Keith's slow start began when Alex left the bed. In his grogginess, he thought he saw her dressing, but he was slipping in and out of consciousness and just couldn't tell. By the time she and Erika were in the practice room, Keith was forcing himself out of bed with much effort. The alcohol, and un-restful sleep had taken a powerful toll on him, but he forced composure on himself and dropped to the floor with a thud, holding himself up with his left arm, his right one behind his back. Despite hunger, thirst, and heartache, Keith commanded his body to work, cranking out push ups like a madman. Non-stop until failure, Keith had nearly doubled his maximum number of reps since he broke his arm, but even after that he rolled onto his back and began doing jack knives. After those, Keith put on his shorts and a sleeveless shirt so he'd be decent. Heading downstairs, he noted how great everything looked, and also the closed door. Keith did his best to push the dark thoughts from his mind, moving past it to get to coffee. Keith poured himself a cup and chugged it, black. He took a breath and poured himself a second cup, and a third, eventually simply making a second pot as he drank the bitter liquid. Keith went to find anything to clean up, working quickly as he seemingly ignoring his broken arm. After he finished, he suddenly realized that his arm didn't hurt at all. Accessing his knowledge, he knew most arm casts were a six week ordeal. So, why did he feel like his arm was fine? He pushed the thought from his head and went to sit on the couch