightly embarrassing, I was grateful for her touch. I still felt a little dizzy and my organs felt as though they they had disconnected and sunk heavily to the bottom of my stomach.

The nurse, whose name was Diane, led me to one of the empty rooms and seated me on the plastic covered table-like bed. She filled a paper cup with tap water and handed it over. "I'll go get the doctor," she said, although I was sure she was capable of looking me over herself, and then she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I set the cup on the counter and laid back, resting my arms under my head. I took slow, deep breaths and waited for the weight to disappear.

I kept hearing Ronnie's words in my mind even though I was trying not to think about anything at all. I was hurting him, I knew that I would, but I never imagined that I would alter his view on himself or make him feel unworthy of even caring about his own health.

He wasn't just hurt, he was falling to pieces and seeing it right in front of me made me sick. Made me feel guilty. I wondered how I could keep it up. Hurting him was hurting me. I wasn't sure I had the strength to face us both.

I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. As I focused on focusing on nothing, I was on the brink of sleep, exhausted. I was woken from the edges of sleep by Doctor Mehmet knocking briskly on the door.