“Wilt Was Dead”
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming novel The Allure. TW for suicidal ideations.
Wilt was dead. He knew that he was dead because he couldn’t feel his body. His perception could only take in a bright void, and there was the sound of …
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Was this the sound of death? Was his brain shutting down?
The noise continued. And now, the breath of sensation crawled across Wilt’s body. His mind was a boiled, jumbled soup, enshrouded in his body, a lifeless shell of a person.
Something wasn’t right. This seemed … too real.
His tongue felt fuzzy, as if it had sprouted moss. Though covered in a sheen of sweat, his frigid body shivered. The air surrounding him was thicker than molasses.
A buzzing rumbled in the back of Wilt’s mind. The buzz grew deafening after few minutes. Well, at least Wilt assumed that minutes passed, as time was a lucid, taunting figure in limbo.
Eventually, the buzzing became a muffled voice, as if Wilt were listening to a conversation from underwater. Everything felt slow, even his muddled mind.
His eyes whipped open.
He jolted up, back bending grotesquely. He vomited.
Then Wilt fell beneath the clouds and collapsed back into unconsciousness.
The insensibility was serene.
The buzzing soon returned, disturbing Wilt from his personal oblivion. This time, Wilt could comprehend the garbled murmurs.
“Any sign of him waking up?”
“Not yet. But his vitals have been stable for the last couple days.”
“That’s good. He’ll come to eventually.”
“Has the girl stopped by today?”
“No. She normally arrives at four. Pretty sure she has classes before then.”
“Guess we’ll see her soon.”
There was a drum in Wilt’s head. It beat, calmly at first, but now it pounded against his skull. Though the throbbing worsened, his body refused to move. He so badly wanted to tear his head from his shoulders.
Finally, Wilt managed a groan. The noise in the room came to a halt. Shuffling. Hands cradled Wilt’s back and helped him sit up. His head seemed to be a hundred pounds. Unable to keep it upright, Wilt’s head rolled back and forth.
His eyes cracked open. His fingers slid between thin, white sheets, searching for its soft sensation. Strangely enough, Wilt couldn’t feel the blankets against his body. Nor could he feel the tube connected to his arm. He tried to shift but to no avail. Raising his head, Wilt saw the white walls of a hospital.
He blinked as the reality spread throughout him, like an icy poison.
Wilt wasn’t dead. And that infuriated him.
The audacity in these fuckers to keep him alive when he so desperately wanted to die. How many others had died in this hospital? Why couldn’t he join them?
Wilt wanted to cry. To scream. To throw things.
But he couldn’t.
All he could do was crumble back into the bed.
Not ten minutes later, the door to the room opened.
Avery stopped in her tracks. Her eyes were like glass, easily shattered and even easier to look through.
Avery’s throat strained as she swallowed.
“Wilt,” she whispered.
He was ready to curse her off. To demand that she leave. To shame her, crush her. He longed for Avery to writhe beneath his cutting gaze. For her mind to twist and fracture at his pain. If only she could feel his agony. Then she would see the extent of her recklessness.
Avery inched closer.
Wilt closed his eyes and breathed. The air passing through his nose was dry, practically tearing his nostrils, dragging nails against his lungs.
When he opened his eyes next, Avery was beside his bed. This was his chance. He could punch her in the gut or yank at her hair. He could scream and bite and fight. He could give her just a taste of the pain she caused him.
A tear kissed the side of his cheek, bringing with it a biting slap of reality.
Wilt let out a gravely sob.
Avery slid herself onto the hospital bed. Wilt leaned into her and trembled.