The Girl With OCD

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

     I wake with a start. Something is not right. I hear a murmur of voices downstairs, my mother's voice soothing and warm, and I can only pick out a few words.

    Hospital.

     Blood.

     Knife.

     Transfusion.

     Jesse.

     I put on a sweater, grab a hair band from my head board, and pull on my warmest socks. Running down the stairs, I throw my hair into what I assume is a ponytail. My mother is just hanging up the phone and picking up the car keys.

     "Rose," my mom begins, slowly, "It's Jesse. He's... he's in the hospital. His mom thinks you should come."

     I nod.

     My mother grabs her coat and a pair of boots. I hurriedly put on my own boots, and then dash out to the car. I run to the passenger's side, open the door, and sit down. With some difficulty, I fasten my seat belt. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. Mom slides in gracefully, turns on the car, and starts down the highway. In the distance, the hospital lights are glowing. Inside, Jesse's waiting. I can only assume it has to do with cutting. 

     Father in Heaven, please, please help Jesse. Please.

      My boots leave wet prints behind me from not bothering to wipe them off. The lady behind the counter grimaces at me, obviously not appreciating the extra mess. My mom calmly walks up to the counter, puts her keys and purse on it, and quietly asks where Jesse is. The lady shuffles some papers, asks us our names, and then gives us directions. I try not to run down the hall, wanting to see what I can do. This is not my fault this time.

     If you see Jesse, he'll die, and go to hell.

     I utter a sort of mangled scream, stop dead in my tracks, and I feel my hand fly to my mouth. My hand pushes my lip into my teeth, resulting in blood trickling down my chin. I didn't know I had that physical strength. But anxiety has now swept up my body, and I literally can't move. I don't know what to do. The last time that this threat racked my senses to such a mess was when I was with Cody. I tr to remember the words he said to me, the words everyone said to me.

     "It wasn't your fault"

     Oh, of course it is. You don't want the same thing to happen to Jesse, do you?

     But... everybody's saying it's not...

     It is!!

    It's... it's not. It's not. I believe God, Mom, and Jesse. Not you. You are just a brain malfunction. You can't hold a candle to all my other sources of truth. You are not true!!!

      Cage seems to scowl, and then it disappears. For now. I shake my head, as if to clear it of any last thoughts, and jog after my mom. Jesse's room is on the left, number 138.

    "Hey, Jess," I say quietly, moving to his bed. He's asleep. Blood is being pumped into his arm. His dad sits on the other side, half-asleep. I look to Jesse's wrists. There are bandages, but a deep crimson liquid is seeping through. He cut too deep.

     "Jess, you have to wake up," I poke him on the shoulder, "Come on. Wake up."

     "Rose..." Mother has a warning tone to her voice.

     "He's okay, he just cut too deep. And too many times," I say, squeezing my eyes to pinch back the tears.

     "Did you know about this?" Mom's eyes grow wide.

     Uh, oh.

    "Well, he's been doing it for a while... but he wanted me not to tell anyone. Said it was his problem, not mine, and he dealt with his pain his way."

     "Rosie," My mom sits down and takes my hand, "cutting is serious. People can die from blood loss. It's deeper than him just 'dealing with his pain'. It has a physical aspect, too. It would have better if you would have told some one."

     "But he didn't want me to!" I almost yell, "And I respected that! I understood how he was trying to deal with his own pain! I'm trying to deal with mine, but seriously, sometimes I think it would easier to try and die and get it over with." I can feel tears coursing down my cheeks, and I crumple to the floor. "I have OCD and Dad's death to deal with. And Cody's. Do you even understand how hard that is? What I tell you I'm going through is the abridged version! If I told you everything... you just wouldn't understand. And he," I gesture to Jesse, "did. He did."

     "Honey, I understand more than you thi-"

     "You do not understand!! Stop pretending!! You do not! Jesse understood certain parts of it.  But you, or anybody for that matter, could never, really, truly understand!!"

     I jump to my feet and run. I bolt out of the room, out into the hallway, and then out of the nearest door. I hear my name called behind me.

     I want out. I want out of my mind and reality. I want out of chains and snares and entanglements and everything else. I just want... out.

      I trip on a walkway just outside the door, and I can see blood in the frost where my knee hit a rock. I can imagine other red on white in room 138. I squint my eyes again. I can't cry. Jesse would get why. I curl into a ball, leaning against the cold, hard wall of the hospital.  A mass of arms, legs, blood and tears.

     The memories flood back. Dad's face, dancing on his shoes. Cody and I playing board games in the basement. Baking cookies with my mom before I ever worried about killing someone with them. Going to the park with Jesse. Just being... normal.

     Why couldn't I have been normal?! I hit my fist against the concrete. Why couldn't I have been normal!? The OCD forces my hand to stay on a sharp piece of glass, shooting pain through my hand. Why?!

     More blood pools on the cement. I jerk my hand away, then remember that I will go to Hell because of it, then stab it back onto the glass, then pull it off. I pick up the pink-stained glass and throw it far into the grass and snow. But now I will go to Hell. If I can't find it... I will...

     I feel dizzy. I think it's because I'm dying. I rush toward the spot I threw the glass into, searching frantically for it. If I die, I don't want to got o Hell. I've heard about what it's like, from verses in the Bible. Now those verses haunt me, scaring me, and I trip and tumble and feel like I'm going to throw up. Then I fall again. I must be covered in bruises and cuts. I can feel myself falling asleep. I can feel the world going bl-