Jackson Ford - Eye of the Sh*t Storm

“You’d better.” He was practically slurring his words. “Glad you’re OK.”

I shake my head, still not sure that’s true. “You too.”

“Love you.”

I don’t think he meant love you love you. Like I said: high as fuck. But it didn’t stop a strange, queasy feeling from rolling through my body.

Sleep was out of the question, so I did what I always do when I need to calm myself down. I started cooking.

Initially, I think I just planned to cook myself dinner, but it kind of sort of got out of hand. A quick tomato sauce for pasta became a ragu, which became a lot of ragu. I made a huge salad to go with it, clearing out my fridge, throwing in every little odd thing I could find: anchovies, a bag of half-finished croutons, a hastily made vinaigrette. I realised that I didn’t want to eat any of it, couldn’t even imagine eating any of it. I just needed to occupy my fritzing, tortured body.

Somewhere along the way, I baked chocolate chip cookies, burning through the last of my expensive sea salt as garnish. The tiny-ass kitchen with its wonky oven didn’t even phase me. My apartment filled with warring smells, my sink vanishing under a growing pile of pots. I used practically every perishable item in my fridge, every can in my cupboards, and I was still fizzing with energy. My thoughts wouldn’t stay off Nic, and increasingly, they wouldn’t stay off Annie.

Which is how I ended up driving back to the hospital.

Back to Annie’s room.

Thank fuck she’s not in the burns unit. There were some burns, sure, most of them on her torso, but apparently not enough to put her in isolation. Just the regular ICU. Like that’s any comfort. Apparently, what happened to her is known as splash damage, where a bolt of lightning hits the ground and travels outwards from the point of impact, going through someone on the way. If she’d been hit directly…

As it is, her heart stopped twice after she got to the ER. She has a ruptured eardrum. Burst blood vessels. She’s in a coma.

I can’t get over how small she looks. Annie is tall – six feet, easy. But under the snaking network of tubes that criss-cross her chest and cover her face, under the strips of medical tape and the wristbands and the bleached hospital sheet, she looks tiny. She’s in critical condition. I don’t remember much of the conversation we had with the doctors, but…

There’s not a single thing I can do to help my friend. I can’t even offer her one of the cookies I baked.

Friend.

Is that what she is?

I’m not supposed to be here – it’s way outside visiting hours. But the advantage of turning up at a hospital with snacks is that you can bribe the nurses. And besides, I don’t think an Army could have kept me away. A couple of nurses gave me the stink-eye, but so far, no one’s moved me – maybe due to Tanner’s influence, I don’t know.

Tanner. Christ. I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to deal with her. With everything. It’s all a problem for tomorrow.

Right now, I just want to sit in this chair, in this private hospital room, and be with Annie.

It’s all I can do.

Drawn curtains. Dark, silent TV. The lights are up, but there’s no sound other than the gentle beeping of the machines keeping Annie alive. The chair I’m in is on the window side of the bed, pushed up against the corner of the room. It’s old, but comfy. I’m half expecting to fall asleep, because surely it has to happen at some point. But the meth has plugged my body into a nuclear reactor. There’s too much energy, and nowhere for it to go. My teeth feel electrified, like they’re actually vibrating in their sockets.

The very last of the meth is still in my pocket. A tiny pile of it, no bigger than the hole between finger and thumb when you make the OK sign. It’s kind of amazing that the little baggie survived… Well, everything. But it did. I was adamant that I was going to throw it away, or leave it at home. I didn’t.

I don’t plan on taking this goddamn drug ever again. That’s the truth.

It has to be.

“Whooooo,” I say, tilting my head back, stretching my arms overhead. “What a day, man. What a fucking day.”

Yes, I am talking to myself. You try being on the run for twelve hours and then snorting half a bag of meth. The horrible comedown seems to have bottomed out now – I can hold a thought in my head, at least.

“I have to hand it to you, Annie,” I say. “You had me worried. I thought you were…”

I sniff hard. Look away. I will not say the word dead. I will not put that awful, fucked-up nonsense into the universe.

“You know,” I say, turning back, speaking without really meaning to, “apparently people in a coma can actually hear what’s going on around them. Maybe you can actually hear me right now. Who knows?” I clear my throat. “It’s 5 a.m., and this is your local news bulletin for the Greater Los Angeles area. A surprise flash flood was stopped in its tracks today by a masked superhero, saving hundreds of lives. Well, she wasn’t masked, but whatever. Also, a boy with electricity powers was stolen by a lunatic who can make you see things that aren’t there. The world may be ending, but sources tell us that local psychokinetic Teagan Frost still makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”

I take a bite to confirm my information. “We’ll be back with more after these messages,” I say, through a full mouth.

As if in response, the public address system in the hall bleeps, paging a doctor to head to the ER. Someone yells something in response, and there’s distant laughter.

“I did stop the flash flood, by the way,” I say. “Stopped that shit cold. Although I…”

Fuck it . “I had to take another hit of meth to get it done. I’m still pretty blasted right now actually. If blasted is actually the way to describe it. Stoned, maybe? I dunno. Let’s stick with blasted. Either way, you didn’t have to keep my ass out of trouble like you said. I got into and out of it all by myself, like a big girl. Well, OK, Africa helped. He showed up, by the way. So did the Legends. I… well, it’s a long story.”

A car honks on the street outside, the driver revving the engine, cutting through the quiet night. Raindrops beat a tattoo on the windowpane, and somewhere in the distance, there’s a peal of soft thunder.

“You’re a total bitch, by the way,” I say.

I mean it to sound light-hearted. A cute little joke. It doesn’t come out like that.

“You were pissed at me because, what, I kept putting myself in danger? I was going to get myself killed and leave you alone, and I was a bad friend? You know how crazy that is, right? Not to mention unfair, and irrational, and… Annie, you can’t just do that to someone. You can’t put that on them. How the hell did you think that was OK?”

I rub my face, standing up out of the chair. Start to pace, moving mindlessly back and forth. I have no idea if she can hear any of this, but it’s not like it matters. It’s all coming out, boiling out of me like water from an overflowing pot.

“Let me tell you something. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m making all of it up as I go along. Every part of my life. But here’s something I do know. Here’s something you can take right to the fucking bank. Back at the homeless camp, you told me – you literally told me, right to my face – that I’m the only friend you’ve got. Well, friends don’t treat each other this way. They don’t get angry and shut each other out and act like one of them is a little child, you asshole .”

The crazy thing is, even as I say this, I realise who does treat people this way. Siblings. Brothers and sisters. My sister Chloe could be amazing, the best big sister anyone could have. Someone I could talk to for hours and go on long horseback rides with and pull pranks on our brother. But she could also be cold. Hurtful. It was like the flick of a switch. She’d turn into this… this robot . Looking at me and sizing me up like an insect, especially if I didn’t do what she wanted me to. She could freeze me out for days sometimes. It hurt like hell, but what was I supposed to do? You can’t choose your family.