Broken Back ch. 3

Right eye opens.

Puddle of blood...and pain.

Cold.

Shivers.

In the distance, with one eye, I see what appears to be an alleyway. I struggle to free my face from the ground. Dim morning light. Can't lift my head. In the fog that surrounds an aching brain - headache like i've never felt before, I assume it has something to do with being "glued" to the ground by congealed blood. Atleast I know by my consciousness that my body has not lost too much...yet.

I hear clatter from past the dumpster ahead of me. A chinese man emerges with what I assume to be last nights spoiled food.

He spots me.

Pauses.

As he turns his head towards the back door, I have something in cantonese shouted.

That's all i can muster for now in this brief consciousness.

Too much pain.

Too much drain.

I pass out. And that was the last I saw of that scene....

Oh, fuck, that light hurts! What is that?...dare i turn my head, open my other eye to see where the fuck I am? Too late to even decide.

Good evening.

I try to mutter something, but shooting pain in face disallows.

You can't talk. Your jaw is wired right now, so I brought you these.

Hands me clipboard with paper, pen, pencil. and a chalkboard too. Fuck.I'm going to have to write.

Jaw broken obviously. I still struggle to open my other eye.

Pulling. Pulling.

Nope. No. Can't do it...won't open...for some reason of other.

Movement.

Tables whisked over with juice and straw.

That's it.

We're going to have to feed you via the IV for now. A little juice, that's it for a few days. Tempered with calcium buffers. We found alot of blood in your stomach. The doctor will explain more. In the meantime, I can turn on the television for you, if you'd like.

I try and shake my head no. But it won't move either. Last fucking thing I need is tv. I hate it...at the best of times. I manage to scribble a no on the paper quick as i can...before she leave and i'm stuck with that goddamn thing on.

She reads.

Ok. No problem.

Music, I awkwardly, grade six style scribble. Headphones?....where my headphone? ipod.

She reads.

You only came in with clothing and nothing else. No wallet. No money. nothing in your pockets. I'll double check for you, but I think that's how It was.

Fuck.

I'll see what I can do about some music for you though. Just write down your preferences, and I'll see what I can do.

Thank god, i whisper in my head.

I know she's going an extra mile here, and I don't understand why.

Don't care for now.

This mercy is good enough.

Thank her later. Too weak to write again.

Nod my head. I haven't looked once into her face. One eye to ceiling. That's it.

And with that, I pass out again. Dim visions/memories of last night. Was it last night?...maybe I"ve been here for days. I don't know. I see a door. I see....no....i feel a hit. Right side of face...and all i really remember was looking for her.

Knowing she wouldn't want to see me.

But I did anyway.

Big mistake.

Dark this time.

I surpising awake to no pain. I can even turn my head. I see the morphine monitor. Time stamp. Ten minutes ago. ok. good. thank god.

Clock

need to see a clock...

3:00 am

With new movement enabled thanks to chemical assistance...i buzz for assistance.

Thirsty.

Where's that pad and pen. I hurriedly try, with swollen hands to scribble "drink please"...

Minutes later, ...of all people, Claire walks in. Fuck. I regret it already. Refreshal of pain. Not the physical.

Hi

Hi..(I pretend not to know her name...although it was branded in there)

She sits down beside me. Plastic juice in hand with straw.

She puts it to my mouth. Doesn't say a word. I could've sworn her eyes were watering. But...everythings hazy, so......

She takes my other hand and holds it.

I pull away.

I need to take your pulse.

It wasn't my wrist she was holding initially. I'm almost brain dead...but not that far gone.

I nod.

She pretends to take my pulse.

Do you remember me.

I lie.

Shake my head, ..no.

She smiles. Like she knew I was lying.

I wait.

She waits.

Looks at the clock as though fulfilling her duty.

Lifts up the mass production juice with bendy straw to my dry, cracked lips again...i can only imagine how my face looks. a reflection of her sad eyes tells the tale I don't want to know.

and...i don't want to see those beautiful, sad eyes......

Big fucking question emerges in my mind. Why does she care. What the fuck is going on with her?

Same thing with me, I guess.

Same thing I felt that first day.

So i wonder, is it the mental wing i'm in right now. I pick up pad of paper and pen and scribble almost intelligibly, that question.

No.

