Page 10 of Proof Of Life

“So…Fucking…Loud…” It’s exhausting just trying to spit those three simple words out.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. Then his voice is in my ear, just a soft whisper of his breath and sound. “Is this better?”

“You have…big…mouth.”

“Yeah,” he laughs again, but softer this time. “You can call me whatever you want. Just open your eyes for me first.”

Slowly, I peel my eyes open millimeters at a time. It’s so bright, the light blinds me through the narrow slits of my lids.

“There you are,” he beams, his white smile more blinding than the lighting.

When I finally manage to crack them open all the way, I immediately have to squint when the too-bright fluorescents cause my head to throb.

“Too bright,” I croak.

“Turn the lights off,” Brandt hisses at his girl.

I give it another shot, this time managing to locate him in the darkness. His face hovers above mine, blurry and smiling, but full of concern.

“Hi,” he breathes, glowing at me like I’m someone fucking special.

His girl hovers over his shoulder. “Welcome back, Sergeant.”

I don’t like the look of her. I don’t trust her. Returning my gaze to Brandt, I squeeze his fingers again. “She roofied me.”

He laughs out loud and then seems to remember he’s supposed to be quiet and whispers, “No man, we had to put you out. But you’re back now. You’re back,” he beams, and kisses my knuckles.

I try to untangle my hand from his, but even that slight movement is fucking exhausting.

“Where…the fuck did I go?”

“I’m going to get the doctor. I’ll be back,” she says before disappearing.

Brandt doesn’t even spare her a glance. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been asleep for quite a while.”

“Did I…OD? How much…did she give me?” I'm struggling to speak each word around a mouth full of bitter-tasting glue.

“Nobody gave you anything, West. We had to put you to sleep.”

“Sleep–” I repeat, thinking how good that sounds right now.

When I wake again, we’re alone. He’s still holding onto me, like a lifeline. His touch grounds me, making the pain in my head recede slightly.

“Water,” I rasp.

My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. Someone who crawled on their hands and knees through the desert for days in search of water.

“Oh shit, yeah. I’ll be right back.” He drops my hand and scrambles out the door, returning minutes later holding a paper cup with a straw. “Tiny sips. Take it slow,” he advises, bringing the straw to my chapped lips.

But, of course, I’m greedy for anything liquid, and I take too much. A fit of coughing ensues, and I spit most of the water back out, cringing as I feel it dribble down my chin.

Fuck, my throat isn’t working right.

In fact, nothing is working right. My body feels like a lead weight. My limbs tingle with numbness, like my skin is being pierced by a thousand pinpricks, as if they’ve fallen asleep.

The pain in my head is so bad that I can feel it behind my eyes. Every time I look left or right, my vision blurs, and my eyeballs are fucking sore, if that’s even possible. I try to sit up to take another sip, but it’s futile. I’m too weak.

How long have I been asleep?

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