Page 78 of Dark Room Junkie

But even his compliment didn’t console me over my sadness.

Then I heard a vibrating sound, resembling that of a phone inside a plastic box.

“What’s that?”

“I just called you,” Martin said, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “You have my number now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I just have a soft spot for artists.”

“I’m not an artist.”

“Sure.”

By now, the sunlight streamed through the gap, while the hallway outside was getting busier. Although I still felt as heavy as a boulder, my mood had been lifted from the depths of pitch-black darkness.

“My shift is ending,” Martin said, getting up to pack his books.

“Thanks. You just saved me from losing it.”

“It’s all right. I don’t know if your day will be good, but I wish you all the best. And if you’re serious about this book...” He shrugged. “Why not? You can always try something new.”

“I’ll definitely get in touch. As soon as they let me out of here.”

Martin gave me another understanding smile, raising his hand before exiting the room. It was only now that I realized I was alone in a hospital bed. While I was glad for the solitude, it also reminded me of where I came from. After all, not everyone could afford private insurance. But even money couldn’t dissolve my problems.

I prepared myself for a while before a doctor came, but Martin must have reported before he left because the door opened no more than ten minutes later, and a doctor came in. She listened to my lungs and performed a handful of other examinations.

“I’ll keep you under observation for another night, Mr. Winter. If everything’s fine, you can go home tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

The woman was around forty and had a brown ponytail that was messily tied at the back of her head, along with dark circles under her eyes. She looked completely exhausted as she studied my file and jotted down a few notes. After a few moments, she pushed up her glasses and squinted suspiciously.

“You had quite a bit in your system. It wasn’t an overdose, but there was an interaction with the asthma medication. In your condition, it’s extremely foolish to do drugs.”

“In my condition?” I repeated, slightly amused. “It’s not like I’m pregnant.”

“You had respiratory depression, Mr. Winter, and we had to intubate you. You’re lucky you didn’t suffer brain damage from it. Considering the circumstances ...” She flipped through my file and raised her eyebrows. “I see you were here a few years ago due to a suicide attempt.”

I didn’t like where the conversation was going because I already knew what was coming. To end it as quickly as possible, I did the only sensible thing—the preemptive strike. “I’m already in contact with my therapist. So you can spare me the lecture.”

The doctor studied me with a thoughtful expression, then noted something in my file. “Here, put the oxygen mask back on. It’ll do you good.” Once she reduced the output on the machine, she left the room.

Shortly after, breakfast was brought to me. But I wasn’t hungry. Instead, I just sat there and focused on breathing. I wondered if what happened at Livio’s could have been prevented. Maybe if I had contacted Dr. Gerber earlier. Not burdened myself too much at work. My mother had taught me the truth with a little more finesse instead of shoving it in my face like shit. Or if I hadn’t been such an idiot to fall in love with Noé.

“Argh!”

At least the mask muffled my scream. But it was no use. I dragged my hands through my hair and felt completely off. And as much as my thoughts spun like a carousel in my head, they kept bringing me back to the same point. The moment Noé kissed Michelle.

That was my kiss!

Dammit!

I didn’t know what jealousy felt like before, but it tore me apart!

Michelle!

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