The first thing I do when I wake up is scream.
I squint at the light strips on the ceilings, fumbling with the IV needles that have been slid under my skin. Their silvery tips feel cold and icy, stiffening my veins. My hospital gown gapes at the neck, paper cloth sagging to reveal my bony, pale chest. I tug it to my chin as a nurse dashes in, the rubber soles of her shoes silent on the linoleum.
She says something.
Her mouth is moving, I can see it.
She is wearing bright red lipstick.
Why can’t I hear anything?
The walls are buzzing too loudly, the floor is shrieking. The strident wails drag like razors across my body, my skin splitting like crimson zippers.
My pulse echoes in my ears and I am acutely aware of the weight of air on my skin, denting me, bruising me.
The nurse gestures at a plastic clipboard, paper so white it hurts my eyes. She pauses, then scribbles something with a red pen.
I see something out of the corner of my eye. It is hooded, crouched by the floor. A grinning skull, bone fingers clasped together, eye sockets hollow and deep, so deep. I can see the universe swirling inside them, twisting and morphing, bells ringing a solemn tune. A coffin lid closing. Its breath is acidic and I can feel my skin blistering as it chuckles. I raise a hand to my face, searching for spongy pink sores and burns.
I turn to stare directly at him but now he is a dark patch near the door, always in my peripheral vision.
Why is he hiding?
“Janet!”
The nurse grabs my shoulders, shakes me and I blink at her.
Janet is my name.
I smile at her. My cheeks feel tight, like my skin has been pulled and stretched over my cheekbones.
“Janet is my name. I’m here to die.”
The nurse gasps, a tiny intake of breath, barely perceptible.
“Oh no, sweetie. No no no,”
I can hear her voice now, echoing like she is somewhere very far away.
“That’s not it at all, honey. This is just a simple procedure, you’ll be out of here by tonight. Won’t that be nice? Your mommy is waiting for you. Don’t you want to see your family? I’m sure they miss you.”
My family always bakes me a chocolate cake on my birthday.
They sing to me, melting birthday candles and wrapping paper in orbit around us, swinging on wires hooked to my fingers. I clench my fist and they twitch towards me.
“I’m not going to die?”
“No sweetie. Not at all.”
She’s lying to you. She can’t see him but you can. You know he’s still there. Don’t try to look at him.
She’s lying to you.
The nurse pokes her head into the waiting room.
“Mrs. Feldner?”
A woman with gray-streaked hair stands up. She walks straight towards the door, shoulders and back vertical. The nurse remembers that she was always told to pretend a wire stretched from the crown of her head to the ceiling, pulling her upright. The woman has this same perpendicular posture, but she seems weighted down, dragging invisible chains that scrape and rattle along the floor.
“Yes, Mrs. Feldner. Just standard tonsil removal, she just came out of anesthesia. I have to warn you, she’s a bit shaken up. It seems like she’s afraid of,” the nurse pushes a stray hair into her bun “dying?”
“Oh yes, she hates hospitals.” The woman is silent for a moment, her stiletto heels the only sounds echoing in the sterile white hallways, then stops.
“She’s absolutely petrified of death. She lives in paralyzing fear of anything having to do with it, she’s just so very scared. We’ve tried everything, doctors, medications…” She trails off, not making eye contact.
“So very scared.”
The nurse is gone. I’m not alone here. There isn’t enough air, he’s sucking it in, hoarding it for himself. I can hear it rattling in his empty lungs. The beeping sound, that ceaseless beeping, rings and echoes and wraps itself around my neck, scaly like a snake. I can feel every fiber in my body tighten like violin strings, plucking off-key harmonies. My spinal cord is vibrating, I can feel his hot breath on my face.
Don’t look at him.
You won’t die.
She’s lying.
She can’t see him.

The beeping gets louder. Where is he? Ink is bleeding along the edges of my vision, I can’t see him anymore! My chest is heaving, I tear at the chains binding me to the cot. My fingers catch on the IV and it jerks from beneath my skin, leaking hot black liquid that streams down my wrists and drips from my fingertips.
Where is he?
The ceiling is rocking from side to side, the bed rolls into walls and bounces off like it’s made of rubber.
The beeping is faster now, I hear footsteps in the hallway. I can’t see. There is a screaming in my ears.
There he is. He is bent over my bed, cupping my face in his hands. His hands are slick with…is that my blood? His eyes are so very dark, they grow larger and I am falling.
The nurse and my mother walk in as the beeping stops.