Morphine. Need morphine.
I wait for confirmation that someone heard me.
Nothing, so far.
I continue examining my surroundings.
Pain.
My left arm is bandaged thick. White gauze from fingertips to elbow. I try to flex my fingers and the pain becomes even more intense. And what do I get for my effort? The fingers barely respond. Wrapped too tight or nerve damage. Could be either. Could be both.
What the fuck happened?
Then it comes back. Fragments at first. Thewoods. Ben. The deer. The bear charging. The shotgun blast that should have stopped it.
Didn’t.
Then claws. Then black. Then here.
Oh God. Ben. Jess.
If something happened to them, I’ll never forgive myself.
I try to sit up. Can’t.
Agony.
Too much.
I turn my head further, fighting the pain, trying to see more of the room through the narrow slits of the bandage.
A tray table sits within reach. Empty except for a plastic water pitcher and a cup with a straw. And my phone. The window catches my attention next. Blinds pulled shut. No light seeping through the slats. Either very early morning or very late night.
Time doesn’t exist in places like this.
Just before and after.
Pain and relief.
Awake and mercifully unconscious.
The walls are that particular shade of beige that’s supposed to be calming but just feels empty. A whiteboard mounted opposite the bed lists names. Nurses probably. Shift schedules.
Pain.
My name at the top in dry erase marker. FIORE, MARCO.
Yeah. That’s me. What’s left of me anyway.
And to the right of my name is a small box labeled: Anticipated Date of Discharge. The box is empty.
In here for the long haul,then.
Agony.
I manage to turn my head more, just a bit more, and spot two chairs next to my bed. That’s when I see them.
Jess. Ben.
