Medicate

Shattered

 "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I- I'm just sorry." Emily repeated. Her knees were bloody from all the glass on the ground, the blood staining the lace hem of her nightgown.

"Em, it's okay. It happens. You need to get up though. I'll clean this up."

"No, I can clean it. I made the mess, I can clean it up too. Just get me a bag." She began sweeping the large chunks of the plates into a pile to the side of her so she would have a clean place to walk.

"Honey, I'll clean. I'm wearing pants and you're tearing your legs up."

"I can clean-," Emily started, but Nick cut her off, grabbing her attention by setting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and his face was worried. It made her heart hurt to see him like this. She felt like his face never changed from concerned expression. She remembered her mother telling her not to pout all the time or she would get frown lines prematurely. She wanted to tell her husband this now to maybe pull a smile out of him, then looked down at the ceramic shards across the kitchen and decided it might be inappropriate timing.

"Emily. I will clean the floor. You need to rest." He held out a pair of slippers so she would be able to walk through the kitchen and she sighed and took them and stood up. Nick saw the real mess that was her knees and was tempted to vomit. "Do you need me to clean those up for you? There might be some shards in there."

"I know where the tweezers are, Nick. I can take care of this." She began to walk away, then paused without turning back to him. "I don't know how many I broke. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey. There's always paper. Just take care of that while I take care of this and I'll meet you in bed in a little bit, okay? Just watch where you step." He tried to make his voice sound calm, but he was intensely worried. She'd done this with the plates a couple weeks ago and destroyed almost the entire set. They had been down to one set, but with this rate he'd need to replace them. This time he would be getting plastic. He hadn't had time to ask her what set her off this time. He was just glad he got there before the breakdown. Usually if he caught her before it hit he could stave it off another day, but if he didn't it would come hard. He couldn't think about the breakdowns. It made it hard to help her and he would not give up on her.

Emily sat on the edge of the tub with the tweezers and a tiny plastic magnifying glass they kept in the first aid kit. Nick had replaced the glass one they had. He replaced everything, thinking she wouldn't notice, but she did. It was sweet, but it annoyed the shit out of her. It didn't appear that anything was in either of her knees, just that they were bloody messes. She turned on the tub faucet and rinsed them off with cold water. She held them under longer than necessary, needing the intense feeling of cold to shake her current state. She was hoping to hold them under until it didn't feel cold anymore. She didn't want them to feel like anything if they didn't have to. She didn't want to feel like anything if she didn't have to, but she supposed she could settle for just her legs.

She wasn't sure how long she'd sat there when she heard Nick start ascending the stairs. They groaned with every step. He was walking slowly. He was exhausted and it was her fault. She'd woken him up again by throwing a tantrum downstairs. It was hard to control herself when she got that way, but she hated seeing the toll it took on him. She turned off the water and dried her legs with a hand towel then put a couple large bandages on her knees before going to the bedroom. Nick was already laying in bed.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" he said lightheartedly.

"Just a little scraping. Amputation is recommended."

"Hmm. Let's sleep on that decision first. Sound good?"

"Sounds wonderful." Emily slid under the covers and scooted next to him, placing one hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and taking solace in the fact that she was not alone. He hadn't left her, even after all of her shenanigans. "How many plates are left?"

"One. But, again, we always have paper." He didn't sound upset, but there was no way that he wasn't. She'd broken an entire set of dishes. They were silent for a while, both of them trying to gauge the other's emotions before Nick said, "What happened, honey? I thought you were asleep."

"I was trying. It didn't work out."

"Downstairs you seemed pretty awake."

"I'll say."

"What triggered it this time?"

Emily shrugged. "I was upset I guess."

"But why?"

She always hated this line of questioning. She was having a psychotic episode was why. She didn't have any better answer for him. They were almost like out-of-body experiences every time and each time she was left wondering how she got there and what started it. "I don't know. I was laying in bed and I started over thinking like usual and then I went downstairs to make some tea I think and then you came down and there was glass everywhere."

"You don't know what started it?"

"No."

"Do you even remember doing it?"

"Not a lot." She did remember starting to come back to reality when Nick started trying to talk her down. She'd heard him, but she was still very much in the zone and remembered throwing the last few and slamming one against the edge of the marble countertop. That one had felt good. That's when Nick shouted her name and yanked her out of her own head. "I mainly just remember things after you came downstairs."

"Oh." There was another break in the conversation. Nick tried to understand her. He got that when she got in her fits she wasn't truly herself, but it was hard to comprehend that she could massacre their dishes and only remember the end of her tirade. Then there was the inevitable question he hated to ask. He hated asking it because it was dehumanizing and embarrassing to her and he knew it, but he hated asking because he was afraid of her answer. But he knew what she was capable of and if he didn't ask she could be left to her own devices. "Did you hurt yourself?" She shook her head. "Are you sure?" She nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "So your knees were an accident?" A nod. "You're sure about that." She hesitated a second and then nodded. He trusted her answers. She didn't lie to him about that and he found a little comfort in that. He learned early into her illness that if he didn't ask she wouldn't tell him and she'd wind up in the hospital with infected wounds a week later. He never made that mistake again. "I'm proud of you, honey."

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly, then tucked her head into his side, signaling that their conversation was over. He slumped down further into the bed and she shifted her head back to his chest and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing tightly as he turned out the bedside lamp. There was no talking, but eventually he heard quiet sniffles that turned into quiet sobs. He felt her shoulders shake against him and his shirt begin to dampen. He rested one hand on hers and used the other one to stroke her hair. She wouldn't want to be talked down from this. She hated that. At some point she would just fall asleep against him. It was the usual pattern after nights like these and they were both used to it. As long as she was by his side they would be okay.