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p; Her head lolls at an awkward angle and her green strands half-camouflage her expression.
My eyes go straight to the trail of blood soaking her cat pyjamas and the tiles beneath her.
So much fucking blood.
One of her hands holds a blade and her previously scarred wrist is now cut open, oozing blood all over the white tiles.
I run towards her, cursing out loud like a lunatic and grab towels on the way.
The first towel soaks immediately after I wrap it, so I add another one. Then something glints in her cut hand.
A bloodied bracelet dangles from her fingers.
I almost break at the view. It’s the bracelet I gave her for her eleventh birthday. The last gift I ever gave her, which I thought she threw away.
I push that thought out of the present and place two fingers on the pulse point in her neck while keeping pressure on her wrist.
The waiting time is probably seconds, but it feels like centuries. The more she doesn’t show any sign of life, the more I stop breathing altogether.
“Come on, Green.” My voice is hoarse with the pent-up emotions swirling inside me.
My grip tightens around her wrist as I lean my forehead against hers. “Don’t go, please. I’ll be the one to go, I promise.”
The moment her pulse thumps under my thumb, I release a long breath. It’s as if I’m coming from the dark, suffocating underground.
Her pulse is weak and barely there, but it exists.
I bandage one more towel around her wrist, keeping the pressure as I dial 999.
From here on, there are only two options. Either she lives or I don’t.
21
Kimberly
Numb.
That’s the only feeling that remains in my head as I slowly open my eyes.
It’s something strange. Being numb, I mean.
There’s nothing in there. No emotions. No thoughts. And most of all, no pain.
It’s like a blank canvas.
I always loathed blank canvases when Mum brought them over. At least she paid them attention and made them pieces of art.
People think the ‘nothing’ state of mind is the best to have.
It’s not.
Slowly, that nothingness morphs into irrevocable darkness that you can never escape.
A fog. A numbness.
While I never had Mum’s artistic streak, I always wanted someone to touch my blank canvas, paint on it, somehow revive it.
