Page 4 of Retaking the Shot
Once I was finally awake and able to speak coherently, a mental health clinician visited me in my room. She introduced herself as Vanessa and asked me questions about whether my actions had been intentional or accidental. I assured her I didn’t have any plans to harm myself and that taking medication after drinking had been a dumb mistake on my part after a stressful situation.
And that was true.
The second I had seen Tim, all the memories of how he’d hurt me and everything I had endured afterward had come rushing back. It had been all I could focus on, and I had wanted nothing more than to quiet the dark noise in my head. So, when I’d remembered I had some sleeping pills, I had taken a few without thinking about the repercussions of mixing them with the vodka I had downed the minute I’d gotten home.
Vanessa scribbled something down on her notepad and glanced up at me. “While I understand tonight was an accident, I would like to recommend that you reach out to the mental health department to set up a follow-up appointment. A therapist can work with you on ways to handle stress in a healthier manner.”
I met her gaze. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”
She nodded and smiled. “Great. I’ll leave these with you.” She handed over a couple of pamphlets. “There are some resources you might find useful. And remember, reaching out for help is a sign of strength. It’s important to take care of yourself.”
Her words lingered in the room after she left. The idea of working through all my trauma terrified me, but I clearly needed to talk to someone. Despite having spent the last several years trying to bury those memories, my recent public run-in with Tim had sent me spiraling, so I clearly hadn’t done a great job of keeping it from affecting me. Even so, I wasn’t sure I was ready to dig deep and confront my demons head-on.
A few minutes later, just as I felt my eyelids get heavy, a nurse pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she checked my vitals.
I shrugged. “I’m fine, but I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “That’s to be expected. The fluids help, but you’ve been through a lot tonight.”
“Yeah. Any idea on when I’ll be able to go home?”
She typed something on the computer. “The doctor is consulting with the clinician who spoke with you. If they both determine it’s safe for you to leave, then we’ll get your discharge orders together. But while you wait, would you like me to bring your visitor in?”
My eyes widened. “My visitor?”
“Yes, the receptionist called the nurse’s station to let us know an Emmett Cooper was here waiting for an update on your condition. He’s the one who brought your stuff.” She pointed to the clear plastic bag holding my wallet and keys. “But it’s up to you if you want a visitor or not.”
Coop was a good guy, but we hadn’t spoken in almost a year, and I wasn’t sure I could even call us friends. The fact he’d come to the hospital and waited around shocked me. I was also mortified at the thought that he had seen me in such a vulnerable state.
I hesitated another moment as I debated whether or not I wanted to see him. The last time we had been together, he’d broken my heart again and told me we had no chance to be together, and we went our separate ways. But could I really turn him away?
“Um, sure,” I stammered. “He can come in.”
She smiled and left the room.
A few minutes later, Coop peeked around the curtain, his eyes filled with worry. The sight of him standing only a few feet away brought back so many memories, both good and painful. We had shared so much during our one summer together, but ultimately, my screw-up and the fact I had kept it a secret had been what tore us apart.
He approached the side of my bed slowly, his dark brown hair slightly tousled as though he’d been running his fingers through it while he waited. “How are you feeling?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his tone.
“Physically, I’ll be okay,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “But mentally ...”
I didn’t have to say anything else. Coop was the only person who knew why I had reacted the way I had.
He nodded and took a seat in the chair next to my bed. “I’m sorry, Ford. I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for you.” We sat in silence for a few minutes because I didn’t know what else to say about what had transpired, and I doubted he did either. But eventually, he spoke. “So, you had a date tonight?”
I turned my head to look at him. “Yeah.”
“And you came to my hockey game?”
I couldn’t tell what he was trying to imply with that statement, so I shrugged. “It was his idea.”
“Well, how’d you like it?”
“The game or the date?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He raised a brow. “The game.”
