The Fix.

Chapter 3

This time I didn't dream. I don't mind. I welcome the peace that the blackness brings. Like a switch in my brain was flipped, I know it's time to wake up, and I open my eyes. Everything was clearer than before, less foggy. I try to sit up and forget that my arms are constrained at my sides with tight thick itchy straps. After a few freedom attempts, I gave up, tired out. The windows were open now and it was daytime. There are no blinds but instead, white sheer curtains that did very little to stop the sunlight from flooding the room. The same sunlight reminded my body that I had a horrible headache. I put my head back down into the pillow, especially grateful for how soft it is against my throbbing head. The sunlight in the room made everything so overwhelming for my brain to process everything, that I didn't even notice the lady sitting in the corner chair by the door until I heard the soft sound of a page turning. I turn my head in the direction of the sound.

"Ms. Garlet?" The lady says. Before I'm even able to decide to address her or pretend I'm sleeping again she speaks again. " Ms Garlet, do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? Do you know where you are?"

I look at her and she stares back at me. She is a short woman. Couldn't be much taller than my calculus teacher Mrs. Osborn, and that woman can't be more than  5 foot 3 with heels on. The hospital lady had olive skin paired with a jet-black bob that was obviously cut at home, and thick glasses with an even thicker frame. Even though it was obvious that she was picked on in high school, her knock-off designer suit still gave the impression of importance.

"Ms. Garlet? Can you hear me?" I look at her for a second longer and nod.

"Do you know where you are?" I look around the room once more and nod again.

"Are you able to speak?" I open my mouth to say something, and I immediately regret it. The word "yes" was spoken, but instead of my voice my ears were met with a harsh, raspy voice, I didn't recognize and my throat burned in retaliation at my attempt. I extensively reached my hands to my throat, only to be quickly reminded of those terrible restraints.

"I apologize for the restraints. I was told they were put on you after an episode you had while detoxing"

Detoxing? What the hell is this lady talking about?

"I understand they were put on for your safety and the safety of the healthcare professionals here. I was hoping you were going to wake up today. It's your last day in the recovery unit before they send you up for a psych evolution and then hopefully rehab."

"Rehab? I don't need rehab." A cold, sinking feeling entered my gut. The lady shakes her head regrettably.

"Rose, " she continues, "your father found you in your room. There was a suicide note written and residue of illegal substances. When they finally got you to the hospital, they discovered that you had overdosed on heroin, and due to the amount, and the written suicide note, it has led us to believe that you were going through a rough time, and maybe this isn't your first time trying heroin?" The lady turns and looks at me intently waiting for a response.

"Where's my father? I will be damned before I give this lady any type of explanation or satisfaction before I even speak to my dad.

" From my understanding he's is just outside near the administration desk filling out some more paperwork. Look, Rose, I know this can seem very overwhelming, but I am here to help." I roll my eyes, lay my head back against the pillow and look straight at the ceiling

"Due to the circumstances of the case, and what happened to your mother, social services have become involved. I'm sorry I didn't address myself earlier, but my name is Lydia and I am your case worker."

"My father had nothing to do with this. Every action I did on my own accord. He loves me, and he would never put me in harm's way. We do not need social services involved. I do not need a caseworker."

"So what do you need a Rose?" For once, Lydia left me speechless.

I knew what I needed or at least knew what I wanted but if I were to say it I knew that it would just make things worse.

I want to die

⏯⏯⏯

My father did not visit me that night. After Lydia left, my only company was the nurses at every change of shift. By the time of the night shift, I was finally able to get my restraints moved. Time seemed to move differently here. Like a time-lapse, I watch the sun go down and rise again and before I knew it, the clock read 6 AM. It was hard for me to think about anything but my dad. I didn't feel guilty about my decision, but I did feel guilty about not feeling guilty about it. I try to force my brain to be in my father's shoes.

First, he lost his wife and now-

I couldn't even finish the thought. There's something about thinking about my mother that makes all my walls go up at once. How can I feel empathy when I can't even finish the thought that will make me feel empathy? If I wasn't thinking about my dad or attempting to think about my mom, the words, Lydia said, just replayed in my mind over and over.

So what do you need Rose?

I don't know what I need but I do know I don't need rehab. I was able to control IT. This wasn't an accidental overdose. I just graduated my senior year of high school and got accepted on a full-ride scholarship for my biology major. I always knew how much I needed and I always knew how much was too much. I don't need rehab. I was and still am always still in control.