Sorry I'm late. Here's my submission.
My girlfriend broke up with me in September of that year and I was sick for a week. On the second day I crawled into the bathroom and lay on the floor. The linoleum cool on my hot cheeks. I slept there between heaves. I drank water from my cupped hands because I couldn't get back to the kitchen for a glass.
At the end of the weekend I heard a pounding on the front door, through the floor, in my skull.
"Come in," I whispered to the bath mat.
The neighbors had called the cops. The walls in my building vibrate with sound like wax paper, so they must have heard me gagging and gasping. I think I even cried. I lived in that neighborhood, you know, next to the rent-by-the-week motel, so they probably thought I'd OD'd on something.
I rode to the hospital in an ambulance.
"I wish I could see you at home with softer hands and a harder face." A whisper in my ear.
I opened my yes and turned my head to see a nurse's backside as she left the room. My throat hurt.