hangover of my life.

I guess that kind of comes with the whole "trying to overdose on pills" territory.

A few hours ago, I woke up to a blinding white light and a steady beeping, the beat of my heart.

My still beating heart.

I'm alive. I can still see colours and breathe air and feel the soft fabric of this gown on my skin. And it's crazy, but... I'm happy about it.

My memories of last night are blurry at best. It's like a bad nightmare, but I feel different now. The doctors flushed my system and have been feeding me aspirin for hours, and it feels like my swollen brain is playing go-karts against my skull, but I'm alive.

The nice thing about the psychiatric ward is that the rooms are so comfortable. I didn't wake up in some dingy bed, but a green-walled room that smells like incense. It's relaxing, like I've been placed in the center of a forest.

Dr. Balewa is great, too. After talking to me for a while, she'd confirmed that I'm no longer a danger to myself and let me use one of the hospital's laptops. When I went online, it was crazy to think that all my socials had almost became the profiles of a dead guy.

Maybe everyone would've felt bad. Maybe I would've gotten sappy RIP posts from people pretending that they liked me more than they did. Maybe the team would regret what they did to me, but why is that more important than living? It's not. But I guess it took almost dying for me to see that.

I still cringe with regret every time I picture what had happened with Lucy, but if I'd died, I'd never be able to apologize to her. So when she comes in, I'll have to make it up to her... somehow...

I just hope she can forgive me.

Mom sits at the foot of the bed while Dad stands with his arms crossed.

"How are you feeling now, El?" Mom asks.

"Like I got hit by a train, but you know. Breathing."

Happy to be breathing.

The silence between us is tight. They haven't asked me much yet, but they're both fidgeting like mad.

"If you guys have any questions," I say, "go ahead. I won't get upset, I promise."

Dad's jaw is tense. "Why'd you do it, El?"

I shrug. "I wanted to."

"But why?" Mom's voice cracks. "You know we love you, right? We've always been so proud of you. You've accomplished so much."

"I didn't think Dad was proud of me."

Dad flinches. "I was always proud of you. You're my son."

"But you never acted like it. You acted like hockey was the only thing I ever had going for me, and when I stopped playing, I felt like you hated me."

For a second, I swear Dad's eyes water. He clears his throat. "I just wanted you to have a normal life, El. I wanted you to have friends and play hockey because I thought that made you happy."

"It did, and it didn't."

Mom touches my arm. "We were wrong to pressure you into playing. We just want you to do what makes you happy, El."

"But I was always proud of you," Dad cuts in. "Always."

"Thanks," I say. "I want to play again, after I get better."

Mom kisses my forehead. "We can get there. You can take the rest of the school year off and graduate whenever you're ready."

I like the sound of that—another year of school without Luke or Katie or any of those dicks. Hell, maybe I'll even make friends. They'd all be younger than me, but whatever.

But then there's the question of Lucy.

My heart lurches thinking about her, about how she must feel right now. I hope she knows that none of this is her fault. That I did this, not her.

"She'll be here soon," Mom says. "You're thinking about Lucy, right?"

I nod.

"She's talking with Dr. Balewa."

There's my heart, sinking again. Dr. Balewa must be telling Lucy what she'd told me, that even if I love her—even if she loves me—being together might not be good for me.

Maybe that's for the best, after all, but it doesn't shake the retching pain in my gut. I love her. I'll always love her, even if we're not together, even if there are miles of city streets between us. In my heart, her home will always be with me.

Someone knocks at the door. Mom and Dad leave the room, and suddenly Lucy stands in the doorway, her hair ruffled and her freckled cheeks splotched. And seeing her, I fall for her over and over again—even if she's bad for me, even if we're not gonna work out. Because she's still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Every bitter, fleeting feeling of love and hope and sadness crashes into my chest like a tidal wave.

I smile anyway. "Hey."

She smiles back. "Hey."