Blood seeped from the incision on my upper thigh. I could barely feel my body as it went into shock. The twenty plus Vicodin I had taken earlier was suppressing my senses and in turn, sending them reeling. My vision doubled, then tripled, until it transformed into a kaliedascope image as I stared at my self-inflicted gore. My senses were so off-kilter that I couldn’t even tell if my heart was still beating or if I was breathing. I raised my blade-wielding hand and slid the pearing knife unevenly across my wrist; my shaking now dominating my will power.
The blood flowed from my wound as if it wasn’t my life source, but merely water. I raised my left hand, while I still could, and picked up the blade again. Then, as I could barely pick up the knife, let alone cut with it, I stabbed the ragged metal into the hide below my right palm; I pierced all the way through. The knife was impaled in the laminated tiles, so my wrist was stuck to the ground.
I felt myself drifting away from my body, my life; within I rejoiced. Sslowly, I picked up a slim piece of paper off of my knee, using all the strangth I had left, and placed it on my tongue. I could no longer move, for my nerves were shot, and my body was dying. I watched the crimson droplets roll through the crevices in my skin and drift like snowflakes to the bathroom floor.
A loud “BANG” noise filled my ears, as if a grenade had been set off right next to me; I couldn’t identify where it had come from. Then I heard a familiar voice.
“Raveni! Raveni! Raveni, Goddamnit! Open this fucking door right now!”
Though as I listened, his voice turned into one of a monster. My beloved brother’s voice was now a deep rumble within the throat of a demon. I closed my eyes slowly; then quickly opened them. I screamed. A giant Pac-Man figure was in front of me and it kept chomping its mouth at me, as if I was a ghost on his little video game. My scream came out of my mouth sounding like a cat’s “meow” instead of a cry for help. I moved my hand to the side, having forgotten that it was rooted in place and purple and blue stars filled my vision as a weird vibration was sent shooting up my arm.
I was sitting on Saturn’s purple ice rings, collecting falling stars in my pockets. When I tried to get up, my vision went black for what seemed like a long time. Suddenly, I was on a dance floor where there were a lot of banging noises and I was surrounded by faceless figures that danced erotically. I turned and took one step forward and fell into a bathtub. It was the claw-footed bathtub from “The Nightmare Before Christmas” and was being carried around by little masked fiends.
When I looked up, Stefan, my twin, my other half, was in the tub with me and was holding me. His lips kept moving, but no words came out and finally couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. As vibration after vibration coursed through my entire body, I fell into a deep sleep.
I woke to the sound of hospital machines beeping at me; mocking my existence, for I had survived. Even though I had combined three different methods of suicide, my heart was still beating. I opened my eyes to find Stefan there, holding my hand, asleep at the end of the hospital bed. My eyes throbbed with exhaustion and I kept seeing little blue and purple dots in my peripheral vision, but I ignored them and tried to carefully get up without waking Stefan. He stirred as I moved, but he didn’t wake.
I slipped my legs over the left side of the bed and tried to stand up. I screamed as a lightning shock of pain rippled through my entire body. I collapsed to the cold floor. I couldn’t see the pain was so intense. All I could feel was shivers of agony and the ice cold ground beneath me. My senses were overwhelmed with the smell of bleach and blood. I didn’t know where either smell was coming from, but it was too strong for me to handle.
Somewhere in the background, I could hear Stefan yelling for a nurse. When she finally came in, I was gasping for air, but every breath felt like a stab wound to the chest. She called in the doctor, screaming for assistance. What’s her deal? Why is she freaking out? I thought to myself. Stefan was crying and he was holding me. When the doctor pushed him away from me, he was covered in blood; new and old. I looked down at my nearly naked body. I screamed bloody murder because that is exactly what I looked like: a blood soaked, slashed apart, murder victim.
Every inch of my body had deep gouges in its skin and every stitch had come undone when I had stood up. I couldn’t look any longer, so I closed my eyes and I fell into a blood red oblivion.
The days passed slowly and I slept through most of them. In fear of seeing my body and how deformed it was now, I very rarely opened my eyes, even when I was awake. Surprisingly, even though I was horrified of my new appearance, with each passing day my urge to cut, to slice through my ragged skin, grew stronger. I held it contained for two weeks. Then…it just became too much…after HE came to see me…
On my fifteenth day of recovery in the hospital, HE, my father, the cause of my need to die, came to visit me. Stefan was sitting next to me as he usually did and we were talking. I heard the door open and Stefan’s eyes turned nearly black with such rage, I didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
“Stefan, leave now. Me and dear Raven have some things to talk about.”
Stefan didn’t budge. He gripped my hand tighter and then his eyes widened in horror. I looked to see what had caught him off guard. Father had pulled back the coat he was wearing, showing off a glistening piece of metal. A pistol with a silencer on it was hidden in his waistband.
“Stefan, now don’t make me hurt you.” Father said calmly, as if threatening his own son was nothing to fret about.
I begged him with my eyes to leave. His eyes shone with tears but he did as I wished and left. Father locked the door behind him and closed the curtains. He smiled at me with his wickedly white teeth. I wanted to press the ASSIST button to call for a nurse, but I didn’t want Stefan to pay for my actions.
Father sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand along my cheek. I refused to cry. His hand traveled down my cheek to my neck, then even lower to my breast. He groped my breasts and pinched my nipples trying to get a sound out of me. I denied him this pleasure, as I always did.
He got angry. He slid his other hand up my thigh and started to touch me. His fingernails cut me, but he liked it rough. Then his fingers were inside me. It hurt. I wanted to scream in pain, but then his lips were on mine and he was kissing me as he pushed further in. He brought my hand to his pants and I knew what he wanted. I refused to do it. He punched me in the stomach and tried again. As I did as he bid he squeezed more inside me and I started to cry. For twenty minutes this lasted, until he finished. He zipped up his pants, washed his hands and unlocked the door and left. That was the beginning of the end.
The next day, my mind became nonexistent and all I could do was act. After eleven at night, I acted on my urges. As soon as my most recent checkup was over, I ripped the IV out of my arm and dug into my already gouged wrist with the plastic and took out all the stitches. I reopened every cut I could before I became too light-headed to comprehend what I was doing anymore. My machines didn’t register what had happened for at least 10 minutes. After those ten minutes my heartbeat rate reduced drastically.
The machine started to scream its alarm and I was drifting over my body looking down at a girl I used to know, who was dying, for
real this time. I watched as doctors and nurses alike rushed in and tried to assist me, but they were too late. I was gone. I drifted around the hospital, found Stefan crying and shaking in the
waiting lobby, gave him a mental hug and kiss, and whispered “I love you and I am sorry…” Then I drifted into a red haze that I knew was the entrance to Hell.
© Copyright 2016 Haven Degas. All rights reserved.
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