JC looks at me. "She's gonna be okay." He says. "I know." I wipe away a tear. I look at the doctor coming out of the room. "She's," he says. "In a coma." I walk out, dazed. I get in the car and drive home. Thank god we took one car. I walk in to the apartment, locking the door. I try to find my blade, and all I find is a picture frame. I smile as I hear the sound of glass hitting the floor. I pick up a piece, and I cut my wrists. Not straight lines, jagged and uneven. Anywhere that there's not scars. Once blood is dripping from my arms, I move slowly and quietly, to the bathroom. "I can't do this. I can't." I sit on the floor, my head between my knees. The tears fall from my eyes, mixing with the blood from my wrists. JC walks in, and holds me. "You're okay. She's," he says. "She," I prompt. "Hasn't woken up. Yet." He sighs. "They're not sure if she will." He says, and I just sit there, sobbing. I silently make a vow to my baby that I will get through this. Because I want her to have a strong mother. I will get through this bat-shit crazy mess called 'life,' because I know she might not. I have to.
