I'm at Home in the Clouds

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Make it stop. Please, please make it stop.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Bop, bibbity, boom.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I didn't... it wasn't, not me...

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyes flutter open, my breathing haggard. My first thought is my stomach feeling queasy from the pills. What pills? I didn't take any... hospital. I'm in the hospital. What happened? What did I do this time? I don't...

"Kaylie?" A firm arm settles on my shoulder. It rubs my shoulder for a minute, calling my name. I'm being called and slowly I come out of my daze and blink. I stop staring at the wall and look over. It's Kathy. "Good Morning," she offers, sitting down beside me. "They called me over, said you'd be coming out of it soon. I've been here for ten minutes." She pauses for a sympathetic smile. "You were off again."

"Off?" My throat hurts and I wince, painfully swallowing. Off... 'Off' is our term for when my brain 'short-circuits' or something and I just stop... I just stop. Nothing really registers. I stop what I'm doing- it's like I freeze up, or time freezes. Sometimes it lasts a minute, sometimes it lasts for hours... I drag in a deep breath. "Why am I... here?" I ask weakly my nerves rattled.

"What do you remember last?" She asks soothingly, settling her hand over my own. Her brown eyes latch onto my own, waiting observantly. "The last thing before you turned up here?"

Licking my lips, I try to think. Where was I? She's taught me how to go back. The place... I was in the field, that's the place. I was in Chris's field... he was there as well. But then... my stomach churns, pieces slowly beginning to fall into place. I take a sharp inhale and look down guiltily. "Chris."

"Chris?" She frowns, not understand. "Who's Chris?"

She doesn't know. Gingerly I pull my hand out from hers, fiddling with the starched sheets. "Chris Drew," I whisper hoaresely. "He... he was my friend. A real friend," I add. "I... I met him here a while ago. He was coming to see his cousin with a broken leg... he plays the guitar," I continue, not looking at her. I'm scared of what she'll think. "And then he left."

"He.... left?"

"I told him."

"He didn't... know before?" She frowns slightly, trying to understand. "You met a normal boy and then you told him your problem?"

Problem, that's what she calls it.

I nod slowly. "Yes." And now he's going to tell everyone. They'll lock me up and laugh at me and hurt me and hate me and kill me eventually, that's what. I grab the covers close with a shaky breath. I can't hide anywhere, can I?

You can run but you can't hide.

"Kaylie." She interrupts the voice. My eyes unfocused, I turn my head towards her. She grabs my face between her hands, making me blink and look back. "You ran into traffic two days ago," she says sternly. "You broke your leg and had a severe concussion. They've had you on strong doses of drugs to keep you from waking up because of your condition."

Because they're scared of me, that's it. That's what it's all about. Cripple me and kill me, that's it.

Kathy is still talking. "Your family is preparing for the funeral today, and if you'd like, you're allowed to go. Do you want to go?" She raises her eyebrow. "You're well enough to leave, after all."

She lets go, sitting back down comfortably in her seat. She has it easy, doesn't she? Tell me what to do, get paid, and leave. That's all they do. My heart thuds loudly in my chest, echoing my harsh and confused thoughts. My eyes wander down to my legs, seeing the right one oovered in a cast. I bring my hand to my head and there's a bandage on my forehead.

"I want to leave," I whisper. I want to leave everything.

You want to die.

But she doesn't completely understand or know everything, I know. Kathy stands and nods. "You'll have a quick check up and I'll call your mother to pick you up," she promises. "Now just rest easy, okay?" She pats my shoulder softly before stepping out..

My cast is white. I didn't want the wheel chair so they showed me how to use crutches. I stand next to the now closed coffin, staring through bleary eyes. I wear an old black dress of mine and a rainboot on the left foot. My hair is only pulled back. But the white cast seems to stand out. It makes me hate myself.

He left you on purpose.

No. He's the only one whoever believed in me.

It's hard, fighting this voice. Harder without someone else to help me with it. Does he know? Maybe he does. Probably- it makes everything so much more easy then, right?

People mistake my sobs for grief. Mother even puts a hand on my back, calling it comfort. It's the most she's touched me in a while, but it sears my skin like fire. I have to step away, retaliating from everyone's touch. There are many people here, even some who try to talk to me- but I can't take it. I don't know them. I doubt they know me. I am no one, just a disease.

They all come after to our house, and it makes me sick. I hurry upstairs to be alone. All those people terrify me and it reminds me of the anxiety attacks I would have as a child when I would have to go to school. That's what started everything. The panic attacks, all those voices...

I sit in the empty bathtub, shuddering. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

Then don't.