in the cabinets again. “I’m going to set up an intravenous drip to provide you with the necessary nutrients so that you do not catabolize yourself.”
“Great.” I forced the words out through the lump in my throat. “But what about when I need to take a piss?”
“…”
“Well?”
“…I don’t think that will become necessary, Mr. Foster.”
Somehow, the absurdity of his response shocked me out of my emotional struggle. “What the hell do you mean? I guess I’m kind of dehydrated right now, but—“
“Waste removal will not be a problem.” Squeaky metal wheels turned as he brought over the IV cart. Within seconds, he had inserted the needle and set up the drip.
“Very well.” He put a hand on my forehead. “I suggest that you concentrate on keeping your injury clean. An open incision like that is very susceptible to infection.”
Panic spiked in my veins. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” I shook my other limbs, rattling the cuffs. “I can’t even move! How am I—“
The words were cut off as he pressed a glass to my lips. The ice was cold, and, after a moment of shock, I drank with big gulps. I could feel energy surging through me with each swallow, and I finished the entire cup, despite the strange salty taste.
“Good day, Mr. Foster.” He put the cup down beside the bed, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The air vent above me kicked on, sending shivers down my spine as the breeze ran over my flayed arm.
God, what can I do now? I glanced toward the light, but the brightness drove me off again. My eyes fell on the glass, the leftover liquid glistening. Maybe…
I squinted, focusing my vision, trying to get a look at the light itself. Is it on a chain? Is it standing? Is it-?”
Yes. It was a floor lamp. I could just make out the thin body holding up the bulb. I pivoted my head to the left again, stretching out my fingers. The tips brushed the cool glass.
“Come on!” There was still no pain, but I could see the metal digging into the skin. “Please!”
I curled my fingers inward, and they slipped along the side. I did it again, and this time the skin held just enough to spin the glass a little closer. Another try and I was able to wrap my fingers around the curve, gripping the cup against my palm. Blood ran down from the new cut in my wrist, but I didn’t care.
All right then. I took aim at the light. It’s so fuzzy, though…what if I miss? Headshake. No, can’t miss. Only get one chance at this.
I pulled my hand back, as far as I could get it to go, and then brought it forward. Just before the handcuff brought me up short, I snapped my wrist forward and released the glass. It flew, end over end, sailing into the brightness.
And shattered on the floor.
“GODDAMN IT!” I let out the rage, the tension that I had been holding in that scream. It was an almost physical force, leaping out of me, leaving me hollow, empty…
And the lamp went over, the light moving from my face, up the wall, to the ceiling before the housing hit the ground and the bulb shattered, leaving me blinking my eyes in semidarkness.
What happened? I pulled myself up off the bed, trying to see where the lamp had fallen. I could discern small pieces of the glass scattered on the floor, pale yellow against white linoleum. Why did it fall down?
I could only hold myself in that position for a few seconds before my muscles gave out. I had no strength; it felt like someone had drawn it out of me with a hook. I felt my eyelids trying to close as I was buried under a tidal wave of fatigue. And why am I so damn tired all of a sudden? My vision blurred and swam in and out as I fought to maintain consciousness. Even the sight of my open arm, open like a dissection for medical students, couldn’t keep me from falling into a near coma.
My last thought before I lost consciousness: Goddamn, I’m thirsty.