Spin For You [Peterick]

-10-

[A/N: Another long one. A bit less horrible though.]

Dear Patrick,

Didn't think I'd be writing another of these. I shouldn't be writing another of these. I should be dead. But I'm not. And I don't quite know how I feel about that yet.

I hate hospitals. Everything is too...clear. It's all white walls and crisp sheets and fluorescent lights. I get headaches every time I open my eyes. I'm propped up in the bed, if you can call it that, trying to write as small as I can to fit all of this on the scrap of paper the nurse had given me when I asked. I don't think she likes me. I don't blame her.

Despite all the questions, I really don't remember much about that night. All I know is that I attacked you, then took a shit load of pills. My knuckles serve as brutal reminders; split and scabbed, when I close my eyes I can feel them slamming into your jaw all over again. When I sleep, I feel my hands around your neck, hear your strangled yelps, see your glassy eyes. It's all so clear, right up until the moment I was shoved off you. That's when things start to get blurry.

I remember the feelings though. They're worst part. There's this emptiness. It doesn't do anything much, just sits there in the pit of your stomach. And you don't even notice it getting stronger, until you find yourself with pills in your mouth and blackness in your brain, and suddenly it eats you up alive. Or dead. For seven minutes in my case.

It was Joe that found me. He told me he'd come back to get your guitars. He knocked, but obviously there was no answer. But he knew where the spare key was, so he let himself in anyway, heading for the lounge. And there I was, fading on the floor, having taken the pills less than two minutes previously. He called the ambulance. He saved my life. But again, I don't know how I feel about that yet.

I woke up several days later after the doctors had messed around with me, and at first, I couldn't see anything. I could just hear all these blurry sounds buzzing in my head, ebbing in and out like the tides, and for a while, I seemed to just float below the surface, hearing the sounds briefly before being pulled under again.

But the sounds got clearer, until finally I resurfaced. I don't really remember what it was like to wake up after all that time, to realise that I was still alive. Broken and beaten, but alive all the same.

I think it was Andy who saw me first. I heard him say my name in a hushed voice, before calling something out. Then there were more people, people barking orders at each other, buzzing around me and saying things. I became aware of needles in my hands and machines whirring.

Opening my eyes was like finally hitting the ground after free fall.

First there were only shapes. They moved around, one of them getting bigger and bigger. I blinked to try and make it stop, but the shape only became sharper. I could see a light blob in the middle of a bigger, darker blob. Scrunching my face up and squeezing my eyes shut, I shifted my body away from the shape, feeling my bones crack from being still for so long. When I opened my eyes, I could see everything.

There were bands of white light strung across the grey panelled ceiling. There were figures in my peripheral vision, and I tried to sit up and look at them properly but ended up just falling back into the pillow. They came closer, and I realised they were Joe and Andy. I also realised that I was happy to see them. Joe must have been the blob I'd seen at first, and his face split into a smile when I looked at him. His lips formed words that I can't remember but one of them was definitely asshole.

I felt myself smile too, a surreal warmth spreading through me. Andy was sat on the other side of me, a little glint of something like pride in his eyes. He reached out and squeezed my arm, as if trying to pull me fully into the waking world.