Adolescent

25.

My hearing slowly came back to life before my vision did. It was like when a person is half asleep; they can hear everything that's going on, but they can't open their eyes nor speak. I could hear pretty damn well, too. I could hear the patterned beep of various machines, the rolling of wheels, unintelligible chatter - stuff like that. At the same time, though, it was almost like I was distant from it, like I was hearing all of that through thin glass.

The next stop on my trip back into awareness was feeling. Pressure on my back told me I was laying on it. A blanket covered me from the neck down. Something was taped to my head, my stomach and to my right arm as well. I felt the needle in my arm - an IV. One if the things that monitors blood oxygen levels was clipped to my finger. Wrapped around my body was a thin robe - obviously a hospital gown. Then, there was the pain.

It wasn't more than a dull ache, other than the fact that it had epicenters in my ribs and my head and then radiated all over my body. That made it nearly excruciating. At this, I heard what was obviously my heart monitor's beeping increase in its frequency just slightly.

Someone beside me got up and hurried out of my room. I heard their worried tone when they apparently stopped somewhere, but I couldn't make out the voice or what it was saying. I knew it was male - nothing more. Then, a female voice informed him of something. I heard him sigh, then heard returning footsteps.

It was at this point that I saw the redness of the backs of my eyelids; light was finally starting to register. I forced my eyes open and was shot into full wakefulness. Opening my eyes only confirmed my location even more - a hospital, probably Rockingham Memorial. The ceiling I stared up at had the familiar speckled pattern to it, and the room had the same decor I'd seen over and over in RMH. Of course.

"Ro." My name was sighed with unfathomable relief.

A few strides later, he was in a seat next to my bed. He reached for me, and I flinched back on reflex. Hurt colored sapphire eyes. I looked away, down at the needle in my arm. I touched it with my other hand, considering how bad it'd hurt if I ripped it out. Long, thin fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled my hand away. "Don't even think about it. I'm not gonna let you cause yourself any more pain."

I removed myself from his grip, sitting up and turning away. I swung my legs over the side of the bed; my feet brushed the cold tile floor. Suddenly, a hand was lightly set on my shoulder. I jerked away violently, falling off the bed. The IV needle ripped out of my arm, and I was on the floor. The stand for the fluid bag had fallen, and the bag containing the saline solution had fallen and exploded, covering the floor in lukewarm liquid. My blood mixed with it. Other machines littered the floor.

Nurses rushed in from the clamor as I curled up in a ball, surveying the damage. They all gave me false sympathetic looks, coming towards me. I curled into my ball even tighter, and sudden tears gushed down my face.

I'm sorry.

The words wouldn't come out of my mouth. They were trapped there, like my brain had shut off the talking feature of my mouth.

"Sweetie, can I just look at your arm?" a nurse who'd gotten particularly close asked. I shied away from her. She gave me an encouraging smile, holding out a hand. "You don't have to have the IV anymore; I just need to see the damage you did on your arm."

I looked at her skeptically. I didn't trust this woman, how was she supposed to take care of me? She gave me another one of those smiles - a white-toothed, motherly grin of encouragement. Slowly, I reached out my shaking, bleeding, scar-marred arm to her. She took it in her gloved hands gently, examining the already bruising skin. She cleaned off the blood, then wiped down the skin with rubbing alcohol that stung satisfyingly. After that, she put gauze and medical tape over the torn skin.

"Now," she said, rising from her knees. "Why don't we get you cleaned up?"

I nodded silently, rising to my feet. The nurse slung a blanket over my shoulders, and I gripped it with feeble fingers. Slowly, I followed her out of the room, my bare feet nearly slipping on the cold, wet floor.

The nurse escorted me to one of the more private bathrooms then left me there while she went to retrieve something. I stood there, shivering from the cold of the hospital. Wrapping the blanket even tighter around me, I also wrapped my arms around myself. For a while, I just stared at nothing. My eyes went out of focus, and my mind was nowhere. It was sweet, sweet oblivion. There was nothing but the whiteness of the wall. My focus was taken of everything for a short while.

"Hon?"

I jumped, looking up in the direction of the voice. The nurse was back, and she had clothes in her hands.

"Your boyfriend said you'd be more comfortable in your own clothes than a hospital gown, so I got permission to give you these. Do you need help dressing?" she asked, her voice light. I knew she was trying not to say or do anything to offset me. I shook my head, and she handed me the pile of fabric in her hands. As I went in, she said, "You can take off the dressings on your side and your head; I'll redress them after you get out. But please do it gently. Don't hurt yourself, sweetie."

I nodded again, then went into the bathroom. The door clicked shut heavily behind me. With a finger, I slowly pushed the lock on the handle of it into closed position.

I dropped the blanket to the floor. The second it left, cold flooded my skin, and goosebumps erupted everywhere. I laid the clothes on the sink, then forced my way out of the gown. I stood there, only in my bra and underwear. A brace was around my right wrist. Part of the right side of my body was taped - like it was done for bruised or fractured ribs. I reached up, lightly fingering the gauze and medical tape on my forehead. Digging my nails underneath the tape, I pulled the dressing from my skin. The same fate became of the tape on my ribs.

The skin on my side was so deeply purple and blue that it was nearly black. It looked like a small black hole had suddenly appeared on my skin, creating a black void. At the light press of my fingertips, pain jabbed into my side like tiny daggers. I knew it; my ribs were bruised, if not fractured or broken.

Sluggishly, I managed to drag my eyes up to the mirror in front of me, only to start sobbing at the sight of my reflection.

The black holes had appeared elsewhere. Dark, blue and purple bruises marred my skin in large, grotesque splotches. They were everywhere - my face, my neck, my stomach, my legs... absolutely everywhere. Some were huge. Some were small. Some I knew were his finger marks. Some of them went further than bruises. A slice on my forehead was sealed with steri-strips. Some lacerations dotted my arms. Cuts went up and down my legs as well.They were all his marks - every last one.

I looked pitiful.

This was not my body. It was his. It was his body, and it was one he chose to toy with and throw around until it finally broke. My body had my scars, and this one had so much more. It was his body; he'd taken it from me. He took my body from me and gave it his scars. He'd toyed with and thrown me around until I'd broken. And in this body, in his body, I could feel the brokenness right down to my soul. I could feel it in the way I couldn't form words. I felt it in the bruises, in the cuts - over every inch of the body that had been taken away from me. I could feel how much of his toy I was, right down to what was left of the tatters of my soul.

Collapsing on the floor, I sobbed in mourning of the one thing I'd thought I'd had left: myself.