I scribble again.

Why are you here? Where am i?

You're in critical ICU.

....thought u worked mental...is the best i can scribble out at the time.

Sshshhhh....is all she sais...moving her hand again down to hold mine.

This time, and i don't know why....I don't pull away.

Causes me to close my eye.

Tension releases from shoulders. Although the fresh dose of morphine is helping in that department.

I can't let her go so soon. Suddenly, inside I'm afraid I'll fall asleep and wake up.....and she won't be there.

She's still there...(thank god).

Claire...i scribble...why r u here?

Uhmmmm. (pauses)...just filling in, that's all. Extra shift.

O. i write on the pad.

A little to serendipity for me to believe. So, I just smile within myself and leave it at that.

I catch the clock just before my eye shuts in sleep. 4:30 am....she's been here...holding my hand....for an hour and a half.

My final thought.

I sleep.

In my dreams i see a white lightning. A snow storm. A pack of wolves. ..and i'm running. Breathe plumes in air in big cloud-like puffs.

Lungs ache from effort. Legs burning. Pumping. Pumping. ...It's a treadmill run. Getting nowhere. But I run...and I run....and I run. Darkness and trees ahead, with howling snow, driving wind. And i can't see. See anything.

But the chase ensues....so i have to run...smashing into trees, tumbling over fallen branches.

I fall.

And now...it's too late.

They're on me. And with a blow to my face, there's no getting up now.

Kicking, fists smashing, laughing.

I know it's happening, but I don't feel anything. I start to wonder why wolves can kick and punch. Doesn't make any sense. Never saw a wolf wear sneakers before.

I just lay there. Still not really feeling the blows, but I know they're hard, because my body moves with these hits. With dim eyes now starting close. I see paws rummage threw my coat and pants.

Many of them.

Never seen a pick-pocket wolf before either.

I smile kinda inside...thinking, I guess they need money for the wolf den. The gathering place for hounds and thieves. Clinking they're pints of blood together in victory of the last victim. And with a sudden shift, the scene changes.

There's hurt inside this time. But not from blows or hits. It's soulful, heart cry with a search. Buildings, alley ways, cars, people.

I think I see her, but I don't.

And in the midst of these alley ways, big crowd of vampires celebrating. Seems everyone is celebrating, except for me.

So many victims.

So much blood.

And macabre glistening grins.

Dark black balloons and streamers.

And screams.

Screams and wails from cages set beyond sight.

Is this what I left her too.

Drove her too.

And with that I walk into the party. This death celebration.

An offering.

Take my blood and leave her alone.

We will take your blood, the hallowed, ugly voice resonates through murky night waves.

And in horror, I see it's here.

Black cloak and all.

Just like out of some cheezy, stereo-typical friday night vampire movie.

She's one of them now.

It's too late.

And with that, I give myself up in defeat.

Teeth sink in.

Blook drains...and my world mutates into film-negative shadow.

No more color...or light.

This, ...her revenge. Death takes the bringer of death.

The ultimate victory.

My stomach churns and I throw up.

Blinding light.

Choking.

Spluttering what little is left in my stomach all over my face and neck.

I instinctively shift my head to the side, leaving the rest on the pillow and bed.

Welcome back to the real world.

Sheering, slicing pain cuts through my chest and sides with this one small movement.

Where am I?

What's going on.

Fuck. Lost again.

I fucking hate that.

The unknowns of realities invading and pounding at my senses.

Noises in the background. Feet shuffling. White.

I desperately try to life my head and see a steel bar at the end and sides of what appears to be a bed. With blood in the middle.

And suddenly a song comes into my mind.

"Alive at both ends, and a little dead in the middle".

If not for the blinding pain now fully made it's way to head, eyes, arms, back, hands, legs...I would have smiled. But even my mouth couldn't open.

And that's a damn fucking hassle when you need to scream for help.

As delusion fades to illusion. Illusion to conclusion.

I see.

A hospital room.

I wonder, with vomit all over me and my cozy little crib for the manchilds,...how long did it take me to figure this out.

The last thing I remember is kids. Hits. Ground.

And a screaming chinaman.

Dogs for some reason.

No.

Wolves.

No.

Her. That's the last thing.

And somewhere in between lay a serene moment of peace and love, to sound all sixties...and god forbid,....even hope.

