9: awareness

I woke up in a hospital bed three days later, finally completely lucid. I had little fragments of a memory of being taken to a hospital, but I couldn't put together a full recollection in my mind. When I woke up, the first thing I felt was all of the pain. My hands and arms were covered in bandages, and moving, even just a little bit, made the horrible aching even worse. I was hooked up to various things I didn't even know the names for, and I was wearing a hospital gown that smelled like all sorts of repulsive chemicals.

Cillian was sitting in the room, a visitor's pass pinned to the front of his shirt. He was wearing a green long sleeved shirt and a pair of worn down jeans. He didn't wear green often, but it was just then that I noticed how well that shade of green complemented his dark complexion. It was funny to me that he was wearing a brighter colored shirt at all, since he usually wore more gray and brown and black clothing.

He was looking at me when I looked at him, some tired expression in his eyes. He didn't react until I spoke, saying hoarsely, "Cillian?"

He immediately stood up, walked to my bedside, and hit a "call nurse" button on a remote that was sitting by my hand. "Jake," he said, "Are you okay, now? How are you feeling?"

"I feel like shit, man."

He let out a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck."

I frowned. "Wh...what?"

Cillian shook his head. "No, I didn't mean...I mean this is the first time you've answered coherently to anything I've asked you."

I tried to sit up slightly, carefully moving around all the points in my body that were aching. "Dude, I don't remember anything. What happened?"

He rubbed his face. "Well, basically, Jessie had stayed late at the club to help clean up after all of the bands on Friday. She was there until like four in the morning, and that was when she found you outside the club, in nothing but your t-shirt and boxers, curled up on the ground and freaking out. She said you got all cut up from all of the broken glass out by the dumpsters, and when she came to get you, you were clinging to her like you were trying to hide from something. She kept trying to ask you what the hell was going on, but you couldn't answer properly. So she called an ambulance and you were brought to the hospital. You've been here through the weekend. Every time you woke up, you were spewing some nonsense about snakes bleeding out of the wall or saying that you had to get to school or else your mom would be pissed. You would even try asking me for a cigarette, then would immediately say you already had one. Then you'd say you dropped it, and would be looking for it. And every time you talked to me, you would call me by these really fucking random names, like Robert and Matthew, and you would be asking about something that didn't even make any sense."

As he explained, some more fragments of memories came back to me, but it still wasn't coherent enough for me to have a complete recollection.

"Jessie said she found your coat down the street from the club," he continued. "There were datura seeds in your pocket. That's what you took, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He sighed again, leaning on the edge of the bed. "You're lucky you're not dead. You're lucky Jessie found you before something terrible could've happened."

"Yeah," I said again. "I owe her."

"Fuck yeah, you do."

I relaxed a little, leaning back into the pillow behind my head. "What about the others? Have they been here?"

"Alaya and Ryan came by yesterday. You didn't recognize them either. They were planning on coming by again today, but they got busy with final projects. If you aren't out by this evening, there's a good chance that they'll be able to spare some time."

When the nurse arrived, Cillian was asked to step out of the room while I was given a physical examination. I was asked a few questions to verify my mental state and I was forced to explain how I ended up taking the seeds. Additionally, she had explained some more about what had happened when I arrived. When asked about my trip, I said I didn't remember anything before waking up at the hospital, dreading the idea of divulging what had actually gone on in my head to a random nurse, who might take that as a sign that something else needed to happen.

The nurse finished the physical examination, told me that I could use over-the-counter pain medication if my wounds were still bothering me, and collected her clipboard. After I was cleared and the nurse disconnected me from all of the equipment, Cillian came back into the room just as the nurse was leaving. "All good?"

"All good," I replied. "Just need to check out at the front desk."

He nodded and picked up a backpack that was leaning against the chair he had been sitting in. "I brought you your clothes. I thought you wouldn't be too enthusiastic about leaving here in a hospital gown."

I sighed with a tired smile. "Thanks."

I took the backpack from him and headed into the bathroom adjacent to the room we were in. I locked the door behind myself---an unconscious habit---and gave myself a minute to breathe. It had probably been years since I was admitted into a hospital, and either way I'd never get used to the constant probing and activity happening all around me. There really was no sense of privacy as a patient here, and while I understood why, I still wasn't exactly comfortable with that. So being alone in a quiet bathroom for at least a few minutes was a great relief.

