It had been like dreaming.
Darren didn’t believe there was any such thing as ‘the last thing one remembered…’ because it never seemed to work like that. The last clear memory, the last proper one, he’d been popping pills like a junkie in his room, but everything between then and now had been there, just…hazy. Dream-like. Real, but not quite real.
He’d heard a girl crying, and his face sort of stung, and a lot of lights. Dizzy lights, really, because they’d kept flashing past and whirling around his head and he’d not been able to keep track of them. Some woman had kept calling him ‘Darren-my-love.’ Then there’d been a lot of pain, from his hips to his ribs, and someone petting his hair.
The smell of antiseptic really woke him up, though, chasing out the dreams, and there was still someon
