I don't remember much of sitting in the freeway, to be honest, on account of the fact that I ended up being hit by a car.
Not hard enough, apparently, ‘cause when I wake up, I'm surrounded by beeping and white and faceless nurses.
"Damien?" a nurse asks somewhere above me. I squint up at her through the light and groan a quiet ‘fuck off' in response. I turn my head away from her and groan again as I spot a couple of cops waiting for me to wake up enough to talk.
My conversation with them is pretty short. Something along the lines of them asking me questions and me replying with ‘fuck off' to most of them or nothing at all.
"Damien, where's Kyle?" one of the cops asks after giving me a couple of minutes to cool off when they'd realised they were pissing me off. I shrug, and regret it as pain shoots through my shoulder.
Holding back a wince, I tell them, "the last time I saw him, he was drunk out of his mind, being an asshole." They give each other a sort of knowing look and then turn their attention back to me.
"Okay, Damien. We've called your mom - y'know how worried they were about you, don't you?" I say nothing, closing my eyes. Brilliant. As much as I hate Kyle right now, I'd rather stay with them than go back home. Eventually, they realise I'm not going to say anything else and fuck off somewhere to annoy someone else.
Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I reach over to the drawer next to my bed and pull out my phone. The screen's kind of cracked, but I can still see what I'm doing. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should text him or not, but I s'pose it would be a good idea before he goes off looking for me and gets caught too. That is if he would bother to look for me at all.
"Cops got me. See you round, asshole"
"Where are you?" he replies after a few minutes.
"Why do you even care?"
"Well when I woke up and you weren't around, I got kind of worried" that's nice, dear, but you didn't answer my question. I throw my phone down on the cover, not even bothering to think of what to reply to that. My phone buzzes again a couple minutes later, and I look down to see another text from Kyle, asking where I am.
"The hospital, since you seem so fucking bothered"
"I kind of got hit by a car"
He doesn't reply after that. Nice to know you're so concerned about me, honey. I sit there and sulk for a while, not arguing when a nurse comes in and fiddles with my IV and generally fusses over me. I get the whole ‘the entire country's been looking for you' bullshit. I just nod and ask her if she can get me some methadone. She can't apparently. That's nice. I'll just be sick, shall I?
"Are you okay?" a familiar voice asks, getting closer. I look up and see Kyle standing at the end of my bed.
"What're you doing here?" I question. I don't really think ‘are you okay' needs answering, do you?
"I came to see if you were okay," he tells me.
I look around at the drip attached to me and nod, "just dandy, thanks." He frowns at that. "What do you think? I got hit by a car! I should be dead, not sat here being told by the cops that I'm being taken back home tomorrow." He pulls out the worried face.
"Just piss off before the cops see you," I mutter. He doesn't move. "Unless you want to make yourself useful and go persuade someone to give me some drugs." He sighs a little. No? Then why are you still here? I go back to being pissed off and he lets out another small sigh, walking off. Bye then, bitch.