I first used the restroom, washed my hands and my face, and then paused in front of the mirror. There was a small fluorescent light bulb above the mirror which illuminated my form in relatively bright light compared to the other dim lights in the bathroom. It might've been the first time in far too long that I actually looked at myself in the mirror willingly, scrutinizing my hollow cheeks and my sunken eyes, and my blond hair that always seemed to stick up behind my head. I did have an eyebrow piercing, but it had been removed with my arrival at the hospital. I didn't feel like going through the trouble to get it back, so I just thought that I would get a new one when I had the chance.

Tentatively, I removed the hospital gown and observed the rest of my body. I did have many scars, most of which were self-inflicted over the course of years. Across my ribs were a criss-cross of scars from a time I tried to kill myself when I was in middle school. I didn't really know how suicide worked as a twelve year old, and thought cutting and stabbing myself in the chest was a good idea. It definitely wasn't, and the pain wasn't worth it in the slightest. And down my forearms were a pair of scars from high school, when I tried to kill myself the second time. And they weren't the kind of attention-seeking barcode scars that you'd typically expect from depressed teenagers, they were vertical, "I actually want to end my life", type scars, stretching from my wrists to the inside of my elbows. I had learned a little more about suicide by then, and despite my access to drugs to overdose on, I found that to be a far too intimidating method than the ordinary knife. I had a number of other scars, down my sides and my back, but those were from my sister. Other memories I preferred to not revisit.

I suppose another set of my issues came from how often I forgot to eat when I moved out of my mom's house. When there isn't a fully stocked kitchen just sitting right next to you, food becomes an afterthought. I had gotten busy with university and spending so much time on drugs that my frame had withered away. I had started to notice when I was forced to buy a belt for my pants, and acknowledging that only made me feel a thousand times worse.

The most important thing to note, however, as I stared at myself in that hospital mirror, was how I felt in my own skin. There wasn't the regular wave of disgust and revulsion crawling through me, it was more neutral. And even more so, the presence of the parasite that had lived inside me for so long, was gone. It had completely disappeared. At this realization, I almost laughed, before clasping my hand over my mouth, afraid that Cillian might hear me through the door. But that didn't stop the tears of joy and relief from pouring down my face. Finally, finally, it had left, it was gone.

After I was finished cleaning myself up and fully dressed, Cillian and I headed out of the hospital. He knew his way through the corridors, so I just trailed behind him as he led me to the front desk where we checked out. Back in middle school, the first time I tried to kill myself, I had changed my emergency contact to be Cillian's, since I didn't want my mom to know if something happened to me again, after not being able to bear with her reaction the first time. Every time I ended up in the hospital, he was the first to know.

During the car ride back to the university, there was an awkward stretch of silence that formed between us. There were things we still needed to talk about---things that couldn't be left unaddressed. I thought it would be a good idea to wait until we met with everyone to really talk about what happened with Elias on Friday and to explain the things I wish I didn't need to explain.

The silence was starting to become unbearable before Cillian finally spoke. "What do you remember? From your trip, I mean."

"Horrible things," I muttered. After a brief pause, I went on to describe everything that happened, starting from the moment I took the seeds. Cillian remained silent all through my recollection. I avoided looking at him as I spoke, afraid of what I might see in his reactions. Even Cillian hadn't known what was going on with my home life all through middle and high school, so sharing even the worst parts of my trip felt terrible. I had to provide the context for the things I had experienced, so there were things that were now out in the open between us. Things that he now understood, with the reasons behind my behavior and the choices I made. And I was finished with my confession, I was quiet for a moment, letting the conversation hang in the air for a few moments. I glanced over at Cillian, whose expression was unreadable as he watched the road. "I didn't know you were still friends with Rachel," I said.

He shrugged. "We've been on good terms. We still talk sometimes...I'm sorry. I didn't really think before inviting her to the show."

"It's fine. You didn't really know what happened anyway."

