He opened his eyes, wincing at the pain in his head. He pushed himself up off the floor gingerly touched just above his ear. It was wet and sticky. He looked down where he had been laid out, and saw that his head had struck the side of the coffee table when he fell. He swore that table was going to a burn pit soon if it didn't stop this nonsense. There was small, dried pool of blood where his head had been. How long had he been out?
He crawled to his knees and stood, slowly. He was shaky and felt his balance wasn't quite up to par. He wondered if he managed to give himself a concussion on top of everything else. Yeah, that would track. He managed to get to his feet and looked around at the damage. It seemed all the damage was centered on him and his poor rug.
He remembered what had happened before he blacked out and turned towards the TV, but it was off, blissfully silent and unaware of the part it had just played in his fall. He held his hand to his head and walked to the bathroom to inspect the damage. The rug might be ok, though if he ever had the police in his room, he might have some explaining to do. He flicked on the light and looked in the mirror. He had blood running down his ear and after some cursory investigation, he found a one inch gash on the side of his head, about three inches above his ear. He cleaned it up at the sink and decided it was bad, but not so bad that he was willing to spend the entire night in the emergency room. He decided he probably would have benefited from a different haircut than the short-sides, longer on top cut he had been getting for a while now. If I keep that table, he thought, I might have to grow my hair out if this kind of thing keeps happening. The first rule of furniture club. You do not talk about furniture club.
He went back out to the room and glanced at the clock above the television. Just after 11pm. Well, he knew he had spent an unexpected amount of time in an unintentional nap, but he didn't know why. Did he dream that image with the television? It was off when he woke up. Maybe he really should go to the emergency room. There might be more wrong than just a cut scalp, a non-alcohol-induced blackout, and a frightening sleep paralysis incident. He would think about it. If he did decide to go, he wanted to let himself settle down a bit before he tried to drive himself there. Plus he wanted to make sure his phone was charged because the last time he spent in the emergency room, he was there for 12 hours and it was no worse than his recent head wound.
He went to the kitchen. He still had no desire to eat anything, but he figured he better get something in his stomach considering his earlier blackout. He saw the open cabinet door where he kept the glasses and suddenly realized how thirsty he had become. This seemed like a good time for something more than water but he never kept alcohol in the house. He rarely drank, even socially, and he always thought it was a little odd to drink alone. Right now though, he wasn't sure he agreed with that sentiment any longer.
He opened the refrigerator, grabbed the carton of lemonade and started drinking right out of the container. He was too thirsty to bother with a glass, and it's not like anyone was around to be concerned about him drinking right out of the carton. He kept drinking until he had to take a breath. He put the carton down next to the pizza box. He flipped the lid and grabbed a piece, noticing that they didn't give him the pepperoni. Oh well, cheese pizza was fine for now, but he was mentioning that next time he ordered from that place. He closed the lid with his pizza free hand and put it in the refrigerator. He felt a little better after eating something. Maybe he wouldn't have to go to the ER after all.
He sat down on the sofa again and mechanically ate his pizza while he stared at the blank flat panel screen across from him. He could see a distorted reflection of himself in the screen. He put a hand to his head where he touched at the wound. It wasn't actively bleeding, and he thought he could probably avoid having to go spend hours in the emergency room. He felt a lot of relief at that decision because it was late, he was tired and wanted to go to bed, and he had little desire to leave the house, especially so late. As exhausted as he felt, he didn't really trust his capacity to drive to the hospital, and he didn't want to use one of the driving services. Being trapped in a car with some random person trying to talk to him was the last thing he wanted right now.
He leaned his head back against the sofa, his head looking towards the ceiling. He was so tired. I really need to go to bed. This day needs to be over. He leaned forward, started to stand up, and paused. What if...he thought to himself. What if I have a dream like that again? He didn't know what was happening with him. He initially blamed his dream on the poor diet choices and the emotional stress of dealing with the realization that his relationship was dead in the water. However, blacking out tonight made him think it was more than just the feelings of turmoil and despair. Something felt wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he would figure it out in the morning. He still felt anxious about the sleep paralysis, but he convinced himself that he had never had a dream repeat itself, and he had the day to acclimate himself to the loss. He knew it could take weeks, months, possibly even years before the emptiness was gone, before he could completely accept his loss, but he was resolved to never let this happen again, and that gave him enough strength to make the decision that he could face sleep tonight.