“Tell her yourself. When you’re ready.” Then he’s gone.
I’m alone with the pain and the guilt and the two sleeping shapes in the corner.
The nurse arrives, adjusts the morphine drip, and sweet bliss pulls me under before I can think too hard about anything.
I dreamI’m in the kitchen atOsteria Fiore.
Prep station.
But something’s wrong.
The burners are too hot.
Flames licking higher than they should.
I reach to adjust them.
My hand slips.
I’m falling.
Face first into the grill.
I wake up screaming.
Or trying to scream. What comes out is more of a wet gargle. The pain is back. Worse than before. Like someone poured gasoline on my face and lit a match.
“Morphine.” I’m begging again. Don’t care. “Please. Morphine.”
Movement from the corner. Ben’s awake. So is Jess. Both staring at me with wideeyes.
Fuck.
Exactly what I didn’t want.
Them seeing me like this.
Hearing me begging like a junkie for my next fix.
Tears spring up in my eyes, either from the pain, or the thought of what I’ve become, or both.
Jag appears from somewhere. Must have been standing outside. He moves fast. Hits the call button. Within seconds the nurse is back.
She adjusts the IV without a word. Knows the drill by now.
The fire dims. Doesn’t disappear.
Just.
Dims.
I close my eyes. Force my breathing to steady. I want to go to sleep again.
But... I can’t. Not yet.
When I open them again Jag is sitting in the chair Jess just vacated. Jess meanwhile is kneeling beside Ben’s chair. Whispering something to my daughter I can’t hear. My daughter meanwhile is just staring at me, her eyes these huge saucers.
Fuck.
