You know those days when you open your eyes and think, Damn, this is a good day to be alive! This wasn't one of those days. I woke up and immediately felt every single bruise and tear on my body; my throat felt like someone had fired a blowtorch down it. The only good thing was that there were no tubes.
I started crying as soon as I woke up. A nurse heard me and came in. She patted my hand and gave me a pill. I went back to sleep, still crying.
The next time I woke up, Mom was sitting beside me.
"We should never have let you go out with that boy," she said.
"Not Marilyn," I said. My voice was barely a croak.
"But Mr. Hand said..."
"Mr. Hand is an i***t," I said, "It was Rickard."
Mom opened her mouth to argue more, but stopped herself. Even in my condition I could see that it took
