Who: Casey Donovan What: A life-altering event Where: Interstate 15 near Primm, Nevada When: Last night - Late Warnings: Completely non-fatal motorcycle crash?
There were certain things in Casey's life that he absolutely knew to be true. For example, he knew his parents would always be useless and disappointing. He knew he would still write them every week. He knew that walking into a bar and ordering a drink would make him feel better, it would make all of his problems just fade away for a bit. Unfortunately he also knew that if he walked into a bar and ordered a drink today he would be homeless tomorrow. It worked as quickly as that for him as bad as his substance abuse history was. He had an addictive personality, he latched onto it, healthy or unhealthy, once he found something he loved. He'd never quit smoking - even though some told him it would affect his breath control while singing. Whatever, he was a champ, he was fine.
Gambling. He loved gambling just enough to make him nervous so he practiced outstanding self control for a man that lived in Vegas and had money to spare. Speeding. Speeding was a problem he hadn't yet been able to shake. He'd been driving motorcycles for the rush since he'd been a boy. It was no different now that he was a man. The bike was more powerful, more expensive, and bigger than what he'd grown up on, but the person behind the handlebars hadn't changed much.
The Harley was roaring to life, he was driving to LA for no reason other than he felt like it. He'd get there, find a hotel, walk on the beach, and drive back. It would clear his mind. His mind was already on the beach, when the downpour started. This was the desert, so they were quick and heavy. He slowed down a bit, the cars flying by him didn't seem to change their tempo much. Assholes. He'd ridden in the rain before, he didn't mind getting wet, as bad as everything was maybe it was like being cleansed. He was an artist - they were supposed to think up stupid shit like that. But it seemed fitting for the moment.
The problem with rain in the summer, and in a place as dry as the desert, the roads got slippery quickly, and Casey was aware of it, and he was paying close attention. Hydroplaning cars, were paying less attention and before Casey could think what had happened the car veered, so he veered and before long he registered nothing but the sound of his body and his bike sliding across wet pavement at an impossible speed. What counted for smooth under a tire could only be described as jagged bumps and peaks of hard asphalt when put up against a human body. Cars were squealing and stopping all around, sprays of water from the road were all he could see as the pain seared through his body. Miraculously his head hadn't hid the pavement. His helmet was still secure. But his body. Half of it was numb the other half was in searing pain. He knew what it meant when they said bones turned to dust, he felt unstable and crushed under the weight of himself - and his bike. The ground was hot, from a hot night, even coupled with the rain that was dumping buckets on them. Steam rose up from the pavement and it made it harder to breathe. People were leaping out of cars 'someone call 911' could be heard in every direction.
Casey was alert, and he was trying to move, his bike was on top of his leg, someone helped, he didn't see who. He couldn't help but scream, and curse. And fuck it hurt. But pain might have been good. It meant he could still feel things. He couldn't move, but he could feel. That mattered. The bystanders kept him talking, someone finally did call 911. The road was blocked for miles - backed up almost to Vegas.
Later at the hospital, he didn't know who they could call so he left it blank where it said emergency contacts. He'd figure that out later. 'We need to put him in surgery immediately' 'he's lucky he's alive' 'the police will have questions.' A few other car accidents had happened around his it seemed. There were fatalities there, those in the cars. He didn't know who or how. All he knew was that he was alive.