Round Two

*Warning Sensitive Topics*

I lay silent, keeping my eyes shut, where have I ended up? Will I open my eyes and find myself kneeling in front of God himself? Or will Satan be laughing as I descend into the depths of Hell? Beeping noises fill my ears, and I match my breathing to the steady rise and fall of the sounds. I wait a moment longer before peaking from the curtains of my eyelids. Well, Hell is either really plain, or Heaven is super overhyped on Earth.

Suddenly a glass door on the far side of the cream-colored room slides open, and a tall man wearing a white coat enters. My eyes snap shut again, wondering if this was just the waiting room before being called to the utopia above or where I belong down below. His footsteps draw closer to the bed I am laying on. More footsteps followed, followed by hushed voices. 

“She is stable for now, she cut her head and arms pretty good, but her pulse is still weak, and BP is lower than I would like. She lost a lot of blood, so she may stay like this for some time. She was without a pulse for a dangerous amount of time, and the brain lacked oxygen. If Ashley does wake up, which is unlikely, there is a strong possibility for psychological complications. You need to prepare yourselves. Your daughter may wake up, but it may not be the same daughter you knew. I’ll give you some time alone with her…” his voice trailed off. My dad’s voice came from the right of my bedside,

“Thank you for everything,” I can tell he smiled when he spoke.

My mom's tears broke me. She was too nice for her own good. I always knew when she was crying, even though she did her best to hide it under a superficial smiling mask, I always knew. She didn’t bother hiding it this time. From the outside my mom and dad’s marriage was perfect. Highschool sweethearts, one daughter, lots of friends, but overall a seemingly happy life. Mom hid her purple ribs under her clothes and wore jeans to cover the purple “flowers” of bruises that bloomed all over her legs. She used to wear sundresses, but she gave most of them away to charity a few years back. She hid her dark eyes with makeup to match her skin. Dad was a bit of a drunk, she curses him every time she is alone, but I know she still loves him. Mom’s light hand caresses my face and I feel the urge to lean into her and promise that I won’t leave her alone with him. 

“Unbelievable,” Dad mumbles. “This hospital visit, even if she does wake up, do you have any idea how much this will cost us Jenny? What did you do to her? This is your fault. It is your fault she is here.” 

My mom's hand tenses up in my own. He won’t hit her though, not now. Too risky. Never in public, only in the jail we live, that just so happens to have a porch swing and flowers in the front yard. Hidden jails are the most dangerous I would say. My head begins to pound and my whole body aches. Sleep is the only thing I want now. I try to fight it, but soon, I let the darkness overtake me. 

********************

My legs were numb, the monitor kept its annoyingly consistent pace, the only indication of my heart beat, of my existence. I woke up again and lifted my eyelids just enough to see that I was alone. Mom and Dad must have gone home for the night. I was greeted with the lovely plain sight of my room. The walls are beige and very plain, and not a single decoration is up. A green and blue speckled cushioned chair sat in the corner, it looks almost as lonely as I feel.

I look down at my body, still the same as how I left it. Medium sized tanned legs lay under my sheets. My toes are painted pink, only because it made Mom happy when I did stuff like that with her. My usually tidy and straightened blonde hair is probably a mess at the moment. I can tell the back of my head has been stitched up. Bandages cover my arms now, but I know exactly what they look like underneath. Dozens of scars, mostly older ones, and then 6 deep fresh cuts, probably still bleeding now under the tight bandages, or maybe they stitched them up. Either way, they hurt like hell, but that’s okay. That was the point wasn’t it?

I look to my left at the glass doorway. A nurse comes over to the desk nearby and peeks over into my room. Her eyes go big and she smiles and hurries over. She shut the door softly behind her and came to me. Her eyes were a warm brown and her hair matched, they complimented her olive skin quite nicely. She smiled and talked to me as if I was freshly out of the insane asylum,

“Ashley? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

 Before I had a chance to answer a tall woman with black hair and freckles covering her entire face entered in a hurry.

She brought out a skinny flashlight from her coat pocket and bent down to get eye level with me.

“Hi, Ashley, My name is Amelia I am the head of neurology at Baylor hospital, do you know what happened to you?” I nodded,

“I did this. I’m not supposed to be here. I need to go. Please let me out.” I pulled up on my hands and feet to discover they had been tied to the sides of my hospital bed. I'm trapped. I need control. An anxiety attack hits me like a truck. I start to panic and I can feel the sweat start beading on my forehead, and my palms become damp. Tears well up in my eyes, and I let out a pathetic and silent sob with the minimal strength I have.

