Moaning, I turned and dropped down on the couch because I just couldn’t manage to get myself back to the bedroom. At least there wasn’t anything in my stomach to puke up. Bridgett started going through my refrigerator looking for something to force me to drink. I heard her thumping around, and the noise took the shape of the aching in my head. I leaned sideways until my head hit the arm of the couch and then I closed my eyes.
“Do you have any Gatorade?” Bridgett asked.
“I have no idea,” I groaned back.
She came around the couch holding a bottle of water with a straw sticking out of it. I had no idea where she even came up with a straw, but I let her hold my head up a bit as I took a drink. She disappeared for a minute and then came back out to shove a couple of pills down my throat and make me take another drink.
“It won’t stay down,” I mumbled.
“Maybe,” she said, “but it’s better than nothing. How long have you really been like this?”
Completely relentless in her questioning, she kept harping on it until I finally told her.
“Since yesterday morning.”
“Could be worse,” she mumbled.
Her hands grasped onto my bicep, and she helped me off the couch and into the bedroom. Once we got there, I flopped down on the bed and went completely immobile. I was actually pretty sure if I did move, it would be my last action. The water and pills in my stomach felt like they were being dragged behind one of those circus shows with the chick on the horse chasing dogs or something. Maybe it was dogs riding elephants – I wasn’t sure. I just knew it was all threatening to come back up again.
“Do you have a thermometer?” Bridgett called out from the bathroom.
I couldn’t answer her, so I just moaned in response. I only wanted her here to help me sleep, not to play nursemaid. I might have told her that if I could have formed a coherent sentence without my head exploding.
“This is the cleanest medicine cabinet I have ever seen,” she was saying from the bathroom located just off the far side of the bedroom. “It would be more useful if there was something in it beside a razor and an extra toothbrush.”
“It’s for you,” I mumbled. “In case you forgot yours.”
She poked her head out of the bathroom and looked over at me. I returned the gaze, but I couldn’t really focus on her. She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips again.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked rhetorically.
“Please lay down.” Yes, I had resorted to begging.
With an overdramatic sigh, Bridgett climbed into bed with me. My arms immediately wrapped around her, and I placed my head against her shoulder. Even though I was currently going through an episode of feeling cold instead of hot, it feel good to have her cooler skin against my face.
Her hand trailed from my temple down my jaw line. I didn’t open my eyes, but I could both hear and feel her long sigh as she wrapped an arm around my head. My body seemed to melt into her, and I thought for a brief moment that nothing else could feel this welcoming. A warm, heavy feeling came over me, and I wondered if this was how it felt to be on heroin.
Then I was asleep.
There were times when I knew she was waking me up to get me to take a drink or medicine or whatever. I was pretty sure at one point I heard her take Odin out as well, but I couldn’t be sure. There were also dreams – lots and lots of dreams. Some were benign, but most were far from it. They weren’t awful, though, and when I woke up, Bridgett would be there. Usually she was sitting up in the bed with my head on her stomach or against her shoulder. Sometimes she was reading one of my books, and other times she would be reaching down to scratch Odin’s head with one hand while she ran her fingers over my hair with the other. One time she was asleep beside me when I woke up.
My head had been pounding and was especially achy on one side right near my cheek. Reflexively, I reached up and found a hand there. I pulled it down against my chest as I opened my eyes and looked into Bridgett’s sleeping face.
She was curled up next to me with her head pressed into the pillow slightly above where I lay. Her face was relaxed in deep sleep, and her breathing slow and regular. I reached out and touched her cheek, and the touch made her flinch from whatever dream was going on in her head. I moved my arm up around her middle and pulled her against me, which seemed to settle her down.
I swallowed a couple of times, which made me wince from the pain in my dry throat. I had to pee, and my head spun around as I tried to get myself out of the bed. I stumbled towards the bathroom and ended up having to actually sit down on the seat with my boxers around my ankles because I couldn’t stand long enough to take a piss.
When I stumbled out of the bathroom, Bridgett was there to take me back to bed, give me some nasty tasting liquid medicine, and then tuck herself around me as I fell back to sleep. The dreams came back, but they were foggy and muted.
Sand. Constant, relentless sand.
I know there is no way I will ever enjoy a vacation at the beach again.
It’s in my nose and throat, making me cough all the time. As if that isn’t bad enough, the meager f
ood I am offered contains the shit as well.
I still eat it. I’m far beyond being stubborn about taking anything from them. My assumption is that they will kill me eventually – when they decide once and for all that I won’t tell them anything and that the U.S. government wasn’t going to give into any demands to get me back.