It was not the first time I had woken up in a place had no immediate memory of getting there.
In a bed, comforters, blankets, sheets and pillows pilled high around me. It was uncomfortably hot compared to what I was used to, and I was suffocating. I threw it all off and onto the floor and cringed. My head was throbbing.

Remember, remember, what happened yesterday...

Oh. Yeah. Standing on busy New York City street corner for three hours in the rain, and almost walking in front of a speeding taxi...but I didn't.
That guy...Patrick. This...is his bedroom. His house.

I blinked, wiping sweat of my forehead. Wearing his clothes.

I swung my feet over the side of the bed and got up, crossing the room and leaving the room. I heard Patrick in the next room, on the phone I guessed. I listened for a moment.

"...yesterday, yeah. He almost walked off the street corner and right into the traffic. What? I did it because death is bad, Joe. That's crazy. What do you mean I'll witness death eventually? You're sick, you know that?"

I stepped into the room silently, waiting in the doorway. He was blissfully unaware of my presence, but I didn't mind.

Patrick paced when he was on the phone, back and forth across the small room. There was a pillow and blanket strewn across the sofa, and I realized that he had slept there that night. No one had ever sacrificed anything for me.

Patrick paused, holding the phone away from his mouth, and coughed heavily into his fist. He returned to his conversation. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's sleeping in the next room."

Patrick glanced in my direction, and took a double take. "Pete," he cried. "I didn't see you there." To the phone, he said, "Call you later," and hung up on the mysterious Joe.

"How long were you standing there?" Patrick asked, tossing the phone onto the sofa cushion.

"Just a few seconds."
"How are you feeling?"
I shrugged. "Okay."
"That's good." He coughed again.
"That...doesn't sound good."
"Yeah," he said. "I know."

A moment of awkward.

"Uhm. Can I use your bathroom?"
"What? Oh! Yeah, its in the bedroom," Patrick said sheepishly.
"Thanks."

I turned around and headed back into his bedroom. There were two identical doors, right next to each other. I blinked. "50/50 chance, I guess."
I opened the door on the right. A cluttered closet.
"Well. No toilet here."
I tried the next door.
Bingo.

Patrick's bathroom had a color theme of black and white with a bright orange floral flower curtain. I tried not to think about too much and rifled through the medicine cabinet.
The basic stuff, an ancient inhaler, dayQuill, nyQuill, cough drops, Advil, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, and what's this? Anti depressants? Patrick takes happy pills?
I picked up the plastic bottle and shook it. Only a few pills still rattled around. I placed the bottle back own and picked up the one of Advil.
'Two pills every four hours' it read. I poured about four in my palm and broke a fifth one in half. I took them two a time. Dry.

A splashed some water on my face and while I dried it with a towel, I spy with my little eye, Patrick lurking outside the door. His turn to be a creeper, I guess.
I opened the door wider, catching him red-handed. He had a guilty look on his face.
"Let's end this now," I said cooly.
"S-sorry."
"Don't apologize. I shouldn't have been all Shady McSketchy pants and eavesdropped. I guess that gives you some right to watch me in the bathroom..."
Patrick blushed deeply.
"Nevermind. That sounds REALLY weird..."
I trailed off into one of those awkward silences.

I looked at Patrick and folded my arms. "Why did you save me yesterday? I obviously didn't try to get run over on accident, and you knew that. So why stop me?"
"I don't like....sad things." That was a lie. And he knew I knew.
"Says the kid who takes happy pills."
His head snapped up. "You had no right to look through my stuff!"
"You had no right playing God, deciding who can and cannot live."
"I did no such thing! I fucking saved your life and brought you to my house, a stranger for that matter. I didn't know someone could be so ungrateful."
I glared at him. He totally had me though.
"Why did you try to kill yourself?"
"Why are you on happy pills?"
More glaring. My head really hurt. Stupid Advil.
Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but was me t with more coughing. A lot of it. His face turned all red. I felt like I had to do something, but I didn't know what. He wasn't choking or anything.
After a minute, the coughing ceased. Patrick raised a hand to his head. "I...I gotta sit down."