By Amelia Elizalde, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Unlike the last two times, I know where I am instantly. A nurse stands over me, saying something about how I need a smaller blood pressure cuff because I’m a tiny thing.
I’m not tiny, I think. If anything, there’s too much of me, I don’t know what to do with it all. I have no self-control, no limits, hedonistic to a fault. Always searching for pleasure. Isn’t that my problem? Hasn’t it always been? Sleeping in too late, eating terribly, always in love, always in danger. Addictive, obsessive, high on life and whatever else I’m offered.
My rumpled party clothes look garish in this light and I know I have black eyeliner streaked under my eyes. My hair is spread out behind me, dark and tangled on the pillow. Dried blood on my hand where the nurse missed with the IV. I’ve been told I have shitty veins.
A male nurse comes in. Young, looks too alert. He notices I’m awake, wishes me a good morning.
Fuck, it’s morning.
The machine next to me says 6:42 AM. Real morning. I can tell I’m still tipsy because I flirt with him like an idiot.
“Steve,” I whisper, looking up at him with stupid bedroom eyes that probably just make me look drunker. “Could I maybe have some water?” My lips are cracked and cottony. “My name is Michael,” he laughs, “ice or no ice?” “Ice, please.” He’s gone.
The only other people here are belligerently drunk homeless men. One of them slurs something rude at Michael the nurse as he brings me my cup.
I don’t belong here.
Unlike the last two times, I know where I am instantly. A nurse stands over me, saying something about how I need a smaller blood pressure cuff because I’m a tiny thing.
I’m not tiny, I think. If anything, there’s too much of me, I don’t know what to do with it all. I have no self-control, no limits, hedonistic to a fault. Always searching for pleasure. Isn’t that my problem? Hasn’t it always been? Sleeping in too late, eating terribly, always in love, always in danger. Addictive, obsessive, high on life and whatever else I’m offered.
My rumpled party clothes look garish in this light and I know I have black eyeliner streaked under my eyes. My hair is spread out behind me, dark and tangled on the pillow. Dried blood on my hand where the nurse missed with the IV. I’ve been told I have shitty veins.
A male nurse comes in. Young, looks too alert. He notices I’m awake, wishes me a good morning.
Fuck, it’s morning.
The machine next to me says 6:42 AM. Real morning. I can tell I’m still tipsy because I flirt with him like an idiot.
“Steve,” I whisper, looking up at him with stupid bedroom eyes that probably just make me look drunker. “Could I maybe have some water?” My lips are cracked and cottony. “My name is Michael,” he laughs, “ice or no ice?” “Ice, please.” He’s gone.
The only other people here are belligerently drunk homeless men. One of them slurs something rude at Michael the nurse as he brings me my cup.
I don’t belong here.
I’m still pleasantly buzzed, my head is full of static, and the florescence of the hallway makes me feel like this doesn’t have to be real life. The female nurse returns.
“Oh honey,” such a nurse cliche, I think. “Look at you, you must give your poor dad a heart attack.” Cliche and irritating. I make my lips turn up at the corners. It becomes more of a grimace than a smile. I close my eyes, she flits around the room, magically procures my shoes, takes the IV out and bandages my hand in a few practiced motions. She turns back, looking at me.
“I bet you’re a heartbreaker.”
I’m instructed to go to the bathroom down the hall. I don’t need to but I want to feel in control of myself so I walk the hundred feet, barefoot and a little unsteady. I fix my eyes on a point on the opposite wall, and bits and pieces begin to come back: girls giggling in the back of a cab, rain-soaked hair turned jet-black and plastered to my skin, a claustrophobic party spilling onto the sidewalk. Another cab ride, another apartment. I walk in and immediately break a shot glass. A large bro-y guy laughs like it’s cute. It wasn’t cute. I just wanted to break something. A boy locks the bathroom door behind us
and leans against the sink, eyebrows raised. I can’t catch my breath. His fingers trace my cheekbone, my jawline. He tilts my chin up with dirty fingers but my eyes feel too heavy and I can’t look at him. I want out.
I hope I got out.
I reach the hospital bathroom, lean on the sink and force myself to look in the mirror. I'm paler than usual, with circles under my eyes and purple bruises on my collarbone. Dark tendrils of hair hang in my face and I feel outside of myself, outside of my body. The girl in the mirror smirks.
Such a heartbreaker.
“Oh honey,” such a nurse cliche, I think. “Look at you, you must give your poor dad a heart attack.” Cliche and irritating. I make my lips turn up at the corners. It becomes more of a grimace than a smile. I close my eyes, she flits around the room, magically procures my shoes, takes the IV out and bandages my hand in a few practiced motions. She turns back, looking at me.
“I bet you’re a heartbreaker.”
I’m instructed to go to the bathroom down the hall. I don’t need to but I want to feel in control of myself so I walk the hundred feet, barefoot and a little unsteady. I fix my eyes on a point on the opposite wall, and bits and pieces begin to come back: girls giggling in the back of a cab, rain-soaked hair turned jet-black and plastered to my skin, a claustrophobic party spilling onto the sidewalk. Another cab ride, another apartment. I walk in and immediately break a shot glass. A large bro-y guy laughs like it’s cute. It wasn’t cute. I just wanted to break something. A boy locks the bathroom door behind us
and leans against the sink, eyebrows raised. I can’t catch my breath. His fingers trace my cheekbone, my jawline. He tilts my chin up with dirty fingers but my eyes feel too heavy and I can’t look at him. I want out.
I hope I got out.
I reach the hospital bathroom, lean on the sink and force myself to look in the mirror. I'm paler than usual, with circles under my eyes and purple bruises on my collarbone. Dark tendrils of hair hang in my face and I feel outside of myself, outside of my body. The girl in the mirror smirks.
Such a heartbreaker.