Over the Edge

Ch.19-Of Bedside Chats that Reveal the Truth

~Emmalyn~

Was it morbid that being in the hospital felt like home again?

I couldn't quite believe it happened. Again. I thought I was done freaking out and choosing extreme measures. Apparently I couldn't just try to kill myself once. I had to go for a second time.

Honestly, I was scared of myself.

The thick curtains were pulled over the window, but I could tell it was dark outside. The stupid fluorescent lights remained on in my room. They didn't want total darkness. They told me when I was tired they would dim them slightly. I felt like a mental patient in a mental hospital.

But I guessed I kind of was.

My door creaked open slowly. At first I thought it was the nurses-my mom was the only other person I expected to visit and she had already done so-but the presence of the room was different. Familiar, but different.

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled in the quiet of my room. My back was to him but I didn't need to look to see who it was. I just knew. I furrowed deeper into the covers.

"I was going to ask you the same question." The door shut and his boots scraped across the linoleum floor closer to me. I swallowed hard, feeling both parts ashamed and embarrassed that he was witnessing me in this way, so weak and exposed and vulnerable.

"You know. It happens when people think you're insane," I muttered. Rhys sighed and lowered down into the metal chair at my bedside. I didn't want to face him but I figured I could be at least a little civil. After all, he had to have exerted some effort and concern to come out and see me, right?

I rolled over, locking eyes with him. He was dressed in slacks, a white-collared dress shirt, and a loosened tie.

"Would you be insulted if I said you're finally looking better?"

I snorted. "Considering I tried to kill myself, yes."

He winced, and then scrubbed his hands over his face. "Christ, Emma."

I picked at the rough fabric of the pillow. "I know."

He stared thoughtfully at me with his hand covering his mouth. I wondered if he had ever made it to the dance before coming. And then I wondered who told him. Unless my mom had his cell phone number-which would be incredibly creepy-then it couldn't have been her because she was with me the entire time. "I thought you were a druggie."

I lifted an eyebrow, a small smile playing at my lips at the abrupt comment. "Come again?"

His eyes fell to my wrist, wrapped in a neon green hospital bracelet. "You looked just like this guy I used to know. Diego was his name. He would get all ashen and shaky when he couldn't be on a fix." His eyes found mine again. "I thought you were addicted to pills."

I averted my gaze guiltily. "You aren't far from the truth," I whispered.

"You tried to overdose."

"It's not because of what you think," I continued, throat constricting. I was still a bit fragile. And I could feel the crinkled paper of the newspaper article beneath my pillow, evidence of my resolve to admit to my fear. To be open about my demons. I needed to with somebody. Rhys was a start. It was an impulsive decision and I was still going with it.

My muscles clenched when I felt his touch, surprisingly gentle, skim over my arm. He left a trail of goosebumps in his wake, my hairs standing on end. "Can I ask why did you did it?" he asked, voice low.

"That depends."

"On what?"

I took a deep breath. "Can I show you something?"