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  • Committed: But Not In a Good Way

Committed: But Not In a Good Way

12

All characters are 18+

It is surprising what you miss after it's gone. I never thought that I could live without being able to watch television, but I am doing just fine. I guess that the real problem is freedom. I took it for granted for so long, and now that I am without it, it really irks me. Choosing what to eat was a totally mundane chore out in the world, but even this has been taken from me. Now I eat what they put on my tray, because if I don't, there will be no more food until the next meal.

I suppose that I should back up a minute, and explain a few things. My name is Nicolas Pace. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I'm married. My wife of three years and I have no children. This is not where the story begins, though. Three days ago I went on a drinking binge, and became so depressed that I tried to end my own life by overdosing on pills. I was feeling shitty about life in general, and about my life in particular after drinking my way through most of a fifth of Jack Daniels, when I downed whatever was left in my wife's Vicodin bottle. She had just had the script refilled a few days before, so I took a lot. I remember washing them down with the last inch of smooth Kentucky bourbon.

I lay down on the couch, and decided to rest until my suffering was all over and done with. I remember feeling blissful. I was smashed out of my gourd, and the pills started making me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I wasn't at all worried about any of that heaven and hell bullshit. I would leave that to all those religious types. My struggles were over, and I would set my body aside. If there was an afterlife, then great; if not, then that was awesome too. "Fuck it all," was my last thought, as I fell into the deep abyss.

I found no answers about the afterlife. I fell into a comatose state. My wife came in shortly after I lay down, and tried to wake me. She couldn't rouse me, and then she saw the empty pill bottle on the floor by the sofa; and she freaked the fuck out. She called 911 and within a few minutes the paramedics were at the door. Of course this information is all second hand from the ball and chain; she told me all of this in methodical detail so that I understood fully what an ordeal that I put her through. The paramedics immediately got me into the back of the ambulance, and started pumping my stomach. They intubated me, because my breathing was so shallow as to be almost non-existent. Meanwhile, I experienced the best sleep that I have had in years, free from all my problems, and knowing that I had finally laid all of my burdens down.

When I awoke, I was in the hospital, restrained to my bed. I had the worst hangover headache in history. After a couple of minutes of hollering, I got the attention of a nurse. She was a very nice, matronly lady that explained that I was a danger to myself, and that I couldn't be let out of the restraints except under the supervision of two orderlies. She said that it was after one o'clock in the morning, and that my wife had left for the night when visiting hours were over with. I thanked her, and she looked at me sideways.

"Mr. Pace, you haven't asked how you are doing. I would think that would be the big question on your mind. If the paramedics would have got to your house a couple of minutes later, you would have died."

"That was the general idea." The nurse frowned at my answer. I decided to try and be nice. There was no reason for me to be an asshole to her; she was just doing her job. "Just for laughs, how am I doing?"

"You were in a coma for the past two and a half days. Other than that, you seem to be ok. The doctors have run tests on your liver, and it seems that the extreme amount of alcohol combined with the high dosage of acetaminophen didn't permanently damage your liver. You were very lucky."

"Yeah, lucky me." She heard the sarcasm in my tone, and just decided to leave me be. She put the call button where my restrained hand could reach it, and offered to get me something mild for my headache.

The next morning my wife came and visited, but she said very little to me. She asked how I was feeling, and if I wanted her to get anything for me. After the doctors rounds they decided to release me, but not to go home. I was being committed for treatment, and observation. The doctor and my wife both said that this is exactly what I needed to "get better." I took the long ambulance ride to the Lone Pine Rehabilitation and Treatment Center, or as I call it: the Nuthouse.

The people were very nice, and very thorough. I was asked approximately three thousand questions; many of them two or three times. I stripped off my clothes, while a male staff member watched, then a male nurse gave me a rectal cavity check to make sure that I wasn't smuggling any drugs in my asshole. Now devoid of any shred of dignity, I was given a pair of bright red scrubs to wear.

