"You need to wake up." I hear Quentin say, with tears coating his voice. "Please, Im." I try to force my eyes open but they feel like they're sewn shut.
A few days pass, with me trying to wake up, Quentin by my bed each day, falling asleep in the chair. He only really leaves to go get food, when the nurses remind him that he needs to eat. No one comes in to bother him or tell him to leave. Every day is the same.
I don't hear anyone else come in the room, but Quentin stands up. He squeezes my hand once and begins to let go. No! He can't go. If he gives up now, I might too. I try to open my eyes once more, but it's useless. I squeeze his hand as he starts to let go of mine.
"Im? Come on, please open your eyes." He says, tears thick in his voice. "Please." I try again, his voice my only anchor in this nightmare.
Suddenly the fluorescent lights are blinding me and Quentin's profile is outlined in the light. His hair's a mess and he doesn't look like he's ever changed his clothes.
I try to sit up and realize that there is nothing restraining me any longer. I sit up freely and Quentin attacks me in a hug. His tears stain my shirt and mine his. A nurse walks into the room, saying
"It's time to g-" Her mouth forms an o shape. "How did she..." She comes over to the side of the bed that Quentin is not on and starts to check the machine. "But the brain scans said she wouldn't..." She says, more to herself than anyone else. She begins to take out some of the needles and the things that were most likely scanning my brain. "She can go home by tomorrow at the earliest. We just need to make sure everything is doing well in her body and her recovery goes smoothly."
After I'm left alone, I search the room for my old clothes, checking in the small closet at the end of the room, I find my jacket. I start to search the pockets for my small tin that I use to hide things from Quentin in.
"I have it," I hear behind me. I turn sharply toward the sound of his voice.
"North,"
"Come here." I walk to him. He wraps his arms around me. "Why?" He whispers into my hair.
"You were gone. There was no one to hold me back anymore."
"I never did anything. If I knew, you wouldn't be in this situation."
"But it was the little things that you didn't recognize that you were doing. You didn't need to do anything except be there." We stand there, in the middle of the room, for what feels like hours. The nurse walks in and tells him he needs to go because I need to get ready to go. He leaves, but not before kissing me hard on the mouth.
It's been days since I was released. The scars on my arms are fresh, and I stand on the bridge once more. I take out one blade and reopen the scars. I drop the blade into the rushing river below me. The voices are gone, but yet I find no relief in it. I whisper three words,
"Angels fly too."
And I jump. Water inflates my lungs as I watch the blood flow from my arms and stain the water red as I sink.
