Need to Sleep
Chapter 20
About two hours after he had passed out, around 545 AM, Bosco started to wake up, the light from his living room window slowly filtering through and casting light on the kitchen floor, near where he lay.
He slowly tried to turn his body from his awkward position on the floor, to a somewhat sitting position, as he struggled to understand why he was in so much pain.
Bosco looked down at his shirt and saw that, even though it was navy blue, it looked to be covered in what he thought was dried up blood.
He looked at the floor and saw a pool of dried up blood was smeared into the floor where he had been lying.
He opened his mouth to take a breath of air and as he did, felt the salty, sticky texture of dried up blood against his teeth.
He ran his tongue over them and found them all in place thankfully, yet shuddered at the taste of his own blood, and the realization that something really bad must have happened to him.
Bosco could not recall why exactly he was lying on his kitchen floor, let alone covered in blood, and in such bad pain that he thought he could puke right there.
He tried to think.
Had he gone out last night?
NO!
There was no way he would have.
He remembered the shift and feeling so sick all he wanted was to go to bed.
Did he end up going out to a bar, getting drunk and into a fight?
He couldnt remember at all.
That could be the only possible explanation, he thought, as he did have a bad little habit of getting into fights with patrons after having kicked back a few.
That would certainly explain why he was in so much agony right now, that he felt like sticking his head in an ice box to relieve some of the misery and pain.
Bosco couldn't remember the fighting, or the drinking, let alone how he even got home or passed out on his kitchen floor.
All he knew that he was in serious pain, and feeling worse as the seconds went by.
Grabbing the kitchen counter for support, Bosco pulled himself to a somewhat standing position, groaning loudly as the pain in his head intensified.
He stood still for a few moments, trying to fight off the nausea and dizziness that was consuming him.
Thinking he was about to hurl all over the place, Bosco rushed down the hall as fast as his body could take him, and into his bathroom.
He was starting to get the cold sweats and shakes as he fell to his knees and leaned over the toilet bowl.
Bosco started gagging and heaving into the toilet bowl, groaning in misery each time his body tried, and failed to rid itself of whatever was left in him.
He could not understand why nothing was coming up, even though he felt as though he was about to puke up a lung.
Considering the headache he had, and the hell he was currently experiencing , Bosco simply assumed that he had drank a lot the night before.
Bosco sat on the floor of his bathroom, thinking maybe he hadn't drank that much after all, or maybe he had already gotten sick before this, and this was just the hell of a dry hangover kicking in.
His face, neck and chest were covered in a thin film of sweat that was starting to overheat his body, coming through the tee shirt he had on and making it stick to him.
His hair was sticking to his head as little beads of sweat started to accumulate around his upper lip and eyebrows too.
Bosco felt like his whole body was burning up, not realizing that he really was, but he knew that he needed to get to his bed before he passed out again.
He tried to stand up, unsuccessfully, and swayed, bracing himself on the seat of the toilet seat for a minute.
Even though he was sweating like mad, Bosco was freezing cold, just like the other day, his delirious brain thought for a second, but he brushed it off,a crazy random thought, as he was still not ready to admit that something other than alcohol and someone's fists had happened to him last night.
Bosco attempted standing again, shivering all over, dizzy, and so nauseous that he wasn't so sure that he should leave the toilet, in case he really did need to get sick.
The taste of old blood in his mouth was making him feel extremely nauseous, not that he wasnt already, and his head was pounding so badly, that Bosco felt as though someone had just played steel drums on his head for the last two hours.
He dragged himself over to the sink, and slowly pulled himself up to standing position in front of the mirror.
He could hardly open his eyes fully, they hurt so much, and when he finally did and squinted into the mirror, the face he saw looking back at him was hardly recognizable.
Bosco leaned in on the sink and stared hard into the mirror.
He turned on the water and just stared into the mirror some more.
The face that he saw was indeed his own, yet it was bloodied and bruised so badly it almost scared him because he couldn't remember what had happened.
His upper lip was so fat, he looked like he had just gone ten rounds with a prize fighter, and Bosco saw that it was covered in dried up blood, as well as his nose and chin.
He leaned in closer to the mirror and saw that his right eye was turning black and blue, puffy and so swollen, it was no wonder it hurt to open.
He opened his mouth and gasped when he saw his blood stained teeth, immediately cupping his hands under the faucet to try and rinse his mouth out some.
Bosco could hardly stand up anymore, the nausea and dizziness overtaking him, so he very quickly splashed some cold water on his face, trying to wash off some of the dried up blood there, then proceeded to stumble into his bedroom.
It took all the strength that Bosco had left to pull off the now sweat soaked and blood ridden shirt he was wearing off of his torso before collapsing into his bed.
Bosco rolled into his bed and pulled the covers up, not noticing that the purple blotches that he had seen on his chest the day before were getting worse now, and spreading out towards his stomach and back.
All he could think about was the pain, the misery, what he did to deserve this hell he was going through right now.
Bosco pulled the covers up around his neck as his body was wracked with shivers, yet he didnt even have the strength to go and get a dry, warm shirt to throw on, and at that moment he could care less.
The last thought that Bosco had, as he succumbed to the delirium was maybe he should call Faith and tell her he wasn't feeling well, he might be getting the stomach flu... maybe he shouldn't come into work today...Maybe...
