she had woken up in a panic, surrounded by flowers and balloons and a giant ‘happy birthday isla’ banner right beside a ‘get well soon’ one. for the briefest of moments she was sure she had woken up at her own funeral, but soon after nurses and doctors came in and explained what had happened and what was going on. she was terrified. but she wasn’t willing to show that part of herself to anyone. instead, when she saw someone’s form standing in the doorway of her room, she crossed her arms and scoffed, “can you believe these fuckers want me to agree to join a twelve-step program before i discharge from here?” she asked them, “and i looked into some, they’re all religious as fuck,” she rolled her eyes, “it’s not my fucking fault i was given shit that was laced with fentanyl. like i’m not dumb enough to take that shit, it killed prince,” she shook her head, fingering the tape that held her iv in place, “i don’t need a program or jesus, i need a new fucking dealer.” she finished her rant with a sigh, leaning back in her hospital bed, “happy fucking birthday to me.”
“it’s not court mandated- just, say you’re gonna do it, go to the first one and then bail- not like they can charge ya” jack responded, feeling sympathy for the girl in the bed below him but also knowing the difference between someone in need of help and someone who just got dealt a shitty hand. and isla went all in on a pair of 2′s. “personally I had a great night, just had my stomach pumped 12 hours ago. didn’t think I could get alcohol poisoning like that anymore- honestly thought I was immune” walking over slowly to the bedside and taking a seat, jack felt nervous being around all the medical equipment and seeing the girl hooked up to it. that mixed with the hangover was making his stomach do somersaults. “wanna catch a ride with me out of here? you know, after you take the first step. admitting you have a problem.”
