FanFic: You Have To Take The Good With The Bad
Title: You Have To Take The Good With The Bad
Author: ClassicFREAK
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Crazy Angsty, and an f-bomb. Annie-centric.
Word Count: 3,451 words
Disclaimer: Dan Harmon is perfect and I will die protecting his vision.
Summary: It was the straw that broke her back; You need to loosen up, Annie.
Authors Note: This is very terrible place in my life, and this is just a little insight into my life, projected onto Annie. No, I haven't done any of the distructive instances in the story, therefore I doubt this is completely truthful. Comments and critisims are always welcome.
“You have to take the good with the bad.”
It's hard to be peppy and happy all the time; to just let bad things roll off your back. It’s hard to let the insults fly, even if they cut deep, but I’ve learnt that it’s really easy to pretend they never affected you. I’ve gotten pretty good at being this unfailing ray of sunshine. But with good, there is always bad, and though most of it can just be shrugged off, there are always cracks in the armour.
I can take the bad and pretend it’s good, I can hang out with the group even though they seem to think I’m there personal welcome mat; they just walk all over me, do my work to the best of my ability and let them copy my hard work, and feel safe in my crappy apartment, even if I had to ask the landlord to attach a new solid door with an extra lock. But when the ‘downs’ come out to play, I can’t do anything; I can’t get out of bed, I can’t force myself to eat, and it aches to breathe. The downs just plain suck, but there is no way around them.
Sometimes I swear I should win an Emmy because, somehow, other people never seem to be able to tell when I’m in a downward slump. Then again, people would have to care to look beneath the surface. I’ve never really been asked “how are you, really?” because no one really cares about little Annie Adderall. ”She’s strong, she’ll survive.” Yeah, I’ll survive, but it’s nice to be wanted. I’ll admit, the Adderall was a coping mechanism, and a truly terrible idea on my part, but for its purpose, it worked wonderfully.
My parents were a boxing ring away from heavyweight champions in fighting. It started as smartass comments, usually my father taunting my mother about her alcohol purchases “The visa bill came today, did you seriously spend another $200 on alcohol? Was it vodka this time? Needed something to calm you down after a long day of sitting on your ass at home?” that almost immediately turned into broken dishes, running mascara and mother yellingI’m sorry I had to bring up my family without your help, Mr. Working Man. I’m sorry you have to support such a horrid family.”
Do You know how hard it is to eat over-cooked broccoli while dodging flying porcelain?
The pills were my salvation. They were my only friend, and even they somehow found a way to stab me in the back.
I never saw the overdose coming. I wasn’t really paying attention to my intake; I had the money for it and I knew where I could get it easily, so it was never a problem. They sang me to sleep and greeted me pleasantly in the morning. They boosted my confidence and made me happy, then turned on me and I was pitched into a nightmare.
The skin of my peers slid from their mechanical faces, no longer concealing the noise of spinning cogs and wheels, ticking and ticking, teeth sticking out. I was so freaked out I was sweating bullets; rivulets of sweat running down my back, making my shirt damp. I couldn’t breathe; people I had known my whole life, people I’d known from grade school, were robots. At first all was silent, the ticking of the cogs the only sound I could hear, then there was a low rumble, slowly growing louder, mumbles coming from the robots. Louder and louder until they were all chanting and I could easily identify the words. “Kill Annie.” I had to get out of there. Then the plate glass happened and I don’t remember anything after that.
But I brushed it off; just let it fall off my shoulders. I got help for the addiction, though it wasn’t very helpful as it got me kick out and ostracized from my family.
And again I brushed it off. I got myself somewhere to live, forgetting my standards on account of my crippled savings account, and signed up for an education.
Which is where the Study Group of misfit students fits into my story; a lot more forgiving without forgetting. There was the pen incident and the dioramas and the whole “It’s all in your imagination, Annie.” and I tried to just roll it off, but the chink in my armour just caught it. It was hanging there, and I didn’t see it.
