She frowned and sucked in a deep breath before stepping into the room and closing the door. There were orderlies outside, lingering. Tommy didn’t get up, even as Katie crossed the room and set the box on the bedside table.
“Dane made it for you.”
“Yeah, he’s great. Can make me a pizza, but not visit me in this hellhole.”
Katie frowned. “You’ve got a signed order that no one is allowed to visit you except your Power of Attorney, which is me. He can’t come, even if he wants to.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Tommy insisted. He’d remember doing something like that, wouldn’t he?
“Not even your parents are allowed, and your mom has moved nearby. She’s waiting for you to move to regular rehab.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“At least you sound more coherent than you have in the past.” She opened the box of pizza. Tommy’s favorite. It smelled amazing, even if his stomach flipped with nausea. Would he throw it up if he ate a bite? “I’m not allowed to have my phone in here, but I can have them print up the paperwork for you to review again.” She picked up a slice and took a bite. Tommy stared at it, wondering, thinking…
“I’m in detox hell.”
“You are,” Katie agreed. “They don’t tell you all about this crap.” She waved her free hand at the room. “Make it look all nice and pleasant. Rooms are big. Private bathroom, staff seems friendly.”
“A long, slow, death, is more like it,” Tommy muttered. “They won’t give me my anxiety pills.”
“Tommy, those were meant to be short-term emergency pills, and can create long-term dependence.”
“I had a lot of emergencies.”
“The alcohol and cocaine?”
“Party drugs.”
“You’re very lucky it was the Corbins who found you in that bathroom or you’d be detoxing in jail for possession.” Katie glared at him.
He blinked at that comment. “They flushed the drugs?”
“Disposed of them, yes. Mr. Corbin was very unhappy. This might not be the Hilton or even a Motel 6, but it’s a sight better than lockup.”
“When do I get out of here?”
“The doctor says it can be up to ten weeks before the worst of the detox is over, then you’ll head to rehab. Inpatient.”
“Sounds like prison to me.”
She picked up a slice of pizza and held it to his lips. “Take a bite.”
“Most food makes me nauseous.”
She nodded. “That’s part withdrawal, part a lack of you eating.”
He took a small bite expecting it to taste like crap or flip his stomach, but it was tomato and spices and the yeast dough he knew well. He chewed slowly and finally had to work to swallow, but it didn’t make his stomach any worse. “How long have I been here?” Ten weeks sounded like a long time to suffer.
“Seven weeks.”
He sat up and the world spun. “Fuck.” He buried his face in his knees, trying to breathe. “Seven weeks? That’s not possible.” He remembered none of it. Well patches here or there. But not seven weeks’ worth.
“You were in the hospital for two, in a coma, your heart kept cycling between racing and stopping. In the ER they said it was common for drug abuse, but most of the time they’d be unable to resuscitate after the second or third time. They brought you back six times. Seven weeks here. Nine weeks since prom.”
That wasn’t…it couldn’t be possible. How did anyone live through over two months and not remember it? “I don’t remember signing anything to keep anyone away,” Tommy said honestly. He wasn’t sure how much of the past few weeks he remembered at all. And he still felt like his body was on the spin cycle of a washer gone crazy.
“It’s one of the withdrawal symptoms. Memory loss, lethargy.” She pointed to the pizza, “Nausea. Eventually it will all pass, but you could have symptoms for years.”
