Young Writers Society

So here I am again; King County General Hospital. It's been only about a month since I awoke in room 309, right down the hall. Still, it seems so much longer. Everything is different now. I'm so different now.

Sometimes I hardly recognize myself when I walk past my reflection in shop windows. Sure, I look more or less the same. My hair's a bit longer and I've been wearing more makeup than usual, but something deeper has occurred. My eyes aren't the same as they were, dull and sad. The smile I've come to expect is foreign. A long forgotten friend who has finally returned.

But, today isn't one of those days.

I look down at Zain, laying beneath the crisp sheets of his bed. Tears pool beneath my eyelids.

'It's your fault.' My conscious screams. 'It should have been you.'

I wipe the droplets away as they stream down my cheeks.

I yearn to run into the restroom, and give myself that metal release. I can feel my grip on myself slipping. Just the thought drags in even more guilt. My brain is clouded with all the thoughts I should never have. Every mistake is suddenly apparent and amplified. My face is drenched in liquefied regret. I don't know if I could get rid of these thoughts, but I won't try. I allow them to consume me. I'd rather be eaten alive by them, than to return to the dreadful reality of my friend laying beside me, battered and broken.

I just wish I could go back.

Back to after.

It's rather ironic, I think, how all of this started where I'd tried to end it. If I'd never put that blade to my wrist, would any of it ever have happened? I'm compelled to wonder if I'd known, would I still have done it? Would I still ink the knife into my forearm, severing my veins, fully aware of the outcome?

Knowing me, yeah, I probably would have.

But regardless of my ignorance to the future, I did. So, I'll start there.

I woke up, my head reeling with the stench of sickness and bleach hanging in the air. It never matters how much the janitors try to scrub that smell away, the scent of death always lingers. My stomach turned as I breathed it deep into my lungs.

My neck was sore from laying at a bad angle, and there was a dull ringing in my ears. I tested my limbs, stretching to see if they still worked. They did, but my newly discovered stitches tugged at my skin, sending a raw pain up to my elbows.

I bit my bottom lip, and squeezed my eyes tight until the hurt had passed. My arms were hot beneath their bandaging, and I had to fight the urge to check them for blood. I was too afraid to move again, knowing the possible pain.

My eyelids fluttered and a single droplet trickled from the corner of my eye. My vision was beginning to clear, giving me a better view of the sand-colored ceiling fan, spinning slowly about my bed.

The ringing was beginning to subside and I could vaguely make out the sound of my father's voice.

"Yeah, Mom." He said. "Everything's all right." I looked over at him, barely in my periphery as he sat on the couch against the wall. My mother sat beside him, though she wasn't responding to him.

"I'll let you know when she wakes up." He continued as he stared down at his shoes. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and I noticed the cell phone in his other.

I glanced at my mother, silently sobbing. Her body seemed lifeless. She didn't move, in fact she barely breathed.

'Is that how I looked when they found me?' I wondered.

I would have killed to know what was going through her head as she sat there, staring into the depths of nothingness. But, I was sure I would never know. Mom and I had never gotten along. Let alone actually talked.

"Love you too, Mom." My dad said, recapturing my attention. "Bye." He tapped the touch screen of his BlackBerry and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. I strained my eyes to watch as he writhed his trembling hands. He let his face rest in his palms and soon the rest of his body began to shake.

He looked up at the sound of the door handle turning, and my eyes shot closed.

'Don't be a nurse.' I prayed silently. I wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of my survival. I peaked though one of my eyes at the door, and was relieved to see my nephew toddling inside with my sister Alex just behind him.

I closed my eyes with the click of the door latching back into place. I decided pretending to be asleep was my best bet, so I tried to stay as still as I could.

"Dad?" I heard Alex say, her voice soft as always. "Are we going to stay here all night? Leo's already getting fussy." I wondered how late it would be by that time. It would have to be at least midnight.

"I'll take you home if you want." I had to strain to hear him, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "Your mother's going to stay with Storm." My muscles tensed at the notion.

'Oh great.' I thought, sarcastically. 'Now they're just trying to torture me."

The room grew near silent for a few minutes, all except for the sound of Alex gathering her things. Leo mumbled sleepy protests as his mother picked him up.

"Ready?" Dad asked.

"Yeah." With her reply, he pushed himself up from the couch, causing the foux leather to rub noisily against itself.

I listened closely as their footsteps softened and the handle on the door began to turn. Suddenly, the sound stopped and I heard my sister sigh.

"Is Storm gonna' be okay?" she asked, then added a sharp, "Really?" I could almost feel their eyes looking me over as I laid there.

"Physically, yes." My dad responded with a seemingly too professional tone. But I suppose any doctor would be the same way. "Mentally..." His voice trailed off.

"Can't you pull some strings and make sure she doesn't end up locked up somewhere?" Alex prodded. I took in a sharp breath at the thought. It hadn't even occurred to me that I may be sent to a mental hospital.

"Your sister is going to have to be treated, Honey. At least, if we want her to get better." I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand. I couldn't bare to listen, but nor could I tune it out.

"What about therapy?" Her voice was sharp, but seemed so pitiful. My chest felt heavy as she defended me. "You can't just sent her to some nut house, Dad. All that's gonna do is make things worse."

"Alex," She cut him off.

"This is just as much out fault as hers!" She was almost shouting.

"Shush." He tried to quiet her. "I can make sure she only has to do out-patient treatment. Her doctor is a good friend of mine. But regardless, we won't know anything until she wakes up." Alex was sniffling, and I had to resist opening my eyes. I could hear Leo fussing in his mother's arms.

"I know." Her voice was trembling. "But still..."

"Come on." Dad said and shut the door behind them. Their footsteps trailed down the hall and soon disappeared.

I laid there, unsure of what to do now. Then, my mother let out a long sigh.

"I know you're awake, Storm."