I Guess I Figured That It Hurt for a Reason

After leaving the hospital room, my emotions got the best of me. I sat in my car for two minutes trying to breathe before I pounded on my steering wheel in anger. Somehow I found that will to drive home because more than anything I needed a shower. For some reason showers were always calming and after the emotional roller coaster last night was, a shower is the only thing I want to think about right now.
But the only thing I can think about is seeing Penny hooked up to machines that beep. I almost feel selfish as I think about seeing her like that, but if I ever told her I felt that way she’d probably hit me on the back of the head and say, “You’re being stupid. Now stop that and fucking smile, will you?” She had a n aggressive way of showing her love and appreciation, but that was something I loved about her. Well, one of the many things that I loved about her.
The drive home takes so much longer than the frantic drive to the hospital at two am. I’m practically unaware of time passing as I get into the shower and let the water fall over me. My brain clears faster than I expected it to, thankfully. I focus on breathing as I wash my hair. It’s easier to not think about things that upset you when you force yourself to think about breathing.
Twenty minutes pass and I find myself climbing out of the shower and drying myself off. I pull my clothes on and sigh heavily. My reflection looks horrible. There are bags under my eyes like I’ve never seen. I look like I’m almost dead, and to be honest I feel almost dead. A wave of angers passes through me and before I know it my fist is passing through the glass of the mirror. And then again. And again. And again. And again. Four times my knuckles attack the glass and I don’t care if I’m bleeding. When I pull my fist away my knuckles are white yet covered in blood. “Fuck,” I mumble, looking around the bathroom for something to fix my hand with. I run it under the sink and put the bandage on lightly. There’s glass in the wound, naturally.
I almost forget that I have to talk to Joce. Penny thinks I’m just going to text her best friend (and my cousin) about her situation, but I have a completely different plan. Joce would rather hear it person.
I’m in my car quickly and driving to Alex and Penny’s. Her laptop is exactly where it always is: laying on her bed. If her laptop isn’t there, it’s on her desk, and it’s rarely on her desk. With her laptop safely in its case on the backseat of my Lexus, I drive for my cousin’s house. She isn’t expecting me to just show up, but I’ve shown up at her house randomly before, so it shouldn’t be that weird.
My knuckles hit her door three times before she pulls it open with a smile. “Hey!” she says, happy as ever.
“Can you come with me?” I ask.
“Whoa, shit, you sound serious. What’s wrong?” Joce has always been able to tell when something was wrong. She says it’s because she’s a Cancer.
“Uh, Penny,” is all I can manage to say.
“What about her?” Worry has crept into her voice. Shit.
“She’s in the hospital.”
“What the fuck happened? Is she okay?” She doesn’t grab a coat or anything. She just shoves a pair of keys into her pocket and locks the door behind her as we walk to my car.
“She’s okay now. But, uh, last night -- Joce, she attempted suicide.” When the words leave my mouth they become real. Hearing Alex say it was one thing, seeing her laying in the hospital bed was another, but actually saying it made it something irreversible. Something I wasn’t going to be able to fix. And I hate myself for that right now.
“She -- she what? Are you sure you’re talking about Penny? She said -- she promised -- Jack if you’re . . . .” She loses her voice when she looks over at me. I guess the pain is just that evident, huh? “No. No. That -- that can’t be -- she -- what? Jack, no. Jack. You’re lying, right? This is some stupid joke. This has to be. This isn’t real. Oh, God. Fuck. No. No. No. No no no no no. Nononono.”
“I know,” I simply mutter, not really sure of what to say. I just drive mindlessly, the route to the hospital now permanently etched into my brain. Even though my dad worked there for years, I would still get lost driving there. But now, with the girl I love lying in a bed, the path is too clear.
“Oh, shit, how’re you holding up?”
“That doesn’t really matter right now.”
“Jack, don’t fucking do that.”
“Don’t do what, huh? Don’t fucking do what?” I ask too harshly.
“Don’t fucking get distant like that. You know she’d hit you if she heard you talking like that.”
“Yeah, well she’s not here right now.”
“Jack, oh my fucking, God.”
