I Was Just Looking For A Way Out...
Chapter 25
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask Jeremiah as I catch up to him. His face is pallid and afraid.
“Just wait.” He says running down the somewhat narrow hospital hallway, only slightly out of breath, yet his eyes are watering like he’s been running for miles out in the cold.
He stops dead… like the noise at the scene, and the girl on the ground.
They’ve got her handcuffed in the corner; she’s not struggling, just crying. The girl on the ground, her head is split open and there’s a broken plastic knife next to it. It’s Emily’s girlfriend, Taylor, the chubby girl that never talked much. Emily is the one in handcuffs, the one sobbing violently, or at least as violently as possible with your hands behind your back.
It’s not like the movies, there’s no yellow caution tape, nobodies yelling for the slowly gathering crowd to leave; there are just 2 male orderlies standing in front of Emily, while another, rather shakily, calls the police. The two orderlies guarding Emily are stone faced though, solemn to the occasion.
The blood, silently pooling out of Taylor’s head, inches it’s way closer unnoticed. Some reaches my shoes, and Jeremiah’s socks, the blue hospital slipper socks, that I’d be to self conscious to be caught dead in, with the grippey bottoms so old people don’t fall. A huge wave of nausea rolls over me when the goopy red ocean hits the stupid furry socks.
It just looks way to much like Jello.
Now I’m throwing up. Heave after heave of breakfast and lunch splashes into her blood, slopping yellow onto red, but for some reason not mixing. I don’t even know why I’m throwing up, it’s like I know it’s not such an illogical thing to do, but I’m disgusted or anything, just nervous, like my parents just found out I have a D or something.
When I finally finish, a nurse walks me back to my room. She tells me to take a shower, to throw my clothes into the biohazard bin in the hall. She says that everything will be okay, comforting, like a mom would say. She tells me that she has to go, but it will all be okay. She rubs my back, then she leaves.
And now I’m alone, but I can’t think straight like I usually do. I fell that nervous tingle and nauseous wave build up in my throat again and I run to bathroom. I throw up and then brush my teeth.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real.
I shower like the nurse told me, put my clothes in the bin too. Even after the shower I feel dirty, it’s not like I’m scrubbing Taylor’s imaginary blood of my hands or anything, it just feels like went to the bathroom and forgot to wash my hands.
I barely even knew the chick, I just knew her compared to all the other people in here… but there was just so much blood. It wasn’t like cutting in the shower, where everything washes down the drain, or seeing someone’s bone go through their skin…. There was just so much blood.
I lay down, but I don’t sleep. I don’t do anything but stare at the ceiling and wait for Jeremiah. As fucked up as it sounds, it kind of feels better when something that would be widely considered traumatic just happened. It’s like I finally have a reason to want to die, you know? Finally it’s not just me being a whiney little bitch, I’ve got a reason.
Laying on my bed, waiting for Jeremiah, day comes, but even as the sun rises he doesn’t show up.
“Just wait.” He says running down the somewhat narrow hospital hallway, only slightly out of breath, yet his eyes are watering like he’s been running for miles out in the cold.
He stops dead… like the noise at the scene, and the girl on the ground.
They’ve got her handcuffed in the corner; she’s not struggling, just crying. The girl on the ground, her head is split open and there’s a broken plastic knife next to it. It’s Emily’s girlfriend, Taylor, the chubby girl that never talked much. Emily is the one in handcuffs, the one sobbing violently, or at least as violently as possible with your hands behind your back.
It’s not like the movies, there’s no yellow caution tape, nobodies yelling for the slowly gathering crowd to leave; there are just 2 male orderlies standing in front of Emily, while another, rather shakily, calls the police. The two orderlies guarding Emily are stone faced though, solemn to the occasion.
The blood, silently pooling out of Taylor’s head, inches it’s way closer unnoticed. Some reaches my shoes, and Jeremiah’s socks, the blue hospital slipper socks, that I’d be to self conscious to be caught dead in, with the grippey bottoms so old people don’t fall. A huge wave of nausea rolls over me when the goopy red ocean hits the stupid furry socks.
It just looks way to much like Jello.
Now I’m throwing up. Heave after heave of breakfast and lunch splashes into her blood, slopping yellow onto red, but for some reason not mixing. I don’t even know why I’m throwing up, it’s like I know it’s not such an illogical thing to do, but I’m disgusted or anything, just nervous, like my parents just found out I have a D or something.
When I finally finish, a nurse walks me back to my room. She tells me to take a shower, to throw my clothes into the biohazard bin in the hall. She says that everything will be okay, comforting, like a mom would say. She tells me that she has to go, but it will all be okay. She rubs my back, then she leaves.
And now I’m alone, but I can’t think straight like I usually do. I fell that nervous tingle and nauseous wave build up in my throat again and I run to bathroom. I throw up and then brush my teeth.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real.
I shower like the nurse told me, put my clothes in the bin too. Even after the shower I feel dirty, it’s not like I’m scrubbing Taylor’s imaginary blood of my hands or anything, it just feels like went to the bathroom and forgot to wash my hands.
I barely even knew the chick, I just knew her compared to all the other people in here… but there was just so much blood. It wasn’t like cutting in the shower, where everything washes down the drain, or seeing someone’s bone go through their skin…. There was just so much blood.
I lay down, but I don’t sleep. I don’t do anything but stare at the ceiling and wait for Jeremiah. As fucked up as it sounds, it kind of feels better when something that would be widely considered traumatic just happened. It’s like I finally have a reason to want to die, you know? Finally it’s not just me being a whiney little bitch, I’ve got a reason.
Laying on my bed, waiting for Jeremiah, day comes, but even as the sun rises he doesn’t show up.
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Sooooooooo melodramatic aha :PBut hey, there's a time for honest effort, and there's a time to drunkenly realize you've stopped caring about the story XD