Something felt wrong with me.

My first thought was that I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. I had been taking my drug for quite a while by then, so it was only natural that my body would have an adverse reaction to it. Deciding to ignore the feeling, I crawled over to the tray; the groaning of my stomach told me in no uncertain terms that I was hungry.

I ate everything and didn't even feel bad about it, but once it was gone, I wasn't certain what to do. I couldn't just walk out of bed; my legs were too weak for that. Instead, I laid back down, closing my eyes. But it was no use. Without my meds, I couldn't make myself continuously sleep.

"I want my medicine," I muttered, knowing fully well that I wouldn't be given any.