Shipwrecked On Emo Island

◌ Seventeen ◌

"Oh crap! Dallon!"

They ran to Dallon and surrounded him like a mob, stressing him out a bit. His clutched his leg and clenched his teeth in pain. His ankle was throbbing and looked visibly banged up.

"What? What hurts?" Patrick asked, shoving the others away and making room.

"My- my ankle!" Dallon said, on the verge of tears.

"It's okay! Uh, Pete, run inside and grab some ice and gauze from my bag." Patrick commanded, staying calm.

He took Dallon's ankle in his hands. He remembered hearing somewhere that you should apply compression to a broken ankle so he gently squeezed it, feeling stupid. He raised it up high and waited for Pete.

"Dallon are you okay?" Joe asked.

"Yes Joe, he's completely okay. In fact, he's so okay that he can't sit up or walk." Andy replied sarcastically.

"I'M NOT O-F******-KAY!" Dallon screeched like a banshee.

"Shhh shhh, you're gonna be fine." Patrick softly whispered. "Way to go, Joe."

Pete busted out of the house carrying an Instant Ice Pack. Patrick, being the parent figure of their band, had made sure he packed lots of First Aid equipment. He squeezed the ice pack in his hands feeling it turn cold and wrapped it around Dallon's ankle. After securing it with gauze, he lifted Dallon's ankle in the air once again.

"Come on, let's get him inside. Pete, can you get the pop-up stretcher?" Patrick asked.

"Sure."

Pete ran into the house and up the stairs. He dug through Patrick's first aid kit and took out the tiny box containing the pop-up stretcher. The pop-up stretcher was exactly what it sounded like: a comfortable gurney in a little box. The box was only a small cube, with a length, width, and height of only two inches. Patrick is so talented, he actually invented the product on his own.

Pete grabbed the cube and bolted back down the stairs. He burst outside and stood a few feet away from the group before pressing and rotating the top of the cube. In seconds, a cushioned gurney was awaiting Dallon. Pete wheeled it over and with the help of Frank and Gerard, they got Dallon on and dragged him inside. The remaining people stayed and gathered the coconuts that fell with Dallon. Hey, at least something good came out of that incident.

~~~~~~~
9:00 P.M.
~~~~~~~

It was late at night and everyone was pretty tired and ready for bed. Tomorrow was their first challenge and they wanted to get a full night of sleep before reaching their long day. They all sat on the floor, huddled around a small deck of cards playing Red Dog. Patrick, being the only one knowing how to play, was of course the banker. After their failed attempts at playing Drug Dealer (or Candyman, as Patrick liked to refer to it as), Irish Poker and  Vatra, Patrick was desperate to find a large game for everyone to participate in.

Well, expect Dallon who was passed out in his stretcher, exhausted from his accident. He had been causing commotions on the gurney all day. Patrick had loosely diagnosed him with a transparent musculoskeletal injury within the ligaments of his ankle. In other words, Dallon had a twisted ankle.

"Hold on, am I supposed to show my cards now? And you take them away?" Mikey asked, scratching his head.

"No! No, not yet!" Patrick said.

"Oh shoot, I already did." Ryan said, gesturing to his cards laid out face up in front of him.

"Yeah Ryan it was okay when you did it because you didn't have-"

"Why can't I?" Mikey asked, even more confused. "Is this favoritism?"

"You know what, let's just play Baccarat." Patrick said, giving up on this game.

"Huh? Barakat? Jack Barakat?" Pete asked.

"No! Baccarat. The T is silent."

"Jack's last name doesn't have a silent T." Pete said.

"Not Jack! I'm talking about the game! Baccarat has a silent T!" Patrick said, getting extremely frustrated.

"Since when is Jack a game?" Pete said, dumbfounded.

"Oh my gosh! That's it, I'm going to bed. It's a shame because that game is really fun but none of you understand what I'm saying."

"Awww come on, let's try again!" Brendon said, sipping a glass of invisible beer.

"No we should probably get to bed. It's gonna get late before we know it and I'm kind of dreading Cook For A Day." Ryan said, worried about their first challenge tomorrow.

"I'm gonna stay down here for a bit." Brendon said. "I work better on lack of sleep. It's like working good under pressure but... different."

Everyone left to get settled in for night. Frank and Mikey hauled Dallon upstairs to his bedroom and helped him into bed. Meanwhile Brendon stayed downstairs. He refilled his invisible beer from his invisible keg and gulped it down in a matter of minutes. He was very nervous for tomorrow. If they don't win, Billie Joe said they'd be on their own to get home. If they're on their way to get home, God only knows what might happen to them.

Four more beers later, Brendon checked the clock. Somehow, it was 3:00. He stumbled into the kitchen and put his glass in the sink. His legs struggled to carry him up the tall staircase. The dizziness in his head was getting to him and he was seeing two of everything. He opened up what he thought was his bedroom door.

Unable to sleep, Dallon remained awake in his bed. He was startled when his door burst open, revealing a drunk, shirtless Brendon. Dallon felt his heart skip a beat and he held his breath. He sat up quickly, wincing in pain from his ankle. The cold night air made him shiver from his bare chest.

"D-Dallon?" Brendon slurred. "Why are you in my room?"

"Your room? This is my room, n-" He froze up when Brendon got closer and sat at the foot of his bed. He could hear Brendon's heavy breathing just a few feet away.

Dallon sighed, realizing Brendon was beyond intoxicated and confused about which bedroom was his own. "Brendon, shouldn't you be asleep?"

"You're not."

Dallon closed his eyes and listened to the racing beat of his heart.

"Besides, I'd rather be here. With you."

What was happening right now? Here Dallon was, sitting in the same bed with a drunk, married man. His pulse and breathing were faster than they should be but at the same time, Dallon's head was screaming to stop. He wanted to shove Brendon off his bed and yell at him. He wanted to tell him he shouldn't be so tempting. He wanted to close the door on his back and humiliate him. He wanted to-

His thoughts were interrupted when Brendon got up and started for the door. His heart sank, he felt embarrassed and lonely. He felt stupid for thinking anything was going to happen. But before Dallon could beat himself up too bad, Brendon stopped in front of the door and closed it, ensuring their privacy.

He returned from the door and sat next to Dallon again, closer than before. So close, they were practically on top of each other. "Dallon." Brendon said quietly, placing his hands on the taller man's hips. He closed his eyes and leaned in slowly. Moments after their lips connected, the door flew open and a voice yelled, "Stop!"