“We’re out of here,” a part of the group calls out. We all fist bump and I watch as they pile into a cab. Selene and a couple other girls follow suit. She doesn’t say a word as she leaves. Heading to the bar, I settle my tab and I’m out the door too.
Since I live in Soho, where the club is, I only have a few blocks to walk home. It’s late September, and still fairly warm out so I figure the walk will do me some good.
The streets have emptied out and my ears still ring a bit from the loud music that played in the club. As I’m walking, I think about how pissed Selene looked … like she wanted to twist my balls off. So much for my easy piece of ass. Looks like it’s gonna be a hand job for me tonight. I pull out my phone thinking I’ll leave her a message before I realize she’ll probably pick up and have a few choice words for me. Since I’m not in the mood for that, I pocket the phone and dig in my pocket for my keys.
I have a decent buzz going so I never hear my assailants approach until it’s too late. They slam me from behind and knock me to the ground. My usually quick reflexes are dulled from all the alcohol I’ve consumed so I’m slow to push myself up. By the time I make it to my hands and knees, they come at me from both sides and pummel me in the ribs, kicking with their feet. Pain explodes in my torso, with each crushing blow, taking my breath away along with the ability to inhale. I’m incapable of rolling over or moving my arms to block their kicks. The option of defending myself has been stripped. I’m incapacitated from what my brain is telling me are broken ribs. But they don’t stop there. It happens so hard and fast I can’t roll over or even kick to fight back. Fireworks of agony ignite throughout my body. I vaguely see something glint and it registers that one of them has a knife. My mind is so pain-addled by now, I don’t feel it when they stab me. But the final blow, the swinging of the baseball bat against my leg is unmistakable. If I live through this attack, I know I’ll never forget that sound … the cracking and splintering of the bones in my leg.
The steady beeping of machines is a constant background noise. It goes on and on and on until I want to yell. But I can’t because for some odd reason it’s impossible to speak. I’m caught in a strange dream. Or maybe it’s a nightmare. Like the kind where you’re being chased and you try to run but the harder you try, the slower you go. I want to speak but the harder I try, the more difficult it becomes. Sleep is intermittent. It’s a succession of dozing on and off. But what is brutally unceasing is the pain that pounds my body everywhere. Occasionally it’s dulled somewhat, but it’s always there. My enemy. And I’m trapped in a vortex of it. It takes me down into its furthest depths and then spins me around so fast I want to beg for it to stop, but I can’t. My lungs won’t allow it. This must be hell because I can’t figure out where else I would be that could be so cruel.
“Ryder. Ryder, can you hear me?”
I have an argument with my eyelids because they insist on staying closed, but someone is trying to converse with me and it’s important for me to look at whoever it is. Finally, I persuade them to open and there is a middle-aged woman standing over me.
“Ryder, my name is Helen and I’ll be taking care of you today.”
There seems to be a film over my eyes because her face is blurry. When I move my hands to rub them, I find that I can’t. The harder I try, the more agitated I become.
“Stay calm, Ryder. Your arms are strapped to the bed. We had to do that because you kept trying to pull the breathing tube out.”
Breathing tube? Why the hell would I have a breathing tube?
“You must be confused. I’ll explain everything to you. You’ve been in an induced coma for over a week now. You had an … incident. You were injured and you’re in the hospital. We just reduced your medicine so you’re slowly coming out of sedation.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“Don’t try to talk, honey. Your throat will be very sore for a few days from the tube. It’s best to go with it. We have you on pain medicine and the most important thing for you to do now is rest.”
Why would I need more rest if I’ve been in a coma for over a week?
She places her hand on my forehead but I want to brush it away. I don’t like strangers touching me like this.
“You’re safe here, Ryder. Everything will be fine.”
Shifting my eyes so I can check out the room, I’m shocked to see all the machines surrounding me. Then I hear that damn beeping that’s been annoying the hell out of me.
“Try to stay calm, Ryder. These are only monitors. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”