Forgetters, Leavers, and Complainers

Part D

I dreamed that I died. It was a warm dream, full of sunshiny yellows and golds. There were flowers and fields. There was no pain; that's how I know it was a dream.

I woke up to cold pleather under my skin. Scratchy linen barely covering my body. Straps holding my limbs in place. Beeping. Hushed, fervent whispering. 

I want to go back to sleep. I want to go back to the dream.

But I can't. I knew that when I put my knife to my skin that I couldn't go back.

What was I thinking?

I was thinking that maybe I would die--maybe I wouldn't have to wake up to this world anymore. Maybe I really wanted to die. Maybe none of this was a plan for revenge but a way of saying my last rites before passing into the netherworld. But no, I woke up to the pain.

Did it work? Did I break them? Corey, Lily, Grant? 

I try to lean up to look around me but I find I can't move due to my constraints. I turn my head, ignoring the migraine screaming through my skull.

All I can see is Mom. Mom and Emma are standing next to a doctor. Mom has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her arms to her chest. She tries to appear calm and unaffected, but even from here, I can see the tremble of her chin. Emma is holding a stuffed animal and her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. They've been crying.

This is my fault.

I close my eyes and welcome the nothingness that chases my consciousness.