Page 74 of Closer

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PATIENT FUCKING ZERO

LEVI

Two days later we’reback in the studio like nothing ever happened. Ryan rides my arse when I accidentally play a flat. I tell him to fuck off, and it’s just like old times. We wrap on the song Brie and I never finished, the one we were recording before I distracted her with my cock. Before the phone call that ruined everything.

I come in from outside after a smoke. The others constantly give me shit about my pipe, but I like it; it makes me feel distinguished. When I head back into Studio Five, Zed is coming out of the booth after laying down the beats for our next track—though we’ll likely play it all at once for the demo recording. Deb is stretched out on the corner couch typing on her phone, and Coop is scribbling down lyrics as Ash stands by the table looking pasty as fuck. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow and he’s looking more and more like patient fucking zero every time I see him.

“Hey, you okay, dude?” I grab a beer and pop off the lid by hitting the lip on the edge of the counter. Then I glance back at Ash, who pitches forward into the table. Several glasses smash together, and Ryan is up out of his seat, but I get there first.He’s out cold. Red rivulets drip from a long gash on his forearm. I straddle his arm, because there’s no fucking space between him and the upended coffee table and slap his face several times, calling his name.

“Call a fucking ambulance,” I shout to Cooper, who’s just standing there watching on in shock. Thank God his sister isn’t a complete fucking moron and dials triple zero, telling the operator where we are and what type of emergency we have.

“Ash? Ash, wake up.” I tap his cheek again, and his eyes flutter open. He startles and shifts, looking up at me from horrified eyes. “Welcome back.”

“Don’t touch me.” He surveys the scene, his eyes locking onto the blood on the shattered glass, and the long rent in his arm as if I was the one who pushed him. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Ash?” Zed throws me a towel—I don’t know where from—and Ash skitters back against the couch as far from me as he can get in our limited space. “Stay where you are.”

“It’s just a little blood. You gotta put pressure on it,” I say, wielding the towel out in front of me.

“I’m sick ...” He pales, and I think he might be about to lose consciousness again, but he pinches his eyes tightly closed and whispers, “I have AIDS.”

My whole world rocks on its side. He covers his eyes with the hand that isn’t pouring blood. Tears escape his thick digits and trail down his face.

“What?” I say, certain he’s being an arsehole and punking us. Any second Ashton Kutcher will walk in from outside and declare that we’ve all been Punk’d. But he doesn’t, and Ash won’t look at me. He won’t look at any of us.

Zed laughs, as if he too is hoping for this all to be some sick joke, but the laughter abruptly chokes off.

“Ash?” Coop says, his voice strained. “Seriously?”

“You’re shitting us, right?” Zed says.

He tilts his head back against the couch and exhales loudly. “I wish I was. I wish this was all just a sick fucking joke, but it’s not.”

“How?” I snap, because I can’t make sense of it at all. Ash doesn’t do drugs, he doesn’t fuck random women, he eats right, he takes care of himself. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“I don’t know. A groupie, I guess. I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of how, and who, and why. I don’t fucking know. All I know is, it’s a bad dream, and I can’t wake up.”

“We gotta get you to a hospital.”

“Yeah, that would be good,” he says, blanching. I take several steps closer and hand him the towel. He takes it gingerly, his bloody hand coming into contact with my arm. “Fuck! Wipe it off.”

“Ash—”

“It’s contractible by blood, you idiot. Wipe your fucking arm.” He’s gasping for breath, and his eyes roll back in his head before he collapses again.

“Fuck! Deb, where’s that goddamn ambulance,” I shout and wrap the towel around his wound like a tourniquet. It doesn’t really work, because the gash spans the length of his forearm. My phone rings and I ignore it. I slap Ash’s face, hard. “Ash, come on, wake the fuck up.”

“Maybe you should leave him until the paramedics get here. You’re not even wearing gloves,” Coop says, and I turn and glare at him. “Hey, I don’t relish having to say it, but it’s true. It would kill him to know he’d given it to you too.”

“Did you know about this, either of you?”

“No, fuck-stick, we didn’t know about it. Jesus,” Zed says.

“How long has he been living like this?”

“Hey, I’m just as in the dark about this shit as you are,” Cooper says.

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