Wrapped in Blood

Chapter 1: My First Ribbon

Chapter 1: my first ribbon

                I remember the time I got my first ribbon.  The time I put it on myself proud to let the pains take place of my emotions and let the nightmares float away.  Proud to let myself travel into a dreamless sleep and let the numbness slowly trickle its way down my body making me calm and allowing me to relax and there’s no fright or hurting anymore.

                It was a stormy night, the thunder was rumbling outside and the lightning was flashing through the window as the rain ran down the glass as if the window was crying.  I am shocked that my little sister Sophie hasn’t woken up scared and crawled into bed with me yet like she usually does.  It was mid April and I had a bad school day as always.  I was sleeping having another nightmare.  I have been having bad dreams all month and I would try to stay awake as long as I can so I wouldn’t have to deal with the horror of my dreams.  But my eyes would get so heavy that I wouldn’t be able to open them and the next thing I know is that I am drifting into the deep black waters of sleep.  That’s when the nightmares start.  At first they start as a good dream but soon they grow ugly quick.  I don’t have the same bad dream every night; each one is different and unique.  So I never know what lies behind each red door that I come to find. 

                But as the same as every night I wake up from the bad dream in a cold sweat with tears on my face.  So as I wake up screaming and sit straight up in my bed from my bad dream I listen.  I try to see if I can hear my parent’s footsteps coming down the hall to check on me.  They have been coming in to check on me for the past few nights to see why I am screaming.  When they ask “What’s wrong Jasmine?” I would just say “Oh nothing it’s just a bad dream it will go away.  Now go back to sleep,” and they would just shrug and shuffle away sleepily to retreat to their bed to go back to their sweet dreams.  But this time they didn’t come.  I had a plan to get rid of these nightmares or at least make them bearable and not as bad.  You see I always seem calmer when I’m in pain.  Ever since I was a little girl physical pain never bothered me.  Not when I broke my arm playing soccer or when I was in a fatal car accident and lost a dangerous amount of blood and received a million scars on my chest.  It almost seemed to comfort me to numb myself of my emotions. 

                So I carefully got out of bed and padded to the door.  I creaked the door open trying not to make too much noise, and I peeked out enough to see if anyone was in the hallway or downstairs watching me.  When I saw that no one was there I stepped out the door into the pitch black darkness in the hallway and proceeded to the bathroom.  When I reached the bathroom door I opened it and walked in and shut the door quietly behind me.  I flipped on the lights and waited for my eyes to adjust to the lights and listened to make sure no one woke up.  I took a deep breath thinking of what I was about to do.  I went and washed my hands in the bathroom sink and then grabbed the box of assorted band aids from the bathroom cabinet and tucked them under my arm.  I looked into the mirror and glanced at my reflection.  My sleep shirt hung on me like a dress against my pale skin.  My face had a yellow tint to it and my hair was in a messy ponytail.  I fixed my shorts and turned out the light.  I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway.  I used my hands and feet to find my way down the carpeted stairs and into the foyer.  I passed the dining room and living room and then I reached the kitchen.  I took a bottle of water out of the fridge along with a lemon wedge.  I squeezed the lemon into my water and shook it up.  I was sweating of fear of getting caught and if I did get caught I would say…….what would I say? That I was thirsty and got a bottle of water with a random box of band aids?  I was scared.  I knew what I was going to do was not considered a good thing.  What I was going to do was frowned upon and if people found out then they would never look at me the same way again.  People would be worried about me.  They would probably send me to a psychiatrist again….. or worse.  They would send me to an asylum this time for me to get “treatments”.  I didn’t want treatments.  What I wanted I couldn’t have and I never will.  I would have to live the rest of my life in sorrow because I miss him.