Devil You Know(79)
I’m going to kill the fucker . . .
She still breathes, but her signs are weak. I roll her to the side, and ram my finger down her throat. She gags, and with a little more coaxing I have her body repelling the drugs from her stomach. Rocco moves to sniff the mess on the floor, and I push him away with a foot. Last thing I need is an over-dosing dog, as well.
I scoop Jane into my arms, and hotfoot it out of the house, Rocco on my heels. With him shut safely in the backyard, I place her in the seat of the pick-up, and praise the fact it’s still running. The tires kick up a spray of stones as we head down the driveway at the same breakneck speed I used to get to her.
“Jane, you need to stay with me, okay?”
I’m talking to myself, to what might as well be an empty car. But the thought that she might fucking die on me has me telling her everything I should have said before I chose to leave. Why didn’t I say it all sooner, when I realized how much of an effect this tiny, broken woman has on me?
What was there to wait for?
Why did she have to wait?
We drive to the hospital like that: Jane comatose, and me telling the woman I love why she needs to stick around.
Why I can’t be without her.
Why there’s no one for me but her.
Too little, too late.
The story of my life.
• • • • •
MESSAGES COME over the PA, and machines beep around the open area as I watch Jane sleep in the ER. I had to lie about where she got the drugs—not that I think anyone believes what you tell them anyway, when it comes to narcotics. They pumped her stomach, and flushed her with a bag of fluids. Her vitals are strong, and they think she’ll be fine in a few hours. Fine enough to go home, anyway.
“Excuse me, Sir. Can I have a moment of your time?” A nurse nods towards the corridor, and I follow her out into the curtain-lined walkway.
“We have on record that Jane came in a few weeks back for injuries pertaining to domestic violence. I need to confirm that these two incidents aren’t related. Is that correct?”
I nod at the nurse, avoiding her eye contact. “That’s right.”
She eyes my bruised, and swollen face, but opts not to say anything. I let out a sigh of relief, not in the mood for any accusations right now.
“Thank you. I’ve got a couple of after-care pamphlets here for you to take with you. You’ll need to ensure . . .”
Her voice fades into the background as I look through the gap in the curtain at Jane sleeping. I’ve been in enough similar situations with Ty to know how this goes. Nothing the nurse says right now is important. What’s important is that Jane didn’t die on me; that she’s here for me to right the wrongs.
I’ve been blessed with another chance with this woman, and I’m not going to stuff it up again, all for the sake of my ego. I know she wants me; I know she cares. I need to stop playing these fucking childish games, and accept it.
“. . . probably be okay to move in an hour. We’ll check her again when she wakes up, just to give her the all clear.”
I look to the nurse, who’s smiling at me suspiciously. She probably thinks we’re a couple of reckless adults, out for a cheap thrill, playing with shit we know nothing about.
If only she knew how far from the truth that was. I could wager this is Jane’s first and last time with hard drugs, but my life isn’t so pretty.
When you’ve got nothing left to lose, you try some fucked-up shit to paint the world in color again. Even at the expense of your health.
I’m glad I could kick the habit before I dropped to the level Ty was at when we hauled his ass into rehab—after he’d died in the ER for a second time.
“Thanks for the info,” I say, waving the pamphlets.
The nurse smiles, and leaves me to resume my seat beside Jane. She’s still in a deep sleep as I pull my phone out, and dial Ty.
“Hey. What’s up?” he answers.
“When were you going to tell me you had a stash in that fucking house?”
“Dude. I didn’t think it mattered.” His light mood has quickly slipped away.
“It would have mattered if I found your ass smashed on that shit again, or now that I’m in the ER with Jane.”
“What the fuck, man?”
“She took it, thinking it was what the label said it was, and overdosed.”
“How much did she fucking take?”
“The whole lot.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “Man, I’m so sorry.”
“What’s done is done. Your just fuckin’ lucky that bottle wasn’t full. I do want to check in with you, though. Why did you have it?” Last thing I need is another fucking Tigger on my hands. The poor bastard isn’t in the ground and we’re running the same cycle over again.