Until the blow-up that made the overdose and fake gun fight look like a fun time. I broke.
This break was nothing like before, they were all fallacies. This wasn’t a dream; it was mind-numbingly real.
It started with an offhand comment about how uptight I was; I never let Troy have fun, I didn’t get Pierce’s sexist jokes, I didn’t defend the female gender when Jeff talked about a conquest like the girl was a piece of meat. “You need to loosen up, Annie.”
So I followed their advice and loosened up.
I went to the seediest bar I could find, which wasn’t hard to find; we’re talking about Greendale here. It was the exact opposite of somewhere I would think to go for an after work drink. I sat beside the most disgusting person sitting at the bar, which was hard to pinpoint; everyone looked pretty disgusting by my standards. I just sat in the middle of the bar, between two people that looked like they lived there. I asked for a generic beer and swallowed it down, needing the liquid courage. I asked for a shot of whiskey, I slammed that down and asked for a shot of vodka. I went down the list until the mix of liquor caused me to giggle like the schoolgirl I was always pretending to be. I let the man beside me take me home, where I got naked and closed my eyes. It was over faster than I thought, and I walked the few blocks home. I didn’t hop in the shower, where I would have the hot water at the hottest setting I could stand, and I didn’t scrub my skin until it was red and raw. I just laid on my back and stared at the ceiling. I felt nothing.
I skipped school the next day, trying to loosen up more. I put on my shortest skirt, my only push up bra, and the tightest blouse I had, which I only half buttoned. I only had short heels, nothing loose about those, and went to the closest, sketchiest second hand shop and bought the tallest, gaudiest pair of boots I could find, which turned out to be six inch, thigh highs in patent leather black.
I went back to my apartment to finish the look I was going for; black eyeliner that coated the upper and lower lid, caking the mascara to my eyelashes and swiped a glaring red across my lips. I looked like a hooker that had been chewed up and spat out, rode hard and put away wet; a compliment to the faceless man I’d let touch me the night before.
I looked at my reflection and still felt nothing. If I was me, I would have gone straight to the soap and scrub brush, But this was the loose Annie and she just couldn’t care about what anyone said, thought or did. She was a shell of a person. A robot.
I found another bar, a slice of nirvana at the bottom of quite a few shot glasses, and another man that took his pleasure from my body before sending me away. Another night spent on my back, staring at my ceiling. Another night of feeling nothing.
That was the routine for the rest of the week; sleep until noon, apply half a stick of eyeliner to replace what had rubbed off on my pillow, put on enough clothes to barely cover my underwear and drink enough to allow some greasy man with no face or name have his way. Never once did I care about which man’s bed I was in for 20 minutes, which seedy bar I would lose myself in, or who might have seen. I was a robot; running the predetermined routine without a thought as to why.
But then the Lexus happened; parked in a space in front of the seedy bar I’d chosen for the night. And it just so happened that Jeff was the greasiest man at the bar; a full face of scratchy, uneven fur, not the carefully cared for scruff that usually adorns his face. There were bags under his eyes, not that you could really see past the red surrounding his irises. He looked terrible.
I was running on autopilot and the program running for the Anniebot identified him as the ‘lucky’ recipient of whatever fate wanted to happen that night. I sat and followed my usual routine; beer, whiskey, vodka, repeat. Jeff didn’t look up once, didn’t glance as I moved closer to him, pushing my breasts into his arm, gulping another shot of whatever step I was at. I don’t think he knew it was me, I didn’t recognize this reflection of me, and he didn’t look like he wanted the company, but I couldn’t deviate from the routine; Anniebot didn’t know how to deviate. I pushed closer to him, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, and still he didn’t look up from the staring competition he was having with the bar. My stomach was rolling, not wanting to digest the alcohol without food, something I’d neglected for a few days. Everything was moving as if caught by a wave; the bottles behind the bar, the empty stool to my left and even though I could feel him, stable and unmoving beside me, Jeff was caught in the motion.
