All I want is you - a Hot Chelle Rae fanfic

Chapter 34 - Is this what death feels like?

My body was tingling, from my toes to my neck, but I somehow couldn’t feel it on my face. It was like it was numb. There was something lain over me, something warm and rough. Is this what death felt like? It felt… normal. I tried to open my eyes, and when I finally succeeded all I saw was a bright light. I groaned and lifted my arm up to lay it over my face when whatever was on me moved when I did. I twitched at the movement, why was something covering me? I was… I swallowed hard. I was dead wasn’t I? Why was this… this thing over the top of me? I opened my eyes once they were used to the light, and finally saw what was on me.

“A blanket?” I whispered sarcastically, but instead of a slight whisper nothing came out at all. But the worse thing was that it wasn’t just any blanket, it was a hospital blanket. Meaning I’d survived… meaning I’d have to explain to everyone why I did what I did.

I didn’t want to, but I would have to face my fears. Ryan would probably be long gone, and that meant I’d explain to Laura as my first choice. Although she’d be mad… I’d ruined her wedding night by attempting suicide.

There was a pounding in my head that was intensifying by the second, and since I was now used to the fluros above me and the stale air around me, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I looked around. My bed was rather large, about a single and a half. The blankets covering it were white with little square engravements in the fabric, and as I shifted around I noticed that these were horrible blankets to have in a hospital. They weren’t soft at all. But then I thought about it, this was a hospital -- you weren’t supposed to be here in the first place, you were supposed to try hard to be healthy. I guess you couldn’t be treated like a king or queen, otherwise you’d never leave.

Everything else in the room was white, and when I say that, I’m not exaggerating. The bedside table, the sink and cupboards across the room, the doors, the walls and ceiling, the floor tiles, the armchairs, the linen and finally, the machines. Looking at the drip above me, I followed the chord down to see it inserted into the skin on the inside of my forearm, in the major vein. I shook my head. They were probably still trying the flush the drugs out of my system. How long had it been? A day, maybe two?

“Knock knock,” someone said by the door, knocking twice as they spoke. “You’re awake, that’s good. How do you feel?”

“Who are you?” I said flatly. Her white coat clearly indicated that she was a doctor, but I didn’t want to speak to anyone.

“I’m Doctor Fey, I’ve been taking care of you for the past week.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean the past week?”

“Blair…” she said sympathetically. “You’ve been out for a week and 4 days, basically a small coma. Now, I need to know how you feel. Dizzy, headache?”

“I… I have a headache. It’s throbbing. But that’s it.” 1 week and 4 days? Had it really been that long? It felt like yesterday that I swallowed the pills…

 “I’ll get you something for that, but first I need you to tell me something.”

“What?” I replied, my voice hard.

“Why did you do this to yourself?”

I looked away, folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Look, Blair. You have been out for a week and 4 days, you’ve barely been holding on. You’ve been unstable; we’ve had to use the defibrillator at least 3 times since you tried to OD. The drugs still aren’t out of your system, and they won’t be for another week or so because your body is refusing the fluid we’re putting through you. There have been several occasions when you could have died; I think you need to talk. Now.”