The Aftermath

This gash just doesn’t seem to be healing. I feel like it’s still just as wide open as the night it was cut. The pain is still there. Not the physical pain, but emotional. Do you know how much pain you have to be in to want this to happen? Do you understand how much of a dearth of happiness you have to have in order to want to do this to yourself? This onslaught in my head just doesn’t stop. Every bad thing anyone’s ever said to me or that I’ve ever thought about myself is there, just bouncing around in my head until I slowly go insane.

So now here I am, sprawled out on my bed, my head hanging off of it. I’m staring at the doorway to the bathroom, glaring at the tan carpet, now mottled with red from Tony carrying me downstairs as the ambulance neared.

“Hey Jess?” Tony said quietly from what sounded like the doorway. “I’ve gotta change your bandage.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t have the strength to. I wished I could just saunter out of here and be strong enough to change my own bandage. I mean, I made the mess so I should clean it up, right?

But I can’t. I can’t even pick my head up, much less look at the proof that yes, I did try to kill myself. I wanted to leave this earth so badly I tried to do it myself. I can’t look that in the face because I’m weak. So, so weak.

“Come on, Jess. You know I have to,” his gravelly voice spoke again.

“I don’t want to get up,” I mumbled, barely audible due to my parched throat.

He must’ve heard it though because I heard a sad sigh, then footsteps retreating down the hall. I knew I didn’t get rid of him that easily. He probably just went to get the stuff so he could change it in here.

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard him come back and the weight shifted on the bed, signalling he’d sat down. He rested near my thigh, where my arm was laying face-up. Delicately, he lifted my wrist and placed my forearm in his lap. Ever so gently he began unwrapping the gauze, revealing my gnarled flesh.

Slowly I began to sit up, Tony realizing quickly and grabbing my other hand to help me up. He smiled gently at me before going back to work on my arm. He used an alcohol wipe to clean the cut and I hissed, my face contorting in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing my fingers to comfort me. He continued to wrap it with clean gauze and the lightly tapped the bandage, showing that he was finished. I looked up at him to see he was already looking at me with a small grin playing on his lips and a certain sense of pride shining in his eyes.

“I love you so much, you know that right?” His voice was soft and it was the first real indication of happiness I’ve seen from him since the night it happened.

I nodded slightly, continuing to look into his deep brown eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, slowly leaning towards me and pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

Notes

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