Can't Remember to Forget You.

Put it in Gear

Keep reading please. Thank you to all who have read. It really means a lot.

 xxxx-Tori

I had been driving for 20 minutes when I had finally reached my destination. Which was the airport. I parked my car and got out only to find out I was wearing a tank top, some old jean shorts and some flip flops I had left in the car a few months back. I obviously had been planning this day for about 2 weeks now. Ricki had just gotten out of control lately. I knew that in his ‘water bottle’ was vodka. He has been addicted to it for about 3 months and when he started drinking is when he started aggressive and mean. This wasn’t the first time this little act of his has happened. It occurs about once or twice per week. I just haven’t got any guts to go and tell anyone about it. I don’t want to rat someone out. I used to love him. Ricki was 4 years older than me. Making him 22. I still had to respect him though. I had only live with him for about a year. But I’ve been with him since I was it 9th grade.

I never thought someone as sweet as him would be capable of doing something like this. I’m just glad I got away as soon as I had. When I meant I had been planning this for a while, I had been. I packed a suit case full of clothes that I absolutely needed. I went to my checking account and got all my money out which consisted of about $10, 00.00. Because I had been saving the money for an emergency, or school, or maybe even a rainy day and some shopping! When I really needed it I would use it and I’m glad I had saved that much money!

I walked into the airport lobby and looked for the sign with the little lady in a dress symbolizing that it was the woman’s restroom. I quickly ran into the bathroom to wash up. I went into the disabled stall with the sink so that no one could see me. It was more private and this way no one would think I had done this to myself. I laid my bags on the ground and turned to the sink where there was a young girl in the mirror starring right back at me. It was me of course. But it sure as heck didn’t look like me. I had mascara lines running down my face and blood all down the sides of both of my arms. I quickly turned on the water trying not to pay any more attention to the scar girl in the mirror. I put my hands under water and I felt a whole lot of pain. I reached back out shacking them from the sting that the water had given them. I patted them softly with the paper towel.

I took my suitcase and drug it closer to me knowing that there had to be a brush in it somewhere. I reached in its front pocket and found my favorite one. My big, square, black one I had had since freshman year in High School. I took the brush and cured out my tangled, dark blonde hair. Then pulling it up and twisting it into a bun. I tried to think of an easy way for the hair tie that I was going to put around my bun not to hurt my hands even more in the process. I was watching myself struggle with it in the mirror when out of nowhere I caught a glimpse of the back of my arms. They were covered in dried blood. I finished tying my hair up, not worrying about the pain that was even worse than before in my hands. I took another paper towel and soaked it with water and whipped my arms. They didn’t  hurt as bad as my hands had, but they did hurt a lot.

After getting all the blood cleared off my arms I turned to look at myself in the full body mirror checking myself if I was bleeding anywhere else just in case I was. Nothing out of the ordinary had popped out. Until I had checked the right side of my abdomen. All I saw was blood and it was still wet. Unlike my hands a arms it was dripping.  And you know that feeling when you finally find a sore or a cut and then it really starts to hurt? Well, that’s what happened to my side at the moment. I lifted up my shirt slowly to reveal a huge gash. About 4 inches long and 1 inch wide. Of course it was from the glass. But like all my other wounds I had to check and see if there was any glass still stuck in it. I then proceeded to run my left pointer finger over the open wound. I sucked in my breathe to not make a loud noise from the pain.

I had to feel if there was a piece still stuck in it or not. Thank God there wasn’t. It was still bleeding pretty badly though. I reached over to the faucet and took my left hand and turned it on with my middle finger since it wasn’t bloody. I took another paper towel and wet it. I squeezed it and got most of the water out. I sucked all the air into my mouth once more and dabbed the paper towel on my side starting with the top.

“Ahhh, ssss…” It hurt so bad. I tried to close my eyes but I couldn’t because I wouldn’t know where or what I was doing. These are the times when you wished you had your mom around to help you. I had gotten all the way to the end of the gash and praised God it was finally over.

I knew I had one of those travel size first aid kits in my purse somewhere. So I reached down trying not to bend on the side with the cut. I scrounged around to soon find it. I took it out and opened it. It was Christmas day, when you get something you really need like socks or underwear. I found the gauze and 2 of those huge band aids. Peeling the wrapper off the them, I place the gauze on it and placed it where I wanted it.  I counted down.

“3, 2, 1...” I stuck it on wincing in pain. Unbelievable. That’s how much it hurt. Now for the second band aid.

“3, 2, 1…”  Again I stuck it on. But this time knowing how bad it hurt the first time actually helped me bare this one. I decided to take off my shirt and quickly opened my luggage and found one of my sleep shirts. Just an old, white one that read ‘Relay for Life 2010’. I threw it on and quickly packed all my things back in my suit case. Took my purse and suitcase in my left hand so that it wouldn’t hurt my side, but yet it still seemed to hurt something (my hand and arm). I opened the stall door and left the bathroom.

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