Page 71 of Steadfast
Cravings Meter: Just Kill Me Already
It tookSophie a day to find me.
Too bad it didn’t take her longer. By the time I heard her gasp at the doorway of my hospital room, I was sweating and shaking and cursing God for my existence. Against Teen Doctor’s advice, I’d refused to continue with the IV painkillers. My big plan was to detox before they kicked me out of the hospital. I knew it was going to be bad, and I had this perverse idea that the people who did this to me should see that.
Also, there were nurses here ready to bring me ice chips and to tell me to stop shouting “FUCK” at the top of my lungs. More than once already they’d threatened to sedate me against my wishes. They said that if my withdrawal symptoms didn’t fade soon, it would fuck up my healing and put a strain on my heart.
But Father Peters had turned up to calmly demand that Teen Doctor listen to me. “He says he doesn’t need the narcotics. Why don’t you give him more over-the-counter painkillers?”
“We’ll let you try it your way,” the doctor said. “But if your vital signs don’t improve soon, we’ll have to use something stronger.”
Fuck that. Nobody who ever detoxed would do ittwicein a week.
Yet with each new wave of nausea, my determination splintered.I really do need a little something for the pain, my idiot brain suggested. Never mind that they’d given me industrial strength ibuprofen. My body was craving that floaty feeling I’d woken up with. I wanted to drift on sweet numbness again.
And I couldn’t.
So when Sophie burst into my room, I was right in the middle of the worst of it. At least I hoped so. I was lying on my back in a pool of my own sweat, my broken arm throbbing, the wound in my side burning. I was trying to stay quiet, but it wasn’t easy. Sometimes my teeth chattered, and sometimes I could swear there were bugs crawling over my skin.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her slender hand landing on my good elbow.
Instinctively I turned my head away from her. “Not now,” I said through a clenched jaw.
“Who did this?” she gasped.
Me.
“Please. Tell me what I can do?” She put a hand in my nasty, sweaty hair.
God. I reached up and pushed it off. “Please go,” I said, my voice like gravel. I knew I was being an asshole. But I didnotwant her to see me this way. This right here—this was the reason I’d hid my problem in the first place. She was the one person in my life who thought I was somebody worth knowing. I never wanted to show her the truth.
And now a new wave of nausea threatened me. Bile rose hot and bitter in my throat. I choked it back, and Sophie touched my face. “Jude?”
My stomach lurched. “GET OUT,” I hollered. Then I used my good hand to push her away from the bed. I grabbed the shallow little plastic tub the nurse had left beside me and I gagged over the edge of it.
“Oh,” Sophie gasped. “Poor baby.”
The nurse—Angela was her name—ran into the room, and stepped on the button that elevated my bed a little bit. “Are you choking?” she asked me, and I shook my head. We’d done this a few times already. She turned her head over her shoulder. “Wait in the hallway, sweetie,” she said to Sophie.
I spit into the little tub. “Don’t let her in here,” I bit out.
Angela looked me over with worried eyes. Then she offered me my cup of water. “Rinse.” After I spit again, she carried the tub away and washed it. When she came back, she sponged off my face with a cool cloth until I shivered. “This can’t go on,” she whispered. “I’m worried for your stitches.”
“They’re fine,” I mumbled.
She moved my sheet down and pushed the fabric of my gown aside to see my bandage dressing. “Okay. How’s your pain?”
“Who knows?”
Angela sighed. “I don’t like this. You’re in too much distress.”
“Not your problem,” I said, flopping my head back on the pillow.
“Actually, it is. Try to sleep?” she suggested. “Can I pull the blinds?”
“Why not?” I didn’t know if it mattered. Nothing mattered. I was surly to Angela because I was pissed off at the hospital. Which made no sense.
But nothing did.
