We Who Are Jaded

Chapter Thirty Four

There were no dreams laid aside for me, mere memories played on repeat. But no matter how many times it looped there was still the blank space where I knew my suicide resided. 

Faces of people who'd I'd lost or forgotten played in my mind, sometimes once and sometimes twice. The eyes of Kieran, Tom, Devon and Nate went round in a never ending reel, a nightmarish merry-go-round.

Sometimes I would brush against the fringes of memories from my darker times. I recalled visiting my dad before I jumped off the bridge and Dr. Collins lecturing me by my hospital bed replayed itself while I willed for the mess in between to return to me. Somehow I was glad my suicide remained locked in the darkest vaults of my mind because deep down I wasn't ready to see, to remember how it felt to welcome the abyss of death.

Finally the flashbacks and voices ended and I was left alone in the dark, the pounding of poison in my veins the only sound. The origins of the substance  in my veins - I didn't know - but I wasn't hanging my hopes upon Mum and Ross finding a cure. 

Ultimately I wasn't concerned for myself, the subject of my worries my father. Dad was weaker than me, the accident and years of toil had weakened him in so many complex ways I didn't want to think about what this merciless poison was doing to him. Dreading that prospect, I was propelled it into the unchanging and unpromising darkness.

If I could have tapped my foot with impatience I would have. But in the solitude of my own mind that was impossible. I just waited for the poison to run its course whether that meant death or eventually opening my eyes. Both outcomes had their advantages and disadvantages but I refused to allow Anya to win and that meant fighting and fighting hard. 

When the sound of muffled voices, the ruckus of unseen objects and slamming of doors began to ring in my ears I knew I was recovering. I could hear and smell and feel but I was not yet to be allowed to see.  

A wet flannel was placed upon my brow but the cool sensation soon dissolved until the moist drops became warm and sticky. I wanted to remove it from my head but as hard as I tried my hand would not obey. 

"Hang in there Chris."

Jackson? 

I felt a tingle as Jackson gently placed his hand in mine. It was a gesture that, under normal circumstances, Jackson would have thought twice about making. Strangely, I found it deeply comforting.

"Mum hasn't let me see you because she doesn't want me to catch your virus," he chuckled awkwardly. "But she's gone out so I did the only natural thing." At least I didn't have to explain myself when I woke up, Mum already having done everything she could to protect her untainted child. "Dad's in the kitchen though, he took the day off so he could take care of you. He's pretty cool Chris, though you don't think so." Jackson cleared his throat, squeezing my hand. "He cares for you, despite what you might think. I care for you too, though I'd never say so to your face."

In my mind I could picture the cheeky grin on his face and the pride in himself for using my condition to his advantage – clever boy. Still, I would be sure to make some excuse to let him know I could hear every word he was saying. 

"That woman was here, the one who was here with Kieran the other day. She wanted to be left alone with you and Ross wasn't sure but she was kinda persuasive."

Well that bloody well explained. 

"When I came back in she'd disappeared and you had that freakish mark along your neck and you started getting really hot." Jackson's hand was relaxing in mine, the worries of me waking up and smacking him slipping slowly away. He took the flannel off my head but kept my hand safely in his. "I don't know what it was but she gave me the complete creeps. Is she one of those addicts that live down the street, you know the ones that smoke that sweet stuff?"