A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [5]
He stands over me and he stares at me. He leans down and he looks at my face and he laughs.
You are one ugly Motherfucker.
I try to say something back. I can only grunt.
I could kick your ass right now if I felt like it. Beat you to a bloody fucking pulp.
My body is limp.
But all I want is the fucking chair.
My mind isn’t working.
And I’m gonna fucking take it.
He reaches out and he grips my wrists and he drags me along the floor. He drags me away from the chair and into the corner of the Room and he leaves me lying facedown on the floor. He leans over and he puts his mouth next to my ear.
I could have beat your fucking ass. Remember that.
He leaves and I can hear him sit down in the chair and start changing the channels on the television. There is a daily sports wrap-up, an infomercial on hair growth, a late-night talk show. He leaves the talk show on and he laughs when he is supposed to laugh and he mumbles to himself about how he’d like to fuck one of the guests. I lie facedown on the floor.
I am awake but I’m unable to move.
My heart beats and it’s loud and I can see it.
The bristles of the carpet dig into my face and I can hear them.
The laugh track on the show booms and I can feel it.
I am awake but I’m unable to move.
I fade.
I fade.
I fade.
Morning comes and when I wake I am able to move and I stand and I look for the man. He’s gone, but my memory isn’t and it won’t be for a long time. It has always been a fault of mine. I hold my memory.
I go to my Room and when I open the door I see an Orderly setting a tray of food on the desk. He looks at me and he smiles.
Good morning.
Good morning.
I brought you some breakfast. We thought you might be hungry.
Thank you.
If you want anything else, just call.
Thank you.
He leaves and I look at the food. Eggs, bacon, toast, potatoes. A glass of water and a glass of orange juice. I don’t want to eat but I know I should so I go to the chair and I sit down and I look at the food and then I feel my face. Everything is still swollen. I touch my lips and they crack. I open my mouth and they bleed. I close my mouth and they drip. I don’t want to eat but I know I should.
I reach for the glass of water and I take a sip but it’s too cold.
I reach for the orange juice and I take a sip but it burns.
I try to use the fork but it does too much damage.
I break up the toast and push the pieces down my throat with my fingers. I do the same with the potatoes and the eggs and the bacon. I drink the water, but not the juice. I lick my fingers clean.
When I’m done I go to the Bathroom and I vomit. I try to stop it, but I can’t. About half of the food comes up, as does some blood and some bile. I am happy that I have kept half of the food. That is more than I normally keep.
As I walk back to my bed, a Doctor comes into the Room. He smiles.
Hi.
He’s wearing a name tag but I can’t read it.
I’m Doctor Baker.
We shake hands.
I’m going to be working with you today.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
Are you okay with that?
He looks at my face but not my eyes.
Yeah.
I look at his eyes.
How are you feeling?
His eyes are kind.
I’m tired of that question.
He laughs.
I’ll bet you are.
I smile.
These.
He hands me more pills.
Are Librium and Diazepam.
I take them.
They’re detoxification drugs and important medically because they stabilize your heart, keep your blood pressure down and help ease you through withdrawal. Without them you could suffer a stroke or a heart attack or both.
He leans forward and looks at my cheek.
You’ll be taking them every four hours, in decreasing doses, for the next five days.
I look at his eyes.
We’re going to take some tests.
He’s seen this before.
And start planning a Program for you.
All right.
First though, we need to try and fix you up a bit.
We go to a Room. It has bright fluorescent lights and a large surgical bed and boxes of supplies. I sit on the bed