Chapter 6

Bright, white light. A low hum that was crawling into my brain and causing a low-grade headache. I blinked my eyes, trying to shake my disorientation. Where the hell was I.

Bits and pieces began to filter in at a snail's pace. Prom. Dancing with Heather. David Robbins. Grade-A ass whupping. Beer and codeine.

I looked around. I was in what looked like a hospital room. There were wires running from all over me, and an IV running into my arm and hand. I tried to sit up but quickly abandoned that plan when the room started spinning like I was on a Tilt-a-Whirl.

"Rico!"

I looked over and saw my younger brother, Gerald, standing next to my bed. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept for a while.

"Hey, G," I said. Or tried to. Actually, it was more of a raspy croak that crawled out of my throat.

"You want some ice?" Gerald asked me. I nodded, and he grabbed a cup and put it to my mouth. Ice chips flooded my mouth and brought welcome relief to my throat.

"Mom and Dad are in the cafeteria getting something to eat. They should be back in a second."

I nodded my head. Just then, the door opened and a doctor came walking into the room.

"How are you feeling, Rico?" he asked.

"Horrible," I said.

"Well, that's to be expected. You ingested quite a bit of acetaminophen. We had to pump your stomach and give you Mucomyst. That's to counteract the acetaminophen. Large doses are toxic and can cause severe liver damage. Hopefully, the Mucomyst will counteract that. We'll have to keep you here for a few days for observation, run some blood tests, make sure you didn't do any permanent damage to your liver."

I nodded, not really following along with the doctor's words. I was still feeling rather foggy. I just wanted the room to slow down some. We could work on it stopping spinning later.

My parents came into the room then. My mom ran to my bedside and wrapped me in a breath-stopping hug.

"Hey, Mom," I gasped, trying to inhale some oxygen.

"Are you OK?" she asked me.

"Well, I'm in the hospital. I'm guessing not really," I replied.

She dropped me and said, "Well, who's fault is that? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, obviously."

Mom started off on one of her sermons about how I was wasting my God-given talent and I just zoned out.

I was tired and frustrated. I had one shot at killing myself and I blew it. Now I was stuck here, the freak show, the joke. I had no idea what I was going to do from here.

The next day, Jimmy and Heather came to visit. I was feeling marginally better, and was flicking through the channels on the TV when they came in.

"Hey, guys," I said.

Heather came up to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"How are you feeling?" she asked me.

"Like I got dropped off an overpass or something," I replied.

They grabbed a couple of chairs and sat down next to me.

"Dude, why'd you run off like that?" Jimmy asked me.

"Why? I was humiliated, that's why. I get the holy hell beat out of me and get dumped damn near naked in a room full of laughing people. My flight reflex kicked in."

"And your flight reflex made you take an overdose?" Heather asked me.

I couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm just tired of being the joke."

"Look, Rico," Jimmy said, "if you want to stop being the joke, you've gotta do something about it."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" I yelled.

"Start giving a damn about yourself," he said.

That stopped me dead in my tracks. "What?"

"Man, if you don't care about yourself, no one else will. You've gotta do this. We can't. Your folks can't. G can't. It's gotta be you."

He scooted closer to my bed. "Look. If you really want to, we'll help you. You can start working out with us. You can run in the mornings with Heather, and we'll hit the weights in the afternoon. We'll get you on a diet. Look, by the time school starts, we'll have you looking good. But you gotta be willing to put in the work."