Goth Chick

Goth Chick

Goth Chick didn’t wake up in the hospital, she came to. She remembered what it looked like from last time, it looked just like this time. Goth got her GHB dosage wrong again and was paying the price. 

Goth felt something in her windpipe; it felt slightly less worse than the time she took a shot of vodka down the wrong way. She knew it was that damned breathing tube again, and that damned ventilator was pumping her chest full of air against her will to do it herself. Goth reached up to yank it out, finding her black nailed hands bound to the bed she tried to shake the tube out of her black lipped mouth but the residual effects of the GHB make her too weak right now. The rustling of her attempts to free herself brought the attention of the ward nurse. Goth heard her coming, and with a few seconds to think she decided to play dead. The nurse tried to rouse her, that failing she did the usual assessments with her stethoscope, pulling the cover off Goth’s chest to expose her black bra and electrodes. The nurse then paused the ventilator for several seconds to see if Goth was breathing for herself yet. Goth laid there quietly as the air flowed out of her lungs, making no attempt to inhale. It was uncomfortable, but no worse than the time she let someone hold her underwater until she passed out. The nurse resumed the ventilator, and walked off. Goth was a great actress, especially when the role was playing dead. Goth was sure she was alone, then worked to free herself from the wrist binders holding her to the table. Her left hand came loose, quietly, she loosened her right. Goth reached up to rip out the tube in her throat, feeling her way around the tape when she had a second thought. “Hey, I’m already in the hospital, hooked up to all this stuff, like they really saved me from something.” Goth’s mind grew blacker: “What if I let them kill me? They can get me back, yeah. I could really be undead. I could talk to god, satan, that senior who killed himself my junior year.” Goth thought about it, remembering last time she was here. If she pulled out her tube or unhooked the ventilator, they’d just hook her back up. No good. Cutting a EKG lead would be too easy to see, but wait! She remembered an old speaker wire that looked normal but was broken inside. That’s it! “They’ll think my heart stopped, then shock me dead!” Goth Chick had recovered enough strength to set about her task. She slowly slid the sheet down, exposing her torso. The staff had cut away her t-shirt, and cut the seat of her panties to insert a foley catheter into her bladder. “Shit, another awful tube in me!”, she thought to herself. But they left her leather skirt and belt on her, the belt that hid a buckle knife. Made in Taiwan, the blade didn’t have a great edge, but a good tip that could plunge into the thin insulation of her EKG wire. Goth pulled the wire onto the handrail, then began stabbing. Several stabs and a slight tug, the steady blips on the monitor stopped, followed a few seconds later with the familiar whine of an arresting patient. Goth quickly resheathed her knife, and plunged her hands back into the cuffs. She didn’t want to give her sabotage away, and she didn’t want to do anything stupid like stop the doctors from killing her! The nice thing about a teaching hospital is you never know who you’re going to get. Fortunately for Goth’s intentions, her staff immediately began coding her without so much as a cursory carotid pulse check. Some nurse jumped on her bed and began crushing her chest! The nurse stopped while someone cut away her bra, then began pumping again. The ventilator was disconnected, and a bag was used to fill her aching chest, then the air was squashed out again “C'mon, kill me!!”, Goth thought as she tried to remain expressionless. Goth felt the effects of cardiac medications start their way through her body; cold, hot, fainting. She deliriously heard the magick words, “Clear!” Bam!! Goth felt the pain of the shock, like when she bit the electric fence at a field trip to a dairy farm. But she wasn’t dead yet. Goth was paralytic, the shocks and the drugs pinned her down, she couldn’t save herself if she even wanted to. “Kill me…” The interns never noticed the disturbed sinus rhythm when the paddles were applied, just the squalling of the flatlined monitor above Goth’s head. Bam! Another shock. Bam! This time Goth couldn’t feel the sting, for her heart had stopped and the pain eclipsed anything the interns could do to her. “Kil…” The resident ER doctor moved to Goth Chick’s bed. He checked her pulse: nothing. He then asked the interns the usual questions. Then he grabbed the paddles and placed them on Goth’s chest. He glanced over his shoulder to check the charge and noticed the defib’s monitor. Perplexed, he then looked at the bedside EKG, then the defib again. “Oh, SHIT!”