“What?” I ask angrily, gritting my teeth.
“Stop fucking acting like that. You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m fucking blaming myself, Joce!”
“Well, stop! None of us could have done anything, okay? Knowing Penny she was probably drinking and--”
“You knew she drinks?” I cut her off. “I fucking knew she’s been drinking?”
“Yeah,” she says defensively. “Best friends tell each other stuff, y’know. What a concept, I know.”
“Joce, please don’t start with that fucking attitude. I’m not in the best mood right now.”
“If you were in a good mood I’d probably slap you.”
“Okay, look, the girl I’ve been in love with for years is currently laying in a hospital bed because she attempted suicide last night after drinking. Do you even have any what I feel right now? Do you?”
“Well, n-no.”
“Then you have no right to criticise how I feel.”
“What are you even feeling right now?” She’s just curious, but I’m just pissed.
“I’m fucking pissed. I’m so angry on so many levels. I want to punch something. I want to throw things. I want to scream until I can’t scream anymore. I feel like I’m gonna break down at any given second. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m angry and terrified and sad and I just don’t know what to do.”
“So punch something. Throw something. Scream until you can’t scream. Let it out, Jack.”
“I want to. So bad.”
Somehow we’re at the hospital and I’m pulling into the parking lot. Time flies when you’re a complete fucking mess.
“Fucking hell, Jack, what did you do to your hand?” Joce asks.
“Oh. Uh, I punched my mirror.”
“You -- you punched your mirror?”
“Yeah, I was mad. So I’ve already punched something.”
“How’s the mirror looking?”
“A lot worse than my hand.” Her laughter is surprisingly refreshing and I find myself laughing with her. A grin breaks out on my face and I almost feel betrayed by it, but it feels nice to smile after last night. It feels really nice to smile.
“You should probably get in line at the ER, okay? I’ll tell Penny you’re stupid.”
“Thanks, Joce. Where would I be without you?”
“Probably fucking dead, let’s be real.”
“Oh, Alex is up there, too.”
“Great,” she mumbles.
“Hey, cheer up.” She rolls her eyes and we make our way into the hospital. She rides the elevator up to the ICU to visit Penny and I make my way to the ER. I sit in the waiting room, bored out of my mind. Like usual, I find myself scrolling through Twitter until I hear my name called. The nurse that takes my blood pressure is kind and we make small talk.
“So what’d you do?” she finally asks.
“I punched a mirror.”
“You punched a mirror? Why?”
“Uh, I was really angry at the time.” I find myself laughing.
“The doctor’s gonna be with you soon,” she says as she drops me off in a room. I turn the TV and smile when How I Met Your Mother comes on. An episode and a half passes and the doctor finally walks in.
“Sorry that took so long,” he says. “Lots of people tonight.”
“I understand,” I say, smiling a bit. The rest of the visit is pretty boring. He thinks it’s funny that I punched a mirror but he pulls the glass out and bandages it up properly. And, finally, I’m released and making my way up to Penny. When I walk in the room, she’s alone and hunched over her laptop with her headphones on.
She looks up and grins at me. “Yo,” she says, sounding much happier than you’d expect her to sound.
“Hey,” I say, sitting down. “Where’re Joce and Alex?” A heavy sighs leaves her.
“They had to talk about something, I guess. I don’t know.”
“What have you been doing in the mean time?”
“Watching space documentaries, what else?” Her face lights up and it’s adorable, to say the least. “What have you been doing?”
I hold my hand up. “Getting my hand checked out.”
“Joce said, and I quote, “My cousin’s a fucking idiot. He’ll be here later.” What’d you do?”
“I might have punched my bathroom mirror. Four times. It looks much worse than my hand, though, I promise.”
She erupts into laughter and the sound is like music. How cliché, I know, but it’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard. Second only to her singing voice.
“Dude, why the fuck did you punch your mirror?”
“I was angry.”
“Why were you angry?”
“Um,” I mutter.
Her eyes widen in realisation. “Oh, right, yeah. Guys get mad and punch things when they’re upset.”
“Are we really that predictable?”
“You fucking bet you are.”