Shades of Gray

Johns Hopkins Hospital, Level Ten, Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU), Room 1054

Patient ID# 1503512088; Gaskarth, Alex

Chronic Insomnia

"Holy shit, I thought you were dead."

I blink. Everything's moving slow. I shouldn't be alive, I shouldn't, I really shouldn't.

I grab the railing of my bed and push myself up. The blood rushes from my head down, really fast, and it takes a lot to steady myself. My heart is pounding.

"Where am I?"

Dumb question. A hospital.

"Intensive care, buddy," my roommate says from his bed, and after several blinks, I can see him clearly. Tubes down a smoker's hole, tubes into his stomach, oxygen up his nose. "You've been here as long as I can remember. The last guy said the same thing about himself, and the guy before that. Of course, they're all dead, but you've been here a pretty fucking long time."

"Holy fuck," I breathe, wincing at the IV tugging the skin in my hand.

How long is that? Weeks? Months? Years?

"I'm kidding," he says between coughs, weakly pulling a bucket from the table beside him. He coughs something up, spits it out, and continues. "You've been here two weeks tops."

Asshole.

I eye him. "This doesn't look intense enough for intensive care. Shouldn't I be swarmed with doctors by now?"

He has a coughing fit again, and I catch a glimpse of blood. He frowns, clicking the CALL button on the bed remote. I have the sudden urge to vomit.

"They'll come. The pediatric unit is busier. Some kid's bleeding out through his neck or something, emergency surgery. We're short staffed."

I ease myself back down, curling to the side. Under my pillow is something hard. Weakly, I pull it out. Goddamn CPA Prep.

"Hey," the guy says with a wry grin as I throw the book on the floor, curling up as comfortable as I can.

"Some guy Jack," but he stops, pressing the CALL button again and biting his finger. I look at him in concern, he's got his hands to his neck, awkwardly massaging his collarbones.

"Some guy Jack...?" I trail off. "Are you okay dude?"

He smiles weakly at me, and I notice the faint blue tint of his skin. I watch him try to readjust himself, reaching for the remote so he can move his bed up.

The nurse scuffles in soon after, looking surprised at the sight of me, mumbling a "I'll send someone for you right now," paying attention to the other guy. I think he's choking on himself.

"Alex," she mutters, and then I know that he is another suffering Alex of this world. She fumbles with the tube going through his stomach so carefully that it's almost intimate, but then she takes off the bandage and I have to make myself look away.

I curl up more than comfortably possible and close my eyes, but the sudden rise of panic makes me open them back up. If bodies could feel emotions, mine would be very sad because all I wanna fucking do is sleep.

"Alex Gaskarth," this girl says, probably my nurse, and she looks vaguely familiar.

"Remember me?" she asks, and I know I probably should remember her, especially with the bright red hair, but I just woke up and can't be bothered.

Instead, I attempt at giving her my charming smile, as said by tenth grade English teachers. She, in return, rolls her eyes and tells me to open wide so she can stick a swab in my mouth.

Somewhere between the swab entering my mouth, and the swab touching my cheek, a full blow of anxiety swoops over me like a wave. The girl handles it, however, like it's normal, and does this weird thing with my thumb pressure point to calm me down. When I start to scratch, she puts mittens on me, and I feel vaguely like a baby.

"My name's Hayley," she says slowly, taking out a stethoscope and a watch. She gives me detailed information on each instrument, and I'm not sure why it's necessary, but it's oddly soothing.

Nurse kink. Talk medical to me.

Checking my heartbeat, apparently, is a task that takes nearly twenty minutes, temperature and oxygen levels following. Next is cognitive tests and fine motor skills (a button sorting test that I somehow fail), and lastly, finally, she gives me water and tells me I've got a visitor.

I'm ready to do that asshole "I'm not taking any visitors thing," but then I get a glimpse of floppy blonde hair, and I know I have to comply.

He heads towards me with a small grin hanging on the side of his face, nodding towards my CPA book, probably about to say some fact with evidence that putting the giant thing under my pillow did more than twist the fuck out of my neck, but then his expression changes and he does the arms open running thing.

"Sweetie!" Jack cries out in an awkward tone, limbs wrapping themselves around my torso, long, boney fingers clutching my waist. This is really uncomfortable.

Still, I don't really mind this guy.

He presses wet, sloppy kisses to my forehead, followed by several to my cheek, and one to my nose. Even with a tube down his throat, I see other Alex and his nurse raise a questioning eyebrow.

I clear my throat.

"Those were from your mom," Jack clarifies, sitting in a chair and scooting back. He pulls out a neuropsych book. His expression turns sort of serious.

"Ah," is all I say, shooting other Alex a look when he snickers, and then chokes on that, because the tube's down his throat.

"How are you?" asks Jack, reading my wristband, something that is bugging me more than the giant-needled IV.

"I feel like death," I say honestly. "My head is killing me and the feeling of throwing up won't go away."

"And the panic?"

I stare at the mittens on my hands and blush.

Jack plays with my sleeve for a second, studying my face closely. This makes me want to blush more. And sleep. Everything is too much.

Abruptly, he leans forward and kisses me.

I'm fairly certain my mouth doesn't taste good, or I smell like hospital (a nice way of saying clean unclean old people and death), but he kisses me long and hard. Not in the romantic way, but the "you're probably gonna die so we should fuck soon" kind of way, which I find oddly endearing. When he pulls away, it takes me a second to process what's happening before I speak.

"Was that from my mom, too?"