Wicked

Chapter 12

Faith POV: 

I'm sitting in the backseat, as my father drives down the dark country road. Mom clings tightly to his hand, looking over his way like she can't get enough of him, as he periodically glances over toward her, appearing to be the same way. The radio plays Jerry Lee Lewis "Let's Put It Back Together Again", causing Mom to hum. Dad can't sing a lick, so he simply listens to Mom and soaks it in. 

Headlights shine on Dad's face while he smiles like a fool. As the headlights grow brighter, his smiles fades, before he turns toward Mom and me. The calmness of the radio and Mom's singing turns into the screeching of tires and broken glass. We are launched backwards, as the headlights now have given way to complete darkness. the only light left is left by the dashboard on Mom's side. 

Mom's head hangs down as she groans, blood dripping down from a cut on her forehead. She takes a second to get her bearings, before looking over toward Dad's side. 

"Babe..." She calls out, giving him a shake. His body falls limp onto her lap, causing her to freeze. "Dave..." She croaks, before realizing the dent on his head where his forehead slammed into the steering wheel. "Baby, wake up..." She begs, panic starting to strike her. She hyperventilates, before covering her mouth, sobs starting to leave her. "David, wake up!" She screams, before she grabs her chest. "Baby, please... please..." She pleads. "Just wake up... please just wake up." She cradles him, wailing as she rocks back and forth, all while I watch from the backseat.

I jump awake, noticing that I'm lying on the couch in the studio. I glance on the table, seeing a notebook full of lyrics that apparently fell asleep writing. I sit up, feeling my back ache from sleeping on the crappy couch. 

I look at the clock on the wall, gathering my things and jamming them into my bag before staggering out of the studio. I dig through my bag for my keys while in the hall, before hearing a door open. I look up, watching Tim step out of the bathroom, yawning before laying his eyes on me. 

"Hey." I let out, stopping for a moment. 

"Hey." He replies, as an awkward silence strikes. He looks at my bag, noticing the notebook sticking out. "Are you writing for the new album?" He asks, while I nod. "Same." He replies, before taking a deep breath. "It's actually been a tough one to write, so I hope you're having better luck than I am." He remarks, letting out a slight smile. I force one back, before thinking about what Byron said to me. 

"You know, I could help you out, if you want." I release before thinking. He raises his eyebrows, before looking down the hall. He looks back down at me before shrugging.

"That sounds great." He says, before starting back to the studio he was working in. I follow him, walking into a complete mess, as it was back when he'd try to write when we were together. As he did before, he attempts to tidy it up for me, making me crack a slight smile. I notice a notebook lying on the table, lyrics written on the page and scribbled out. I pick it up, reading the lyrics. "Oh, that's..." He lets out, like he doesn't want me to read it. 

The very first time her mother met me, her green-eyed girl had been a mother-to-be for two weeks. I was out of a job and she was in school, and life was fast and the world was cruel. We were young and wild... We decided not to have the child... So we did what we did and we tried to forget and we swore up and down, there would be no regrets in the morning light, but on the way home that night in the back of that red rag top she said please don't stop lovin' me.

I feel a little numb reading the lyrics, watching him look down at his feet as I finish. I glance his way, setting down the notebook on my lap before taking a deep breath.