I sat in the dayroom looking at my wife. She is a pretty enough lady, at least on the outside. She has shoulder length blonde hair, big beautiful blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a perfect mouth that was made for kissing. If her personality matched her looks, she would be great. I don't know how to say it exactly. She says the right things, and even does most of the stuff that a wife should do. The main problem is that her heart really isn't in it. I don't think, in her heart of hearts, that she loves me. I think she just loves the idea of me. She likes having a man around, she likes being Mrs. Pace, and she'll even dutifully have sex with me every couple of weeks, though only in missionary position. I too have played the game, even though I know that it is all a sham. I really don't even want to have sex with her anymore; I just do it to make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe I really am a bit of a bastard.

The dayroom is the place where we are allowed to visit with our families, and to have group activities, or we can just hang out there. The orderlies are always there, watching and waiting. She is the only visitor there, since visitors are usually only allowed on Tuesdays and Sundays. They let her visit today since it was my first day. I guess they thought that seeing a familiar face would help me adjust.

The dayroom had a vaulted ceiling, and was painted a cheery sky blue, with a mural of clouds parting to give a clear view of a big yellow sun. How fucking poetic. How fucking ironic. Most everyone here looked half out of it, or just plain miserable. There was a small group of people talking quietly in the corner that looked almost normal, maybe I would see if I could become friendly with them later. Being friendly probably will go a long way in getting me the fuck out of this place. I just have to tell these people what they want to hear, and play their game; and they'll let me free. Then I can go... well... I'm not really sure what will happen when I leave here; but there is one thing for sure, I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary.

My wife continued to look embarrassed, and seemed happy when I finally suggested that she should go. She promised to bring me a new pair of slippers, and a few books, and give them to the front desk tomorrow. She kissed me lightly with her bee stung lips, and then I was watching her walk away. Her absence made me feel relieved.

I looked across the room, and just on the outer edge of the semi-normal people was an absolutely stunning dark haired woman; and she was looking straight at me. She had dark hair, and huge dark eyes. She could maybe be Latina. Her hair was long, straight, and lush; despite the inadequacy of items necessary for women to make themselves up. She was genuinely naturally beautiful.

I think I might have stared at her too long while checking her out, because she gave me a smile, and her eyes darted away from mine. I guess that is when I first realized that our eyes had been locked in a steady gaze. I felt awkward, but for some reason I felt compelled to go and talk to this woman. Before I knew that it was happening, I felt my legs walking across the room toward where she sat. Her draw was magnetic, and I had no defense against her charms.

"Hi, my name is Nick." When I was in front of her, the words just spilled out. This was a very strange feeling. Maybe it was some of the new meds that they were giving me. She gave me another perfect smile. I couldn't help but marvel at how straight and white that her teeth were. She extended her hand to me, and I shook it. Her grip was strong; almost like a man's hand shake.

"Hi, Nick. My name is Carmen. Pleased to meet you. Would you like to sit down?" She indicated the comfortable, but industrial styled chair next to hers. I sat down with a grace that I rarely feel around women. "So what are you in for?" She gave it an ironic inflection. Her voice did indeed have a very slight Hispanic accent.

"Well..." I started, and paused, wondering how much I should tell her. Her smile disarmed any reservations that I might have had. "I've been depressed lately, and the other day I was drunk, and took too many pills. The nurse at the hospital said that I was lucky to have survived; and here I am."

"Well, I kind of figured that it was something like that," she pulled on her scrub top that, like mine, was bright red. "Suicide risks wear red, drug addiction patients wear blue, schizos wear green, and potentially violent patients wear purple. They are kept in another ward, though." It was the first time that I had really noticed what people were wearing. I figured that it was just random, but there was a whole system behind it.

"How about you, Carmen?" She raised her left arm, which was on the side opposite to me. I hadn't noticed the white bandage around her wrist. Between her huge brown eyes, and her smile, it was hard to notice anything else.

"I had a twin sister, Lucinda, and she died in a car accident a month ago. A drunk driver crossed into oncoming traffic, and she was hit head on, and killed instantly. I was so heartbroken. She and I had been inseparable all of our lives; we even shared an apartment together. It was like I was missing the other half of myself. I started drinking a lot, to take away the loneliness and pain. I guess I was drunk, and stupid, and I decided to join her wherever she is now. I slit my wrist with a knife from the kitchen. There was so much blood. Right after I did it I realized that it had been a mistake, and I called 911. I tried to stop the bleeding, and managed to keep pressure on it until the paramedics came. The E.R. doctor stitched me up, and shipped me here."

