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* * *
I never knew a human being could puke as much as I have.
My stomach emptied of food hours ago, days ago, a lifetime ago. I’m left with dry heaves that make my ribs ache.
I’m tired. So tired. I can’t stand over the toilet. I can’t kneel on the floor.
I can barely press my face against the edge of the plastic bowl and do what the voice says: “Let it go. I’ve got you. Let it go.”
* * *
They’re talking.
I can’t open my eyes, but I hear them. They don’t know music; they don’t sing songs. They’re nothing like my angel.
“How much longer will this take?”
“As I told you, Mr. Prince. It’s different for every user.”
“She was only on it for a week.”
“But she took it before.”
“Once. Three years ago.”
“We’ve seen this in some patients. The dopamine receptors get primed by the first dose, especially if it was a large one.”
“Fucking double dose.”
“You have no idea how much she took last week?”
“You think I’m lying, Doctor? Why thefuckwould I lie?”
“Why don’t you get some rest, Mr. Prince? Nurse Weiss will be here overnight.”
“I don’t need any motherfucking rest. What Ineed—”
“You’re disturbing my patient, Mr. Prince. Look at that pulse monitor. If you can’t control yourself, I’ll have no choice but to—”
“Fine. Fine. I’m sitting down. I’m keeping my voice down.”
“Please, Mr. Prince. Just lie down in the room across the hall. Nurse Weiss will call you the instant anything changes.”
“I’m staying.”
“Mr. Prince—”
“Is my staying going to make her any worse? Am I hurting her by being here?”
“Not if you keep your temper, but—”
“Case closed.”
“Very well, Mr. Prince.”
There’s a long pause. I hear people moving. Someone takes my hand. And then, so quiet I almost can’t make it out: “Jesus fucking Christ. Goddamn doctors think they run the motherfucking world.”
It’s not my angel. But it’s a song all the same. I fall asleep with someone holding my hand.
