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I remember falling asleep. The air was humid and warm, clinging to my skin in a way I'd almost missed during my time in the clinic. Mary Jane was using my arm as a pillow. My fingers were going numb, but I didn't have the heart to move. We'd spent two months with little more than stolen moments. It seem important, somehow, to keep her close, now that I could. The ache in my leg -- persistent and dull -- belonged to somebody else. I remember being happy. Sated. Content.
When I wake up, someone is screaming. The sound's like none I've ever heard, desperate and raw and terrified -- more animal than human. Adrenaline pushes me out of bed, but it's then I realize I wasn't in bed to begin with, and that the bed is, in fact, looming large and dark in the background from my vantage point on the floor. Glass bites into my hands. Sharp, blinding pain radiates up from my leg and through my hip. The metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
Someone is still screaming. I'm aware, distantly, that all of this is connected, but it's not until I take my first gasping breath and the screaming stops that I realize that that someone was me. My ears ring in the comparative silence. Bile rises in my throat and onto the floor, painting it the color of yesterday's breakfast. Tears spill hot down my face, and I shut my eyes to stop them, but it's no use. It's already too late. It's always too late.
When I wake up, someone is screaming. The sound's like none I've ever heard, desperate and raw and terrified -- more animal than human. Adrenaline pushes me out of bed, but it's then I realize I wasn't in bed to begin with, and that the bed is, in fact, looming large and dark in the background from my vantage point on the floor. Glass bites into my hands. Sharp, blinding pain radiates up from my leg and through my hip. The metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
Someone is still screaming. I'm aware, distantly, that all of this is connected, but it's not until I take my first gasping breath and the screaming stops that I realize that that someone was me. My ears ring in the comparative silence. Bile rises in my throat and onto the floor, painting it the color of yesterday's breakfast. Tears spill hot down my face, and I shut my eyes to stop them, but it's no use. It's already too late. It's always too late.