Pain Killer

17 ~ Four Hours of Numbness

My hair dripping on the towel over my shoulders, I step out of the bathroom. A cloud of steam escapes into the rest of the cold house. I do a little dance as I pull my socks on and head to the kitchen through the dim hallway.

Martha sits at the table with a cup of tea in her hands. Half of the lights are on in the room; I turn on the other half at my entrance. I sense her silent gaze on me as I take the first-aid kit out of the cabinet and pull up my sweatshirt sleeve.

The slits are still dripping from the hot shower. I frown at my bloodied sleeve just stained during the walk from the bathroom. I rip a few paper towels and pat my arm dry, turning to Martha's heavy stare.

She watches me as she sips her tea. "What did you use? Those don't look like razor cuts."

I wince to myself. How much would it cost to lie? My eyes crawl at a painfully slow rate up to hers. The price is too steep. I've already broken one person's trust today.

I clench my jaw, wishing I could go back in time and just call him as I promised instead of feeling like a guilty burden every time I look up his name on my phone. Now I have two more lines to prove my betrayal.

"The scissors." My voice seeps into the tense quiet. I don't like the feeble tone of it, or how loud it sounds in this little kitchen. I don't like the hurt look in Martha's eyes. They're reminiscent of Uri's. They say the same thing: I'm always here for you. Why must you suffer by yourself? Why must you hurt yourself before even trying your other options? Are we not good enough?

I hate myself. I really, really-

Martha's phone rings, interrupting the deafening quiet.

I turn to see Caroline's name flashing across the screen.

My breath hitches and Martha swipes the name, making the phone go silent. She looks up at me, cautioned.

"Was that..." I can't seem to say it.

Martha winces and takes a deep breath. Looking down at her tea, she finally nods.

"Why..." I try again. My voice struggles to remain steady. "Why did Caroline call you?"

"I don't know, maybe she's wondering how you're doing?" She tries to laugh but my face practically zips her mouth shut.

"She can call me," I mumble and Martha clears her throat.

Her phone dings again and she quickly turns it off, flipping it around.

"Why are you ignoring it?"

Martha stares at me, formulating her thoughts. A long sigh resounds and it looks as if she would rather carry the world than answer. "Recently... Caroline has been calling. I didn't think I should worry you with this."

I find my hand turning blue from lack of circulation and look down to see that I've made a tourniquet of my bandages. I unravel the wrapping and try again, pointing my focus as best I can away from Martha's disarming words.

"They apparently had a big fight and she wanted to see you." Her sigh pulls down on me like weights.

"Why do they want to see me?" I ask, playing with the tail of my bandage. Why didn't she just call me herself?

"Well, you know why. You were always the peacemaker between them. I guess they realized how important you are to them. How much more they fight, with you gone." Martha takes a painful breath in. "But I don't want you to see them. I know that's selfish of me but I'm so scared they'll demand you leave-"

"Don't worry, I'm an adult... kind of." I gather the supplies and shove them all back into the cabinet. Pulling out a chair, I sit opposite her and take her hand as it clenches around her cold mug. "They can't take custody of a twenty-year-old who they don't even call." Even when I call them.

"Do you want to see them?" Martha looks up at me, worry and exhaustion in the blue rings around her eyes.

I swallow, unsure of my thoughts. The stinging in my wrist and the thick feeling in my throat pull my mind in different directions. "I... I don't know." Do I miss them? Do I want to play peacemaker again for them? Do I want them to give me money? Do I want them to hug me? I attempt to answer each question but it only comes out as yes followed by no. I don't know.

Sometimes, I wonder why I still think about them. While I'm lying in bed or walking to school, or sitting in class, my mind drifts through the past and I try to picture what they could be doing at that moment. And then I try to fantasize that they're thinking about me too at the same time. And my picture of them grows glossy, sugaring over the painful parts and leaving me wanting to go back home, wanting to call them, wanting to try a hug and see what happens. It seems easy to forget the hard parts of my past and to place my parents on some sort of pedestal. Far too easy. That must be the whole Love Carries Chains idea, that when you love someone, you know their faults, you see their flaws, yet you stay. Even when you want to leave, even when they hurt you time after time, you continue to stay for them.

I'm chained because I'll always love them. For some reason, I don't want to accept this fact.

Martha stands and dumps her cold tea down the drain. She sets the mug in the sink and gives me a pat on the head, saying something I don't quite hear. Perhaps it was sleep well, or I love you, or that she's going to go hide those scissors. I'm not sure.

I'm left in the kitchen as half of the lights are turned off and Martha's bedroom door is shut.

A random thought surfaces in the silence and I pull in a deep breath.

Uri likes me.

He asked me out. That phone call, late at night when he asked me for advice about another girl; he just meant me and panicked.

My eyes well up at this thought. Sniffling, I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. It feels surreal. How come I can't seem to let myself accept it?

Ever since I was young, I thought that if someone liked me, it would somehow magically fix my problems. In all of the fantasies I've humored, in all of the fairytales I've idolized, I've imagined myself just as easily finding my other half that can fix me. I thought that maybe they could prove that I can be loved.

In the end, even if I do get my Prince Charming Painkiller, I'm still just a mess of mental illness. Painkiller is only painkiller. Temporary. What happens when the pain receptors find their way through the Ibuprofen? When the four hours of numbness end?

What then?

~~~~~~~ Oct-18-22
pub, Apr-30-23

you know, i still wonder why Uri has red hair. why, of all things, does he have red hair? i have trust issues with gingers, let me tell you. all of the red-heads i know personally are either immature or annoyingly egotistical. there was this one guy who spilt beer on me at a concert. guess what his hair color was (︶^︶)

i now have this immature (and basically baseless) bias against red hair. just... what was i thinking with Uri?