I Guess I Figured That It Hurt for a Reason

The hallway was long with white walls and a light blue tiled pattern on the floor. The lights were all too bright for the patients but the personnel needed them to see what exactly was wrong with who they were treating. The nurses leaning over the bed were frantically working as they pushed her into a hospital room. The bandages they were using to cover the girl’s wrists were already soaked in her blood and those weren’t the only injuries they had to treat. She had a stomach full of godknowswhat that needed to be pumped in an attempt to saved the young brunette.
One of the nurses noticed all of the thin white lines on the girl’s upper thighs, indicating a history of self-destructive behaviour that they would never be able to understand. All they knew was that this girl was being rushed around the hospital as they decided what to do first with her. Bandage the wrists well enough or pump her stomach? The question was thrown around at least five times before the on-call emergency doctor rushed her to get her stomach pumped. He had seen his fair share of nasty things, but seeing a girl this young with such horrible things happening to her made him almost sick.
After making sure her stomach was pumped of any harmful contents, they got her into a room to begin stitching up her wrists. The doctor noticed so many things about her: her fingers and toes were in horrible shape. Her cuticles were torn and there seemed to be dried blood on some of her toes. Her big toes had ingrown toenails, and they look to be almost forced. Her upper thighs were covered in thin white line scars, none of them too deep but just deep enough. It was evident to him that she had a violent history, but there was nothing he could do about it. The girl was over eighteen, if just barely.
Hours passed and the doctor was sure that she was safe for the night. Finally, he decided it was okay to let someone fall asleep on the window couch in her ICU room to keep an eye on her. The person who occupied the tiny space was a six foot tall man with pain deeply etched into his eyes. He cared about this girl and no one would understand how deeply he cared for her. He found it so hard to sleep with the constant beeping filling the room when all he wanted to do was sit next to her and read her favourite book aloud though he knew there was no way she would be able to hear him when she was asleep like this.
Another few hours passed and he was awake again, unsure of how he even fell asleep. He pulls out his phone and begins to scroll through his contacts to find the only other person who needed to be here in this hospital room with this one girl. Once he found his best friend’s name he quickly texted him about the situation. His best friend showed up within thirty minutes. He stood at six foot two with mostly black but a little bit blond hair. When he saw the girl laying in the bed tears came to his eyes and he so badly wanted to run around and kick things and throw things and maybe punch a brick wall and cry out in pain.
As the first man fell asleep on the window couch, the second one sat in a chair and finally sleep stole him away in the tiny hours of the morning that mean too much to so few. Maybe in the morning when they both woke up this very specific girl would not be here. Maybe in the morning when they both woke up she would be okay and in her bed and asleep and okay. But when they wake up the next morning she is not okay and she is not her in bed and she is still asleep but she is not okay.