More hospital food. God knows this is killing me more than the accident ever could. I found that my sense of humor has returned, but not my calm, easy nature. My subsequent double murder is playing on my mind constantly & I want nothing more than to reverse time. I've never lived with regrets. I don't believe in them. If I want to do something I do it. Maybe my palms will grow humid on the way over to ask that stunning girl on a date. Maybe my breathing will falter before a precarious stunt. Maybe I do feel fear. But never has it obscured the way to doing exactly what I want. Yet this, this I regret. Pretending to be a stuntman isn't funny or courageous anymore. It's contemptible, foolish, deadly. Bike racing is perfectly acceptable, on a track, in daylight, while sitting forwards. I've fucked up even more monumentally than the police officers that have apprehended me in the past could have imagined.

About four months after the crash my mother decided that I was depressed. She even found a support group for people who are recovering from accidents & such. I wanted none of it, I was happy to stay drinking in my room, listening to music to obscure thoughts of the family I decimated.

My parents were insistent. I had to go to this group. It's cheaper than therapy they say. And I have to keep up pretenses that I am on the mend & on the right track. I could have been flung in jail for manslaughter but my family fought for my supposed freedom. The lawyers convinced the presiding judge that my acts were not premeditated; that it was purely a dreadful accident, that I've never hurt or killed another before. That I'm merely a stupid, reckless, ignorant teenager; not somebody fitting the typical profile of a murderer. That I would be held on a much tighter leash from now on. I may be an adult but I would be required to continue living with my parents, under their constant supervision. I'd also probably never ride a motorcycle ever again. In addition, my licenses were revoked once it had been discovered how exactly I'd caused the accident.

The only places I was allowed to go were my house, the hospital & my closest friend-Nick's-place. Due to the severity of the injuries I sustained, I was to report back regularly to the hospital & receive even more blood transfusions. Apparently my bone marrow was slow on the uptake. They still somehow managed to pull blood of my type out of a mystical hat & at the drop of one too. It came at a price though. Much heftier than any other hospital experience in my (and my father's) opinion. But I guess since my type is rare, it would logically cost more in order to obtain.

Today, Thursday, the support group building was allocated to my list of approved destinations. I grudgingly got into the car as my mother eagerly drove us there.

"Come on, you'll enjoy getting your feelings out!" my mother squealed eagerly as I sighed at her. We walked inside a large, dreary grey structure & were confronted by a map indicating various rooms & their purposes. Trauma counselling, family planning, psychiatry, rape survivors, NA, AA & others. Looks like I've just walked into an asylum.

"Ooh, there it is Aaron!" she announced, prodding the map with one long, blue fingernail. Room C4. Right across from C3, organ transplant & surgery adjustment counselling. "Okay, I'll head over," I said, hoping she'd leave me so I could wander the halls aimlessly until she got back. "Yes, let's go!" she gripped my arm a little too tightly & I groaned involuntary. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking panicked. "Yeah mom, I was wondering if you could let me go in alone." She frowned disapprovingly for a moment until I reassured her that I could find it easily & would be fine on my own.

She eventually left & I began my exploration. Sometime later I found myself standing near the doorway of room C4, PTSD & depression counselling. I peeked inside to see if there was anyone or anything interesting going down but was disappointed at the lack of life and activity. Which I suppose is understandable. I turned to leave & happened to glance into room C3, the transplant adjustment thing. Inside was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my years. She had platinum blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in bouncy waves, bright blue eyes & a pale complexion. Not a bad rack either. Nice. She looked similar to Emmy. Maybe that was why I felt attracted to her. She noticed me leaning on the doorframe checking her out. I gulped.

"Hi," she said in a friendly tone, "are you lost? This is for organ transplants & such-like surgery adjustment, I'm sorry, nobody puts signs on the doors anymore & the map out front is beyond outdated!" she laughed then abruptly, her face fell, "I am so sorry, where are my manners, of course you're welcome here, come in," her doe eyes sheepish & apologetic as she rambled.

"Uh, I was in an accident a few months ago & got blood transfusions?" I said, making it sound more like a question than the statement it was. "I'm supposed to be in the other room, but," my dissatisfied look must've been effective because she laughed & said "oh yeah, I know. You can join us here if you want. If you don't like it you could always leave."

"Yeah? Cool," I said as I sat down in the nearest empty seat.

"So, is everyone here?" She asked loudly, silencing the medium-sized group of people milling about the snacks table & chairs arranged in a semi-circle. Everybody went to sit as I stared at her, still transfixed.

When everyone was seated, she began to speak again, "Hi guys, my name's Esme & I welcome you to organ transplant & surgery recovery adjustment support group for our little corner of town!"

Wait, so she's the counsellor? She doesn't look much older than me!

She proceeded to tell us her story, about how she has a genetic predisposition to some or other heart condition, subsequently causing her original heart to be weakened & hinder her quality of life and chances of survival. Eventually, about three years ago, her condition deteriorated so substantially that she had to have a heart transplant or she wouldn't live to see her next birthday. She was on life support for a while until they found a suitable donor for her. They got one, from a young brain-dead boy who'd been in a skiing accident. She told us how she often wondered about the boy & his family, that these thoughts plagued her so much that she decided to offer counselling to fellow transplant recipients to get a better sense of the general feeling associated with the process.

Once Esme had concluded her story the room erupted in soft applause and each of us had a chance to tell our own stories. There were the average tales; the kidney transplants, those awaiting life-giving organs & just those that had undergone surgery recently. Some that stuck out included a guy named Christopher who had a lung & kidney transplant in the space of two years & this girl, Adrienne, who had a cornea transplant. What made her so unusual was the air of darkness that seemed to cloak her. She was pretty enough but her eyes were easily her most prominent feature. A deep brown shade with a sharp intensity that led me to believe that she could peer into the darkest depths of my subconscious. I was immediately terrified of & enthralled by this girl.

And then there was one; me, motorcycle accident survivor receiving blood transfusions.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"What? The accident or transfusions?" I neglected to inform the masses of my murders.

"Both," came the collective response.

Well Jesus, it made me feel like shit for the most part. "Ah well, the accident shook me, that's for sure. The transfusions are costing a hell of a lot of money but should be over soon. I guess I'm just happy to still be alive," better to keep it brief. Should ward off any uncomfortable, unwanted questions.

"And back to being a stuntman soon too, I presume?" was the quip from Adrienne. I stared into those mesmerizing almond eyes once again and almost forgot what I was doing here in the first place. I focused on not blinking in case I missed anything. What the fuck was wrong with me? Here was a cute girl who was clearly eager & all I could think of were her eyes. I'm definitely losing my game. The accident had caused scars I was still beginning to discover.

"Not anytime soon, I don't think. I'm lying low and just attempting to get through each day, really." This was an honest answer. As much as I live for riding and stunt work, this has spooked me enough to make me reconsider my passions and aspirations for the future.