Notable Occasions on the Calendar of Dread

I wake up in a haze, with leaden eyelids that stubborn refuse to open. I open my eyes to a ball of fire starring me in the face, and I'm pretty sure that I'm dead. You don't survive a suicide attempt if you're twisted enough to do it. And the vague whistling sound I hear means I have got to be dead...or at least close.

Do your ears ring when you're dead? Her voice in my mind ask. The effort the thought costs me makes my head throb even worse, and I black out again, halos from the light dancing on closed eyelids.

I know I can't, and I shake myself instead. Distantly, I notice a coppery taste drifting into my mouth as I lick dry, cracked lips. Wait, a coppery taste? That's got to be...

"Blood," I mutter to myself. Swallowing it disgustingly I trace shaking fingers up my face until I feel the bandages on my wrist glide across my cheek. Bandages me, I'm alive, awake, with the demons of my mind.

Scream. I want to scream, but I can't find my voice, it's hidden somewhere in the indigo sea that has swamped my brain.

The room has gone silent in the time it's taken me to make these startling revelations. I pry myself up, with every being in my body protesting to do so. More quickly do I realize that the thudding is rather inside my head than outside. Great.

My vision cleared from two of everything to one; I blink several times and my eyes fall upon a face over too my right.

"Are you okay?" his voice says, and it causes a moment of panic. I know that face.

Dark hair hung straight past his ears, he had tilted his head towards me, revealing a scorpion tattoo on the side of his neck.

No I'm not fucking okay, I shouldn't be alive.

He continued to look as me, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Can you tell me your name? He asks in a sweet, calm voice.

"Ja--" I caught myself. "Je m'appelle Lacey. Lacey." I said. "It's Lacey," I keep saying it to get it through my mind. He reached out his hand to comfort me, and instantly I flinch away.

"Hey, hey," he started. "It's okay, just calm down," his arm still outstretched towards me. He stands up and sits next to me on the bed, putting an arm around me. Mybody tells me something isn't right; that I shouldn't be welcoming something like this. So I don't/ I cringe, twist, and turn, like I'm tied to a chair trying to free myself. And then the movements fade into sobs as my broken mind catches up to what I'm doing.

"What's wrong?" His voice says again. And the question hangs in the air, heavy.

"Who are you? WhereamIwhatdayisithowdidIwhywhywhywhy........." Dizziliy my questions drip into one another.

"Whoa, whoa," his voice says again, holding me steady. "Listen, Lacey, can I call you Lacey?"

I nod.

"When you came into the hotel, uh, Gee--Gerard, was watching you, claiming you 'looked lost' to him. When the, um, security guards were, uh, getting the door, and when everyone started to see what was going on, Gerard started to call out 'that's my sister! That's my sister!' Uh, I guess our detail pulled some strings and got you to be left with us, since the paramedics couldn't find a proper address on you ID. But, medically, you're stable." he said, firmly.

I looked at him stunned. I failed the hospital, I failed sisterhood, I failed being a daughter, I failed cutting myself into shreds; good thing I'm stable.

"But you're feeling okay, now, right?" he asks.

What does it feel like to be okay? Calm? At ease? I don't remember a time where I wasn't anxious, stressed out, overwhelmed, miserable, or suicidal.

I nod slightly, "Yeah, I'm feeling okay, Frank," knowing all too well whom I was talking to.

Lie.

We exit the room in unison, and he ushers me to follow him into the hallways, I trail behind him, noticing that he isn't much taller than me, and that the house we were in was quiet, too quiet--the kind that could drive you mad.

The dwelling smelled of cigarettes and after shave, I stumbled along the hallway, and then Frank disappeared into a room, only to come out a second later with a shirt an boxers crumpled into a tight ball.

"These should be okay, for now, we're working on getting your other clothes clean, he said, knowing he was talking about my cardigan.

He ushered my into the bathroom, sliding over and allowing my to enter the room before he closes the door behind me. I peek around the vicinity and notice a crumples black piece of clothing lying on the floor and scanned down my leggings looking at the blood etched into the fabric. Did I really l loose that much blood? It didn't like it was huanly possible to have that much blood.

I slid the curtain of the shower over and turned on the water as hot at it would allow, stepping into it. Every few minutes I slid he curtain back to peek out, making sure no one was standing there watching me. I havent showered without an orderly in almost four years. I was what little hair I had with plain water, noticing there were no female groominf products in the shower. Some shampoo, and AXE body wash was it. I used the lone razor to shave where my body needed it. I decided not to use any of the soap and just let the hot water wash ever discomfort down the drain.

I slid the curtain back and steped out of the shower, grabbing the towel that was hanging on the rack, and wrapped it around my frail body, feeling some sensation of comfort in the fibers.

I decided against the boxers, and pulled the leggings back on but put on the t-shirt that was also giant on me--it read a 1970s movie that I didn't bother to see.I exited thr bathrom, my ears meeting with the sound of faint conersaton and some laughter. I tried to mentally prepare for walking into the room after retracing the steps I took with Frank.

Notes