The Things Me Head Made me Do

TRIGGER WARNING: IMPULSIVE THOUGHTS, BLOOD, SELF HARM, , MENTAL ILLNESS REFERENCES, HOSPITALS

My legs are gone.

Eliza's eyes open to the thought. The static white ceiling, positioned in squares. The static noise, coming from each endless buzz. The static air, cold and pressing. Holding her in place, holding the blanket to skin and the lip between teeth and-

“Let go”

Ignoring. Eliza bites harder, the thought coming louder now, my legs are gone my legs are gone my legs are-

“I said-” Eliza tastes copper as Blair's head appears above, her short cut hair a perfect line around her shoulders, black as night and not a single strand out of place. She’s wearing a suit- when is she not? Wrinkle-free, stainless, gray. It makes the bronze of her skin glow, “Let go!”

You can’t say no to Blair. Eliza learned this at a younger age. When the, “can I have a pink cupcake?” was answered with, “No, you can’t have dessert before Dinner. Duh.” and Eliza had to lie with, “Okay” coming back moments later to take, eat, enjoy, the cupcake anyway.

There's no pink frosting in her mouth now, just fingers mixed with blood, Blair's fingers. In moments like these, Eliza tries to regret the things she does. It's in moments like these, she sees how much her sister loves her. Whose mouth would Blair LeCourie stick their white cuffed sleeves into an hour before she went to defend her clients in court?

“Your honor, I would like to-”

“Ms. LeCourie, have you killed someone?”

“Yes. Many times. It's easier to sue someone if they're dead.”

Eliza begins to laugh.

“What?” Blair asks. A snap.

Eliza stops laughing. It's the tone of voice Blair uses, angry, hurt, disappointed. Angry, hurt, disappointed in Eliza. Eliza screwed up again. Eliza needs another lecture. Nothing will fix Eliza. 

“Do you find this funny?” Court voice, Eliza thinks, she’s about to-

Then, of course, the hanging thought, My legs are gone.

“About as funny as you are”

Blair huffs, raising her voice, “Funny. Historical. And freaking Brilliant. Eliza, do you know what happened? You almost died. Do you know where you are? In a Hospital. Do you know who brought you here? Two strangers sitting out in the waiting room wondering if you're ever going to wake up. Do you know what your putting dad threw? What state of mind he’s in right now? He’s-”

“You're very smart Blair.”, Eliza closes her eyes, the guilt is warm, sunlight in her stomach. It crawls its way up her throat. Sitting too long. Beginning to burn, "Very very smart”

“You are so inconsiderate, Eliza. very very idiotically placed in-”

Eyes opened, glaring, “Oh. Idiotically placed? That's a fancy phrase, do you use it in court?"

"More often than you'd like to know. And-"

"You're mad", There are things on her wrist. Tubes acting as veins, Eliza sits up. The blanket outlining her very connected legs. Oh, thank God. Well, if all else fails. I could always just walk away from her, She thinks, attempting to wiggle a toe.

The voice awakens.

It's a fire, the slightest breath of air and the forest of her mind burns with it. It's crackling words. Voice. The same voice that made her do it is back. Its kindness. Its comfort. It's way of getting her hurt. 

Every.

Single.

Time.

Get up, it says, walk away, walk away get up.

Blair breaks the perimeter, "You need help"

Eliza blanches. The flames growing taller.

We don't need help. We're staying safe. Something bad would have happened.

I had too, the words hang in Eliza's lips, unwilling to come out, there are only so many times you can tell someone the truth before both of you end up angry.

I Had Too, she pleads, I had too.

She.

Had.

Too.

She has always been intuitive.

They knew this.

At thirteen, When her head told me to pull out the scissors from the bathroom drawer, to cut off every dark lock, cut strands until it fell to my shoulders in locks, and sent Blair laughing. And sent mom screaming. And Berry crying. And the question of why, why, why.

She told them:

“I had to.”

At fifteen, when her head told her to take the expensive gold-rimmed pitcher of water from the expensive silk-drenched table full of expensive money-drenched people and dump it on the expensive president's first son and sent him gasping. And sent people laughing. And cameras flashing. And the question of why, why, why-

She told them:

“I had to.”

Had.

to.

She acted as her thoughts told me to act, big things of hair and water. Small things of eating an entire jar of peanut butter at three A.M or taking her fingers and picking at her wrist for three hours straight. She did it. She’s doing it. She will do it again. Always. Forever. Is there something wrong? 

No. 

Good.  

Do it again.

She has always been intuitive.

So, on that sunny afternoon, when the streets of California stretched before her. And nothing in the universe was impossible. When she didn’t have to think, just do. Feel the warmth, the freedom. Feeling filled. Not empty. Not needing. 

When she took my bike from the garage.

Flip flops and sunglasses and gliding.

The ocean stretched to her right. The hillside to her left. The tree at the end of the turn.

And her head said,

Don’t turn.

And she said,

But I'll hit it.

And her head said,

Don’t turn.

And she didn’t turn,

It was an instinct.

She felt the warmth of sunlight on her fingers, comforting, as she didn’t turn her bike at the end of the road.

And the road disappeared.

The tree became very very visible.

Hard.

Her. Instinct. Tree.

Lights that didn’t exist- flashing. She thinks now it was the sun. She thought she was dead. She thought and questioned a lot of things afterward, like now, laying in this bed and not knowing whether or not her legs are gone or very very numb. She could say she thought and questioned the entirety beforehand, but not really, she only did. Instinct.

She has always been instinctual.

They knew this.

So at seventeen, when her head told her to not turn, to run her bike into the tree, she ran her bike into the tree. She felt every bone break and thought of pleasure and her head saying,

Good job, now this is what it really feels like to feel.

And they asked her, why, why, why.

She told them:

“I had to.”

….she had to.