Shooting Matt Ch. 11

***

Matt grabs the sheets and tries to sit up. It's the pain in his back that cuts through his panic. He's in a hospital bed. He's lying in the semi-dark. He has a vague memory of some poor fucker in the next bed with a chunk of his head missing. He wonders if that was a dream. He glances toward the window. The curtain is back. The bed is empty. A dream then.

He drowses. Before he can really sleep, someone comes in and asks him to raise his legs, step on the gas, can he feel this, can he feel that, what's his pain level. Over and Over.

He wishes Liam was here. Hard on the heels of that thought is he wishes Randy were here. Followed by, what does it mean that he thought of Liam first?

He shifts his hips, bracing himself. The pain is there but nothing like before. He wonders if he can sleep on his stomach but falls back to sleep before he reaches a decision.

He becomes aware that someone is asking him how he feels.

"Thirsty," he croaks.

"Well, that's something we can do something about," the voice tells him. "Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to turn on the light." Matt's eyelids glow pink. He cracks one eye open and closes it again. "Told you," the voice chuckles. "It took a truly demonic imagination to put the light right above the patient's head. I'm going to raise the head of the bed. Let me know if it starts to hurt."

"I'm Kent by the way. I'll be your primary nursing provider today." He chuckles again. "That's academic nursing-speak for 'I'll be your nurse today'. How's the pain this morning? I see you didn't need any pain meds during night."

"Not bad," Matt admits, struggling to fully wake. His own head is unfamiliar to him. It's as if someone has broken into his room and moved everything. Every time he picks up a thought, it turns out to be the wrong one. "Nothing like yesterday," he manages.

"Okay, my friend, here's your water. Trust me. Do not gulp. Nothing feels quite as fun as puking with a broken back. Sip."

A straw touches Matt's lip. He takes the straw between his lips. The water is room temperature. It tastes of plastic jugs and plastic straws but it's wet. That's all that counts. He loves it. He loves it but he listens to Kent and only takes a sip.

"Good," Kent tells him. "Stomach okay?"

Matt takes a slightly larger drink. "Can I have something to eat?"

"Breakfast should be here soon. You up to it? You need something for pain?"

"Um, no, maybe an Advil or something. My head is full of fluff."

"Sure. Should I call you 'Pooh' or is 'Matt' okay?"

"Matt will be fine. Am I going home today?"

"Now, now, be patient, the Oracle of God, otherwise known as Dr. Price, will dispense his wisdom later this morning." He turns to go. "I'll check on breakfast and bring you some ibuprofen, Advil. I'll set your water here." He pulls the bed table closer and sets the plastic cup down.

Matt twists slowly from side to side. His back feels stiff. As the stiffness fades, the twists get larger. He stops when the stiffness turns into pain.

Kent returns, carrying a tray. "You weren't awake enough to fill out a menu. That sent up scrambled eggs, a muffin and orange juice. It that won't work for you, I'll see what I can do."

"No, that's fine. Great. Coffee?"

"Not a problem. It won't be great and it won't be hot but it'll have caffeine."

As Kent leaves the room, Matt feels his stomach growl. He lifts the plastic dome off the plate. A shadow catches his eye. He looks up, expecting Kent and his coffee.

Randy stands in the doorway.