I feel the light threatening to seep into my closed eyelids, so I squeeze them tighter. I’m not quite ready to wake up yet. Fuck you, world. You can wait.
Stubbornly refusing to open my eyes, I reach for my vial, which should be next to me on the nightstand along with a pack of smokes, a lighter and razor blade.
My fingers grope awkwardly, but the bed stand isn’t where it should be.
Muttering under my breath, I decide that if my fucking housekeeper keeps moving shit, I’m going to fire her.
But as my consciousness returns, bit by bit, I realize that I’m not where I should be, either. The bed beneath me is hard and small and it crinkles like plastic when I move.
What the fuck?
I open my eyes to find that I’m in what seems to be a hospital room. I have an IV needle taped to my hand and I’m wearing a thin hospital gown. There is a blanket folded over my feet and there are plastic guardrails on the bed.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I gaze around quickly and find that I’m alone. The walls are bare and white, but for a dry-erase board that has Your nurse today is Susan scrawled across it and a clock that is ticking away the time. Tick, tick, tick. The noise is annoying. Its black hands tell me that it is 3:07.
How long have I been here? I see a plastic sack with my name written on it in black marker propped in a nearby chair and my boots sitting on the floor below it.
That’s it.
I’m alone in a hospital room and I have no memory of how I got here.
It’s disorienting.
I focus, trying to remain calm as I attempt to recall the last place I remember being.
A swirly, foggy memory emerges; a crashing sound, a moonlit night. Sand. Stars.
The beach. I was at the beach with that bar whore, Jill. She’s always willing to do anything for a few snorts of coke. And since I was in the mood for a blow job, I called her up. I don’t really remember much else, though.
I have a few hazy memories of Jill walking away. I think she was yelling.
And that’s it.
And now I’m here.
Fffuuuuccccckkkk.
I groan. As I do, a nurse bustles through the door in faded blue scrubs, wearing a tired expression and a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. She must be Susan. And Susan’s eyes glimmer for a moment when she sees me conscious.
“Mr. Tate,” she says with interest. “You’re awake.”
“And you’re a genius,” I sigh tiredly, resting back against the pillows. I should feel ashamed of being a dick to her but I don’t. I only feel tired and sore. I tug on my IV. The tape pulls at the hair on my arm. “Can you take this thing out? It stings.”
Susan’s tired eyes house amusement now, a notion that pisses me off.
“Do you find something funny?” I snap.
She shakes her head now, rolling her eyes.
“Nope. There’s nothing funny about a twenty-four year old kid who tries to off himself. I find it interesting that you would complain about the sting of an IV that is feeding you, but you didn’t care much about the sting in your nose when you overdosed.”
I stare at her as harshly as I can, although it’s hard to make an impact when I’m wearing a see-through hospital gown tied in the back.
“I didn’t try to off myself,” I growl. “Fuck that. If I wanted to kill myself, I would have done it a long time ago. Only pussies kill themselves. And I’m not a fucking *. Who are you to judge me? You don’t know me.”
I’m pissed off now, at her judgmental face and her misconceptions. Some bitch in worn out cotton scrubs making fifteen bucks an hour seriously thinks she can tell me what’s what?
“Please don’t swear at me, Mr. Tate,” the bitchy nurse says pleasantly as she pokes at the button on my IV machine. “I’m only here to help. I’m not judging you. I’ve actually seen far worse. I’ll call your doctor and tell him that you’re awake. And in the meantime, your father left something for you.”
She walks to the little particle-board dresser that sits across from the bed and picks up a folded piece of paper, bringing it to me. When she hands it to me and her dry fingers brush mine, her eyes change from annoyance to sympathy. Neither sentiment is welcome.
I grab the paper, crunching it in my hand.
“How long have I been here?” I ask.
I’m calmer now, more polite. She’s right. She’s here to help, or at least, she’s paid to take care of me. It’s probably to my benefit not to piss her off. The fate of my painkillers rests in her hands.
The nurse glances at the whiteboard. “Looks like four days.”
“Four days?” I’m astounded. “I’ve been out of it for four days? What the hell?”