I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Twenty-Seventh Chapter

I sit in the chair that I have begun to hate. Its good that I hate it, it will take me off alcohol. Alcohol being my last poison, my last downfall of huge importance.

"Okay." Sarah says, attaching the nodes to my skin. "Youve had the stimulus and now we need to administer the shocks."

The shocks are due to get more and more violent. Train me like a dog. Beat me like a slave.

"You know how this works, right? Its like training an animal."

She tells another story about how it works. I can add it to myself, make my house more than a bungalow. Build me to the sky.

"Are you ready?"

I take the stimulus, its the flavour of alcohol but without the same properties, I think...

The shock surprises me, as usual. Its like a pinch on the skin.

"With voltage that weak, nothing is going to happen. Ive felt pain worse then that in my sleep!" I provoke.

"How about this then?" She asks.

The voltage is much more, but still like Ive just scraped my knee.

"I want this to work, bring it on!" I say.

The voltage then jumps, almost too high and theres a huge pain in my lower stomach. It spreads like when you press the button on a hand warmer. I grab at it, as if it will help, as I notice everything fade to white. The block of white flies at me, hitting me straight in the forehead.

Petes words come back to me as I slump; "next time, we are going to look into it.".

Passing out is embarrassing. You are left in the hands of whoever is there. People are responsible for you. You cant voice an opinion, you just live it.

So when I wake up, seemingly moments later, I am surprised to see my surroundings.

The room is about a hundred different shades of white. In one corner of the room Pete is scribbling on a note pad. In a seat by the bed Patrick is leaning over me.

"Thank God youre awake!" He says quietly.

I feel like Ive been drugged. If you set me on my feet I may fall over.

"The voltage wasnt even that big, so we realised something big was wrong."

Pete looks up from his note book and smiles, pulling his chair to the side of the bed.

"Im not quite sure what was wrong. But, sure enough, we do know that you have a messed up liver. Theyve done something and have given you antibiotics, but you shouldnt walk or stuff like that until its all healed... The scar that is."

I lift up the covers. A scar dominates my lower half. Its like theyve inserted a 15cm ruler straight into my skin. Another ugly scar. I put the covers back down.

"Beauty queens waken up, eh?" Andy laughs, wondering through the door.

I smile and stifle a blush.

"After they put the drugs in you, you were out for a while."

I look at my hand, theres a drip in my arm.

I look like Im dying.

Great.

"It was a little concerning actually." Patrick chuckles.

A lot of things I do are concerning.

"You looked so still and pale. There was not a single inch of colour on you, and you were much thinner..." Patrick looks down at me.

"Nah, Im fine. Ill be up and running before you know it." I attempt to reassure them.

Pete and Patrick look at each other and laugh.

"No, honestly, Im fine."

Its not very convincing saying this whilst sitting in a hospital bed.

Joe opens the door and enters. His eyes open wide when they see me.

"Wow." He says.

Joe looks pretty unenthusiastic. I probably look unenthusiastic.

"Ill get the doctor." Pete says, standing.

Andy and Joe take seats at the edge of the room.

"You feeling better?" Andy asks.

"I feel like a kid in a candy store, except Im pumped up on these drugs, so..." I reply.

"After the doctor talks, we can finish that metaphor."

Im not sure what he means but I smile weakly at him.

Smiling takes effort that I dont have. I lean back on the pillow and sink into it. I focus on taking breaths and staying alive, because thats the aim of life, staying alive.

I look over at Patrick, who almost looks forlorn. His sweet blue eyes study my shrunken figure slowly. His lips are crafted into a soft smile. His eyes connect with mine and I cant help but smile. Thank God for Patrick. Nobody has ever cared for me this much.

His finger traces a crescent at the side of my face absent mindedly, his finger taking its time to feel my skin. His full focus is on his finger and my skin. His touch leaves a silent silver path, like a route for a comet.

I let myself enjoy his careful touch before he rests his hand back on the side of the bed.

"So, Jesse, how are you feeling?" The doctor asks, entering through the door with Pete by his side.

He looks like santa. If santa had a summer job.

"Splendid." I say. "Im not dead, thats a plus."

"But even I can see that you arent ready to go yet. After you go, if there are having problems, immediately come back."

He yaks on about how Im actually weak and need rest, how I am pale and thin, how I look dead.

Some models would die to be me right now.

After a while I just put my hands on my face and wait for him to go away.