Walking through the university campus, I noticed things I never noticed before. The scent of the wind as it passed through us, rustling the grass and the surrounding trees. The way students walked up and down the sidewalks, offering passing greetings and smiles. For the moment, at least, I felt a lot less trapped in my head. We headed to the arts building to see Ryan and Alaya. The theater was closest to the entrance, so we went there first. We entered as quietly as we could, for Ryan was in the middle of a rehearsal onstage with some of his classmates. They were speaking some Shakespearean jargon that I couldn't understand, but regardless, I could see the amount of work that Ryan was putting into his performance. When Cillian and I sat down, Ryan was walking to the other side of the stage as he was continuing the scene, and for a moment, his eyes glanced in our direction. Once, twice, then again, and I knew that he was looking directly at us. He didn't break character, however, and continued on with his performance to the end of the scene. I knew for a fact that I would not be able to continue on as seamlessly as he did if I were on stage. Hell, seeing someone I recognized in my daily life was enough to disrupt everything.

Once it was over, I felt inclined to clap in his favor, but seeing as how this was just a rehearsal, I just stayed still. He talked to his professor for a couple of minutes before rushing over to where we were. Cillian and I stood up almost at the same time and met him in the aisle. Ryan had the temperament of a puppy excited that his owner was home. He met me with his bright and enthusiastic smile. "Jake! You're out!" he said, setting a hand on my shoulder. "You feeling okay now? You need a cigarette?"

I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I'm fine, Ryan. Feeling good enough."

He sighed, maintaining that smile. "Thank fuck, man. Seeing you like that, it was terrifying. It was like you were totally fucking gone."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I can see that."

"We were just about to go and see Alaya, if you want to come along," Cillian said.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'm pretty much all done here, let me just grab my stuff."

He quickly rushed back down to the stage and gathered his things before accompanying us as we walked out into the hall. It was mid afternoon---there weren't many classes going at this time, leaving the hallways mostly empty and quiet. In the momentary alone time that we had, I took the opportunity to ask Ryan about Friday. "Did you...did you actually talk to Elias?" I asked.

He glanced over at me. "Uh, yeah. I did." His gaze drifted to the ground as he spoke. "At the very least, he told me that he regrets what he said. He said he was drunk and he admitted that was too far."

I tilted my head slightly. "Really? That would be a first."

He nodded. "I think he actually means it this time. If you saw the look on his face when we were talking, you'd definitely be able to tell."

"Maybe he'll finally quit his bullshit," Cillian remarked for the first time. "I have no patience for it anymore."

I looked over at Cillian. "Implying you had patience for it this entire fucking time?"

He was quiet for a moment before saying, "I don't have a good excuse."

"You don't need one."

Ryan spoke up again. "If it's okay with you two, I was thinking that we'd head back to my place, all of us, and just chill out for the night? No band practice, no going out, just chill."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"Seconded," Cillian replied.

Ryan had dyed his hair red a couple of years ago. His natural brown roots had grown out by now, and the tips were still red, but faded into a more rusty shade. That's what I was thinking about now, watching him walk in front of us, his moppy head of hair bounce slightly with each step. It wasn't too obvious in his side profile, but he also had a crooked nose. He said that he was into skateboarding as a middle schooler and broke it at a skate park. That was what had caused him to give up skateboarding forever, and I didn't blame him. The one time I tried sewing, I somehow managed to cut myself open with the tiny needle, and that was all I needed to never try it again. He seemed to like baggy clothes on the better days, but today he was wearing something that was a better fit, likely because of his drama rehearsal. It wasn't often that I saw him wearing ordinary jeans, but oddly enough, they suited his appearance well. And he was on the leaner side, it was clear that drumming had given him a good workout, which could be shown off more clearly in well-fitting clothing.

We managed to find the studio where Alaya's painting class was. Upon peering inside, we were able to see that there was a presentation taking place. Each one of Alaya's classmates were taking turns presenting their paintings, and coincidentally, as we walked in, it was her turn to present. All three of us had peered in almost at the same time, before carefully sneaking to the back of the classroom to watch her presentation. Of course there wasn't any way that Alaya didn't see us. Her eyes met mine as we took our seats and Ryan even waved at her.

Alaya had set her painting on an easel facing the room at the front. She stood beside it, her hands folded neatly in front of her, and took a deep breath in. "I haven't quite come up with a title for my painting yet, but if anyone has any ideas, I'm open to them." She paused, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. "In terms of the themes of individualism, I wanted to focus on the ideas surrounding gender and the body. As you can see, the character in this painting is an incredibly androgynous figure wearing clothing of both feminine and masculine characteristics. I'm sure that seeing this painting, you would be asking yourself, 'is that person a man or a woman?', And I would like to say, why do you need to ask that question? Why do you need to know whether this person is a man or a woman?" She took another breath and seemed to be more relaxed and sure of herself. "No one ever talks about androgyny, unless it's a girl dressing as a boy, and very specifically that archetype, because in our art and our outward expressions of ourselves, we have been conditioned to fit ourselves and others into very specific definitions. I want to put forward the idea that we should be able to be comfortable with gender nonconformity. We shouldn't outline and judge ourselves and others for how we present.