Then suddenly I wasn’t Anniebot anymore, I was a pathetic looking piece of garbage, and I was going to be sick. I needed help. I tried signaling to the bartender, but he wasn’t paying attention. I worked my mouth, trying to push the word through the blockage in my throat. My vision was beginning to blur and darken and I couldn’t see anything. I turned and grabbed onto Jeff’s arm, trying to shake him into noticing me. I touched his arm, and my throat cleared enough to let out one word. “Jeff.” His head turned, and the glint of recognition was the last thing I saw as the darkness took over and gravity pulled my body to the floor.
I don’t remember the ambulance rid to the hospital, I don’t remember the tubes being shoved down my throat, and I definitely don’t remember the moment my heart failed to beat. I didn’t hear the monitor screaming at the doctors that I was flat lining, I didn’t see the nurses rushing for the crash cart nor did I feel the cold metal press against my chest and send 4,000 volts of energy through my ribs. I wasn’t conscious to see relief cross the doctors face as the machines registered my heartbeat, or feel myself stabbed with needles that forced liquids into my body to fight off the dehydration. I was unconscious when the doctors went to the waiting room to tell the ragtag group of 6 about my condition; stabilized but still unconscious.
What I do remember is waking up to blinding light, way brighter than any light in my apartment. I remember becoming aware of the beeping on the monitors beside the bed, monitors I could have seen if I’d opened my eyes and looked. But what I really remember was the feeling like I was surrounded. I don’t remember if my brain thought of the robots from high school or something just as scary. I opened my eyes to white everything except the study group. They all looked like a rumpled mess, Jeff more than the others.
I couldn’t comprehend where I was, or what was going on; my head was pounding, and my body felt like it’d been run over by a transport truck. I couldn’t lift my head, or my arms for that matter. I tried to talk but my throat burnt, swallowing hurt so much that tears welled in the corner of my eyes. I was too tired to blink them away, so there I lay looking at my friends, who’d turned into blurred masses of colour.
The beeping from the monitor, the one telling me I was still alive was the only sound for a long time; someone shuffled their feet and the general noise of the hospital out in the hallway added to the silence of the room. Why wasn’t anyone talking? My eyes had cleared and I looked at my friends, the people I’d known for the last (and best, if I was honest) 3 years of my life, people I had grown fond of, and they all looked like crap because of me, they also wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I was filled with rage. HOW THE FUCK COULD I DO THIS TO MYSELF AGAIN? WHY DO I HURT PEOPLE WHO LOVED ME? Now they would never talk to me again, they’d hate my guts.
I wouldn’t be able to go into the library, where I would be surrounded by all the great memories of our crazy antics. I’d probably have to switch schools; I know I wouldn’t be able to deal with these people glaring at me over textbooks or across the cafeteria. Everything was getting fuzzy again, my chest throbbing as I tried to catch my breath. The heart monitor beside the bed started beeping frantically. The group was pushed aside as nurses and doctors rushed in the room as I blacked out again.
This time when I awoke there was very little light in the room. The windows were dark, telling me night had fallen as I slept off the anxiety attack. I didn’t make a noise as I looked around the room; it was plain and sterile, everything you’d expect from a hospital room. It was a single room, just me and an empty cot in the corner. They wouldn’t have put me in here without asking, or at least taking my (non-existent) insurance. I don’t even remember giving them a name. Then again, Jeff was there in the mealy and he’d at least know the basic information needed to register me as a patient.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Jeff walked through the door holding what looked and smelt like a cup of coffee, glancing at me as he walked toward the cot. Seeing that my eyes were open he switched his trajectory and ended up in the chair beside my bed.
"Annie, you need to keep calm okay. You’re very sick and I can’t take being shoved away by doctors trying to save your life yet again. Did the doctors tell you anything about what happened?”
I just shook my head.
“I don’t know what happened before the bar, and at the moment I don’t want to know. This is everything I know, so we’ll be on the same page, got it?”
