City of Delusion
Part Fourteen
“You’re mine. Remember that,” he commanded.
“No.”
“What?” Paul yanked my hair, forcing me to look up at him.
“I said no,” I repeated.
“Hmm… maybe you shouldn’t have said that,” I looked over and saw myself standing there, studying the situation. I looked back at Paul and saw that he was frozen in his position. I looked back over at my judgmental self and sighed.
“What would you have suggested?”
She walked over to me and studied us, looking at me. “You should have just stayed with the guy. He’s troubled.”
“More like trouble,” another me walked out of the bedroom, frowning. “You should never have run away from your problems, run away from Patrick. Everything would be fine if you hadn’t.”
“Psh… boring is more like it,” me #1 crossed her arms and shook her head. “At least Paul is exciting and not a pussy like Patrick. He’s in a fucking emo band.”
“They’re not emo!” me #2 exclaimed, crossing the room to number one. “Take it back!” she screamed, jabbing her finger into #1’s chest. She simply rolled her eyes.
“Pop-rock, excuse me. The stupidest of all genres.”
Suddenly, they were in a catfight and time had started for me again. Paul threw me against into the glass table and all my other selves could think of was their stupid argument. I watched them continue their fight meanwhile Paul began his cursing tirade. I closed my eyes and welcomed the darkness, still hearing their flurry of voices.
“There’s still time to fix this…”
I opened my eyes at the unfamiliar voice and saw myself again, except younger. She smiled, “There’s still hope for happiness.”
I stared at her, wondering if she was lying to make me feel better. I tried to speak, but couldn’t muster the strength. I closed my eyes instead and listened to my breathing slow.
“Miss…”
Someone began shaking me, but I knocked their arm away. “Leave me alone. There’s no hope anymore, I’m dying.”
“Miss! You’re not dying.”
I opened my eyes and saw a strange face hovering over me. I blinked a few times, trying to make the image clear. The woman’s face relaxed as I squinted at her, a clipboard appearing in my line of vision, where she scribbled some things down. I sighed and tried to scratch an itch on my head, only to bring along a network of wires. I stared at them for a bit, before sitting up and looking around. The drab walls and humming machines said it all. I was in a hospital.
“Wha-”
“Do you remember anything that happened to you today?” the woman, who, with the scrubs she was wearing, was obviously a nurse asked me. I tried to focus, my memories of the day coming back fuzzy.
“Umm… a little bit. Not really… is that bad?”
“Do you remember your name?” she continued, scribbling my response onto her clipboard. I nodded.
“Yeah, Joanna Robles… well, technically Morales. I’m married, so my last name is Morales…” I trailed off. The nurse gave me a quizzical look, but wrote something down anyway.
“How did I get here?”
“In the hotel you were staying at, someone said they heard commotion coming from the hallway and opened their door to see you trying to claw your way out of your room. They called the front desk, who in turn called the police to investigate. They found you unconscious in a pool of your own blood.” she studied the machines around me and went back to scribbling. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“My h- husband…” I muttered, looking up at the nurse. “Does anyone know I’m here? Was anyone contacted?”
“No, we didn’t know who to contact. Is there someone you’d like us to call?”
“Yes, my friend. His name is Patrick Stump, but I’m not quite sure what his number is. Umm… I know that he and his band, Fall Out Boy, are recording at a studio, but I don’t know where.”
The nurse raised an eyebrow, but her pen continued to move. “I’ll see what we can do.” She left and I sighed, laying back and falling asleep.
“No.”
“What?” Paul yanked my hair, forcing me to look up at him.
“I said no,” I repeated.
“Hmm… maybe you shouldn’t have said that,” I looked over and saw myself standing there, studying the situation. I looked back at Paul and saw that he was frozen in his position. I looked back over at my judgmental self and sighed.
“What would you have suggested?”
She walked over to me and studied us, looking at me. “You should have just stayed with the guy. He’s troubled.”
“More like trouble,” another me walked out of the bedroom, frowning. “You should never have run away from your problems, run away from Patrick. Everything would be fine if you hadn’t.”
“Psh… boring is more like it,” me #1 crossed her arms and shook her head. “At least Paul is exciting and not a pussy like Patrick. He’s in a fucking emo band.”
“They’re not emo!” me #2 exclaimed, crossing the room to number one. “Take it back!” she screamed, jabbing her finger into #1’s chest. She simply rolled her eyes.
“Pop-rock, excuse me. The stupidest of all genres.”
Suddenly, they were in a catfight and time had started for me again. Paul threw me against into the glass table and all my other selves could think of was their stupid argument. I watched them continue their fight meanwhile Paul began his cursing tirade. I closed my eyes and welcomed the darkness, still hearing their flurry of voices.
“There’s still time to fix this…”
I opened my eyes at the unfamiliar voice and saw myself again, except younger. She smiled, “There’s still hope for happiness.”
I stared at her, wondering if she was lying to make me feel better. I tried to speak, but couldn’t muster the strength. I closed my eyes instead and listened to my breathing slow.
“Miss…”
Someone began shaking me, but I knocked their arm away. “Leave me alone. There’s no hope anymore, I’m dying.”
“Miss! You’re not dying.”
I opened my eyes and saw a strange face hovering over me. I blinked a few times, trying to make the image clear. The woman’s face relaxed as I squinted at her, a clipboard appearing in my line of vision, where she scribbled some things down. I sighed and tried to scratch an itch on my head, only to bring along a network of wires. I stared at them for a bit, before sitting up and looking around. The drab walls and humming machines said it all. I was in a hospital.
“Wha-”
“Do you remember anything that happened to you today?” the woman, who, with the scrubs she was wearing, was obviously a nurse asked me. I tried to focus, my memories of the day coming back fuzzy.
“Umm… a little bit. Not really… is that bad?”
“Do you remember your name?” she continued, scribbling my response onto her clipboard. I nodded.
“Yeah, Joanna Robles… well, technically Morales. I’m married, so my last name is Morales…” I trailed off. The nurse gave me a quizzical look, but wrote something down anyway.
“How did I get here?”
“In the hotel you were staying at, someone said they heard commotion coming from the hallway and opened their door to see you trying to claw your way out of your room. They called the front desk, who in turn called the police to investigate. They found you unconscious in a pool of your own blood.” she studied the machines around me and went back to scribbling. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“My h- husband…” I muttered, looking up at the nurse. “Does anyone know I’m here? Was anyone contacted?”
“No, we didn’t know who to contact. Is there someone you’d like us to call?”
“Yes, my friend. His name is Patrick Stump, but I’m not quite sure what his number is. Umm… I know that he and his band, Fall Out Boy, are recording at a studio, but I don’t know where.”
The nurse raised an eyebrow, but her pen continued to move. “I’ll see what we can do.” She left and I sighed, laying back and falling asleep.