Chapter 20
About two hours after he had passed out, around 545 AM, Bosco started to wake up, the light from his living room window slowly filtering through and casting light on the kitchen floor, near where he lay.
He slowly tried to turn his body from his awkward position on the floor, to a somewhat sitting position, as he struggled to understand why he was in so much pain.
Bosco looked down at his shirt and saw that, even though it was navy blue, it looked to be covered in what he thought was dried up blood.
He looked at the floor and saw a pool of dried up blood was smeared into the floor where he had been lying.
He opened his mouth to take a breath of air and as he did, felt the salty, sticky texture of dried up blood against his teeth.
He ran his tongue over them and found them all in place thankfully, yet shuddered at the taste of his own blood, and the realization that something really bad must have happened to him.
Bosco could not recall why exactly he was lying on his kitchen floor, let alone covered in blood, and in such bad pain that he thought he could puke right there.
He tried to think.
Had he gone out last night?
NO!
There was no way he would have.
He remembered the shift and feeling so sick all he wanted was to go to bed.
Did he end up going out to a bar, getting drunk and into a fight?
He couldnt remember at all.
That could be the only possible explanation, he thought, as he did have a bad little habit of getting into fights with patrons after having kicked back a few.
That would certainly explain why he was in so much agony right now, that he felt like sticking his head in an ice box to relieve some of the misery and pain.
Bosco couldn't remember the fighting, or the drinking, let alone how he even got home or passed out on his kitchen floor.
All he knew that he was in serious pain, and feeling worse as the seconds went by.
Grabbing the kitchen counter for support, Bosco pulled himself to a somewhat standing position, groaning loudly as the pain in his head intensified.
He stood still for a few moments, trying to fight off the nausea and dizziness that was consuming him.
Thinking he was about to hurl all over the place, Bosco rushed down the hall as fast as his body could take him, and into his bathroom.
He was starting to get the cold sweats and shakes as he fell to his knees and leaned over the toilet bowl.
Bosco started gagging and heaving into the toilet bowl, groaning in misery each time his body tried, and failed to rid itself of whatever was left in him.
He could not understand why nothing was coming up, even though he felt as though he was about to puke up a lung.
Considering the headache he had, and the hell he was currently experiencing , Bosco simply assumed that he had drank a lot the night before.
Bosco sat on the floor of his bathroom, thinking maybe he hadn't drank that much after all, or maybe he had already gotten sick before this, and this was just the hell of a dry hangover kicking in.
His face, neck and chest were covered in a thin film of sweat that was starting to overheat his body, coming through the tee shirt he had on and making it stick to him.
His hair was sticking to his head as little beads of sweat started to accumulate around his upper lip and eyebrows too.
Bosco felt like his whole body was burning up, not realizing that he really was, but he knew that he needed to get to his bed before he passed out again.
He tried to stand up, unsuccessfully, and swayed, bracing himself on the seat of the toilet seat for a minute.
Even though he was sweating like mad, Bosco was freezing cold, just like the other day, his delirious brain thought for a second, but he brushed it off,a crazy random thought, as he was still not ready to admit that something other than alcohol and someone's fists had happened to him last night.
Bosco attempted standing again, shivering all over, dizzy, and so nauseous that he wasn't so sure that he should leave the toilet, in case he really did need to get sick.
The taste of old blood in his mouth was making him feel extremely nauseous, not that he wasnt already, and his head was pounding so badly, that Bosco felt as though someone had just played steel drums on his head for the last two hours.
He dragged himself over to the sink, and slowly pulled himself up to standing position in front of the mirror.
He could hardly open his eyes fully, they hurt so much, and when he finally did and squinted into the mirror, the face he saw looking back at him was hardly recognizable.
Bosco leaned in on the sink and stared hard into the mirror.
He turned on the water and just stared into the mirror some more.
The face that he saw was indeed his own, yet it was bloodied and bruised so badly it almost scared him because he couldn't remember what had happened.
His upper lip was so fat, he looked like he had just gone ten rounds with a prize fighter, and Bosco saw that it was covered in dried up blood, as well as his nose and chin.
He leaned in closer to the mirror and saw that his right eye was turning black and blue, puffy and so swollen, it was no wonder it hurt to open.
He opened his mouth and gasped when he saw his blood stained teeth, immediately cupping his hands under the faucet to try and rinse his mouth out some.
Bosco could hardly stand up anymore, the nausea and dizziness overtaking him, so he very quickly splashed some cold water on his face, trying to wash off some of the dried up blood there, then proceeded to stumble into his bedroom.
It took all the strength that Bosco had left to pull off the now sweat soaked and blood ridden shirt he was wearing off of his torso before collapsing into his bed.
Bosco rolled into his bed and pulled the covers up, not noticing that the purple blotches that he had seen on his chest the day before were getting worse now, and spreading out towards his stomach and back.
All he could think about was the pain, the misery, what he did to deserve this hell he was going through right now.
Bosco pulled the covers up around his neck as his body was wracked with shivers, yet he didnt even have the strength to go and get a dry, warm shirt to throw on, and at that moment he could care less.
The last thought that Bosco had, as he succumbed to the delirium was maybe he should call Faith and tell her he wasn't feeling well, he might be getting the stomach flu... maybe he shouldn't come into work today...Maybe...