WHO IS LIKE GOD

18.

HATE ME LIKE I HATE MYSELF

FLORENCE WOKE to a tight, cramped room and a mask strapped to her face that forced chilly air into her lungs. She blinked sluggishly and tilted her head to the side at the sound of a relieved sigh. Her mother sat next to her, holding her numb hand and pressing it to her cheek. On her other side was a nurse in stained, baby-blue scrubs adjusting the dials on the contraption that helped her breathe.

Florence's eyes roved around the room as she took in the TV in one corner playing a mindless comedy show and the creaking frame of the hospital bed she sat on. Her head pounded and her ears rang as she took in gasping breaths of air and began to choke inside the mask. She tore her arm free from her mother's hand to grasp at her throat. The nurse took it off and sat her up and her mother rubbed her back as Florence coughed into her fist. Her mouth was dry and disgusting, her lips chapped and cracking.

"What happened?" she wheezed.

"You had a panic attack, babe," her mother said, and hugged her. She began brushing stray curls from Florence's face and arranging them neatly. "You stopped breathing for a moment and Sean had to call for an ambulance."

"I need to check your pulse," the nurse interrupted.

Unthinking and exhausted, Florence relinquished her wrist. It was only when her sleeve was pushed up did she remember the brand and quickly tried snatching her wrist back again. Her mother held her still as she bucked and marveled at the ink on her skin.

"Did you... get a tattoo?"

The nurse, unbothered and professional, continued to take Florence's pulse and check the monitor. "It must be popular among the kids. I saw the exact same on that girl found by the riverbank." He released Florence's wrist and nodded to her mother. "It's still a little fast but other than that, you should be fine. I want to get you checked though, your breathing is harsh."

Florence heard snippets of the conversation passed between her mother and the nurse, chatting about her anxiety and the medications she took and the frequency of her attacks. The girl found by the riverbank. Her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of possibly seeing Victoria again. Her head still rung with the after-effects of the realization that she had imagined her ghost haunting and torturing her. Florence dug her nails into her wrist and squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as she could. Despite her sins, she prayed someone would hear her and grant her one wish: to never see Victoria Côte again. 

Her mother gently pushed her back down and fluffed the pillow beneath her head. "Are you hungry?"

The thought of eating brought the acrid taste to the back of Florence's throat. Everything still tasted like popcorn to her, and the vision of Michelle tossing kernels into her mouth without a care in the world reminded her of Victoria, and that only made her more nauseous.

Had she really hallucinated the whole thing?

"Not really," Florence said.

Her mother nodded. "I'll get you some water, alright?" Then, to the nurse. "Is there a vending machine around here?"

"Down the hall and to the left, ma'am."

"Thank you.

Florence prayed that she would be dismissed as soon as possible, but after testing her, the nurse had several concerns about her high blood pressure, pulse, and the level of stress she was experiencing. As he spoke, her mother snuck a few glances at her, as if to say: "I told you so." The second Sean arrived and expressed his worry, Florence knew her mother would run with it, and that she would likely be stuck in that bed for a while.