Our Infinite Fates

AFTER THE PROCEDURE, I was wheeled through to a recovery room, where the painkillers kicked in relatively fast. Then I was hooked up to an IV through a cannula in my forearm, and my red blood cells were pumped back into me. A small radio sat on the windowsill, blaring out upbeat indie folk. I was light-headed and a little disorientated, and the fast-paced fiddle made me feel as though my veins were being plucked like strings. A nurse brought me water in a plastic cup, and told me to buzz her if I needed anything. I was advised to rest there for an hour before the discharge nurse came to see me.

A curious mixture of emotions coursed through me. Relief that it was over. Dread at what would come next. A strange kind of elation – a likely by-product of the post-pain endorphins my body was merrily producing. Like I had fought a great foe and won.

And most potent of all: anticipation.

Were the police about to storm the building? Or had Ceri deleted my message in a spiteful instant?