Page 116 of Dirty Chorus

“Hey, hey, stop, you’re okay! You've gotta keep the mask on.”

I’m not okay. I have no idea where I am. I’m being interrogated. Name? My name? Month. What? Numbers. Who the hell are you? Why am I even here, and what is this blistering pain in my head that is banging? I feel like my ears are bleeding. The mask over my mouth feels too tight. It’s choking me. My head throbs with every heartbeat, and the room tilts sideways. I kick my feet, hitting something. Someone curses softly.

“Restraints!”

“No, no,” I try to scream, but it comes out hoarse. I yank at the wire taped on my arm. Pain shoots through it, but I don’t care. I just need it off me. I need everything off me. I must be in a looney bin. That’s where I am. Or maybe this is hell. Oh fuck, Jesus left me. Or I’m some crazy woman with a million different personalities. That has to be it. That’s why I don’t remember anything.

Hands press me down, firm but not rough. The mattress shifts beneath me. There’s a voice right by my ear now, low and steady. “You’re safe, I promise. You’re in the hospital because you were hurt.”

Hospital. Hurt. What do you mean? The word echoes somewhere in the back of my head. My vision tunnels. The lights above melt into streaks of gold and white. The sounds fade. The voices, the machines, the heartbeat in my ears, all of it drifting further away, and it’s dark all over again.

He smirks. I feel like I should know him. He’s handsome, I give him that. The dirty blond hair, and his golden eyes, but at the same time there's something wrong. He was important to me once. At least I think he was. It’s like someone is pouring salt all over an open wound. I can’t breathe, my lungs tighten and my pulse crashes against my ribs.

There are a lot of people swarming around me, blurring as they pass by. Lots and lots of people, running around in dark clothing, there's something loud banging in my ears. Drums, guitars, someone singing in the background.

I have no idea where I am. But the guy, that blond man, is holding a tiny packet between his fingers. My stomach twisted into knots as I watched him so subtly pour it into a girl's red cup. I suddenly become dizzy, the room is tilting sideways. She isn’t paying attention at all to her drink that she holds up in the air as she's yelling straight at me. I’m quiet as I watch the white powder dissolve instantly, like it never existed at all.

And he just places a finger over his lips telling me to shush, before he puts a gun symbol to his head pretending to pull the trigger.

“I’ll be downstairs.” He taps me on the shoulders. It was just the heartbeat in my throat, the girl in front of me crying. I’m screaming at myself to say something, not to drink what's in the cup, but I'm just standing still like a deer in headlights. Why am I not saying anything?

“I think I might be in love with your brother, and I’m terrified to even talk to you. All you do is judge me and tell me how ugly and stupid I look. That’s not what a friend does,” the girl spits out. She’s swaying like the room’s spinning. She clutches the red cup and starts chugging it.

I think I might be sick, my palms are sweaty. What makes the feeling even worse is that I know this girl. It’s buried somewhere deep inside me that she means more to me than anything. It’s as if she's family, my sister. But at the same time there's this throbbing ache inside my chest like she’s done something terrible to me.

“And I’m the terrible friend?” A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I’m talking. Why am I talking? Why am I saying this? “I’ve always told you the truth, even when you didn’t wanna hear it. Who do you think combed your hair for years? Who made you wear something decent, so you didn’t look like you rolled out of a dumpster? I’m not your mother, but I’ve sure as hell been one to you since we were kids.” I take a breath and shake my head. “And as for my brother, I doubt you even love him. You walked out on him and said you wanted nothing to do with him. I’m so sick of girls messing with him.”

"I’m not going to apologize for landing on him!” She snaps.

“Then don’t.” My voice goes cold. “But you lied and hid it from me.” She laughs bitterly at my remark, staring into her cup. “I trusted you,” I say softly, my chest tight. “And you went off and hurt me... and you hurt my brother.”

The silence between us burns hotter than the alcohol in her cup. She’s staring at the tile floor now. “I thought I was doing him a favor.”

The words hang there, and it’s like she stabbed me in the chest. God, what is wrong with me? Why am I not grabbing the cup, or hitting it out of her hands. Why? What is wrong with me? Hello! Do something. I'm standing so utterly still and fearful that if I do then something awful is going to happen. It has to be him. I’m scared of him. He's still here somewhere, watching, waiting, smiling like the devil. I’m too scared to speak because all it takes is for me to say one wrong word, and he’s going to pull the trigger. A trigger. He’s going to... he’s going to... oh my god he’s going to hurt her. And I’m walking away from her and she’s yelling at me.

No! Go back, and talk to her, go back and tell her something is in that drink. There’s something wrong!

It’s like I’m being ripped out of my own head, dragged backwards through a tunnel of light. My chest seizes, my lungs forgetting how to work. My eyes snap open as I gasp for air and I'm clutching the white gown at my chest. “He... he... he has a gun!” I sob.

I dunno what’s real. If it was just a dream. “He’s gonna kill me!” I scream out and my face is hot. It’s hotter than hell. It’s raw, like my skin is peeling off, and it’s wet. I don’t know who she is, but my entire being is hurting from whatever that conversation was between us. “Help!”

No one responds, people racing around me in those blue outfits, and those green masks over their faces. Machines are beeping and there's some metal tray next to me, with some sort of bloody cloth.

There are footsteps pounding in the hallway again, coming into the room. “He... he's going to hurt...” I choke on my own slobber as I grasp for the lady’s blue shirt. Hands grasp my arms. Cold fingers, with purple gloves. Voices blend together.

“Who? Who is trying to hurt you?”

“He... he...”

“We need you to calm down. Tell us a name? Who is he?”

“It’s my... it’s all my...” I can’t even finish the statement and someone places a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” I kick against the bed, thrashing like the air is choking me. Something metal crashes to the floor. Instruments scatter across the tile and the sound rips through my pounding skull. I grasp my head, and the pain gets even worse. When I pull my hand away, there's blood. Not a lot, but enough to stain my fingers. My whole body goes numb and cold.

“No! No! Please! Help me!”

“Get a sedative!” one of them shouts.

“No please!” My throat is raw as I scream it out. “I don't wanna go back to sleep! He’s gonna find me! He’s gonna!”