Blood On My Fingertips

Chapter 12

So, if you're black and blue and feeling so abused, no, it don't make you damaged. It makes you living proof that you are so much more than all this hell you've known. Remember this, what doesn't kill you is what builds your throne.

                                                                          -"Hallelujah" Citizen Soldier

There is a quote from The Princess Bride when Wesley said, "Life is pain, Highness, anyone who tells you differently is selling something". When I was young, I didn't entirely understand what that meant, but now I understood perfectly. Life is hell, life is pain, happy endings don't exist, humankind sucks, no one really loves anyone; and honestly, what is the point of even living? What good does living do? Nico believed differently than I, that there is a point to all of this, and that there is a point to pain. I'd rather there be no purpose to life at all if I could just have a life of peace and maybe, even some happiness. Was that too much to ask? I wished for death, but it did not come. I was constantly consumed in darkness screaming out for death to just come and take me, but even he had turned his back on me - like he had my entire life. I was left with the dancing images in my head who screeched and tormented my every thought; their chaotic voices made my head pound.

~

I awoke with a gasp, as my body jerked upwards, as if I had been drowning but finally pulled out of the water's grasp and allowed to breathe fresh air. Someone I had never seen before sat on a chair beside my bed checking my pulse. It was a woman, with bright red hair, dressed in pink scrubs with little yellow smiley faces. She smiled at me kindly as she gave my hand a gentle pat. "Hang in there, Sugar. Your burn is bad, but Dr. Harmon and I have been working on it. You are doing much better!" She gathered up some of her medical supplies and continued, "You're a strong girl, Miss. Adaline." As I lay there listening to her go on about something, I realized I felt no pain on my face; in fact, I couldn't feel the entire left side at all. I tried reaching up to feel my head, but the nurse touched my arm and gently pushed it back down to the bed. "Your head is bandaged, don't touch it."

"I have to get out of here," I slurred. My words came out in odd gibberish that sounded more like "Ah ha uh et ow a heh."

The nurse smiled at me sweetly and said, "Your aunt said you would be ready to hop about the moment you got up. Saving a little boy from a fire was so heroic of you! We are all so very proud of you." She had got to be kidding. Of course, Aunt May would make up some ridiculous story about how it happened. The question is how she got anyone to believe her.

"How-how did you kn-know about that?" I asked with difficulty. My throat felt parched, and with every word I spoke, the more my neck and right side of my jaw throbbed.

"Oh, it's all over the news, Sugar. Your aunt didn't want to make a big deal out of it as she knew how much you would hate that, but the boy's family couldn't help but tell everyone about how you saved their boy's life." The nurse patted my hand with her annoying smile. "You are an amazing girl. Absolutely amazing. Now get some rest," and with that she grabbed her black bag and hurried out of the room muttering something to herself. My mind jumbled as I tried to put the pieces together. I know I never saved anyone. Aunt May had pressed my face to a stove. Or was I mixed up? Was that only a dream? Did something happen to my memories when I was burned, and I can't remember? No, I clearly remember what happened that night: The feel of the burner against my skin, the smell of singed hair and flesh, the sound of my screams, Mary Ann vomiting on the white tiles, then Uncle Jeff pulling me away from May. It was Mary Ann's fault I was in this situation. If she had just cleaned up her stupid mess, I wouldn't have almost died.

I knew that I couldn't stay here. I didn't care what those stupid voices in my head thought. I was not strong enough to stand up to the mad woman who I called Aunt. If I stayed there, I was going to die. I slowly sat up; the right side of my face hurt like the dickens. The pain I did not feel on my left side had generated to the right. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep and pump myself so full of drugs that I wouldn't be able to feel anything anymore, but my feet hit the cold floor, and I walked towards the closet. There were many voices in the house, but only two -that belonged to my aunt and the nurse- did I recognize. The guests must be here. I wondered how long I'd slept: It could have been days or weeks. It would be hard to leave with people around. My gaze drifted to my desk that was covered in sketches and notes. My eyes landed on a small box where I usually kept my phone; it wasn't there. Of course, she would block any outside contact. After that incident, she couldn't imagine I would stay there. Aunt May always had the upper hand. I grabbed my black duffel bag from my closet floor and chucked it on my bed. My unbandaged eye dropped to the one pair of name brand shoes my aunt had ever let me have as my own - the bright red ones of her own creation. I picked them up and threw them into the bag. It would be fun watching them go up in flames.