Thanatophobia

Momzilla

"Shh," they all said. "Keep it quiet," they begged.

"No one has to know."

I thought this was just some sort of purgatory, listening to the stretched out, slowed down, twisted around and distorted voices of my parents and their manager. As much as I would have loved for that to be true, it wasn't even close. Of course, there were other things they said, but these were the things that stuck in my mind the most.

I had a concussion. I had a dislocated shoulder, four broken ribs, a punctured lung, lacerations (20 stitches on my left leg) virtually everywhere, bruises, and a shattered hand. I was a mess, but that wasn't the problem:

The problem was I wasn't dead.

I may have had shattered, broken, twisted dislocations and punctures, but my heart was just fine. Better than fine, it was great.

My dress was trashed, just like my body.

I blamed that kid. It never occurred to me to get his name, mostly because I didn't care, but also because I figured an insignificant boy with maybe-brown eyes wouldn't matter to me after death. At least, he would matter less than he did before I died, which would be a hell of a lot of not mattering.

Being in a coma was the closest thing I had to dying, honestly. It wasn't bad. Besides the voices, I was free to do absolutely nothing for about two weeks before I opened my eyes.

"Oh my God," Sheri (my mother) breathed, when she rushed in the hospital room. The doctors called her as soon as I woke up, but she was probably at home "finishing up some work" so it took about twenty minutes for her to shuttle back up to the hospital.

I didn't bother smiling, but it made me a little happy that she was glad to see me. "You had quite a fall! What were you even doing up on the side of a cliff? Did you slip? It was raining, were you running around or something?" she asked immediately.

I pursed my lips (which proved to be a harder task than I originally thought, because my face was so stiff) and shrugged. Sheri is the most nosy person I've ever met- she could carry on an entire conversation without you speaking so much as a word. But she didn't know about the suicide. She thought I had slipped on the rocks. How much did she actually know about any of this? Obviously not much, although I wasn't making too much effort to grasp onto every word that came out of her motor-mouth. I was still feeling woozy, like I would slip back into unconsciousness any second.

That would have been the preferred option.

"And with a boy?" she continued. "Since when do you hang out with boys all of a sudden? Is he a friend? More than that? Should I be concerned? I guess I shouldn't be, since he's the reason you're alive..."

It was his fault I was still alive? That bastard. I made a mental note to ask about that later.

The nurse came to check my pulse and all that, then looked up at Sheri, who was still yammering on.

"Miss Hamilton," she said sternly, but with a hint of sweetness. "I think you're overwhelming the poor girl. She's not really in the condition to be answering questions."

Sheri bowed her head, like a kid who just got caught eating sweets before dinner. "Right, sorry," she back-pedaled. "I understand. Right."

I rolled my eyes, but they were closed so she didn't notice. There was a silence; one that was probably awkward for everyone else, but not me. I was just really, really tired.

"Your father is on his way. He's just finishing up some work," Sheri finally said.

If I had the energy, I would have finished that sentence for her. Instead, I just mumbled, "Great."

"Oh, good," she commented mostly to herself. "You're awake. Your eyes were closed so I didn't know...well...Do you need anything?"

I shrugged again. "More painkillers," I suggested. I wasn't in that much pain, but I wasn't numb. I wondered if I would be numb if I had actually died, like I had planned.

Of course, my wish was granted in minutes. For once it was almost worth it.

"Can we get some more painkillers?" Sheri asked the nurse.

"She already has enough," was the reply.

"But my daughter is in pain," Sheri countered. She was used to being told no and therefore knew all the secrets to get what she wanted. "Aren't you supposed to be helping her get better? Last time I checked, being in pain isn't 'getting better.' You're really going to deny Shelby Hamilton a couple of pain meds?"

The nurse probably just wanted to shut her up (maybe even more than I did) and disappeared to get more painkillers.

"People these days," my mother said under her breath.

Most 'people these days' typically did not like the Shelby Hamilton card to be pulled on them, I wanted to say. But I didn't want to say it as much as I wanted those meds, so I kept quiet.

By the time they got back, though, I was unconscious again- just the way I liked it.
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Do you like the layout? It took me like 2 hours, and I don't even like it that much...but it's not too bad, right?