I held in a sharp breath as the pain overtook me. I closed my eyes and didn't open them until I felt something wet and cold fall from my skin.
Blood.
I wanted to scream for help, although I had caused all of this on my own. It was a hasty decision, my mind was distracted with sadness. That's it; I was overwhelmed by sadness.
So who would help a sad person? Why would someone help a person who caused themselves pain? I do have to admit, the physical pain takes away the mental pain. They were both unbearable, but I could handle the physical pain.
Suddenly, I heard loud footsteps running up the stairs and someone had bursted into the room.
"Oh my God!" I recognized this voice as my mother's.
"Mum..." I groaned.
I dissolved into darkness, and for a few minutes I thought I had died. Then I came to, and realized that I was still alive. I was still breathing. Why?
Had my mum called the paramedics already? It seemed as though she had left the room. Maybe she didn't care; maybe she wanted me to die.
I heard a few people enter the room, and soon a brunette woman with dark green eyes came into view.
"It's going to be all right, son," she said, assuring me. "We're going to take you to the hospital."
I nodded, feeling too weary to speak. The paramedics had pulled me onto a stretcher. The woman reappeared into my vision.
"What's your name?" she asked in a rushed voice.
I was feeling drowsy from the medicine one of the paramedics had given me, so before I passed out I quickly answered.
"Luke Hemmings."