"I was inspired by the visual kei scene in Japan. It's a musical scene characterized by the glam and explosive costumes and outfits worn by band members, which typically involve cross-dressing and various different kinds of art, like makeup and fashion design. It is also very similar to the glam-rock scene of the 80s. I referenced bands like Malice Mizer and created this painting to get my message across. The idea that individuality and nonconformity is more beautiful than most people think. That's all, thank you."

The class applauded in the wake of her presentation and she took her painting with her as the next student went up to the front to present. She had a quick whispered conversation with her professor, set her painting alongside a collection of others, and hurried over to us. She pointed quickly toward the door, and we all quietly ushered ourselves out into the hallway, careful to not interrupt the presentation, though it seemed as though Ryan was interested in some of the other artwork lined up.

As soon as we were in the empty hallway, Alaya pulled me into a tight hug. I couldn't help but jump in surprise at her touch. I didn't know how long it had been since I was last given a hug, and the sensation was odd, though after the momentary shock passed, I could feel the comfort. Somewhat hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her in return and gradually relaxed.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said, her voice trembling and quiet.

I couldn't quite remember the last time I ever heard something like that, even from my friends, if I'd ever heard it at all. Not sure how to respond, I slowly nodded and just said, "I liked your presentation."

She let go of me and stepped back, wiping traces of tears from her eyes. "You're ridiculous, my presentation was terrible. I could barely articulate what I was trying to say, and I think I missed some---"

"Well, I liked it too," Ryan said, stepping in. "I think your painting was really good."

Cillian nodded. "You're very talented, Alaya."

She smiled. "Oh, that's sweet of you all to say." She paused, taking a deep breath. Her gaze shifted between the three of us, her expression changing from gratitude to nervousness. "So...about what happened on Friday---"

"We're gonna talk about that when all of us are together," I said. "We're going to head over to Ryan's place and meet with Elias there."

Alaya nodded. "Okay. Alright."

Cillian and Ryan glanced at each other. Cillian stepped back and said, "I'm going to get my car. You two can come out when you're ready."

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I'm going with him."

The two awkwardly shuffled away together, leaving Alaya and myself standing alone outside of the studio. I watched them leave and then turned back to her, not entirely sure what I wanted to say to her. The last time I really saw her was outside of the club before I left, but not in my memory. I had seen her hanging and crying, seen her dead body in the middle of the street, and watched her be eaten alive by crows. Now she was standing in front of me, completely fine, concern for me etched across her face.

"I'm sorry for...everything."

She stepped closer, tilting her head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Everything that happened on Friday. I'm sorry you had to see me like that, but also I'm sorry for everything I've said and done to you the entire time we've known each other." Not sure what to do with my hands, I found myself pulling at and playing with my hair as I spoke. "I don't usually expect any girl I've slept with to care so much about me. I've just been an asshole to you, like I've been an asshole to everyone else. I only wanted you around as escapism. I really do regret everything."

Alaya didn't say anything for a moment, before tears stared rolling down her face again. "Stop making me cry." She rubbed her cheeks, wiping away the tears. "God, I didn't even want to say anything about it. I knew---I know, I know you've been through a lot. I just wasn't quite sure what it could've been. I always thought you were cool, and it made me really happy whenever you let me hang around."

I shook my head. "I'm seriously not that cool, Alaya. Someone cool wouldn't be as fucked up as I am. Someone cool wouldn't have taken you for granted."

She shrugged. "Maybe, but no one else would have what I like about you."

I felt myself starting to smile. "I want you to know I don't think of you as a throwaway girl, okay? If you're okay with it," I said, holding her hand in mine, "I want to try and be a better boyfriend to you," struggling to believe it when the words came out of my mouth.

Alaya smiled at me and nodded. "And I'll try and be a better girlfriend to you."

There was nothing else to say. We just hugged each other again, and a nice cloud of relief settled over me. I trusted her.