The night fell along with his spirits. Every part of him craved a drug. Any drug. He momentarily forgot the events from earlier that day as he shook in his desire.
Then through that haze came an image of a joint; a very inviting joint. He pulled away his covers and carefully got out of bed. He made his way over to where his current object of affection had fallen after he had thrown it.
He grasped it carefully between his fingers and rolled it back and forth in his hand, memorizing the image and feel of it. He looked around in his things for a lighter.
He came up with a pack of matches, which seemed good enough to him. He went into the bathroom and leaned against the wall. He place the joint between his lips and struck a match. He brought it to the end of the joint, but stopped just short of lighting it.
He wanted this so much. But he wanted Saralynn more. He dropped both match and joint into the toilet and watched as they sank. He pushed the lever and watched as both twirled and broke apart before being flushed into the rehab center's septic system.
He breathed a shaky sigh of remorse. Drugs had been his comforter for a while now. Without them, was he then without comfort? He left the bathroom and got back into bed. His dreams were filled with images of Saralynn, something that made him sublimely happy.
Zac lay in bed listening to the silence. Silence can be deafening. It is not the lack of noise that rings so loud, but the lack of people and commotion. He enjoyed it once in a while, but now that he was unable to see, he relied on his hearing, and with nothing to hear but silence, he was annoyed.
His greatest wish was that Melyssa would stop by. Even just to hear her breathe would make his day, and fuel his fantasies. Without her, his day was boring and his night was droll.
His thoughts were spent on conjuring up images of her when he wasn't concentrating on her voice. How he wished that she were here.
He tried to cross his arms across his chest, but winced in pain when he came in contact with the IV that had been ripped out yesterday. It was then that his thoughts turned to his brothers, and then his parents.
It must be hell for them. They've got three kids in the hospital. One is blind, one almost died in an accident, and one ODed. Then they have four other kids at home. This is probably worse for them than it is for me.
He carefully turned on his side in order to try to make some noise and then be able to fall asleep.
I could have died. I should have been watching the road. If I had died, what would happen to Krystle? Our child? Was she telling the truth when she said it was my kid? How do I know? Maybe when she has it, we'll do a parenthood test. Yeah... No. I couldn't do that. I trust her. If it wasn't mine, she wouldn't have told me it was. I trust her.
Krystle had called him earlier. They had discussed the baby. They'd tried to think up names for the child, but they had then gotten into a discussion about whether to go through with various common practice medical techniques. They were both firmly against amnioscentesis.
They had talked about their own parents and tried to imagine what kind of parents they would be. They also discussed whether or not to have natural childbirth. Krystle had been dead-set on being drugged up for the process. Her words had been, "There is no way I'm pushing a watermelon through this hole of mine without some morphine or something!"
He laughed recalling that. His love for Krystle knew no bounds. She was his angel.
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