“Ashley, It’s okay. Slow down. We are going to take really good care of you, I need to run some tests to make sure your brain is okay. Is that alright?”

I nod again quickly and start to calm down. I don't know why I am so panicky. She starts some tests with her flashlight, has my eyes follow her finger, and then starts to ask me questions.

“Do you know your full name?”

“Ashley Shannon Blight,” 

“Can you tell me what month it is?”

“June”

“What is your mom’s name?”

“Jennifer Eliana Blight,” I replied, showing off my crystal clear mental state, I think as I look down at my wrists. It’s suicidal humor, coping mechanism, really it is okay to laugh.

“Do you know where you were on Saturday evening?” 

“I think I came home from a party to my house, and into a bathroom,” Amelia looked to the nurse who jotted down some notes.

“Whose house were you at for the party?” She awaited my response.

“It was Bryan Statler,” He played football at the highschool. Nice guy.

 “Who were you with on Saturday, at the end of the party?”

“It was… I- I can’t. I don’t know. I should, but I don't.” I stuttered out. The nurse scribbled faster.

“And where were you on Saturday morning?”

“Yes, I was…” I know where I was. Of course. That was just yesterday. Where was I?

“That's okay-” She began another question when I cut her off,

“Why can’t I remember where I was, what is happening to me?”

“Ashley, this is common with trauma, you don’t need to be afraid. You may have some mild amnesia. We are going to get to the bottom of it okay.” She offered me a reassuring smile and squeezed my hand. It didn’t help. “Let’s just take a break. I’ll come back soon.”

She left the room and shut the door, leaving me to my thoughts. I replayed Saturday in my head. I fast forward my memories to Saturday night. I can see Bryan's house so clearly. I know I drank, but not that much. I’m in high school. I don’t pass out and forget my night after a few drinks. I remember beer pong. Joseph Whitlock and I were kicking Sarah Brindle and Henry Statler’s asses. Joseph. Wait yeah. I was with Joseph. God he was so hot. His hair was brown and lustrous, but it had the shine of fine hardwood, the kind you would see made into a fancy dining room table. One a whole family would eat on during Thanksgiving. He has gorgeous blue eyes, and don’t even get me started on his muscles. Every inch of that boy was pure hotness, highschool jock, and irresistible charisma. I’ve liked him for a while, can you tell? We have been friends for a long time.

I am popular at my school. Shocker right. No, I am not the emo suicidal girl that you probably thought I was until now. I’m normal, well I am normal enough, we’ve all got shit okay? Some of us just know how to hide it better than others. I play soccer, I have friends, I go to parties, and I just happen to have an abusive dad and hate myself sometimes. I don’t cut all the time. I don’t really want to die either, except for on some really bad days, especially when my dad gets drunk. I didn’t think I would ever actually have the balls to do it. Clearly, considering that goddamn heart monitor next to me won't shut up, I suck at killing myself. Add that to the list of things I hate about myself. Kidding, sort of, again, it's okay to laugh. 

I don’t really even remember trying to die this time. It has actually been a few months since I have last hurt myself. I was honestly doing pretty well and thought I was done cutting. Dad has been drinking less, things were actually looking up. Guess that happy streak didn’t last.

Back to searching my memories. So, we won in beer pong, of course. We started to flirt. Joseph and I have flirted for years now, so this is nothing new. We went inside and sat on a couch together. He brought me a drink and we laughed. I think we started to get closer to each other. My thoughts start slowly coming into focus. He tucked a piece of my golden hair behind my ear and smiled that deadly smile. He dropped his hand down to my knee and laughed about a joke I told. Then he stopped laughing. His hand trailed up my thigh and he-

The door slid open as Amelia returned.

