"I keep dreaming Kyle's dead," I mumble, staring at Campbell's name plaque in front of me, "I either walk in on him already dead or..." I look down at my hands, picking at the skin next to my thumb nail. There's a silence as he waits for me to finish what I'm trying to get out. "Or I dream I've given into his begging and just killed him myself." I don't look up, more ashamed of that dream than I am of my drug addiction.
It's been about two days since I got Kyle moved into the private room, and I've had that dream about twice a night, every night since we got here. Sometimes it's like watching a film reel of it on repeat. Every time it plays out, it gets darker, and more graphic, and that little bit more real. And every time I wake up in a cold sweat because of it, I'm dragged back down into it within seconds.
Campbell says something about the dreams being a fairly normal reaction to what happened, and says it's just anxiety. He also says he'd rather try and wait them out unless they get too much, ‘cause of the mix of sleeping pills and methadone. He's agreed that I need more time to adjust to each new dosage of methadone and will extend the period between each time my dose is lowered.
I leave, finding it kind of hard to feel any better about much, making my way back to Kyle's room. I see the lunch trolley being hauled around and sigh a little. I'm not fussed if I miss a meal, but I don't need to be there to know Kyle won't be eating his.
I walk in, and sure enough, Kyle's sat there, ignoring his lunch. I shuffle over and he smiles at me, but I can't seem to manage a smile back. Aside from having the image of Kyle lying all crumpled up on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood or puke apparently permanently stuck in my head now, the fact that he won't eat is pretty wearing.
"What's up?" he asks with a small frown. I nod at his untouched lunch. "I'm not hungry," he lies. I know it's a lie because it's that moment that his stomach chooses to growl. I sigh and sit down in the chair next to his bed. "Not coming up here?"
"Not til you eat something," I say quietly.
"Babe, I've tried," he sighs.
"I know, gorgeous, but it's bad enough having dreams about you dying. I don't really want to watch you waste away just ‘cause you don't like the food here." He bites his lip and I look down at the floor, absently picking at the scabs on my arm. I hear him let out another little sigh and notice him try to eat something out of the corner of my eye. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Weird. Only people that text me are Kyle and Rayn.
"My mom's heard I'm in hospital again," I mutter, "and apparently dad's going on about how he was right that I can't look after myself."
"They're not gonna drag you back there, are they?" Kyle asks, sounding worried.
"I dunno. She asked if I want her to go over to the apartment and pick anything up for me," I glance up at him, "she doesn't seem to know you're here too. What d'you want me to say about that?"
"About picking your stuff up or me being here?"
"you being here. I mean, she's not gonna be able to get in if you're not there."
"I don't mind if she knows," he shrugs.
"She might tell your mom, though."
"I don't care." Fair enough, I guess. I text her back and tell her she has to come over here to get the keys. I watch Kyle poking his food and add on the end of that to bring something to eat.
She arrives in like ten minutes, tutting as she sees Kyle still prodding his food around, unloading a bunch of unhealthy stuff on the bedside table, like cake and waffles, going into total mother-mode over the both of us. Kyle grins and digs in, thanking her.
"No problem, honey," she says, wrapping me in a smothering hug. I hug back, smiling finally now that Kyle's eating something. "What do you two want from your apartment?"
"A comfier pillow'd be kinda nice," Kyle says.
She nods, "Any particular clothes?" he shakes his head and she nods again. "Okay, I'll go get your pillow and some clean clothes, then. I'll be back in a bit." Kyle gives her a smile, and she smiles back, picking up the keys for the apartment and scuttling off to go get our clothes.
"You hid whatever you didn't sell, right?" Kyle asks.
I shrug, "If you call a brown paper bag in the kitchen by the toaster hiding it."
"Would she look at that?"
"Doubt it. She's there for clothes, not to stop and snack on whatever we didn't eat."
He smiles, "Good." I smile back at him and he goes back to the food mom brought with her. He nibbles at some of it, but soon stops. "I think I ate too much." I giggle a little. He did attack it like there was no tomorrow. He whines. "I feel sick."
"Silly," I tut, "wanna go to the toilet?" he nods and I pull him up off the bed and to the toilets.