Closing Time

68.

The world behind my eyes was dark. A serene and blissful silence I hadn't felt in a long time. It's nice to know that sedatives still work on me.

However, when I woke up a day later, Dr. Demon was kind enough to inform me that it was a larger than normal dosage that had knocked me out. And that it might have only worked because my human self was weak at the moment.

I woke up to that pleasant news, and no Lou or Mike. Dr. Demon gave me a general checkup, nodding and mumbling to himself when I asked if I could be discharged. There were no more IVs snaking their way under my skin so I assumed it was a yes.

My legs shook a bit under me when I got out of bed. Not only did I feel weak, I looked weak. The bathroom mirror reflected a thinner body, eyebags and a slightly pale skinned me. Weight fluctuations didn't normally effect me, but I felt sad that the body I'd built in the gym since I'd arrived here was a lot more diminished.

My hospital gown fell to the floor as I untied it. I was curious as to what my body looked like now. Somehow, I'd still retained a good amount of muscle around my midriff and chest. I lightly patted my stomach. I must be a bit dehydrated, the skin here should not feel so tight.

Twisting around, I turned my head to look at my back. No wonder it had felt raw when I removed the hospital gown. My back was covered in fresh, pink flesh. The skin was tinged slightly orange from the sanitary solution. Dr. Demon had peeled off the bandages that had been wrapped around my ribs, arms and legs when I'd been dead to the world. There was no trace of all the skin I'd lost when I slid against the ground.

Turning to face ahead again, I leaned towards the mirror to get a closer look at the other visible wound on me. My hair had been shaved off as I'd asked, but my attention was on the scar on the side of my head. My skin crawled as my eyes went over the stitches holding together the raw looking skin. The wound was clean, but I could feel the slight itch under it as it tried to fix itself. Dr. Demon had said my stitches would dissolve by the end of the week as would the wound.

My unplastered hand rose to rub my neck. There was no sign of what I'd done to myself. Not a single scratch to indicate how deep the blade had cut me.

I remembered it. The sensation of it slicing through skin, muscle and bone, and then the subsequent choking as the air escaped my lungs. I remembered the warm blood flowing out of me, gushing down my prone body like an unending waterfall and filling up my lungs. My world had been fading in front of me through the pain of it all... when suddenly it didn't.

The feeling of my body fading away had vanished, the pain diminished and suddenly I was able to breathe.

My fingers wrapped around my throat as I swallowed. I could feel the apple bob. Something that should not be possible. I'd cut through it. I'd forced my neck onto the knife with all my strength and absolutely obliterated everything under my hand at the moment.

My hand tightened on my own throat. The pressure felt real. The slight discomfort as I swallowed felt real.

This shouldn't be here. Nothing of this should be here. I shouldn't be here.

A sigh escaped me. I closed my eyes, letting my hand fall off my throat. The idea of me possibly not being here was something I'd gotten used to over the past year I'd known those two. I'd already almost died once. No wait, I had died. This was the time I'd almost died. Keeping up with this is more exhausting than... I actually don't have a lot to compare dying to.

A short laugh escaped me. I shook my head to myself as I opened my eyes again. The motion made me aware of how light my head felt.

The harder change should be getting used to the lack of hair on my head. But I didn't feel anything about seeing myself almost bald.