Touch My Neck ✓

Prologue

January 24th, 2020.

Within the confines of those sterile walls, I was not just a resident; I was a harbinger of death.

The weight of guilt bore down on me like a suffocating shroud as I stood in the dimly lit room, the pale fluorescent light casting eerie shadows on the blank walls. The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptics, a scent that now mingled with the pungent aroma of regret.

I had taken a life—a life that was already hanging by a fragile thread. Mickey Humphrey, only sixteen, had been ensnared by the cruel clutches of cancer. His once vibrant eyes had dulled, his frail body succumbing to the merciless grip of the disease. And then, I was the one who administered that final injection—the one that extinguished the faint glimmer of life that remained within him.

The room was cloaked in a shroud of silence, the only sound the steady hum of medical equipment and the hushed whispers of my conscience. Every breath felt like a heavy burden, each step echoing the weight of my actions. I had entered this profession to save lives, to heal, to mend. Yet, here I stood, a witness to my own betrayal of that solemn oath.

Mickey's face haunted me—the smile that had once adorned his features, the hope that had glinted in his eyes, all extinguished by my hand. The walls seemed to close in on me, the stark reality of what I had done suffocating me. I could feel the tendrils of guilt curling around my heart, a relentless reminder of the irreversible choices I had made.

As I stood there, I couldn't help but wonder—had I truly acted out of compassion, to end his suffering? Or had I succumbed to the insidious whispers of power that medicine bestowed upon me? The room held no answers, only the heavy weight of an unspoken truth.

The sounds of the flatlining machines, the figures around trying to save him. The overdose was an accident, or so I told myself. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, squeezing out the air from my lungs. 

The vial slipped from my grip, a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Lethal liquid, viscous and damning, flowed into the IV line. It was an act that defied reason, as if some unseen force had possessed me, orchestrating a symphony of darkness in the sterile room.

He only needed thirty milligrams, a calculated dosage meant to ease his suffering. I swore that's all I administered, the precise amount that his fragile body could bear. So why did the vial's label mock me with the cold truth—potassium sixty milliequivalents?

As the liquid merged with Mickey's bloodstream, a palpable unease settled over the room. The very air thickened with the weight of consequence, and I could almost hear the walls whispering accusations, bearing witness to my descent into the abyss.

"Time of death, 18:59 pm," the proclamation hung in the air like a death knell, the somber toll of an irreversible act.

My attending's voice cut through the haze of disbelief, his words a cascade of anger and accusation. Tears blurred my vision, and my heart pounded like a drum in my chest. "How much fucking potassium did you give him?"

"Thirty... I promise—the packet said thirty," my voice wavered, a desperate plea for understanding in the face of a tragedy that defied logic.

"You overdosed him," his words were like a lash, a whip that stung with the sharp edge of truth. "His body couldn't handle sixty fucking—"

The words morphed into a cacophony of noise, a chaotic symphony that no longer held meaning. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempest of guilt and remorse that drowned out everything else. The room seemed to close in on me, the stark walls of the hospital suffocating me with their silent judgment.

Mickey's lifeless form lay before me, an accusation that couldn't be ignored. The vial's label remained etched into my memory, a damning reminder of the choices that had led to this moment.

Everyone else in the room departed, leaving me alone with the haunting stillness that clung to Mickey's lifeless form. The weight of what had transpired settled on my shoulders, an inescapable burden that threatened to crush me under its gravity.

Time became fluid, wavering between seconds that stretched into eternity and mere heartbeats that raced by. I stood there, suspended in a realm of guilt and disbelief, unable to tear my gaze away from the fragile figure before me.

Then, like a storm crashing into a fragile sanctuary, his parents arrived. They rushed into the room, their faces a tumultuous blend of shock, denial, and uncontainable grief. Their anguished cries filled the sterile air, a cacophony that echoed the depths of their pain.

"My son! My son!" his mother's voice shattered the silence, her words a desperate plea that held within them the shattered fragments of a mother's heart. She reached out to him, her trembling hands hovering above his lifeless body, as if trying to mend the irreparable.

The storm of emotions transformed into a tempest of accusation. Her eyes found me, and the fury within them was like a searing fire. "What did you do—you fucking murderer!" Her voice ripped through the air like a blade, each word laced with venom and anguish.

Tears blurred my vision, my chest tightened with a pain that mirrored hers. I opened my mouth to speak, to offer an explanation, a defense, anything—but the words caught in my throat, suffocated by the weight of my guilt.

As her accusations continued to pierce the air, I felt a hand on my arm. My attending, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face, was there to intervene. He dragged me away from the scene, his grip firm as he led me out of the room, away from the raw agony that had consumed Mickey's parents.

The mother's piercing cries followed us down the corridor, the echoes of her accusations reverberating in my ears. "You killed my child!" Her voice was a haunting refrain that seemed to chase me, a relentless reminder of the irreversible actions that had shattered lives forever.

The accusatory stares, the weight of my guilt, all bore down on me like a suffocating cloud.

"Pack your things and leave, Angel. You're done," my attending's voice was firm, his eyes weary from the long night of tragedy.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to speak through my shattered composure. "I-I loved him, he was like my brother... I never meant to hurt him, I promise."

His sigh carried a mixture of sympathy and resignation. "Angel, we all know how much you loved him, but you need to leave."

"I put thirty, I promise-I-I killed him."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, gentle but unyielding, as another doctor guided me towards the exit. The sound of anguished cries from the grieving parents echoed in my ears, amplifying the weight of my mistake.

As I stepped out of the hospital room, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was leaving behind a part of my soul. The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, casting an eerie glow on the sterile linoleum floor. The once-familiar surroundings now felt like a labyrinth of guilt and regret.

I gathered my belongings, my heart heavy with the knowledge that no matter how much I wished I could turn back time, I could never undo what had been done. My footsteps echoed through the empty hallway as I walked away from the life I had known, a life that was now irreversibly stained by a single irreversible mistake.

And now I live with my father, back in London.

Legal proceedings followed, and I found myself facing a lawsuit. Through a complex and painful legal process, I managed to retain my medical license, but it came at the cost of paying substantial damages to the grieving family I had unintentionally harmed.

The weight of that fateful day never leaves me. It lingers in my thoughts, an unending loop that replays in my mind day and night.

I find myself haunted by the past, plagued by guilt and remorse that I can't escape. The memory of that tragic event has become a relentless echo, a constant reminder of the irreversible consequences of my actions. It's a burden I carry with me wherever I go, an indelible scar etched into my soul.

It's been four years. 

Mickey Humphrey was my best patient, my best friend and my almost like a brother to me. 

And his death lays in my hands.