"Yeah, that sounds familiar. It wasn't my idea to come here either." She rested her unbandaged right hand on my arm. The touch sent shivers up my spine. It was like I caught a chill all of a sudden.

"You felt that too?" She said this with a genuine look of bewilderment. I nodded, and she rewarded me with another smile. I think this place can help you, Nick. I've been here for a week, and talking to the therapist has really helped me work out some things."

"I'm not really sure what I have to work out." I felt her grip tighten on my arm. It was a simple gesture but it was very intimate, and heartwarming.

"So why were you so depressed?" I thought about my answer before I said it. I really thought about what had brought me to this point in my life.

"I guess life just didn't turn out like I wanted it to. I was told that I should go to school, get good grades, get a good job, and marry a nice girl, and have a family. But after working two jobs to put myself through college to get my engineering degree, I feel unfulfilled. I was a good engineer, so they made me lead on projects after only being there for a few months. My co-workers resented me for being a rising star. I was offered a managerial position in the firm, so now I am a desk jockey who pushes paper, and tries to squeeze every ounce of productivity out of employees who hate me. I hate the corporate ladder climbing bullshit."

"You also mentioned marrying a nice girl and having a family. Was that pretty blonde woman that visited you Mrs. Nick?" It was my turn to smile. With that smile came a sigh.

"Yeah, that was my wife, Emily. We have no children. We went to a fertility specialist, and her conclusion is that she has endometriosis, and will probably never be able to conceive a child on her own. Our marriage was kind of rocky before, but this news seems to have made her totally withdraw from me. She seems to like being Mrs. Emily Pace. She enjoys the fancy cars, and the big house that she uses to entertain her book club; but the truth is that there is no fire between us anymore. It is like we are roommates. We share a house, and a bed, but whatever we once had is gone. That makes me very sad, but it is the truth."

"Wow," Carmen said. Her big brown eyes seemed to genuinely express sorrow for my situation. "Did she ever want to try a surrogate?"

"I suggested it, but she flatly refused. She said that any baby that wasn't carried inside of her body would never truly be hers." Her hand slid down my forearm, and into my hand. I held to her hand like it was a lifeline.

"I realize that I have only known you for maybe ten minutes, and maybe this is none of my business, but I want to give you some advice." I had sensed a 'but' coming in her sentence; however, I was curious what a fresh set of eyes would make of my problems. "My advice to you is that if you aren't happy in your current situation, then change your situation. You are a smart, handsome guy. I can tell that you are smart just by talking to you for a few minutes. If you don't like your job, look for another. Maybe you weren't meant to climb the corporate ladder. Maybe you were meant to teach, or be a software designer, or own your own business. There are a million ways to make a living in this world, and you shouldn't feel so strangled by your choices that it makes suicide seem like the only answer." She paused, but her words hit me so hard that I had nothing to say. For once in my life I was speechless.

"There is also a simple solution to your marital problems. If she doesn't make you happy, and you don't make her happy, just split up. Half of all marriages end in divorce; so you will just be in the losing half. It might cost you some of your stuff, and money that you've earned; but isn't that a small price to pay for a shot at a true and lasting love? You are young, handsome guy, and I'm sure that you won't have any trouble finding a good woman." Her hand slipped out of mine, and she ran it across my chest, feeling my tight pectorals under the red scrub shirt, and then her hand strayed down across my washboard abs. I shivered again at her touch, and her smile lit up her face like a million watt bulb. "In fact, I have half a mind to make a run at you myself. I bet I know exactly how to keep a big, strong man like you happy."

