Page 134 of Call the Shots
CHAPTER 50
JUNE
YOU CAN HEAR THE OCEAN
When I woke up,the lights overhead were trying to burn my eyelids. Everything hurt. I blinked myself awake, staring at the pristine white of a hospital room, white sheets, white curtains, and a crisp white medical band around my wrist. My mouth was dry. It hurt to swallow.
“Morning,” a woman in a jean jacket greeted me, an official badge clipped to her pocket. She pulled a chair over, way more relaxed than I was. “Do you know where you are?”
I wet my lips. “The hospital?”
“Fifth time I’ve asked, first time you’ve gotten it right!”
“F—first?—?”
“Mm-hmm. You’re going to feel nauseous, shaky, tired—I’m Dr. Vakil, I should’ve said that. I’m not your actual doctor, he’ll be in later. Do you remember Dr. Samuels?” She gave a good-natured sigh. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Did I—was I drugged?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t be here if you were. I’m a specialist, June. They call me in for—ah—heavier conversations.”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to waste a hospital bed.” I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed with embarrassment.“I can’t remember anything. I’ve never been drunk like that before.”
“Your boyfriend said it was out-of-character.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Bear?” She raised her eyebrows. “The man I had to hustle out of this room? He’s been here the whole time.”
“Bear’shere?”
“Is he not supposed to be?” Dr. Vakil paused. “He was the only one who stayed, I was told the rest of your group was driven to Houston. Are you in an unsafe situation?”
“No, nothing like that—group? What group?”
The more Dr. Vakil explained, the more I couldn’t breathe, and mortified tears threatened to spill over. The boys had brought me in, passed out.
I put my head in my hands. “I ruined their night?—”
“June?” She touched the blanket. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Because I’m an idiot who blacked out.”
“When you drink alcohol, your body has to dispose of it. That takes fuel. Functioning properly takes fuel. Without that fuel, you’re drunk faster, you’re drunk longer, and it’s easier for your brain to black out because it can’t keep up with the demand. So, you might ingest your normal intake, but your body can’t handle that anymore. Why do you think that is?”
Slowly, I looked at her and she stared back with a piercing gaze.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“I know where you’re going with this,” I assured her, my voice hoarse.
“You do?”
“This isn’t a problem. I’m in recovery.”
Dr. Vakil crossed her legs. “Recovery?”
“I can say it—eating disorder. That’s how you know I don’t have one. Because I can say it.” I said it again, so she knew how seriously I took this conversation. “I had one in high school. A real one.”
