Cst microwave studio sucks
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Sammy imagines he’s probably memorized the small rectangle of space around them long ago.Įmily sips her coffee and says, "You should eat something too, Sammy." Sammy drinks the juice but leaves the rest on his lap.īen drags one of the chairs closer and sits, looking awkwardly around. It turns out to have a sandwich that is, in its entirety, two pieces of white bread with a slice of soy cheese between them, a tub of soy yogurt and another carton of apple juice. "Do you want to see what mysteries it has for you?" Emily sits on the edge of his bed and grabs the box. "I think that’s all they had," says Ben and he’s also trying to sound cheerful except it sounds like he has a cold. He feels vaguely sick to his stomach and says, "I’m not vegan"
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Sammy looks where she’s gesturing and sees a cardboard takeaway box with a label that says BREAKFAST - VEGAN. She’s definitely been crying too but her voice is bright as she says, "there’s some kind of food for you."
#CST MICROWAVE STUDIO SUCKS FREE#
"The doctor wants to change his dressing and check the stitches, but then he should be free to go" the nurse says and Sammy doesn’t even care that they're talking about him like he’s not in the room because all he can think is home home home home a rhythmic drumbeat that reminds him he does not have a home – doesn’t even have his apartment anymore.Īnxiety and self loathing well up in his chest and as the nurse leaves Emily brushes some hair out of his face. Home, Sammy thinks with a sinking feeling. Soon enough the curtain is drawn back and there is Ben with Emily, who’s carrying two paper cups of coffee, and with a nurse in burgundy scrubs who asks Sammy how he’s feeling and gives him a tylenol for the pain and makes as though to move on but before he can bustle efficiently out Ben asks, "when can he go home?" Tries to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. He doesn’t ask if he should stay and Sammy feels adrift when he’s gone but no that’s stupid he’s coming back and wanting him to stay is childish and selfish so he clamps down on his feelings, takes a few deeps breaths of the air that smells like Lysol and plastic. "I can go see if the nurse is around, he was here about an hour ago." Ben doesn’t move and Sammy realizes he’s still holding onto Ben’s arm. Feels the part of him that would tease Ben as though it’s locked inside a frosted glass cabinet. "They say you don’t have a concussion I guess." he sounds skeptical of the doctors and Sammy almost laughs. "You have a really big gash on the back of your head and a cut on your forehead from the crash," Ben says. How do you feel?" He tries for a weak grin. "I-" Ben faces Sammy again, "I was just so fucking.
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"Sorry," he says in a voice that has broken hours before, that hasn’t been glued back together. He turns away, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. Sammy grabs Ben’s arm with shaking fingers and Ben stops talking and suddenly he’s crying, silent tears finally spilling from his eyes. And his energy is the exact opposite of Sammy’s right now. "They wouldn’t let me see you last night and it was past visiting hours and I couldn’t get Mr Baumgartner to let me crash in his car and Troy had to go home and I tried to break in but they caught me so Emily came to get me she’s getting coffee right now they have this really good coffee machine but like zero food," words are spilling out of Ben like he needs to fill up the space with them and he’s hovering kind of over Sammy as though he doesn’t know where to stand. He looks like he hasn’t slept, his hair mussed, his clothes wrinkled, eyes red rimmed. "Sammy!" Ben nearly leaps out of his seat, spring loaded. His voice rasps past a throat that feels like sandpaper. Near the foot of the bed are two chairs and in one sits Ben Arnold, curled into himself, one hand in his hair and another clasped around his knees. There’s one of those stands that holds IV bags but its empty. He's still in the hospital, bed surrounded by close curtains. Sammy open his eyes fully and looks around the room. The back of his head where it rests on the pillow is tight and hot. He feels like his brain is pounding against the inside of his skull. He grasps for that ignorance as it slips away, and groans. When he blinks into bleary consciousness, he barely knows where he is, who he is. He sleeps straight through the night in a fog. A nurse giving him "just something to help you sleep, now we're sure you don’t have a serious concussion". Moving from gurney to cot to exam room to cot. Doctors and nurses and a carton of apple juice he unthinkingly gulps down and matching throbbing pains on the front and back of his head. The time between the rainbow light striking the station and the hospital is a blur of impressions: his car spinning off the road into the guardrail.