I hated those times when I couldn’t find any reason to get up out of bed. Only this time, I literally couldn’t get up.
White tiles, all I could see were white ceiling tiles. Then a face leaned into my view. I blinked to clear the fuzziness. Someone shined a bright light in one eye then the other. I squinted, trying to avoid it, but my head wouldn’t turn. I heard things; rustling clothes, squeaky shoes, a door opened and closed, opened and closed, machines beeped.
Then another face, this time my mother’s. She was crying. “Oh Logan! Why did you do this to yourself?!”
Do what? I don’t remember a thing. I tried to ask her, but the words wouldn’t come easily. I worked and pushed and finally managed an odd moan.
“It’s those friends of yours! When I get you home, you are not to see them again, you hear me?!” She held my hand now, I could feel her, but I couldn’t squeeze back.
It took all my strength to move my head toward her. I wanted to say no; that they were the only way OUT of this.