I only barely record the noise of people coming in and out, ambulances driving in and out, ringing in my ears, red lights in the haze. I don’t even care about the rain that’s soaking me to the bone. I’m only thinking about one thing.

One of my kidneys is gone.

It was cleanly and expertly extracted; there were no resulting complications or anything. In every way, it looks just like a standard procedure was carried out in a hospital, overseen by trained professionals.

Except I don’t remember a second of it.

I know it must have happened during my blackout, but how? The only things I remember—

“Don’t worry, old friend…”

The scalpel glints in my mind’s eye.

“It’ll all be better soon…”

The vivid memory drowns my mind in doubt. Even as absurd as it was, could it be possible that it wasn’t a dream? In that case, John…

But, no. Somehow, I’m certain John isn’t to blame. I don’t know how I know, but I do. But that just leaves the question…

Who did do this?

I shudder a little. I remember that voice on the phone— how did he know about it? Could it be… was it him? But who is he?

Sitting on the hospital steps, as the rain fills the world, I’m faced with more questions than I can answer.

****

The bell rings.

Class is starting.

The bell rings.

Class is over.

The grating monotony of it all is starting to get to me. It’s as if, somehow, whoever did this to me took something from me, something more than a body part. Or maybe it’s more to do with Sam. Who knows?

My classmates pour out of the classroom, and yet all I’m doing is flicking a pencil around. My eyes feel like they have a film over them, turning everything into a dull haze totally uninteresting to the observer.

Whatever’s wrong with me, it’s getting worse.

I don’t really notice the time go by— seconds? minutes?— but the next thing I know, someone’s tapping me on the shoulder.

I look up, and I immediately feel sick.

It’s Susan Wren.

God, I cannot deal with this right now.

“Uh, excuse me. Our class is starting here in a few minutes, and you probably have another class to get to, so…”

I get up, and start picking up my things. But before I can leave, she smirks knowingly and says:

“Hey, I know you. You’re that guy that bumped into me the other day and I helped pick up your stuff, right?”

I nod vaguely, as if I don’t remember the whole thing too well. She smiles.

“Hey, what are the chances! I never even caught your name.”

What is she doing?

“Uh, Isaac. Sommers.”

“Cool! Um, so, I just wanted to mention, if it’s not too forward, but… you don’t look so good. Really.”

“Yeah, uh… I’ve been… busy, and… tired.”

She nods sympathetically.

“Well, tell you what. Some of us are having a low-key thing tonight at a local bar. I feel like, just maybe, it would do you some good! If you’re into that kind of thing. But anyway, here’s my number, so text me if you’re interested and I’ll give you the deets.”

At this, she smiles again, walks away, and calls over shoulder:

“Hope to see you there!”

I clutch the piece of paper with her number on it.

What am I doing?

****

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a good decision.

“Low-key” isn’t how I would describe this party. There must be at least a hundred people here, all mingling in that lively way that’s been unfamiliar to me for so long. Alcohol is poured freely and numbers exchanged just as easily. Myself, I’ve settled for a seat at the bar with a glass of… actually, I don't know what this is. I sip it. It tastes bitter.

“Hey! Having a good time?”

The hand that’s just clasped my shoulder belongs to Susan. Her smile, I discover, only serves to worsen my current headache.

How can these people be smiling and having fun after everything that’s happened? Granted, they don’t know about any of it, but it still seems so bizarre and… wrong.

“Uh, not… not so much, no.” I manage a feeble smile. Why did I come here again and how can I escape?

“Oh. Well, maybe you could try starting a conversation or… actually… drinking something?”

“I… would, but I don’t actually know what this is.”

She looks at the drink, picks it up, and gives it a quick sniff. She puts it back down immediately.

“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t drink that. Well, at least try the conversation thing, if you want. See you around!”

She disappears in the crowd and I release a deep sigh. I should just go home. I’m just about to get up and leave when a blonde, skinny girl sits next to me. Immediately, her green eyes are fixed on me. Great.

“Hi. I’m Heather,” she slurs.

“Hi. I’m leaving.”

At this, I begin to get up, but then she puts her hand on mine, and there’s a little jolt of static electricity.

“Whoa! You must be some kind of livewire or… something.” Her eyelids droop at this, as if she’s about to nod off, but then her eyes are open, popping with enthusiasm again.

“Hey! Don’t I know you? You’re a literature major, right? So am I!”

She giggles loudly. Wow, she’s drunk.

“Hey, don’t tell anyone, but… you see that guy?”

She points at some blond jock type in the crowd. I nod. “What about him?”

“He… he’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend nowsh. He just broke up with me! At a party with all our friends! And— and he’s dancing with some other girl! Isn’t that soooo shitty? He’s a total shithead, right? Isn’t shithead a funny word, like imagine if his head was actually made of shit, wouldn’t that be—”

“Right. Okay. I get that you’re upset, but staying here won’t do you any good, so just… go home, okay?”

I give her the best reassuring smile I can muster, then start walking away.

“W—wait!”

I stop. Why can’t people just leave me alone?

“You’re… going home, right? I-I’ll leave too. Just… can you help me get home?”

Ugh. Just say no. Someone else can help her.

“Fine. Where do you live?”

I am a weak man.

****

“So, this is it, right?”

She’s been hanging on my arm half the way here, half-asleep. At least I got her to puke somewhere not on my person.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Listen, uh…”

“What?”

“Do you wanna… come in?”

Uh, sorry?

“No. Just go in and go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, but… you’re so nice, and…”

“There’s no and. I’m going to leave, okay? Good ni—”

That’s when she takes me by the collar and kisses me. Like, really hard.

What the fuck?

I try to push her away, but she’s got her hands on my chest now, and she’s pulling up my shirt, and I’m trying to stop her—

And then she stops.

I look down.

She’s staring at my scar.

I feel the blood flooding my cheeks as I hastily push her away and start down the street, walking, then breaking into a sprint.

I don’t look back.