John blinked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh light. His heart pounded as panic started to set in. Where was he? His wrists and stomach ached, and a headache was staring to come on.
"Mr. Laurens, we're so glad you're awake," a strange voice stated, and John searched the room for the source.
A few feet away, a man in a lab coat and scrubs stood before him. He gave a faint smile.
John tried to sit up but instead he received an immense amount of pain shooting through his side. He saw the IV in his arm and started to panic immediately. It made him feel nauseous as he followed the needle until it disappeared into his pulsing vein.
"Not again! It should have worked this time! God damnit!" he cried out, anxiety dancing through his stomach.
"Mr. Laurens, please relax," the doctor asked, still remaining calm.
"We've already had to induce sleep twice. I can ask the nurse to give you something for your anxiety, but you must relax."
John noticed the way the doctor dumbed everything down. He acted as though John was incapable of comprehending the advanced medical terms.
"I understand this is your third time in hospitalization," the doctor said and John refused to make eye contact.
John's eyes filled with tears as he realized the depth of the situation.
"You can't send me home. You can't," John pled, trying to be as vague as possible on his current situation. This was the third time, and his father had already threatened about this.
"Three strikes Jacky boy, and then I swear to God you'll live to regret it."
And John had no doubt that his father was a man of his word.
It was as though he hadn't suffered enough after the first two suicide attempts, he knew his father would come up with some other disgusting way of punishing his embarrassing fag of a son.
His words, not John's.
The doctor sighed, looking over his clipboard one last time. "I'm afraid we won't be sending you home even if we wanted to. Your kidneys have sustained a significant amount of damage. You'd be lucky to leave the hospital within the month."
A strange feeling settled in John's stomach, but he didn't know what it was. It was not a feeling of relieve, nor was it of disappointment.
Rather, it was some strange combination of the two.
"So I may finally die anyway? I mean it would be of complications, but I'd be death all the same," he began to ramble, watching as the doctor narrowed his brows.
"Don't speak like that Mr Laurens. Your father would feel unbearable devastation if he lost you," he growled, angry at John.
Of course, it was always John's fault. How dare he be so petulant? How dare he try to kill himself? He was positive his father would be heartbroken.
He'd be heartbroken to lose his favorite living punching bag.
"You should get some sleep," he suggested, speaking only once more, dismissing himself after.
John sighed, staring at the ceiling, staring anywhere besides the IV in his arm.
There was a tv, but no remote. His phone had been confiscated and he wondered if after all this was over if he would be institutionalized.
"To hell with it all," he mumbled under his breath, more aggravated than usual. He wondered if his bout of anger was a side effect of the copious amounts of drugs he was on.
YOU ARE READING
Dead or Destitute (Lams)
Fanfiction(Lams.) This had been the third time. His third time downing pills, his third time trying to meet death. If only he had succeeded. - It had been months since he had last left the hospital. He was bored. He was afraid that he was simply going to die...
