Week 24 Day 6
You tell yourself it’s the light. Damn hospital fluorescent lighting that makes you look so pale, so unhealthy. It’s why your skin’s nearly grey, looks like there’s no blood flowing through it. It’s the lights. Nobody looks good in a hospital.
This one’s even worse than normal though. They’ve stripped you freaking naked, and put you on bare metal table, didn’t even give you one of those humiliating hospital gowns. But your skin must have adjusted or something because it doesn’t feel cold or anything. That must be why.
You glance down at your chest and make a face. They did such a piss-poor job of stitching you up too, the three deep incisions that cut through your chest and down your belly are barely stitched together, each individual suture visible and you bear your teeth. These wounds are serious though, deep, and you frown.
They don’t hurt.
You can sit up just fine, obviously, and the screaming agony that should be there simply isn’t. There’s not even a IV line hooked to you, no monitors beeping, nothing. For wounds this bad, you should be hooked to at least three different machines. But you’re not; you’re just on a metal slab. Your hand trembles as it lifts up and strokes along the top wound. Nothing. No pain, nothing. Nothing but cold-
Not dead, no not dead, can’t be dead, cause here am I, I’m right here, and I’m thinking and-
The finger pushes in deep, the suture next to it tearing away, ripping through flesh. And there’s still nothing. No blood, no pain, and you stare down, look at your finger that’s lodged an inch deep inside your chest, right under the collarbone, and you can feel your ribs, the jagged edge where they were cut, where they laid you open to see what killed you-
I’M NOT DEAD!
You’re panting, but really, its just an forced movement, because you haven’t taken a breath in the past five minutes. Your chest is silent, no thrum of heartbeat, no pounding blood in your ears because you’re dead. Because you were killed, because you were murdered, and now they’re going to put you in the ground, and now they’re going to bury you and forget you and move on and-
[Jason’s eyes fly open, and without even thinking, he’s going after his lighter, and he flicking it on, heating up the metal and roughly dragging it across his wrist, shuddering as the sweet agony races through his senses.]