Page 7 of Dirty Monsters

I was having a hard time acclimating to my surroundings. The room was too fuzzy and dark. Once I determined the blinds had been shut to keep the light from streaming in, I started to put the pieces together. I was in a hospital room and not my apartment.

I allowed my hand to roam up, touching the IV lodged into my vein. I wanted to make sure it was real, and I wasn’t imagining it. The last thing I remembered was hitting the line of coke when I returned home the night before and then...nothing.

But why was I at the hospital?

Unless…

My eyes scoured the room, searching for any indication as to why I was there or how long I’d been there.

Still nothing.

I heard the knob turn, drawing my attention toward the door where someone was casually walking through. “Glad to see you’re awake, Miss Carrington. How are you feeling this morning?”

So many questions plagued my brain, and I couldn’t pinpoint which one to start with. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would form through the cotton balls clogging my throat. It was a deep, crawling thirst.

“Water?” It came out as a whisper, leaving me shocked she’d even heard it in the first place.

She lifted the pitcher from the sink in the corner of my room, poured me a glass, and walked over, setting it down on the stand beside my bed.

“Let’s sit you up a bit.” She hit a button on the side of my bed, and it started to raise my head. Her hands moved behind me to readjust the pillows as she asked, “Better?”

I simply nodded.

The water tasted amazing. I wanted more than a few sips, but she took it away after a few seconds. “Easy. I think that’s enough for now.”

“Where am I? I mean, I know it’s a hospital, but why am I here?”

“You were brought in two days ago.”

Two fucking days?

“Why?”

“Overdose, Miss Carrington. You are lucky to be alive.” Her voice was matter-of-fact and stern, hinting at a bit of disappointment in me.

“I did not…” I trailed off in denial before grabbing my throat. “Why the hell does my throat feel so scratchy?”

“You had to be intubated.”

My eyes bulged. “What the hell does intubated mean?”

“We had to insert a tube into your trachea so we could make sure you were getting enough air to breathe properly. The doctor will be in shortly for any remaining questions and treatment steps from here.”

“Treatment?”

She nodded without saying another word. What in the hell kind of treatment was needed? My mind swept through different scenarios trying to figure out, yet again, how I’d ended up here. I’d snorted coke multiple times and hadn’t ended up here before. What was different this time to make it so bad?

A knock on my door interrupted me from my musings. Theodore and Jeanine Carrington, also known as my parents, swept through the door with an expression of utter concern painted on their faces. I knew right away it wasn’t concern for me, but for how this would all “appear.”

“Darling, what were you thinking?” my mother asked.

At the same time, my father scolded me, “How long has this been going on?”

I shrugged. My emotions toward my parents were indifferent. I was the “special” one, and that came with baggage. Theodore and Jeanine were God-fearing people with a checking account the size of Texas. Appearances were all that mattered, and feelings were often tossed aside if they didn’t align with the image they wished to portray.

“Has the doctor been in yet?”

“You tell me,” I mumbled. “I only now woke up. I have no idea what the hell’s going on.”

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