I nodded.
“You tossed back shots like they killed your dog and you wanted them murdered. I haven’t seen someone throw them back like that since Abed’s Scorsese/De Niro idea, and that’s only because he doesn’t know when to show emotion. Anyway, I saw you toss them back, and then all of a sudden you looked like you’d stopped breathing. Not even a minute later you were on the floor, unconscious, and still not breathing. The bartender called the ambulance while I gave you mouth to mouth. I sat with you in the ambulance, I was there when they pumped your stomach and I was there when you crashed. Your heart stopped, Annie. You died. It was the worst 2 minutes of my life. I’d only just found you and I’d lost you again.”
The tears had welled again and I gave up any pretense of holding them back. They flowed freely down my cheeks as he continued.
“They had to bring in a crash cart. They held metal paddles to your chest as they sent 3 shocks of 4,000 volts into your body before your heart picked up the rhythm. They pushed liquids into your body through intravenous drip, and rehydrated you but you didn’t wake up. They pinched and poked and though you responded, you didn’t wake up. I’ve been here for 3 days and not once did you wake up. I was really scared, Annie. But you woke up, you looked at us and you moved and you were alive and I was so relieved; I just wanted to hold you, then your eyes widened and the monitors went crazy and they pushed us out of the room. What happened, Annie?”
I tried to speak but all that came out was a squeak, so I cleared my throat. It hurt, too much to talk. I shook my head and hoped he would understand what that meant. He seemed to because he stood up and bent over me, kissing my forehead before whispering “Sleep, but remember to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
My eyelids slid closed of their own accord and I rested. There was no use trying to convince Jeff that I’d had more sleep in the past few hours than the whole week I’d skipped school. I heard him tiptoe across the room, the cot squeak as he rested his weight and settle. The room was quiet once again. I slowed my breathing, trying to calm the thoughts in my head, and found myself dozing off.
I woke up to whispered words, loud enough to wake me yet quiet enough that I couldn’t hear the words being exchanged. Fluttering my eyes open I saw Jeff and Shirley in a huddle at the end of my bed, their conversation drawing to a close as they noticed I was awake. “Oh An-nie, how are you feeling?” Shirley asked in her sugar-sweet voice. They’d probably put it to a vote, who would come here and was least likely to cause me to have a panic attack. “My throat hurts, but I’m fine.” I scratched out.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not fine, Annie. What were you thinking, walking around in that getup, drinking ‘til you passed out, skipping class? This isn’t like you.” She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. I’d been through a lot, but I’d always come out on top; better than before. What was so different about this time? Her eyes stared into mine, hoping to find an answer.
“I know.” I didn’t know what else I could say. That I’d never trusted my parents? That I’d never had friends to tease with, that I hadn’t had anyone to trust for a long time, that I wasn’t even sure how to anymore? We’d been friends for three years, but those years had been a learning experience. “An-nie, you’ve been through a lot, and you always seemed to come out stronger each time. What was so different this time?”
“I was trying to loosen up.” I whispered into the silent room. “I wanted to be able to do dumb things without caring about the consequences; I wanted to be fun.” I looked Jeff right in the eye. “I wanted to be someone you wanted to have around.” I couldn’t look at him as his face fell. It hurt to know that I had done that to him.
“Annie, look at me.” I lifted my head at the steel in his voice. “We need someone like you in the group. We need someone to tell us when we’re out of control; we need someone to keep us in line. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it through our first study session let alone the first Christmas. We depend on you. We didn’t mean to offend you, but to some of us, ribbing is the only way to truly get our feelings across. We love you, Annie, we need you. I need you.”
It wasn’t the declaration of love I’d been dreaming of, not even close, but it was something more then I’d had before. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust their love, but that it hadn’t been confirmed it was there. There weren’t many situations where the group discussed how invested they were, and sometimes I need it clarified. “I’m sorry.” I whispered, hoping he would interpret the I love you too from the mess of tears spilling down my cheeks.
