Awake
Pierre
came awake on the cold concrete. He could feel dampness under his back and
wanted to stand. What the hell happened?
Why am I on the ground? Why do my head and my neck hurt?
Pierre slowly began to try to
sit up. The cold night air sent a chill through his bones. His head whirled and
nausea crept over him. Pierre closed his eyes, waiting, hoping that the feeling
would pass. It did. When he felt stronger, he stood and took his first look at
his surroundings. He was alone, in between two buildings, Miles Hall and Dinardo
Hall. He remembered walking in between these buildings, thinking about …, what was her name? Then, he couldn’t remember anything. What
the hell happened? What tine is it?
Pierre checked his watch and saw that it read eleven thirty. He had left the
library only thirty minutes ago, but why had he only gotten this far on his
journey. The entire trip from the library to his dorm would only take ten
minutes, but yet he was five minutes away from his dorm and a half- hour had
passed. Pierre started to feel the dampness on his back, possibly from the
grass? But, he looked down and saw that he had been lying on concrete. The
concrete was bloody! What the hell?
Pierre
felt his back and his hand came away covered in blood. The blood was still warm.
Am I bleeding? Pierre put his hand
under his jacket and the shirt underneath but felt no gashes or wounds. He
quickly removed his hand and put it to his face. There was a little blood on his
nose, over his lip, and his right eye felt swollen, but that could have happened
when he passed out.
A
stiff and frigid breeze answered all of Pierre’s questions and he quickly
found his backpack on the ground. Maybe
it’s animal’s blood. Am I laying in an
animal’s blood? He
looked all around his surroundings and saw nothing out of the ordinary, except
for the fact that he had woken up in this field only a moment ago.
I am really lucky that nobody came by and robbed me while I was
unconscious! Deciding that whatever the circumstance was that led to Pierre
waking up on the gravel, in the middle of November, with blood on his clothes,
it would be smarter to remove himself from the situation and get to his room.
With that in mind, Pierre walked away from the area and towards his dorm.
At
the dorm, a girl sat outside smoking a cigarette. What
an addiction! I can’t understand
such an addiction. Pierre
walked to the front door and started to search through his right pocket for his
identification. Why isn’t my I.D. in my
front pocket? That’s where I always keep it. All of Pierre’s pockets
were empty, but after checking his backpack, he found his keys, I.D. and money. I
must have put everything in my bag as I left the library.
The
warm building did little to cure Pierre’s frigid shivers. He quickly walked by
the check in desk, absently flashing his school I.D. and proceeded directly to
the elevator. In the elevator, Pierre noticed that he could see his reflection
in the mirrored shine of the elevator doors. I
look like shit! Pierre noticed that his skin was slick with sweat and his
eyes had bags underneath them. That wasn’t the real problem, though. Pierre
saw that he had blood on his collar from a puncture wound in his neck. I must
have landed hard on a stick when I passed out.
The puffiness under his right eye was already fading and, although it was
a little sore, his nose didn’t appear swollen or bent. With the exception of
the disorientation, Pierre felt fine, considering the fact that he had woken up
in the middle of a dark field.
The
elevator doors opened and Pierre took a left once outside them. His door was the
third on the left, the Residents Assistant’s room. The only single in this
wing. That was the main benefit of being an R.A., actually, besides the meager
money and tuition stipend the job provided, it was the only benefit.
The room
was small, but it was comfortable. Pierre entered the room and let his backpack
fall to the floor. He stepped away from it and took off his jacket as he walked
to the closet. Pierre hung the jacket in the closet, and pulled his shirt off,
tossing it into a laundry bag at the floor of the closet. Closing the closet
doors, Pierre walked to his dresser and looked at himself in the mirror above
the top cabinet. His reflection startled him. His face was fine! Pierre still
had blood on his neck, but the wounds were gone. The puffiness under his eye had
also disappeared. I must not have seen myself clearly in the elevator doors.
Pierre
turned away from the mirror and went to his bed. He was completely exhausted,
even though he had been wide-awake when he left the library. That felt like it
was weeks ago. I wonder if I should call
Sara? No, I should wait until she
calls me. Why is it so hot in this room?
Pierre
rose from his bed and went to the window. He opened the window and sat on the
ledge, letting the cold November air cool his hot body. His blood felt like it
was on fire. Great, I caught a fuckin’
cold from passing out on the cold cement.
Leaving
the window open Pierre went back to his bed and wondered if he would sleep
immediately? Pierre decided that he
would go to Health Services tomorrow and tell them that he had passed out. Maybe
they could give him something for the cold he was quite certain would be
gripping him tomorrow.
Sleep
was now the farthest thing from Pierre’s mind. He had never passed out before
or felt dizzy and weak. Pierre hoped that there wasn’t something seriously
wrong with him. That was the last thing that he needed, a serious illness. But,
Pierre wasn’t excessively worried. In the last half-hour since he had found
himself laying on the concrete, he felt fine, great, even. It was like all the
rest on that cold ground had helped him gather all his strength. Either way,
Pierre was going to go to Health Services and get an examination.
After
twenty minutes in bed, trying to fall asleep, wondering if he would, he did.
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