The Butterfly Effect (Rewritten)

Chapter Twelve - Knocking on Heaven's Door

Rain does not always symbolize sadness. Often, they say, rain symbolizes rebirth. If that was the case, I believed a higher power had just breathed life into me. I gasped a deep breath when I awoke. The heart monitor gave me away by the rapid beating. Nurses rushed into my room and seeing that I was finally awake, took my vitals. I didn't try to fight them. I was too disoriented to force my muscles into moving. I slipped back into a world of sleep. But that time, I knew I would awake.

I woke up calmer the next time. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the harsh light. I stared with blank eyes at every inch of the room that I could see. I tried to make sense of where I was, but nothing seemed to click. I didn't want to leave the bed, though. I was too tired for that.

"Emory!" Someone gasped.

I followed the voice and found my mom and dad sitting beside the bed.

My mom leaped up and hugged me.

My father tugged her off. "She needs to breathe, Charlotte."

"Oh, God," my mom choked out, "don't you ever do this to us again! You understand?"

I winced at my mother's high volume, but nodded. I still had no memory of what was happening. Since my dad was the only stable presence in the room, I asked him.

"Dad... what's going on?"

Now it was his turn to be confused.

He leaned in. "What do you mean, Honey?"

"Why am I in the hospital?"

My mom stopped crying.

"You... don't remember?"

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was made of cotton. "No... should I?"

"You overdosed on medication."

And like the snap of a rubber band, the memories hit me at once. My head began to pound as my experience in the afterlife flew by; Megan's bulimia, Jason's death, Harper's death, my funeral, the demons, Suicide, Divina and so on.

My heart rate skyrocketed on the monitor. I couldn't control my breathing as the fear flooded into my veins.

"Get out of here! They're coming!" All I saw were their faces.

No reason or rationality. Only the survival instincts I had gained in Purgatory.

"Let me go! Let me go!" I thrashed against my dad who fought to hold me down.

He screamed at my mom to find help.

Multiple nurses and doctors ran in, though I couldn't see past the tears who administered the morphine. I heard something about relapsing. My body became heavier and heavier until I couldn't move anymore. A kiss on my forehead was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out.

Three days passed in the hospital. Those days were dedicated to assuring the doctors and my parents that I was no longer suicidal. That, however, proved difficult on the first day I was lucid.

A man with glasses and silver hair, probably in his fifties, entered the room with my chart.

"Hello there Emory, I'm Dr. Conrad from Psyche. You gave us quite the scare when you woke up."

My eyes darted to the restraints around my wrists and ankles. They made me want to laugh, but I held back any smiles since it wouldn't do anything to help my case.

"Yes, I can see that."

My parents sat in the chairs against the wall, quiet and partly ashamed that they had to make the call to restrain me.