Glass Hearts

XIII

Christine

The doctors allowed my wish and released Roy. His eyes wouldn't peel away from me. They singed my skin. I wanted him to look away, to stop seeing me so weak time after time after time... I wanted to scream at him to get out. I wanted him to hold me close, whisper in my ear that everything would be alright. The confusion was already making my mind murky. My body moved before my mind's consent. I stood from the chair I had been glued to all day, and walked to him. He towered over me. He looked stronger, but not now. He looked like he went to war. We both looked like broken people, wandering this world in purgatory.

I didn't protest when he firmly wrapped his arms around me. His warm embrace almost had me as a puddle on the floor. It felt amazing to have someone hold me, I never wanted to let go. He made me feel safe, even if hell was crashing down upon me. My brother was glaring at Roy, but tried to cover it up with his sadness. He felt defeated, like he failed our mother. Luke never did anything wrong, I'm at fault. I should have gotten a job, even if that was against my mother's wishes, even drop school if I needed to.

I let go of Roy, taking a step back. I couldn't stand it right now. Life has been throwing so much at me, I cracked such a long time ago. I shattered, and I've accidently dropped pieces of myself as I go along. I have holes, pits, voids. Places where I used to be. The more I think of it, I'm only a mere shell. People pick and choose what they like about me. They shove in what they want and throw away what they don't want. It saddens me, but I don't know any better.

I sulk down to my seat, my hand curling back around my mother's. It's lukewarm. It frightens me, to no end. I wish I was in her place, I wish I was the one here dying instead of her. I wish I was there so people could wipe me away from their memory, and continue on with life. I'm not that important. I fall into the darkness of my thoughts, only being ripped to reality when Roy's wet, cold hand tightly grips my shoulder.

"You're bleeding..." I finally notice, blood paints his figure. I wonder why, but he probably will dodge the question. I look down, to the floor, never giving eye contact.

"I know." He says it rather coldly, sending me aback. Something must be on his mind, that's what I'm hoping for. He might finally be sick of me. If that is the case, I'm happy he finally realizes it.

I lick my cracked lips, "You should wrap it up.... Then..." I can't spit out "leave" because I don't have the strength to kick him out, or have the heart to tell him to leave and never come back, erase me, kill me in your mind.

"Later. Right now, I'm focusing on you." Luke's glare increases to come out of hiding. He isn't happy with this stranger worrying over me. He doesn't trust him. Luke has lost the ability to trust, just like I long forgot how to be my own person.

"No..." I say quietly, but with a firm tone. I feel so numb to everything, "You don't belong here. I don't belong here..." I look back to my mom.

I refuse to listen to Roy's protest. I give him a nasty glare, sending him back a few steps. I squeeze my mother's hand tightly, knowing that this is the last time I will ever feel her skin, her subtle warmth. This will be the last time she will have to deal with her failure of a daughter. I failed her. Luke and I will be in debt for the rest of our lives. Mom won't even have a funeral. Nor will I.

I stand up, the flimsy plastic chair falls to the ground. I stroke my mom's cheek one last time. Tears are finally streaming down my face. I thought I had already cried all the tears that were willing to slip out. I start walking, my feet dragging my worthless body. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my skin. I wouldn't be surprised if I was shedding blood. I go home. I leave Luke behind. I leave my mom behind. I leave Roy behind. I leave what I once knew behind, what was once safe.

I run home, trampling those around me, not even apologizing. I run to the bathroom, I stare into the mirror. I'm a mess. I'm not sure it's even me that is staring back at me. I'm not even sure what is me. I dig through the cabinets, all our racks, bottles, I just need something sharp. I eventually find it, what I'm looking for. A glass bottle. I throw it harshly into the bathtub, recoiling so no glass comes soaring into my skull.

I sift through the pieces, looking for the sharpest one I could find. The glass shard looks like a long claw, one a fierce animal might have. I suck in a deep breath, and press the glass against my blemish-free skin. I stay still, just focusing on my breathing, and letting the feeling of glass against my pale white skin prolong. I press in, deeper, further. A red liquid rolls to the surface, gasping for air. I slide across, creating a deep gash along my arm.

Tears prick my eyes, not for the pain, but because I know what I'm doing is wrong. "I'm sorry..." I slice again. Again. And again I cry out, "I'm sorry..." Every cut creates guilt, forcing me to apologize. I have the urge to cut, to get rid of the numbing sensation. I need the pain, to breathe, to live. I need the blood to wash my worries away. I keep running the glass along my bloodied skin. The shard is stained red, I'm sure bits and pieces of it is now circling around in my blood stream. I'm breathing heavily, splotches of my clothes are stained red.

In total, I cut twenty-one times.

I place the glass down and don't do anything, I just gaze upon my wounds. I feel contempt. I wipe away my tears with my thumb, and grab a fraying rag. I wipe away my own blood carelessly, only cleaning up enough so it isn't noticeable. I bandage it up. I'll just say I fell, no one expects me to do this. I take the rag and glass and hide it in my room, in my desk's drawer. I take my clothes off, and find fresh ones to wear that will hide the majority of my injuries. I toss on my purse and head to Mike's.

I know that I don't need to go through the front, and it will help prevent drawing attention to myself. I take the back alleyways, crunching what people have littered under my feet. I glance around, seeing the disgusting graffiti, and achieving a low profile. No one is about, I keep going. I hear other footsteps, I pick up speed. They keep coming and eventually I'm running again, pounding on the back door to the parlor.

Mike opens the door to see me out of breath, I send him a convincing fake smile. He smiles right on back, "Here for Charley?"

"Mhm." I confirm with a nod.

Before Mike can even call for his son, a little head pokes out. Charley looks up at me, his smile wide and full of wonder, "Is it time to go?" He's bouncing around as if someone gave him a pound of sugar for breakfast.

"Yeah, it is." I mess with his hair, and pick him up.

I don't mind carrying him the way there, it's better since it keeps him out of trouble. We laugh, Charley telling me the best jokes a kindergartner can, and I smile along with him. I'm starting to forget. To forget everything I just did. My arms still sting, they are helping me from being numb. I feel alive. I feel like I am still standing here. I don't feel like a ghost right now. I feel like... Who I should be.