Monday, August 10, 2009

#0052 | 08/10 | 01:41 PM

My headaches have ceased.

Eased?

Yeah, eased. Not ceased. Not forever.

Which is a good or bad thing, I'm not sure. Well, the being free from the pain is definitely a plus. Something I really do appreciate as I lay silently on the bed, letting the cruel seconds of the midday sneak by.

But there was something about the pain. Something that sharpened me. kept me on edge. Kept me aware.

Anna found something earlier. She approached my side with a rueful smile and showed me something she'd scrounged up from downstairs, under a tossed bed. A small little dark bottle with a green liquid inside. The label read Methadone.

Never heard of it.

She produced a single syringe, free of any wrapping or container; instantly drawing fear from me - not that I feared needles or shit, but something about an unclean needle had always-

She stuck the point into my arm and pressed down, sending the green liquid into my flowing being. My thoughts having growing wildly distracted in the pain, I hadn't protested as much as I'd have liked.

For a few terribly minutes, I imagined an air bubble traveling through my bloodstream. Tumbling and moving. Ironically, beside many other pockets of air, only these were contained safely within red blood cells, and this one was not. It hit my brain and then everything would rock and shake.

Rock and roll baby.

And I'd be dead. But not before I screamed every obscenity I could muster while I writhed in agony.

But that death never came. And minutes later, I was in relative heaven. My pain forgotten. I think I jizzed myself a bit.

Anna seemed awful busy. She left soon after I zoned out. A strange expression locked on her face. I couldn't quite make it out (I couldn't make out anything in my state!) but if I had to choose a word...

Anger?

Hate?

Love?

Fuck, I felt high as shit.

She was gone for most of the morning, I know that for sure. She picked up the stock of a rifle, a cartridge or two, and wander off. Out the door. Into the hallway. Into the building. And from there, out of my knowledge.

I didn't care at first. Not exactly.

When she stepped through the door, a horribly loneliness dropped into the pit of my stomach. I felt something large and cold grab my heart and pull left, then right, and then squeeze once or twice.

But the loneliness subsided - my thoughts were without depth for the moment - and the euphoria resumed. Only occasionally broken by a shallow recognition of how alone I was.

But it always went away.

By midday, some of that much needed depth was returning. Clarity. Precision.

I checked my wounds first. I'd been moving around in my happy stupor. Rolling and howling. Kicking and humping. And it seemed I'd disturbed my wounds accidentally. Nothing to bad. A little wet. A little red. A little jab. And a little more clarity.

That's what the pain brought.

Anna still wasn't back.

I was hungry.

I pushed off the side of the bed and waited a few minutes. I wasn't sure I was ready to be off the bed yet, but dammit if a bag of Cheetos wasn't lying less than two feet away, beside the bag.

I pushed up to my feet - something that took so much effort and energy - I had to stop and consider whether I could really continue. I decided I could. I took the step.

Had to let go of the bed, but I was alright. My balance was pretty good. And the pain that was starting to pound from below, well that really only helped with more concentrated focus no?

I reached the chips and all that was left was the bend down.

And that really was impossible. I realized it fairly quickly. If I tried, I'd plop down and wouldn't be able to get back up. I'd end up fall on the bag, stacked with cans and guns. Hurt myself, and who knows when Anna would reappear to help me.

I missed Anna.

I stopped regarding the out-of-reach bag of chips to consider this thought. It was foreign. Strange. Out of place. I didn't usually regard Anna like that. Consciously at least.

And I was definitely conscious.

The buzz was nearly almost completely gone. I found I missed the feeling. The unexplainable happiness it brought. The good it instilled.

And at least if I was high, I wouldn't feel bad about caring for Anna.

There. Fuck. I did it again.

There had to be more. Methadone? Whatever, morphine would suffice. This was a goddamn hospital. There had to be at least a little left stashed around, I'd have Anna look for more later. Maybe near where she'd discovered the bottle.

As soon as she got back. I'd started to feel anxious without realizing-

Ah, fuck it.

Dammit, I want some Cheetos.

3 comments:

  1. Finally, moar!! :D

    ReplyDelete
  2. and now the damn near month wait for another...

    ReplyDelete
  3. oh shit, he's going to become a crackhead?
    Thanks for the more and im looking forward to moar ^^

    ReplyDelete