“We aren’t perfect, but we’re all that we have.”
Author: ClassicFREAK
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Crazy Angsty, and an f-bomb. Annie-centric.
Word Count: 3,451 words
Disclaimer: Dan Harmon is perfect and I will die protecting his vision.
Summary: It was the straw that broke her back; You need to loosen up, Annie.
Authors Note: This is very terrible place in my life, and this is just a little insight into my life, projected onto Annie. No, I haven't done any of the distructive instances in the story, therefore I doubt this is completely truthful. Comments and critisims are always welcome.
“You have to take the good with the bad.”
It's hard to be peppy and happy all the time; to just let bad things roll off your back. It’s hard to let the insults fly, even if they cut deep, but I’ve learnt that it’s really easy to pretend they never affected you. I’ve gotten pretty good at being this unfailing ray of sunshine. But with good, there is always bad, and though most of it can just be shrugged off, there are always cracks in the armour.
I can take the bad and pretend it’s good, I can hang out with the group even though they seem to think I’m there personal welcome mat; they just walk all over me, do my work to the best of my ability and let them copy my hard work, and feel safe in my crappy apartment, even if I had to ask the landlord to attach a new solid door with an extra lock. But when the ‘downs’ come out to play, I can’t do anything; I can’t get out of bed, I can’t force myself to eat, and it aches to breathe. The downs just plain suck, but there is no way around them.
Sometimes I swear I should win an Emmy because, somehow, other people never seem to be able to tell when I’m in a downward slump. Then again, people would have to care to look beneath the surface. I’ve never really been asked “how are you, really?” because no one really cares about little Annie Adderall. ”She’s strong, she’ll survive.” Yeah, I’ll survive, but it’s nice to be wanted. I’ll admit, the Adderall was a coping mechanism, and a truly terrible idea on my part, but for its purpose, it worked wonderfully.
My parents were a boxing ring away from heavyweight champions in fighting. It started as smartass comments, usually my father taunting my mother about her alcohol purchases “The visa bill came today, did you seriously spend another $200 on alcohol? Was it vodka this time? Needed something to calm you down after a long day of sitting on your ass at home?” that almost immediately turned into broken dishes, running mascara and mother yellingI’m sorry I had to bring up my family without your help, Mr. Working Man. I’m sorry you have to support such a horrid family.”
Do You know how hard it is to eat over-cooked broccoli while dodging flying porcelain?
The pills were my salvation. They were my only friend, and even they somehow found a way to stab me in the back.
I never saw the overdose coming. I wasn’t really paying attention to my intake; I had the money for it and I knew where I could get it easily, so it was never a problem. They sang me to sleep and greeted me pleasantly in the morning. They boosted my confidence and made me happy, then turned on me and I was pitched into a nightmare.
The skin of my peers slid from their mechanical faces, no longer concealing the noise of spinning cogs and wheels, ticking and ticking, teeth sticking out. I was so freaked out I was sweating bullets; rivulets of sweat running down my back, making my shirt damp. I couldn’t breathe; people I had known my whole life, people I’d known from grade school, were robots. At first all was silent, the ticking of the cogs the only sound I could hear, then there was a low rumble, slowly growing louder, mumbles coming from the robots. Louder and louder until they were all chanting and I could easily identify the words. “Kill Annie.” I had to get out of there. Then the plate glass happened and I don’t remember anything after that.
But I brushed it off; just let it fall off my shoulders. I got help for the addiction, though it wasn’t very helpful as it got me kick out and ostracized from my family.
And again I brushed it off. I got myself somewhere to live, forgetting my standards on account of my crippled savings account, and signed up for an education.
Which is where the Study Group of misfit students fits into my story; a lot more forgiving without forgetting. There was the pen incident and the dioramas and the whole “It’s all in your imagination, Annie.” and I tried to just roll it off, but the chink in my armour just caught it. It was hanging there, and I didn’t see it.
Until the blow-up that made the overdose and fake gun fight look like a fun time. I broke.
