Sing Me To Sleep

Chapter 17

I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to see the empty hospital room, the too pure color of the vapid white walls, the IV I can feel pulsing medication into my body. If I don't open my eyes, I can pretend it's not real. I can pretend, just for those last few moments, that I'm still asleep, safe in the confines of my mind with the skeleton boy. I can pretend that I didn't fail. I can pretend that I'm dead.

"How much longer?" The voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I didn't realize that I wasn't alone. Still, I force myself to maintain my motionless posture, harder than it seems because the overbearing urge to stand and stretch my arms seems so enticing. I notice that when the voice echoes, sounding too loud and harsh in the silent room, the constant beeping of the monitor to my right speeds up, the rhythm picking up in tempo. I force my breathing to slow down, my heart rate following.

"He'll be awake soon," A second voice, male as well as the first, but this one is softer. Quieter, more relaxed, but there's an authoritative edge to it. "He needs to rest."

A scoff echoes, which I assume was let loose from the first person, and an irritated third voice takes over. "He's been in a coma for twelve days. How much more rest could he possibly need?"

There's a small silence and the air suddenly feels tense. The second voice, the only voice I actually like so far, speaks again. His words are spoken slow, quiet and full of unspoken threat. "This kid is seventeen. He tried to kill himself. You see those scars on his arms? Do you want me to raise the blanket and show you a thousand more just like them?" Another second of heavy silence as if he's daring the other voices to test him. "Now, I don't care if you're a detective or not. You need to go wait in the lobby. Let me do my job."

The voices stop, the sound of shoes against tile floor the only thing audible before the click of a door latching shut. 

I don't know if I'm alone or not anymore, unsure of whether the nice, soothing voice has left with the others, but I remain still because my mind seems to be spinning with questions.

Twelve days? That's how long I've been here? I don't know what I expected, whether two or twenty, but it feels like so long. Twelve days I've been comatose. Twelve days I've been with the skeleton boy, away from my mom and school and the real world. Twelve days since I've taken the medication. Twelve days since I tried to die.

Who were those men? The second voice, the one that made the others leave, was probably the doctor, that much I had gathered from his words. "Let me do my job." He had called the others detectives. As in police? Why the hell are the cops waiting for me to wake up!? Is suicide illegal? Are they going to take me to jail? I don't want to go to jail. But then what other reason could they have for being here, waiting for me?

I should ask my mom. She has to be here, right? She'll know why the detectives are waiting. I'm a minor; They would have had to talk to her before speaking with me. So where is she? Is she in the lobby? That's where the doctor sent the other voices to, so maybe she's in the lobby.

"You have food on the tray, Frank." The voice shocks me once again though the sound comes from the man I assumed to be the doctor. I feel my body freeze, tensing up and my breathing stops. He can't be talking to me-- He just told the others that I was still asleep. A soft chuckle reverberates through the room, sounding too close but that's probably just because the room is small. All hospital rooms are small. They save the big rooms for people who have a lot of visitors, like women who just had babies or cancer patients who will be staying for awhile. So it makes sense that my room is small. The only visitor I would expect is my mother, though even that isn't a guarantee.

I focus back on the voice, straining to make myself look unconscious but fail. I end up heaving out a sigh. I feel my body relax. It seems strange now, lifting heavy limbs and speaking mumbled words. It was so much easier in my head, when everything felt weightless, even though it didn't seem like it at the time. Kind of like a dream; While you're sleeping, everything feels so real. You have no sense of rationality. You could be running down an empty hallway and have no clue why. You're sure you're running from something, you can feel it, but you don't stop and turn around to see what's chasing you. In real life, you don't just feel it. You see it first, you see the monster that you are afraid of, and then you run. But in the dream, everything is just feeling. Just at that moment, I remember the kiss, almost feeling it in every way-- The way his lips parted slightly against mine, his breath and my own mingling, my hands clamped onto his uniform in desperation. But I can see it, too. I can see the pale hair that shimmers in some unseen light, the soft jawline and perky nose. His eyes are closed, just like mine, but at the thought, I find myself gasping, suddenly feeling like I'm back inside the memory. My eyelids flutter open, the crumbles of sleep forming at the corner, and the overhead lights nearly blind me. I raise a hand to cover my eyes, squinting against the bright light. My arm feels heavier than I remember it being, probably weighed down by the various IV's and tubes.