I could hear her screaming before I even opened my room door. The shrill uproar interrupting the quiet of the afternoon. Loud, frantic and crazed. She’s pacing the hall, back and forth. She doesn’t even know I can see her, that small bony body, like that of a newly hatched bird. Angular and sharp. Her hair is a mess of matted curls and grease. She’s about half my size. Tiny little thing, with a mouth of poison hate and a heart of rage. She doesn’t see me come up behind her, and place my hand on her shoulder. Her body tensing up as she spins around and slaps me across the face. Hot sting. I grab her by the throat and push her up against the wall. Her little body dangling as she chokes on my grasp. It’s in this moment I realize I’m covered in blood. It’s dripping from my hands, smearing on the floor under my shoes, making that squeaking sound, like after you come in from a walk in the rain. I’m trying not to panic as I search for where it’s coming from. Checking myself to make sure I haven’t been stabbed. That she hasn’t either. I let go of her throat and grab her arm. A large open slice, running along her wrist. Blood pouring forth, as she collapses into my arms. I pick her up like a groom does his bride, and carry her to the bathroom. Leaving a trail of blood behind us as I walk. She is light, like a child. I’m hard and cold. More annoyed at her dramatics, then the fact that she’s tried to off herself. Never mind the fact that she just slapped me across the face. I don’t have time for this shit, I’ve got my own problems sweetheart. Once we’re in the bathroom, surrounded by the buzzing florescent lights and smell of recycled paper, I put her down gently, and apply pressure to her wounds with toilet paper, towels, anything. I ask someone to call 911 and lean up against the wall. My hands are shaking, and I can feel the scream welling in my gut. I bound my hands into to tight fists, punch the wall and take off.
My knuckles are bleeding as I walk, quickly, looking for a place to hide. To be alone. To deflect from the bloody attempted suicide I just casually strolled into. In case you’re wondering, she doesn’t die. She’ll spend a couple nights in the hospital and come right back to this hellish building, with a smile on her face, because for once she’ll be the center of attention. Which is exactly what she wanted. Good for her.
As I walk, I’m thinking about how all I want to right now, is drink. That burning liquid in my stomach, numbing out the restless anxiety of my spirit. How, I want to get as far away from this place as possible. For as long as possible. I’m thinking, I really don’t care what happens, as long as I get an out. It’s all I can see, taste and smell.
Something from the pits of hell, will hear my torment, and send me an answer.
She’ll show up in a matter of days, and partner up with me like a Thelma and Louise movie clip. Driving our car off into the horizon, over a jagged rocky cliff…