WHEN HE WOKE UP, his body was lit with pain. A pulsing, seething, freezing, ungodly pain. He had no idea where he was. He was on his back but where was he?
“I don’t know why you fools snort this shit,” someone said.
He writhed on the hospital bed, squeezing his eyes open and shut, clenching his teeth. He saw Uffa in the corner of the room. He was looking on in horror, face wet with tears, his purple bandanna sagging around his neck. Berg began to sneeze and, after one of these sneezes, he told them he was freezing cold. Uffa asked the nurse to bring him another blanket. The nurse draped the blanket over Berg and then Berg began to cry, to wail.
“The naloxone triggers immediate withdrawal,” the doctor explained.
“It’s so bad,” Berg cried. “It’s so bad.”
Alejandro was there, too.
“You’ll be all right,” he kept saying. “You’ll be all right.”
Berg gasped for air. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. His center of gravity was off. His vision was blurry. There was a faint taste of blood in his mouth, a metallic taste, like he’d been sucking on a penny. The pain was so bad he wanted to smash his head on a rock.
“Remember this,” the doctor said. “Remember this feeling the next time you reach for that garbage.”
“You assholes gave it to me,” Berg growled.
“I didn’t give you anything,” the doctor said. “And I sure as hell didn’t make you snort it.”
“Fuck you,” Berg said.
“Give him more lorazepam,” the doctor said.
The nurse came over and did something to his IV.
“I know this is painful,” she said. “You’re experiencing full withdrawal right now.”
“I’m going to vomit,” Berg said.
She handed him a plastic basin. He heaved into it and then passed it back to her. He was sweating now, but he was also shivering. It made no sense. Alejandro walked over and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” Berg said. “What did you do to me?”
“You did this,” the doctor said. “No one did this to you.”
“Is this normal?” Alejandro asked the doctor.
“Patients are always combative after the naloxone,” the nurse said.
“I think I’m dying,” Berg said. “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” the doctor said. “We just saved your life.”
“Fuck you,” Berg said. “Fuck this guy.”
The pain was an ascending arpeggio, a madness. Berg had broken many bones in his life, had snapped his tibia all the way through, and nothing compared to this. As the pain reached its most unbearable peak, he felt himself going into shock. The agony ceased. The pain was still there, but it was as if his body would not allow him to feel it. He stared wide-eyed at Alejandro and in a calm, collected voice, he asked,
“Is this real?”
Then he passed out.