Why in the hell would that be there.

Fuck.

I don't care. All I want now that I know where the fuck I am, is drugs. Cause I know, here, in the new revelation of surroundings, I can get them. I must be. There's fucking blood in the middle of my bed and pain all over. Not that usual kind of pain. Seering. Intense with the slightest move.

Stage lights shift.

Cue band.

Soft shoes.

Nurse.

Needle.

And with that, my breath slows. I feel a wet cloth, with the one eye I could open now closed, brush around my neck and side of bed.

My whole body moves, without one conscious effort stream of my own.

Ruffling sounds.

Another shift.

More ruffles. Ruffle chips pop into my head. Fuck, am I hungry. I usually wake up thirsty, not hungry. Body depleted of all it's natural resources. Damned up by alcohol and drug of choice from the night before.

Huh.

Damned.

That's a good word.

Appropriate. Downright fucking appropriate.

Damned. Except for this weird sense of hope i have hovering inside.

In and amidst this jungle of pain and helplessness. Morphine induced haze.

Hope.

Why?

Fuck. Why hope?

It always pisses me off when I can't figure something out.

Usual default option.

Wipe it out.

Drown it.

Kill it.

But where I am now, I obviously have no choice but to face these unknowns.

A killer shudder goes through my whole body at that thought.

Facing things.

I want to throw up again.

Nothing.

Nothing left inside.

I always wanted nothing...but not this kind of nothing.

And with that last thought, in walks that kind face again...

Good morning, Tim.

Heeyyy, Doc. I croak, without moving jaw or lips.

Don't talk.

You're jaw is wired right now.

Here's your paper and pen.

I'll try to keep it to short yes and no answers for now.

And even within that, he smiles that killer empathetic smile.

Not disappointment.

And I want to cry again.

I nod my head ever so slightly.

How's that neck brace.

Didn't even know I had one on.

I don't know what to say, so I scribble...fine.

Good.

Your face swelling has subsided quite a bit. But I'm told we have to reset your bandages and tensor bands around your chest. I may have to re-stitch a little. There was some bleeding in the night for some reason of other. Shouldn't have been. You haven't been trying to get out of bed, have you?

No, i scrawl.

Good.

Use your buzzer, Tim. For anything. We have you set up pretty much for now to not have to move at all our very minimally. You have a catheter, so washrooms no problem until solid food. As soon as your up and around, we'll do an enema.

All very joyous news and just wonderful for my stomach at that moment, but i nod this time. A little pain.

Don't move your neck if you don't have to.

I know this writing thing is a pain in the ass, but with the beating you got, you have no choice for a few more days, at least.

And with that statement ended, i see a figure at the door. Doc speaks on, explaining the events of the last week. A week. Fuck. I hear, but, I'm trying to bring this body into focus. Depth perception sucks.

White.

Nurse.

Beautiful.

I know her.

How do I know her.

My doc continues on. Something to do with surgery, broken ribs, jaw, nose...something about almost losing one eye. Droning it is really, as I continue to just stare at this figure. Another fucking thing I can't figure out.

She moves forward.

Factory line plastic apple juice again.

Again?

She puts the straw to my mouth. I feel it. Without looking up, my eye tired now from the straining, I drink in a little. It's cold.

Perfume

Oh god, that smells good.

Cutting through the smell of blood and bile and vomit. Hospital smell.

So good.

Drink

Oh god, that feels good.

I suck and I suck and I suck until gone...

My whole body, even through the morphine, eases.

Tension leaves.

Memory door like bank vault door, thick and wide, swings slowly open a little.

Not quite there yet.

Good morning, Doctor.

Good morning, Claire. How are you today.

Always polite. Never demeaning, my doc.

Claire!

Fuck! Yeah...Claire. I lurch a little as it comes together.

Outside.

My last juice.

Hands.

Holding hands......

Immediately I close my eye and scribble my pretend "tired"....

Ok, well that's enough to bring you up to date for now, Tim.

We may have to go back inside if this internal bleeding continues. But don't worry about anything for now.

Just rest.

k. i write.

I wait. and I wait. and I wait.

Holding that eye shut.

Finally.

I exhale.

She leaves too.

And I am exhausted now.

Sleep....and dreams...come again.