Amar Bail

0. burgundy skies

WARNING: blood, drugs, graphic description of blood

She heard a crash but through the buzz in her ears it was hard to formulate what had broken. A glass, some bottle or was it her heart? No it couldn't be her heart, they don't break into shards. They have arteries, valves, ventricles and blood. Lots and lots of blood.

There should be more blood, she thought. Her blood, which was her favorite color. She remembered the time she had to pierce her finger for the blood group test she performed in her pathology class, or was it hematology? She couldn't recall. Anyways, she remembered that her blood was a very dark color and thick. Thick blood, more clotting factors, more easy to form plaques in her heart. With a family history of hypercholesterolemia and heart attacks it wouldn't be unnatural of her to contract the same disease – she thought.

Wonderful. She giggled but she didn't know at what.

In her giggling fit she dropped off the couch or whatever she was laying on to the shards and they cut through her hand. Her skin giving way to the blood she oh-so-liked. She looked at her blood with amazement, like it was her first time and then she thought that this much was not enough.

She looked at her veins on her wrist, flowing down the length of her arm like small rivers. She felt her pulse with her fingers, dimmed to a light thrumming.

This was her. Her being alive. Her being tangible. She wanted to feel more of it. She wanted to get drunk on this euphoric feeling.

She grabbed the nearest shard and, holding it like a scalpel, made a cut on her wrist. It was not as clean as the incisions she was taught to make and it stung a little too. Was she doing it wrong?

Another cut on the blue vein she didn't remember the name of 'cause she was not even in the state to remember her own name for God's sake. It made a small Y on her arm but the blood was oozing out at an alarming rate.

She didn't want so much blood. Now it was dirty and sticky and stung and if Dimples found out he would scrunch his nose up in pure disgust because he was a clean freak. The thought of Dimples made her want to talk to him. She wished he was here. Was he here?

She tried to get up to search for her phone on the couch and it shot pain through her entire arm. She ignored it and kept looking for her phone which she found on the coffee table where she noticed that she had thrown her bag earlier. She couldn't breathe very well but she wanted to talk to him. Everything was so darn sticky and red and it gave her a headache.

Grabbing her phone and crashing on to the same couch again she called him (after several tries, that is).

She was aware that she was probably staining the beige couch red as well but it looked pretty so who cares.

"Hello?"

"Dimples!"

"You said you had to be on some sort of drugs to call me that."

She giggled. She liked his voice.

"Are you on drugs?"

"What are drugs?"

"Where are you?"

"With friends."

"Are you okay? You seem partially drunk."

"You don't like things that are all messy and sticky right?" Some more giggling. "My arm hurts and there is red everywhere. I mean, I like red but you would hate it if you see this." Her words were slurred and mixed up with one another.

"What? Where are you? Is Mariam with you? Did you do something crazy? Did you cut yourself?" Some shuffling from the other side of the line.

"I don't know. Just come here please." So much blood and she was starting to feel dizzy, to the point she felt she would faint.

"Just hang in there." He sounded alarmed. Why was he alarmed, he used to be calm and collected.

"I want to sleep."

"I'm coming. Just please stay on the line and grab something to cover your wound with."

"Agh, you are so loud. I told you I want to sleep." Her voice was becoming a whisper now, her lids heavy. She hadn't slept for so long and now she wanted to embrace sleep when it was finally coming to her.

"No, please. Stay on the line—" She couldn't hold onto the phone any longer so she let it drop from her hand. She will pick it up later when she woke from her sleep.

His voice was intensifying the headache she had and she wished she hadn't called him. But she faintly remembered in the back of her mind, like some rusted memory that she had done something wrong and Dimples had made her promise that she would call him in such cases. She had done that so now she would sleep.

She had fulfilled her promise.