In My Dreams - Bill Kaulitz Story

54. E.R.

POV Bill

It felt like a rare luxury to be home again, surrounded by the familiar walls of our childhood home. Tom and I were in the living room, immersed in music once again. Words flowed from my mouth as Tom found the chords on his guitar.
I had written the lyrics during the countless hours on buses and in hotel rooms, and now Tom was finding the perfect melody to bring the words to life. It was always exciting when we worked on new music, and this song felt promising. Perhaps it could become a new hit.
This new song was taking shape, and I felt the excitement bubbling up. "I think we've got something good here, Tom," I said as he tuned his guitar. "This could be a banger."
Our mother stood on the other side of the room with the phone to her ear. She always had a special bond with Omi, our grandmother. Her voice was soft as she spoke to her, and I could see that she cherished every second of the conversation.
As we worked on the new song, I started to drift occasionally, my thoughts distracted by the sounds from the kitchen. Elise was cooking, and the scent of delicious food filled the air. Her presence in our home brought a sense of warmth, and I was glad to have her here.
I let my notebook rest for a moment and stood up from the couch. "I'm going to check on Elise," I mumbled to Tom. With a curious smile, I walked into the kitchen to see what Elise was up to.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw Elise standing there, with a bloodied finger and her face pale. Panic seized me as I ran towards her, knowing she was about to faint. I barely caught her before she would hit the ground. Her eyes rolled back, and she seemed to lose consciousness. I called for help, hoping someone would come to our aid quickly.
My heart pounded in my throat as I held Elise in my arms, and the blood from her injured finger seemed like an endless flow. Panic surged, hoping she would regain consciousness soon. "Elise," I whispered as I gently rocked her. "Elise, please wake up," I begged her, concern evident in my voice. I tried to shake her gently and rubbed my thumb on her cheek. "Come on, Elise, stay with me." The blood dripped slowly from her finger to the floor, and I grew more worried about her.
Tom and my mother came rushing in, alarmed by the situation. My mother, always the calm and sensible one, immediately assessed that Elise needed medical attention. "We need to get her to the emergency room immediately," she said, realizing the seriousness of the situation.
In a flash, I lifted Elise, her body feeling weak and light in my arms. Her pale face rested against my chest as I hurried to the door. Overwhelmed by concern and fear, all my thoughts were focused on saving Elise. Along with my mother, we rushed to the car, ready to take Elise to medical help. I sat in the backseat, holding Elise tightly. It felt like an eternity before we reached the hospital, but we couldn't afford to lose any time. "Elise, please wake up," I kept trying in the car. Her eyes slowly opened, and she looked around in confusion. I smiled in relief and held her gently. "Elise, stay with us," I said softly. "You fainted, but it's going to be okay."

Upon arriving at the hospital, we were immediately received by the nurses and medical staff. Elise was carefully placed on a stretcher and taken to the emergency department. I followed her hastily, my concern growing with every passing second. The bright fluorescent lights and the sterile smell of the hospital filled the air. White coats and hurried nurses ran back and forth. Elise was led to a small examination room. She lay pale on the stretcher, holding her hand up where the blood still gently dripped from her finger. The nurse inspected her finger, wiping away the blood with gentle hands. I stood by her side, worried and powerless.
A doctor quickly entered the room and greeted us. He examined the cut carefully and decided it needed stitches. Elise nodded with a pained expression, trying to smile to reassure me. While Elise prepared for the procedure, the nurse asked questions about her medical history and allergies. The doctor numbed the area around the wound to minimize the pain. Elise held my hand tightly as the doctor placed the stitches with precision and care. I tried to distract her by talking about trivial things, about our music, about anything but the pain she was feeling. After a few minutes, it was done, and the doctor ensured the wound was well secured.
With a calm and reassuring voice, the doctor said, "The wound will likely heal with a scar, but don't worry; it will fade and become less noticeable over time. Make sure to follow the aftercare instructions and keep the wound clean. If you have any questions or experience any issues, don't hesitate to contact us." Elise got a bandage around her finger, and I helped her sit up carefully. She still felt weak, but she gave me a weak smile and nodded to indicate that she was okay. "Can she still perform with that finger?" I asked. "Yes, that should be possible, but in the first few days, she should definitely be careful."
After the procedure, the nurses gave us some instructions for its care. Elise still looked a bit pale, but I was relieved that the injury wasn't more severe. After the treatment, we were taken to another room where Elise could rest and recover. The nurse came in to tell us that we were allowed to leave the hospital. She seemed surprised and looked at me with some astonishment. "Did you visit Ariana yesterday?" she asked. "The woman was completely distraught after being visited by a boy and a girl." Her eyes shifted back and forth between Elise and me, as if trying to figure out who we really were.
I quickly responded, "No, we weren't here yesterday. We had a performance and couldn't come by." I hoped my voice didn't tremble as I lied. The nurse hesitated for a moment but then recovered. "Of course, you're Bill Kaulitz," she said, taking out a piece of paper and a pen. "Could I please get an autograph for my daughters?" I nodded and quickly wrote a signature on the paper, while my mother looked at me in astonishment. When the nurse left, my mother shot me a questioning look. "What was that about?" she asked, clearly confused. I waved it off with a smile and replied, "Nothing, Mom. She clearly made a mistake." The last thing I wanted was for my mother to worry or ask questions about the events of yesterday. There had already been enough turmoil.