Chapter 53: Don't Want To Sleep

What do you regard as most humane? To spare someone shame. -Friedrich Nietzsche

Foreign sounds drum around me. Opening my eyes, I focus on the square white ceiling tiles. They're peppered with tiny textured holes. Lifting my hands, I grip the rails on each side of the bed and pull myself up.

A burning sensation washes over the top of my left hand. It runs up my forearm. I regard the source of my discomfort with uneasiness.

The tubing attached to an intravenous line on the back of my hand is caught under the covers. Untangling the line with clumsy movements, I follow the tubing to a square-blue machine connected to a metal pole on wheels.

"Drake." I scan the room. Turning to the side makes my vision double, and my stomach lurches. I sway, everything becomes hazy, just out of focus.

"I'm over here." He emerges, standing inside the doorframe. "I'm right here."