This break was nothing like before, they were all fallacies. This wasn’t a dream; it was mind-numbingly real.
It started with an offhand comment about how uptight I was; I never let Troy have fun, I didn’t get Pierce’s sexist jokes, I didn’t defend the female gender when Jeff talked about a conquest like the girl was a piece of meat. “You need to loosen up, Annie.”
So I followed their advice and loosened up.
I went to the seediest bar I could find, which wasn’t hard to find; we’re talking about Greendale here. It was the exact opposite of somewhere I would think to go for an after work drink. I sat beside the most disgusting person sitting at the bar, which was hard to pinpoint; everyone looked pretty disgusting by my standards. I just sat in the middle of the bar, between two people that looked like they lived there. I asked for a generic beer and swallowed it down, needing the liquid courage. I asked for a shot of whiskey, I slammed that down and asked for a shot of vodka. I went down the list until the mix of liquor caused me to giggle like the schoolgirl I was always pretending to be. I let the man beside me take me home, where I got naked and closed my eyes. It was over faster than I thought, and I walked the few blocks home. I didn’t hop in the shower, where I would have the hot water at the hottest setting I could stand, and I didn’t scrub my skin until it was red and raw. I just laid on my back and stared at the ceiling. I felt nothing.
I skipped school the next day, trying to loosen up more. I put on my shortest skirt, my only push up bra, and the tightest blouse I had, which I only half buttoned. I only had short heels, nothing loose about those, and went to the closest, sketchiest second hand shop and bought the tallest, gaudiest pair of boots I could find, which turned out to be six inch, thigh highs in patent leather black.
I went back to my apartment to finish the look I was going for; black eyeliner that coated the upper and lower lid, caking the mascara to my eyelashes and swiped a glaring red across my lips. I looked like a hooker that had been chewed up and spat out, rode hard and put away wet; a compliment to the faceless man I’d let touch me the night before.
I looked at my reflection and still felt nothing. If I was me, I would have gone straight to the soap and scrub brush, But this was the loose Annie and she just couldn’t care about what anyone said, thought or did. She was a shell of a person. A robot.
I found another bar, a slice of nirvana at the bottom of quite a few shot glasses, and another man that took his pleasure from my body before sending me away. Another night spent on my back, staring at my ceiling. Another night of feeling nothing.
That was the routine for the rest of the week; sleep until noon, apply half a stick of eyeliner to replace what had rubbed off on my pillow, put on enough clothes to barely cover my underwear and drink enough to allow some greasy man with no face or name have his way. Never once did I care about which man’s bed I was in for 20 minutes, which seedy bar I would lose myself in, or who might have seen. I was a robot; running the predetermined routine without a thought as to why.
But then the Lexus happened; parked in a space in front of the seedy bar I’d chosen for the night. And it just so happened that Jeff was the greasiest man at the bar; a full face of scratchy, uneven fur, not the carefully cared for scruff that usually adorns his face. There were bags under his eyes, not that you could really see past the red surrounding his irises. He looked terrible.
I was running on autopilot and the program running for the Anniebot identified him as the ‘lucky’ recipient of whatever fate wanted to happen that night. I sat and followed my usual routine; beer, whiskey, vodka, repeat. Jeff didn’t look up once, didn’t glance as I moved closer to him, pushing my breasts into his arm, gulping another shot of whatever step I was at. I don’t think he knew it was me, I didn’t recognize this reflection of me, and he didn’t look like he wanted the company, but I couldn’t deviate from the routine; Anniebot didn’t know how to deviate. I pushed closer to him, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, and still he didn’t look up from the staring competition he was having with the bar. My stomach was rolling, not wanting to digest the alcohol without food, something I’d neglected for a few days. Everything was moving as if caught by a wave; the bottles behind the bar, the empty stool to my left and even though I could feel him, stable and unmoving beside me, Jeff was caught in the motion.
