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The parking lot, was I really there?
If so, then my mom... was she hurt?!
I jump out of bed, forgetting about the shattered glass in the room. One of the shards stabs my foot, and I almost collapse, but that doesn’t stop me as I slalom my way through the glass mess and make a quick exit from the room.
The people around me, as well as the medical staff, buzz back and forth along the blindingly white corridor.
“Where’s my mom?!”
I stop a nurse in her tracks, and she gives me a strange look as if she’s seen a ghost.
“Are you the patient from room 222?”
“Yes. I need to know if my mom is okay.”
”Patient in room 222 has awakened,” the nurse speaks into her walkie-talkie, then guides me back to the room.
“I don’t want to go back. I want to talk to my mother.”
“First of all, you’re not allowed to leave the room. Secondly, you’re not in a position to make demands, so behave yourself and stop acting like a spoiled child.”
Her tone irritates me, and my temper flares up.
“Why? What’s your problem? All I want is to talk to my mother. Am I asking for too much?”
“You are under criminal investigation for attempted murder,” the woman’s news hits me like a punch to the gut. Her tone irritates me, and my temper flares up.
Out of nowhere... but it starts to make sense.
“What?” I blink like crazy, trying to piece it all together.
That messed up dream flashes in my mind, and I remember the dude whose skull I smashed with the bat or the one whose eye I...
“No... I didn’t…”
I have to be careful with my words. I can’t spill anything that can be used against me. Is this their plan? To frame me, to turn me from victim to freaking criminal?
I won’t play their game.
I let go of the nurse’s arm and shrug my shoulders, taking a deep breath.
Damn it!
I admit that, whatever the unfavorable position I find myself in, it’s not entirely their fault. I allowed the situation to spiral out of control, I lost my composure knowingly. If only I had restrained myself in the parking lot, if I hadn’t gone off the deep end... surely I wouldn’t be in this complicated mess.
I had done it again.
I let my impulses take over, even though I know they’re so destructive. I’m fully aware of it all, and one more thing.
It felt damn good.
The power, the control, the moment I broke free and let myself go, it all made me feel so alive after years of feeling dead inside. But here’s the question: If I knew all the crazy consequences that would come with it, would I still make the same choice? I already know the answer, but saying it out loud scares me.
“That’s for the cops to figure out. My job is to take care of you, not judge. But if I could choose to not help someone who’s caused nothing but trouble, I wouldn’t be bothering to bandage your wounds, the nurse says while cleaning my bloody foot.”
“Fine, then just leave me alone,” I pull my foot away and avoid eye contact.
This lady is making me feel like crap, as if I’m some kind of freaking serial killer.
