The Lies We Told On Thursday Nights

45. Tuesday: Didn't Say That (Levi)

Hi, sorry I've been working on this chapter for weeks now but this past week was insane, and I wasn't in the mood to write, especially not this chapter

But I worked pretty hard on it, I hope it's okay. Here it is:

Levi

Tuesday 1:21 pm

I crossed my arms, pouting. My mom and my doctor were standing over me, staring at me. Like a little kid, I was sitting cross-legged on the tile floor. I was in no mood to do anything today.

I'm still in the psych emergency ward, not yet in the in-patient ward. One, there were no beds available, and there was no way in hell they'd let me leave and two I was still having sporadic chest pains and random bursts of sickness trying to get the poison from my body.

"Levi," my mom groaned. She's tried to be patient with me over the past few days...trying to be more caring and gentle. But habits can't be broken that easily. "I have something to share with you."

I ignored her. I didn't want to know anything more. I tried to kill myself because I was tired of knowing things.

This is usually when she would slam the door and give up on loving me. Instead, she sighed, gently placing her finger on my shoulder.

I shuttered slightly, but my mom noticed and pulled away from her hands.

Part of my family recovery program was allowing my mom to touch me. The doctors analyzed after years of associating abuse with parents and the home setting, I was traumatized when either of them touched me.

I wasn't very conscious of the 42 hours after I attempted, but I remember some things. I remember as I skirted life, my mom, muttering my dad was gone, forever.

I remember detectives coming into my room, my mom cursing at the ringing phone, the doctors asking questions about my paternal relationship.

It wasn't until yesterday that the truth was said out loud. The doctor asked me, gently, what the bruises and lashes were from. I kept muttering 'football' until they told me they knew the truth. They wanted me to say it.

Maybe they wanted it for a police record, or maybe they thought to say it out loud would cause me to breakdown like a traumatized kid.

I remember answering, "My dad did it. But I deserved it."

And since then, I have remained rather quiet.

I looked, regrettably, at my mom to see heartbreaking hurt in her eyes, it's been there since I woke up a couple of days ago. I was causing her so much pain.

"It's about that girl," my mom hesitated, glancing nervously at the doctor. "Emery."

I shot to my feet so quickly that I was suddenly overwhelmed with dizziness and faintness. I wavered a bit, swallowing bile.

Startled both women gawked at me, obviously noting this has been the most active and alert in days.

But my body's stealthy movements of reaction did not parallel my explosive thoughts.

A wave of anger, shame, and terror washed over me, causing me to let out an involuntary whimper.

Death was simple, reliable, certain. Life wasn't; feelings weren't.

I hated Emery..she's the reason I'm not dead now. According to the doctors, she saved me. I hated her so effing much.

But I also loved her. I loved her, and I'm not sure why.

Over the past three days I have only been occupied with how much I wanted to die. All I focused on was my pain and how many things are fucked up since I lived.