Then suddenly I wasn’t Anniebot anymore, I was a pathetic looking piece of garbage, and I was going to be sick. I needed help. I tried signaling to the bartender, but he wasn’t paying attention. I worked my mouth, trying to push the word through the blockage in my throat. My vision was beginning to blur and darken and I couldn’t see anything. I turned and grabbed onto Jeff’s arm, trying to shake him into noticing me. I touched his arm, and my throat cleared enough to let out one word. “Jeff.” His head turned, and the glint of recognition was the last thing I saw as the darkness took over and gravity pulled my body to the floor.
I don’t remember the ambulance rid to the hospital, I don’t remember the tubes being shoved down my throat, and I definitely don’t remember the moment my heart failed to beat. I didn’t hear the monitor screaming at the doctors that I was flat lining, I didn’t see the nurses rushing for the crash cart nor did I feel the cold metal press against my chest and send 4,000 volts of energy through my ribs. I wasn’t conscious to see relief cross the doctors face as the machines registered my heartbeat, or feel myself stabbed with needles that forced liquids into my body to fight off the dehydration. I was unconscious when the doctors went to the waiting room to tell the ragtag group of 6 about my condition; stabilized but still unconscious.
What I do remember is waking up to blinding light, way brighter than any light in my apartment. I remember becoming aware of the beeping on the monitors beside the bed, monitors I could have seen if I’d opened my eyes and looked. But what I really remember was the feeling like I was surrounded. I don’t remember if my brain thought of the robots from high school or something just as scary. I opened my eyes to white everything except the study group. They all looked like a rumpled mess, Jeff more than the others.
I couldn’t comprehend where I was, or what was going on; my head was pounding, and my body felt like it’d been run over by a transport truck. I couldn’t lift my head, or my arms for that matter. I tried to talk but my throat burnt, swallowing hurt so much that tears welled in the corner of my eyes. I was too tired to blink them away, so there I lay looking at my friends, who’d turned into blurred masses of colour.
The beeping from the monitor, the one telling me I was still alive was the only sound for a long time; someone shuffled their feet and the general noise of the hospital out in the hallway added to the silence of the room. Why wasn’t anyone talking? My eyes had cleared and I looked at my friends, the people I’d known for the last (and best, if I was honest) 3 years of my life, people I had grown fond of, and they all looked like crap because of me, they also wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I was filled with rage. HOW THE FUCK COULD I DO THIS TO MYSELF AGAIN? WHY DO I HURT PEOPLE WHO LOVED ME? Now they would never talk to me again, they’d hate my guts.
I wouldn’t be able to go into the library, where I would be surrounded by all the great memories of our crazy antics. I’d probably have to switch schools; I know I wouldn’t be able to deal with these people glaring at me over textbooks or across the cafeteria. Everything was getting fuzzy again, my chest throbbing as I tried to catch my breath. The heart monitor beside the bed started beeping frantically. The group was pushed aside as nurses and doctors rushed in the room as I blacked out again.
This time when I awoke there was very little light in the room. The windows were dark, telling me night had fallen as I slept off the anxiety attack. I didn’t make a noise as I looked around the room; it was plain and sterile, everything you’d expect from a hospital room. It was a single room, just me and an empty cot in the corner. They wouldn’t have put me in here without asking, or at least taking my (non-existent) insurance. I don’t even remember giving them a name. Then again, Jeff was there in the mealy and he’d at least know the basic information needed to register me as a patient.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Jeff walked through the door holding what looked and smelt like a cup of coffee, glancing at me as he walked toward the cot. Seeing that my eyes were open he switched his trajectory and ended up in the chair beside my bed.
"Annie, you need to keep calm okay. You’re very sick and I can’t take being shoved away by doctors trying to save your life yet again. Did the doctors tell you anything about what happened?”
I just shook my head.
“I don’t know what happened before the bar, and at the moment I don’t want to know. This is everything I know, so we’ll be on the same page, got it?”
I nodded.