Her hand rubbed my flat stomach through the thin cotton fabric, and I felt my cock begin to rise to full attention. She was truly a beautiful woman from across the room, but sitting here close up, and talking to her made me realize just how incredible that she really was. The problem with hospital scrubs is that they are a loose fitting, thin cotton garment. These pants did absolutely nothing to hide my growing erection. Nobody was paying us any mind, as we were kind of off to the side. I put my left foot on my knee, and kind of put my hands in my lap to try to disguise it from any prying eyes. Her hand was still rubbing up and down the ridges on my stomach when she spotted it. I saw her pretty brown eyes grow huge with amazement.

"You are a BIG man. Wow. How would you like some alone time; with just you and I?" With my outlook on life so shaken by this beautiful woman's keen insight; how could I say no?

"Yes, I would like that very much, Carmen." She laughed softly.

"I can plainly see that." Her eyes danced with amusement. "I will go talk to a friend of mine, and set things up. When you calm down enough where it doesn't look like you are smuggling a summer sausage in your pants, go down to your room, and I will meet you. What number is it?" I wondered how she would get down into the male corridor, but as swollen as my little head was at this minute, I didn't much care.

"I'm in room five."

"That's perfect," she said. "When I see you go into your room, I will wait a few minutes, and then I will have my friend make the distraction." She stood up, and walked over to a mildly attractive bleached blonde on the other side of the room. I had to appreciate how her ass filled out the loose scrubs. Baby definitely had back. I was lost in the sway of her hips, and I realized that I would never lose this boner thinking about her ass and hips. I started trying to think of the most un-erotic image that I could picture. I closed my eyes, and imagined Rosie O'Donnell hula-hooping naked. Surprisingly, it worked in less than two minutes. I stood up, and walked as inconspicuously as I could to my room. I sat down on my bed, and left the door open.

In less than five minutes, Carmen hurried into my room, and shut the door. Unfortunately there was no lock on it. As she walked toward my bed, she lifted the scrub top over her head, and tossed it casually on the linoleum. As I had thought, her skin was naturally a very light brown all over. Her light brown nipples stood proudly erect from breasts that had no need of a bra to keep them perky. They weren't large, but were just right for her frame. She wasted no time while undressing. Her pants and pale yellow panties went into a pile right next to the shirt. Her body was breathtaking in the harsh light streaming in through the thin window shades. Her stomach was flat, and she had beautiful legs and hips. Her pussy looked like it might have been trimmed a few weeks before, but now there was a short growth of black hair over it.

"So, what do you think?" She asked this question with some trepidation. It is hard to undress in front of a stranger in the full light of day; without any makeup, and with no beauty aids other than a shower and a hair brush.

"You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever laid eyes on." I answered honestly, and without hesitation. I was treated to another smile, and then she hurried to the bed and pulled my shirt over my head.

"We need to be as fast, and as quiet as possible. We only have a short time until they check on the reason that this door is closed." I didn't think that fast would be a problem. I was already rock solid, and as excited as I have been about sex in years; shit, maybe ever. I nodded, and slipped my pants and boxers over my hips. She pushed me back on the bed, and straddled me.

"That is an impressive cock that you have there, Nick." She stroked it up and down with her hand, and I felt the slickness of precum on her palm. "It is both long, and thick. God sure put you together right." She grabbed the base of my cock with one hand, and slid me through her slippery wet lips several times to lubricate me. She was very excited. I could even see where her thighs were wet. She placed my head at the entrance to her pussy, and slowly shifted her weight down onto it.

She was very tight, and she made some of the sexiest moans that I had ever heard as she began to move up and down, trying to work more of my pole into her sweet little cunny. It took almost two minutes until I was in as deep as I could get inside of her. She began to move up and down with more speed, careful that she didn't do it so hard that the noise would be unmistakable. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to come to the conclusion that the noise that sounded like two bodies smacking together was in fact two people having sex.

Her breathing began to become heavier, and I could feel little twitches inside her that made me think that she was about to have an orgasm. She picked up the pace a bit for another thirty seconds, and then froze in place with my cock fully inside of her. I could feel her pussy muscles dancing as they contracted in a brutally hard orgasm. She sucked air in hard, and her breath came out in puffs. I think this was her attempt to be quiet. This lasted about forty five seconds, and then she relaxed.

12
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