“Okay Ashley. Some of your scans have come back. I don’t believe any permanent damage was done here, which is a miracle.” She came and sat on the edge of my bed and set her hand on my knee. “You are so lucky to be here, and I am so happy that you are.” She smiled the reassuring smile again. This time, it actually did help a bit. “Now, you are showing some signs of mild amnesia. I do think the majority of this may be due to intoxication and blood loss. You should have most of your memories back within a few hours or days. To more serious concerns, Ashley you are so important, and so very loved. It is a miracle that you are alive, and I really do hope you use this second chance at life. You are 18, so you are allowed to be discharged on your own. Do you want me to call your parents to pick you up?” I shook my head no. “Alrighty then, you are free to leave, please call an Uber or a friend. Be careful with those stitches on your arms, have lots of rest at home, and come back here in about a week so we can follow up. Also, keep an eye on that head, it is stitched up nicely, but if it starts to open let me know. If you need anything or have any questions please call me. Here’s something I really hope you would check out…” 

She pressed her contact card into my hand along with a navy blue pamphlet on suicide in teens and where to get help. I nodded and said a quick thank you. I tossed the pamphlet in the trash and stuck her card in my pocket. I got an uber, but instead of going home I told him to go to Joseph’s. I can’t go home. I can’t bear to see my mom. I shut my eyes as the man in the front seat drove.

********************

I texted Joe that I was on my way. He greeted me in the driveway and hugged me. He smelled good, like expensive laundry detergent. His mom was at work, she was never at home, and his dad is a, well, touchy subject for another time. He set his arm around my shoulders and brought me upstairs into his room. I got on the bed of my best friend, who I happened to be in love with, and shut my eyes for a moment.

We barely talked and he laid there next to me. I didn’t really have any words to say. He just understood me, I could feel it. He stayed for a while before sitting up. 

“So are we gonna pick up where we left off or what? Are you messing it all up again you fat whore?” His words stung. He moved closer.

“What are you doing-” He cut me off as his lips touched mine. It wasn’t passionately hard, it was aggressive, and angry, “Stop. Joe- What- What is happenin-” I spoke in between his kisses as he pushes hard into me. He pushes me to the middle of the bed before getting on top of me. He kisses me deeper, he reaches up to me, and as his hand closes around my neck, Saturday night floods back into my mind. 

His hand ran up my thigh and up my skirt. My drink, I knew it was spiked the second I felt the thump, thump, thumping, of the stairs as he carried me up to a guest bedroom. My head started spinning and my fists weakly protested. He threw me down on the bed and pulled the delicate clothes from my body with ferocious intensity. He held the skin on my arm tight until it burned and started to grab for every part of me that I had never let anyone see. My eyes let out tears, but my lips couldn’t form the words to scream for help. I tried to shut my eyes to make it all go away, but every time I tried he bashed my head backwards into the headboard, demanding that I stare at him while he took the last bit of innocence I held onto. I didn’t want to, so over and over again he pounded my head until blood pooled onto the sheets. His eyes flushed with lust and powerful dominance, He won. He stood up. He was finished anyway.

I mumbled out words and started to yell and cry when he ran to the bed and his hands closed around my neck again and whispered into my ear past my butterfly earring. “Shut up you dirty whore. Nobody will hear you. Nobody cares. You are nothing except for a good ride. If you died, it wouldn’t matter. So let’s make this our little secret okay?” His speech slurred slightly, a side effect of beer pong. “I’ll be right back to clean up the mess you made,” He said, referring to the blood on the sheets. He grabbed my clothes, “I’ll take these with me, just in case you try to leave. You owe me for this darling. Maybe round two…” 

His voice trailed off as he left me to bleed and went downstairs. I stumbled up from the bed, completely naked, and into the bathroom. Terrified of his return I searched the drawers and shower. I can’t be here when he comes back. In the back of the drawer I found tiny, delicate, but sharp silver scissors. I held them to my wrist. I looked to God and said a silent prayer. I begged God to take me to him, to keep me safe, I apologized for everything I had done, and I asked him to take care of my mom. Then, I started cutting. It was terrible, every minute of it. I wanted to live, but I knew that Joseph would be coming up any second. Then, the door slammed open and Henry was standing there. His mouth dropped. The room started to fade to blackness, and I was left on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood with Henry Statler screaming over my naked body.

Back in the present. Joseph's hand closed tighter around my neck, he looked down at my wrists,

“You didn’t think you could get out of it that easy, did you? God doesn’t even want you, why would he let you die. Come on Ashley”

“Don’t you dare say my name,” I choked out and spit on him.

“Fine then. Come on darling.” With one hand on my throat he slipped off my clothes again and left me fading into black from the lack of oxygen. Before I let the darkness take hold he whispered again past my butterfly earring, “Time for that round two that you promised.”