G.U.A.R.D D.O.G.

Chapter 5

At night I laid awake in my hospital bed. Restless and unable to dim my mind enough to slip into sleep. All I wanted was everything to back to normal as soon as possible. I wanted to be back in my own bed under my own covers in my own house. But instead I lay tangled between scratchy sheets and an eerily quiet room.

Despite me feeling physically well, and on the mend to mentally well enough to be discharged, the doctors still wanted to keep under observation. They said I was a medical mystery and that they'd like to run a few tests in the morning.

I wasn't looking forward to it.

I hated needles and other surgical tools; they gave me anxiety. Sharp bits poking and prodding me and the creepy smiles the doctor would wear while using them didn't sound all that pleasant. I just hoped they wouldn't go too overboard and want a urine and stool sample as well, that would be a little much.

But the upcoming tests weren't what was keeping me up. It was my parents.

About how odd they were when they said goodnight to me, it felt more like goodbye. My mom clung to me like I was a life raft in the middle of the ocean and almost started to tear up. Dad stood behind her with a grim expression and could barely choke up a word. I didn't understand why they were so emotional. The worst was behind us. Wasn't it?

They said goodnight like it was the last time they were ever going to say it. I asked why they were so weepy and their response was just that they were scared I wasn't going to make it in the past few days. I guess that makes sense, but still something didn't really sit alright with me. Like annoying flies buzzing around in the back of my head.

Trying to find something to take my mind off of them I looked around for a distraction. I noticed the white ceiling above me had a small water stain on it. It really bugged me and I wanted someone to fix it. So for the past three hours I've been staring at the ceiling, wondering if maybe they'd have any carpentry tools lying around the hospital. Or I'd settle for even just a poster or piece of paper to cover it up, I was that desperate.

Of course I was also purposely avoiding going back to sleep. I didn't want to have that nightmare again, just thinking about it made my heart speed up. The nasty people's crazy eyes and their painful operation. I knew I always had a fear of doctors but never has it manifested into such an intense dream. It was so real it almost seemed like a memory.

I was conflicted though also, remembering the paradise on the dock with that man. A deep desire lingered inside me to try and recreate that fantasy again.

I then got up to use the washroom. Afterwards while washing my hands I lifted up my gown to examine the gunshot wound. Peeling away the padding I inspected what now looked nothing more then a round scab surrounded by some light browny-yellow bruising.

Guess I was lucky, not everyone get to say they been shot and live to tell the tale.

Slowly I padded to my bed, relieved and feeling a little bit exhausted.

I climbed under the thin stiff covers and laid my head on the flat pillow, staring straight up at the ceiling. Strangely the stain didn't disgust me much any more, instead I tried to look at it like art, letting my eyes trail over the edges and back around. Slowly this put me to sleep, but I didn't dream or at least it wasn't memorable. Instead it was like a commercial break from reality.

Around an hour later something made me wake up. I knew it wasn't just me naturally awakening. There's a difference. Something you feel in your heart as you scan the room for the disturbance. The feeling of your brain jolting with energy and no longer caring about that extra five more minutes of sleep.