“Where are you, Kitten? You’re scaring me.” I want to tell him, but it would do no good, and I’m a mess. I can’t think and I suddenly don’t want to talk anymore; I just want to go to sleep. I wish he was here, with his big body and his big laugh.
“I’m lost. I’m on my own. I’m where nobody can find me. I’m invisible and I miss you. I wish you were here; you would’ve stopped me. I think I told him that I love you. He laughed and it was you, your laugh, and I told him that I love you.” I can hear him saying my name, asking where I am, who I’m with, but I don’t want to talk anymore. I end the call, turn off my phone, take two Valium out of my bedside drawer to help me sleep and swallow them down with water from the bottle I left there a couple of nights ago. I stare at the little brown bottle of pills and think about taking the whole lot, and the thought stays in my head for a very split-second; just a split-second, but I don’t do it. My family needs me, and I can’t cause them any more pain. I throw the pills and the water on the floor and wait for sleep to take me; the last thought that goes through my mind is how much I hate myself and my life.
Chapter Ten
I jump, then attempt to drag my eyes open as I try to work out what’s going on around me. I can hear voices and I feel myself being lifted; my face is slapped, not hard but enough for me to feel it. I can hear Jackson calling my name, and I’m aware I’m being carried, but I just can’t open my eyes properly or string a sentence together. I stop trying to fight it, curl into Jackson’s chest and go back to sleep.
*
I know I’m in a hospital before I even open my eyes; I would know that smell anywhere. I hate it; that smell means only one thing to me: death.
My throat feels scratchy and my stomach and ribs ache. I lay still for a while longer, trying to process why I might possibly be in the hospital. The last thing I remember clearly is Roman dropping me off; he didn’t come in, and I showered.
Shit!
I spoke to Cam last night, I think.
I open my eyes and look around. It’s a standard hospital room; stark, white, and sterile. It smells of death, death and loss, and I really need to get out of here. I catch movement from the corner of my eye and realise Jackson is asleep in a chair next to my bed; he’s sitting exactly like Sean was when I woke up after we lost baby M, and exactly like Marley was when I lost Sean and Beau. I burst into tears. Jackson instantly lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine.
“What the fuck did you do?” he asks through gritted teeth. I frown as I try and remember, but I can’t. What the fuck did I do?
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. Did I hurt someone?” He stands abruptly, pushing his chair back noisily on the tiled floor.
“The pills, George! Why, why would you do that?” I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.
“I don’t know what you mean, Jax. Please tell me, coz I can’t remember.” I’m wearing a horrible hospital night gown, and I use it to wipe my tears and my nose on. My tears and my nose; I remember wiping them last night. I was in bed crying; why the fuck am I crying? Well, der, probably coz my life is a fucking fucked-up mess. I’m suddenly pissed off with Jackson, and I just want a straight answer.
“Will you please just tell me why I’m in the hospital, Jax, and why I feel like I’ve done ten rounds with Tyson?”
He turns on me so abruptly that I push myself further down into the bed.
“You took an overdose, George. You OD’d on Valium. What the fuck were you thinking; how could you do that to us?” What the fuck is he talking about? My mind races; I did not take an overdose last night. I can’t remember exactly what I did do, but I just know I didn’t do that; not once I got back to my apartment anyway.
“I didn’t take an overdose. I smoked some weed and did a line of coke at the hippy house with Roman, but I didn’t OD; he brought me home and I was just fine.” I start to cough as my throat feels sore and I can hardly swallow. I sit up slowly and reach for the water at the side of my bed. Jackson just stands with his hands on his hips at the end of my bed and glares at me.
“Roman let you do coke and weed at the hippy house?”
“I’m thirty-fuckin-two, Jax; Rome didn’t let me do anything. I chose to. I was fine; he dropped me home, and I was fine.” Why would anyone think I’d taken an overdose?
“What about the Valium all over the floor? I couldn’t wake you up. I had to shove my fingers down your throat to make you vomit, then you choked and I had to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. You were a mess, George. A fuckin’ mess.”
I hold my head in my hands. I didn’t take an overdose. I know I didn’t take an overdose. I try to remember what happened once I showered.
“What happened when Roman dropped you home? Oh, and just so we’re clear, George, I’m gonna knock him the fuck out when I catch up with him.”
“What, why?”