Ablaze

07

Sleep had overpowered me once again.

My sleep wasn't plagued with the burning flames of my usual nightmares for the first time but rather just blissful nothingness.

Nonexistence unfolded behind my closed eyes, providing me a few hours to feel nihility.

The sounds of the hospital were now more of a lullaby than an interruption. They allowed me to remain grounded, learning that if I heard them, I was safe.

My rest was interrupted by a light shake on my shoulders. It wasn't rough. Instead, just a gentle, subtle movement to wake my body up.

Waking up was the worst when I was disorientated. The bliss feeling of nothing was instantly replaced with worthlessness. It crashed into me, slamming me onto the bed with dirty restraints composed of anguish.

In these moments, I wasn't Underground. I was back in my room Above Ground. It was one of my biggest fears and that everything so far was just a mere lucid dream. That I had dreamt up an alternative life as a coping mechanism.

My eyes blinked rapidly at the concrete ceiling. When I finally grounded myself, I gave the back of my hand a sharp pinch. It reminded me that this was my reality and that I wasn't conjuring all of this.

I had expected Harry to have come back and was the one to jostle me out of sleep. Instead, I was met with Zayn, who stood patiently beside the bed with a clipboard.

Harry had left a while ago, mumbling that he had work to do. I refused to feel disappointed that he wasn't here. I hadn't bothered asking him to clarify, knowing Harry likely wouldn't provide me with an explanation. After he had left, I decided to try and get some sleep, knowing that I didn't have anything else to entertain myself with.

I stared at Zayn expectantly, waiting for him to speak. The bruising on his face had faded, almost blending in with his olive complexion.

After I had woken up, I had been stuck in this bed for a few extra days to ensure my system had been thoroughly flushed. It was a precaution. I'm sure Harry was the culprit, not allowing me to leave the bed until they were confident everything was gone.

I would see Zayn in short increments as he checked on me, taking whatever samples he needed to track my progress, and then he would be off again. Usually, Harry was seated next to me, silent and brooding and not much entertainment.

My symptoms fluctuated wildly. Sometimes I felt moments of extreme clarity, and then nausea would hit me again, my body experiencing hot and cold flushes. They were becoming less and less frequent, and now I felt like I would explode if I was trapped in this bed any longer.

In moments that I felt clarity, I would stew in feelings of anger. An emotion that had been dulled for so long due to the drugs, but now I basked in it. I reveled in the hatred, bitterness, and disgust. I allowed myself to feel them, no longer desiring to compartmentalize them until they didnt exist.

After I was released from the confines of this bed, I vowed that I would find out everything I could about my Brother.

Now that almost two weeks have passed since I first came here, I'm sure I will be able to learn more about the group my Brother was involved in.

What was infuriating was that whenever I tried to bring it up with Harry, he would automatically shut me down. His justification was telling me to wait until I wasn't 'vomiting all over his fucking shoes.'

Then we would sit in silence once again.

When I did articulate my feelings to Harry, he always listened. Not once has he shamed me for the negative emotions or told me that I was overreacting. Instead of trying to fix it, he remained a listening ear as I vented. Harry wasn't one to initiate a heart-to-heart or small talk, but he never refused a conversation with me. Even if they were frequently melodramatic.