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HUNTER
I groan as I roll over, nuzzling my head into something soft. My head aches. Actually, everything aches. I feel like my skin is about to crawl off my body in search of a more worthy canvas. My mouth feels like it has spent the enter night either swallowing spiders creeping inside to weave spiderwebs or licking a dog’s asshole. Possibly both.
I wince as my eyes flutter open, finding a window with its curtains drawn back allowing bright light to seep into my room and enhance the pounding in my head. Groaning, I roll over, hugging the blanket to my body. My frown deepens when I find a huge glass of water on the bedside table and an empty bucket.
Just what happened last night?
I rise, and instantly regret that decision, plummeting back into the soft bed and throwing the blanket over my face. Well, it’s obvious. I drank way too much last night. Hopefully, I didn’t make a complete ass of myself.
I squint my eyes, staring daggers into the red comforter above me and try to remember what happened. I had been drinking beer, feeling sorry for myself. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been drinking, especially since I had been taking my pain meds before, but at the time, I didn’t give a shit about my health.
I just needed to numb the pain.
I still need to numb the pain.
I hear laughter from somewhere and shrivel even deeper into my blanket sanctuary. My shoulder pains from the slight movement and I bite my lip, stifling a groan as I feel something akin to daggers piercing through my flesh. I punch the mattress, grinding my teeth and riding out the storm. I would need my drugs soon, but I don’t think I have the energy right now to go digging through my stuff to find the bottle.
Closing my eyes, I will myself to sleep, wanting to just spend the whole day in bed rather than face another situation where I would have to pretend everything in my life is just perfect. It’s becoming draining and I don’t know if I can do it any longer.
Instead of falling asleep, my mind dives into memories from winter break, which I try to force away. They taunt me, easing me back into discussions with dad at the hospital. Discussions about Mom that I’m just not ready for.
I remember sitting in the hallway, waiting for Mom to come out of the doctor’s office. When the door had opened, it was Dad, who came out first. Dad, who pretty much just left us after Mom had her double mastectomy; spending his days in the office working, working as late as possible and sometimes spending the night at the office. Whereas I had been there for her as much as I possibly could with school and practice.
He had done absolutely nothing for her. Other than pay the bills of course.
I still don’t know why Mom allowed him to get away with so much. Christmas was fucking awkward as hell with Dad and I pretty much walking on eggshells around each other. And then he wanted to go to join in on her appointments, making me sit outside when it was I who had attended each and everyone for the several years.
I remembered standing, remembered wondering why it was Dad coming out and not Mom. Why didn’t they come out together? I had questioned myself, my skin prickling in alarm.
“Where’s Mom?” I had asked.
“She’s going to have to spend the next few days in the hospital.” Dad hadn’t been looking me in the eye. He was so intent on everything else around us; the white walls, the uncomfortable chairs, the pristine white floors. Pretty much everything was so much more interesting to look at rather than me.
“Why?” I had asked, annoyed that she couldn’t go home.
“Son, why don’t you sit down?”
“Because I’m quite fine with standing.”
Dad sighed, sitting down in the chair next to me, his hands running over his face while focusing his attention once more on the floor.
“The cancer has returned.”
“What?” I remembered breathing, as if someone had just punched me in my gut. “How?”
He shook his head.
“But she had a fucking bilateral mastectomy! How the fuck can she have it again?”
“Language!” Dad shouted, as if my word choice was somehow more important than Mom’s life. “I don’t know, Hunter. These things just happen.”
“I want to see Mom,” I had said, going for the door.
I remembered Dad standing, grabbing my hand before I could grab the handle. “She’s still speaking with the doctor. Hunter, please don’t make this any harder on her. She’s going through a lot.”
“I know,” I had whispered angrily. “Because unlike you, I’ve been with her as much as I possibly can. Unlike you, I actually go to all her appointments, visit her in the hospital, help her get in and out of bed when she’s too weak due to chemo. Where the fuck have you been?”
I sniff, blinking back tears and forcing the memories away. I should get up. If I can’t sleep I don’t want to be alone, especially when I feel like such shit. I throw the blankets off me and force myself out of bed, finding I’m topless and in my jeans from yesterday. I find my shirt from last night discarded on the wood floor. Picking it up I gag as a rancid smell assaults my nose, finding dried vomit going down its front.
