"I'm so sorry dad. I tried my best, really, I did. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"You almost died, TK. Is that what you want? To be a dead druggie laying in a ditch or drainpipe somewhere? I thought you knew better than this."
"I'm sorry." TK whispered, voice cracking as silent tears that had been slowly welling up in his eyes, finally fell down his pale cheeks. He sniffled shakily, trying his best to keep his composure.
"I'm just worried about you TK." Owen said softly, running a hand through his son's greasy hair, before gently grabbing him by the back of the neck and pressing him into a firm hug. TK buried his face in his father's shoulder, his own shaking as he finally allowed himself to break in the safety and comfort of his dad's embrace.
They broke apart, and TK laid back, exhausted by the effort the little movement took. Upon arriving at the hospital, he'd had his stomach pumped which was to put it lightly, complete and utter hell. His head pounded, and it felt like he was permanently covered in a thin sheen of sweat that was frozen to his skin. He could mostly ignore the drip of fluids entering the crook of his elbow from the IV, but the scratchy fabric of the hospital gown and thin sheets grated on him like nails on a chalkboard.
He laid there, peering up at the ceiling. What he could remember from the night before flashed through his mind, as he wondered how he could've messed up so badly. Hopefully his dad thought this was a one time thing, him just trying to party and not knowing that the dosage he took would be so dangerous. TK hoped his dad didn't know the truth.
TK wanted to believe that his addiction wasn't his fault. That it was a product of circumstance. But this… this was a new low. This was dangerous. He could've died. He absentmindedly rubbed the blanket over top of his thigh, where a light bruise surely laid on his skin from the medication that was forcefully slammed into his leg. He was glad to be rid of his vomit stained clothing. When the paramedics had helped him, it felt like he was puking out his demons, alongside the contents of his stomach.
"I'm gonna let you try and rest, okay TK? Your mom should be here soon. We'll talk about this later, when you're feeling a little better." Owen said, awkwardly patting his son's shoulder, before departing.
TK merely nodded numbly, barely listening to his father, as his thoughts were scattered and distracted.
Hospitals were terrible at the best of times, but somehow they get even worse when you put yourself in them with poor decisions. Not that TK thought that this would be the outcome of the party he attended.
Everything was so uncomfortable. He hurt, he was scared, and he wanted Oxy. Still. Even after everything that had happened, the acute cravings ripped through him. Part of TK had naively hoped that his OD would scare the cravings out of him, and he'd kick his habit. But apparently, that's not how this works. Instead he curled in on himself, and willed himself to sleep, desperately trying to ignore the want thrumming in his veins. The want for the high. The freedom. The release. The wish that he had just died in that room.