her darling

Chapter 29

                   Reese's POV
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I loved hospitals when I was younger.

Sometimes I would purposefully injure myself just to end up in a hospital ward, running purely on the ice chips that they provided and the full attention of my parents that I barely received.

One time, my parents didn't speak to me for a full week as they were too busy with work. I resorted to closing my eyes and bending my arm, allowing my elbow to stick out.

I vividly remember counting down slowly, then smashing my elbow on a counter top, knocking it out of place with a loud craaack.
I fell to the ground screaming in agonising pain, my bone poking out in an insanely awkward position.

I knew the consequences of what I had done, but the high was worth the low.

My caretaker rushed me to the hospital and eventually got ahold of my parents who immediately came to my aid.

My mom had held me protectively, trying her best not to touch my tightly wrapped cast and cause me more pain.
My dad had told me that there was nothing more terrifying than receiving a call telling you that your child was just admitted to hospital.

I shuddered. Marcy's dad was about to receive that exact call.

Contrary to my personal belief, hospitals aren't always viewed as a source of comfort. To most people, it's a dreadful, cold place that carries nothing but salty tears and misfortune.

Do you know those intense movie scenes, where someone is rushed into a hospital with an oxygen tank over their face, on the verge of death?

I would always watch those scenes in awe, barely able to comprehend being in a panicked situation as high alert as that.

How would I react? Probably not well.

I've heard that when someone doesn't know how to react, more often than not, they will give a bad reaction.

As they rushed Marcy into the hospital, all I could do was stand there. I watched them take her away.

Completely helpless, hopeless and whatever other negative adjective that begins with an H.

I so wholeheartedly expected to be running alongside them, not wanting to leave her with adrenaline pumping through my veins and anxiety fuelling my heart. My body would be completely numb yet somehow able to work, I would hear my heart pumping blood through my ears to the point where it would sound like obnoxious ringing and my face would be piping hot.

And yet, all I did was stand there. Instead of my heart beating through my ears, my heart felt like it was about to crawl out of my throat.

Fuck. It was all my fault.

Normally people with survivors guilt feel this way, when someone dies. In my situation, Marcy wasn't even dead yet, but it actually was my fault.

"Maybe Romy was right, you're better off six feet under with your mom."

Fuck. I didn't mean it.

I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it.

I didn't think she would actually do anything.

My chest felt like it was beginning to close and collapse within itself.

I didn't know what to do...So I left.
I went back to the hotel.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours and those hours turned into days.

The school trip ended early, obviously. Nobody was really in the mood to have fun after an attempted suicide.