Eric stumbled into the bathroom, his knee bleeding heavily.
The gash was deep and blood gushed out every few seconds whenever he moved. The whole denim of his leg was stained with the dark red colour, making it look frightening, and he felt dizzy. His leg gave away just as he reached the bathtub, allowing him to collapse in it.
He exhaled a heavy breath, releasing a groan at the end of it.
His leg hung over the side of the tub, rapidly colouring the white marble in the hue of maroon.
No one was coming to save him. Not right now. Not like he wanted anyone either.
If anyone saw this wound, there'd be questions. Lots of them. There'd be his mum and his brother, both of them scared out of their minds for him, while he'd struggle to explain in his dazed state.
Eric took a shuddering break, trying to get himself to breathe properly while he stretched his torso to reach the towels kept on the shelf above.
His lungs contracted and tried to suck in all the breaths he could manage. His stomach convulsed.
The world shook before his eyes.
The containers and boxes kept on the shelf trembled on their own, close to toppling over.
It felt like all the things were going to fall upon him at any time, so Eric hurried to cross his arms over his head.
There came some thuds, but nothing crashed upon his head.
Or maybe if anything did, he felt no pain.
His eyes crossed out, closing halfway, then focused again on the paper towels he was trying to reach.
He tried to keep breathing normally but his throat felt like sandpaper, dry and bruised. Dying for a glass of water. He was in the bathroom and drinking water directly from the bathroom tap was something he wouldn't have ever thought of doing.
But this time he simply stopped trying to reach the paper towels and instead he rotated open the tap resting right next to him. Water started filling up in the tub.
Tentatively, he took hold of his injured leg, and removed it from the edge of the tub, only to keep it directly inside. He winced at the torturous movement, and then again as the cold water started soaking him up. He could maybe catch an infection in his wound just from this very mindless act.
But his mind was elsewhere. It seemed like there was red everywhere.
The marble was red. The water was red.
Eric's hands were red too.
As the water kept soaking up more and more of him, almost to his abdomen now, his eyes felt heavy.
So, so tired.
He leaned his head back, his hair damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead and scalp. Beads of perspiration dripped off his face. His breathing calmed down.
"Can't sleep," he whispered to himself, ordering himself. "Can't. Don't."
It was a command.
There was no way he was going to fall asleep this time. He would stay awake for days if it was required, just to not go back into that situation again from where he had come.
From where he had gotten this wound.
A knife, which was run across the skin of his knee. It was still there, just where he had dropped it, stained with his blood.
Eric was slowly and slowly losing his mind.
How insane it was...
The fact that he was the wielder of that knife.
YOU ARE READING
What We Left Behind
FantasyEric tried to commit suicide. He was saved. Now he's living the aftermath. He's facing his family's disappointment and worry and seeing a psychiatrist whom he wants to like. But there's some law against that. Once you've tried to kill yourself, no...
