Blackout: a semi-fiction
I came round.
But dared not open my eyes.
My brain throbbed, I could
My fingertips felt cool
starchy cloth by my side
and across me.
My whole face was now
throbbing as my blood pressure rose.
There were no voices but
I could sense someone’s presence.
They lifted my left hand and
I felt a tugging on my skin.
My face winced which hurt
as my brow and nose furrowed.
My eyes opened with the pain.
Bright white light made my
pupils sting. I squinted through the lids.
The nurse lowered my hand along
with the drip line.
I was laid on my back. Each breath
I took made my ribs crack like a hens egg.
I became very conscious that everything hurt.
There was the familiar smell of
vodka and vomit mixed with
anti-septic disinfectant.
Why always pine or lemon?
I peered out from the smallest gap
I could make in my eyelids.
I tried to inhale enough air
to ask a question. My mouth
and throat were powder dry.
Memory started to drip into my mind.
Just drops at first.
Watching TV, some music thing.
Clearly booze, lager and vodka….
Falling off a bar stool….
The nurse must have sensed my
grappling consciousness.
‘Hey’, she said kindly. ‘You’re safe.’
‘You were found at the bus stop
on Kings Drive and the paramedics
brought you in.’
Kings Drive, I thought, Where the fuck is that?
‘Sounds like you had quite a night.
You were chattering til about an hour ago’
The shadow of dread moved across me.
That cold hollow fear of not remembering.
She continued,
‘You’ve a broken nose,
bruised ribs, some probably broken,
we’re waiting for a space in X-Ray.
Your left leg is a bit of a state too
but we’ve cleaned it up best we can
for now. What happened?’
I stared back blankly.
The memories started to trickle a little.
I was at The Crown. For sure. But I left.
After I fell off the stool? I must’ve
stopped on the way home, to pick
up the vodka.
So I did get home.
Watched the TV…or did I
listen to music? Was the TV at the pub?
I remember dancing. At home.
Drinking vodka from a coffee cup.
Then the bottle.
Why did I go out again? Had I
gone to get more? Or smokes?
Or food? And what the hell had
happened to me?
Fuck, did I really want that answered?
Dread washed over me again and I
started panicking. The horrible
cold sweat of regret, withdrawal
and fear.
‘The police weren’t called ‘cos
you had ID on you. But you might
want to report it in case, I dunno,
someone worked you over?’
My anxiety subsided a little.
No, I don’t want to report it!
What was there to report anyway?
No, I’ll do what I always do,
pretend it didn’t happen.
Christ, I hope no-one I know saw me.
I’ll make up some story and repeat it
to myself and others until it
becomes real. Maybe a hit and run.
Something easier to accept than
the truth. That I’d blacked out again.
That I had no idea what’d happened.
That I could’ve done anything.
Thirteen hours, at a guess, lost down
the bottom of a bottle.
And yet I don’t want to piece
it all back together. I would rather
the oblivion remains. I would
rather not know what I’d done.
Not knowing is easier to forget.
I can put it down to experience,
lie to myself once more. I’ll be
laughing it off in a couple of weeks.
And it will soon be forgotten.
Flesh and bones heal.
But I will forever have that feeling
in the pit of my stomach.
That I don’t know. That I’d lost control.
The paranoia that others know what
I did even though I don’t.
I can’t deal with this.
I just want to go home.
I want to forget that I forgot.
And I’ll do it the best way I know how.
I’ll twist open another bottle,
force the first few mouthfuls down.
Then maybe I’ll be able to think straighter.
I just need to get out of here now,
my heart starting to race. Getting
dressed before the nurse gets back.
I need that drink now. The obsession
returns. Just get some down my neck
and I’ll see things clearer.
My face pulsates, my head spins
as I pull on my coat, pushing my
feet into the vomit stained trainers.
I feel my wallet in my pocket and check.
The relief of seeing a twenty in there!
Putting up my hood I head for the
fire doors, pushing them open
to squeals of alarms.
My panic pushes one foot in front
of the other faster, not looking back,
heading for the first shop I see.
I need to top up my amnesia.
Hangover paranoia is in control now,
just head down, into the store.
The clerk takes the twenty from my
tremoring hand. I don’t even
wait for change, gotta get home.
My door greets me, still open from
last night. I slam it behind me,
but can’t get the key in the barrel
to lock it.
I twist the cap as the seal breaks
and I drink. Three deep swigs and
it burns all the way down.
I collapse onto the bed. Safe.
Is this my rock bottom or
have I still further to fall?
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