“You tossed back shots like they killed your dog and you wanted them murdered. I haven’t seen someone throw them back like that since Abed’s Scorsese/De Niro idea, and that’s only because he doesn’t know when to show emotion. Anyway, I saw you toss them back, and then all of a sudden you looked like you’d stopped breathing. Not even a minute later you were on the floor, unconscious, and still not breathing. The bartender called the ambulance while I gave you mouth to mouth. I sat with you in the ambulance, I was there when they pumped your stomach and I was there when you crashed. Your heart stopped, Annie. You died. It was the worst 2 minutes of my life. I’d only just found you and I’d lost you again.”
The tears had welled again and I gave up any pretense of holding them back. They flowed freely down my cheeks as he continued.
“They had to bring in a crash cart. They held metal paddles to your chest as they sent 3 shocks of 4,000 volts into your body before your heart picked up the rhythm. They pushed liquids into your body through intravenous drip, and rehydrated you but you didn’t wake up. They pinched and poked and though you responded, you didn’t wake up. I’ve been here for 3 days and not once did you wake up. I was really scared, Annie. But you woke up, you looked at us and you moved and you were alive and I was so relieved; I just wanted to hold you, then your eyes widened and the monitors went crazy and they pushed us out of the room. What happened, Annie?”
I tried to speak but all that came out was a squeak, so I cleared my throat. It hurt, too much to talk. I shook my head and hoped he would understand what that meant. He seemed to because he stood up and bent over me, kissing my forehead before whispering “Sleep, but remember to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
My eyelids slid closed of their own accord and I rested. There was no use trying to convince Jeff that I’d had more sleep in the past few hours than the whole week I’d skipped school. I heard him tiptoe across the room, the cot squeak as he rested his weight and settle. The room was quiet once again. I slowed my breathing, trying to calm the thoughts in my head, and found myself dozing off.
I woke up to whispered words, loud enough to wake me yet quiet enough that I couldn’t hear the words being exchanged. Fluttering my eyes open I saw Jeff and Shirley in a huddle at the end of my bed, their conversation drawing to a close as they noticed I was awake. “Oh An-nie, how are you feeling?” Shirley asked in her sugar-sweet voice. They’d probably put it to a vote, who would come here and was least likely to cause me to have a panic attack. “My throat hurts, but I’m fine.” I scratched out.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not fine, Annie. What were you thinking, walking around in that getup, drinking ‘til you passed out, skipping class? This isn’t like you.” She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. I’d been through a lot, but I’d always come out on top; better than before. What was so different about this time? Her eyes stared into mine, hoping to find an answer.
“I know.” I didn’t know what else I could say. That I’d never trusted my parents? That I’d never had friends to tease with, that I hadn’t had anyone to trust for a long time, that I wasn’t even sure how to anymore? We’d been friends for three years, but those years had been a learning experience. “An-nie, you’ve been through a lot, and you always seemed to come out stronger each time. What was so different this time?”
“I was trying to loosen up.” I whispered into the silent room. “I wanted to be able to do dumb things without caring about the consequences; I wanted to be fun.” I looked Jeff right in the eye. “I wanted to be someone you wanted to have around.” I couldn’t look at him as his face fell. It hurt to know that I had done that to him.
“Annie, look at me.” I lifted my head at the steel in his voice. “We need someone like you in the group. We need someone to tell us when we’re out of control; we need someone to keep us in line. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it through our first study session let alone the first Christmas. We depend on you. We didn’t mean to offend you, but to some of us, ribbing is the only way to truly get our feelings across. We love you, Annie, we need you. I need you.”
It wasn’t the declaration of love I’d been dreaming of, not even close, but it was something more then I’d had before. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust their love, but that it hadn’t been confirmed it was there. There weren’t many situations where the group discussed how invested they were, and sometimes I need it clarified. “I’m sorry.” I whispered, hoping he would interpret the I love you too from the mess of tears spilling down my cheeks.
“We aren’t perfect, but we’re all that we have.”