His desperate whisper broke my heart. He and Sago didn’t deserve my shitty attitude. They always looked out for me, but I never let them in. I never let them see the real me. Maybe that needed to change.
Lord knew something had to.
Whatever was going to happen, I couldn’t stay here a minute longer.
They drifted through the door, and Paul hovered near the side of my bed. “So… you’re not gonna tell anyone?”
Here I was, woozy as hell, my hip aching, with no clue what day it was, and Paul’s only concern was getting busted for whatever fucking drugs he’d given me.
“No, Paul. I’m not going to narc on you. Now get the fuck out of my room.”
Paul moved quickly for a guy who treated his body like a trash can. I doubted he wanted to be here any more than I did.
As soon as the door shut behind him, I ripped out the IV. A small spurt of blood stained the sheets, so I quickly wrestled off my hospital gown and wedged the cheap cotton into the crook of my arm, silently apologizing to the staff who’d have to clean up my mess. I paused to regain my balance as I unzipped the bag and examined the contents.
Thank fuck.Bless you, Sago.
I’d always made it a point to travel with a clean set of clothes, my phone, and my travel documents in this bag, but I’d been so erratic this trip, I couldn’t remember if I’d kept up the habit or not. I’d bet real money Sago had taken over that responsibility.
I owed him an apology. And probably a bouquet of flowers.
Going back to the neat stack of clothing—definitely Sago’s work—I decided that underwear was too high a mountain to climb. Skipping that step, I pulled out the old pair of jeans that had been skintight at the beginning of the tour, but when I put them on now, they hung loose around my hips. I briefly wondered when I’d last eaten. The swooping sensation returned, but I couldn’t stay in this room a second longer. Gripping the bed rail for dear life, I shoved my feet into my old Chucks and dragged the soft Van Halen T-shirt, thin from years of wear, over my head.
At the bottom of my bag was—Sago, you are a godsend—my phone. I pulled up a rideshare app, verified that they served Mexico City, and made my choices, hoping they were the right ones. As I passed the little sink and mirror on my way out of the room, I was shocked by my own reflection. My cheeks were hollow, my skin was deathly pallid, and my eyeliner had smeared.
I didn’t want to risk being photographed looking like one of my grandmother’s calavera dolls, so I grabbed the strong antiseptic soap by the sink, turned on the hot water, and scrubbed my face. When I finished, my skin felt like sandpaper, but at least it was clean.
Had I ever gone out in public without eyeliner?
Didn’t matter—I had to hoof it because my rideshare was already approaching the hospital. I peeked around the door and saw a nearly empty corridor. I figured if it looked like I knew what I was doing, no one would harass me, so I walked out of the room and headed for a bank of elevators.
All the signage was in Spanish, and I thanked my high school Spanish teacher for her memorable lessons on directions. Between those and a few helpful arrows, I put together how to get to the entrance. Down three levels, out to the left and then right.
Emerging onto the street, I was blasted by bright sunshine. I checked my phone again, noting the date and time. Only a few hours since I collapsed. Good. Maybe I could get out of town before this became a thing.
“Hendrix?” asked a man in a red Renault Kwid.
He was middle aged, paunchy, and kind looking. More importantly, he fit the description on the app.
“Tez?” I replied, and he nodded.
“¿Te encuentras bien?” he asked, his eyes darting between me and the hospital.
He wanted to know if I was feeling okay.
“Más o menos,” I replied.More or less.
Between his concern and my broken Spanish, I verified that I wanted to go to the airport. As he drove, I texted Paul.
Me:The tour is cancelled.
Paul:You can’t do that.
Me:I just did. Tell the board.
Ignoring the rest of his texts, I opened my airline app and found a direct flight to San Antonio taking off in a little over an hour. I booked it as Tez pulled into the drop-off area. He hurried around the other side of the car and let me out, his eyes large.
“You no want to go back to el hospital?” he asked gently. “I no charge. Maybe not a good day for airplane.”
