Blame The Weeds (gxg)

27

Pain—like I'd been cut in half, attached by my spine, then sewn back together. I wanted to be brave, confident, strong and sure. I didn't want to shed a single tear. But I was burning, and I wavered. Someone made it all go black.

~

It was hazy. The pain was an elephant, then a tiger, then a kitten purring away on my lap, sticking its claws into my skin. Then it was an elephant again and it all went dark.

~

"More," I urged in a croak. Gabrielle poured ice water into my plastic cup. I eagerly sucked through my straw.

Dad said my surgery was twice as long as it should have been. I nearly bled out. Felt like it.

"More please," I whispered. Gabrielle obliged.

"You're going to be sick," dad said gruffly.

"Go get me more chocolate," I ordered with a voice like sandpaper. My father grumbled and stalked across the room. Rue had raided the vending machines for me that morning. Dad brought back a KitKat and I waved him off. "I want Reece's."

"If you so much as look a little bit green..."

I reached upward, laying on my back. "Reece's."

Gabrielle laughed, the sound saying enough. Sure, it'd been days since the surgery ended, but I'd only been perceptive for twelve hours.

"You two are hopeless," Gabrielle said with a warm grin.

Turns out I'd given everyone a real scare. Not my fault; it had been my circulatory system. The first words I'd coherently said thirteen hours ago were, Luke okay? When someone said he was alright, I'd collapsed back into the dark.

Dad begrudgingly dropped candy into my open hand and slumped back in his chair next to Gabrielle.

"More water?" she asked, ready to fill my cup again. I nodded and shoved a peanut butter cup into my mouth whole, moaning at the taste.

"Charming," dad remarked.

"Oh!" I retorted through a mouthful. "Did you lose a pound of organ?"

"Eat as much as you want," Gabrielle cooed, brushing my hair back as I lay down, chewing my deliciously smooth chocolate. I sent my father a winning grin.

Zoë stuck her blue-haired head in and raised a brow. I gave her the rock and roll sign and half a grin while my insides tried to kill me. I could stick it out a little while longer. At least while my family was around.

"More jello, sugar?"

"Hell yeah. Shit is like crack."

"Language," dad said. Zoë chuckled, shook her head, then disappeared.

~

About an hour later, when I was alone with Zoë for check-in, my pain evolved from a cat's claws to a lion's. And the meds stopped working.

Zoë set the jello on my bed as I puked my guts out into a bucket.

"At least if you throw this up—" she pointed to the jello "—it will be a pretty blue colour." She held a cool cloth to my forehead as I vomited again. "Because that looks like it's coming out of the wrong end. Smells like it, too."

"Shut up," I gasped.

Every time my stomach muscles clenched, I felt like I was being ripped apart. Zoë assured me the stitches wouldn't tear, but god, it felt like they already had.