Chapitre 13: Chapter II
"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus." – Mark Twain
Dixie
I woke up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect, invading my nostrils. The room was silent apart from my heavy breathing and the beep beep sound you often hear in hospitals that indicates you're alive. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting in an attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. I glanced around and took in the deserted, blue and white colour schemed hospital bedroom.
How long have I been here?
I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had exactly happened. Then it all hits me with a bang. The memory of it all starts to occupy my thoughts. I did it. Or I at least tried to. The pills. The alcohol bottle. I jumped off. The cold air hitting my face as I plummet towards the gravel. The pain jolted throughout my body. It didn't hurt as much as the realization that I didn't succeed. I was still alive.
But then Noah....He found me and called 119, telling me "Hold on, you'll be fine". I didn't want to hold on. I wanted to let go. But I'm sure he didn't stay....Who brought me here? Out of impulse, my hand travels to my face, pressing the throbbing area on my right temple. I felt a scar and flinched at the pain. I tried to get up. Once I stepped on the cold, white tiles, I instantly fell back on to the bed. My body, engulfed in pain as if objecting my decision to stand up. I lay there pathetically, waiting for the pain to wash away. Staring at the ceiling, illuminated with a white fluorescent light. Perhaps waiting for some help by the hospital staff. I still didn't know how I got here, who took me here, or how long I've been here.
My series of questions was interrupted as a devilishly handsome man, with brown hair and mesmerizing hazel eyes, emerged from the door of my room, with a mobile phone close to his ear, talking. . . . . . . Has I didn't want to leave the craziness of my life and go back to the dull old house I was forced to live in with people who couldn't care less.
Noah then snapped me out of my deep thought asking whether I was okay. I told him I was even if it was obviously a complete lie.
"Should we go back to your house tomorrow morning? Or would you like to leave in the evening?"
Leave? No. "I'm sorry but what do you mean by leaving? I'm not going back to them. I love it here."
He looked at me as if I was mad. "How could you possibly love it here? Dixie, we need to get you home." He didn't get me right now. I know he didn't. But I don't want to go back.
"Just wait," I shouted and the room fell silent. "How long have I been here?" It couldn't have been more than three or four days.
"Five months. You've been unconscious for five months." There's no way.
"How did you find out?"
"Who do you think brought you here? I sneaked into your window to see you because of whatever happened with your mother and I found you there...surrounded by glass, bottles of vodka, blood running and pills all over the place. You fucking scared me." I could see the fear on his face but it somehow gave me satisfaction. I was fucking sick for feeling that way but he cared...he cared enough to be fearful.
I took a deep breath and stared at him. "What happened next?"
He took a seat on the couch next to the bed and his legs manspread. The sighs that escaped his mouth were heavy and telling. It's not looking good. "I cleaned you up...I tried to but it kept getting worse. I called your parents and they didn't pick up so I called 911. I told them you had an accident because I didn't know what was happening and here we are today."
Everywhere I go destruction follows. Every single place. "Did my parents come visit?"
"Your mom came about three times and your dad didn't come. Your grandma was here earlier but she had a flight, so she's gone again." It's shocking that my mom even showed up in the first place and I could always count on grandma. I always could.
Tears started pooling in my eyes, so I forced a yawn out shifting the attention to tears caused by that action and not by everything I'm hearing. "Why are you here?"
He looked at me perplexed. "You could be anywhere else. Or with your girlfriend or the several women you tell me that you fuck. You're here, why?"
He stood, straightening his shirt. "Because you needed someone here. Because we're friends. Am I not your friend?"
That's the problem. The fact that we're only friends and he's only ever seen me as that. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck it all. "Yeah," I responded. "We are."
"Exactly. How are you feeling?"
"I just want to sleep right now," I expressed, "I don't really feel like talking. Thanks for being here but I think I'm good now."
"I don't-"
"I said I'm good." My tone became stronger as I was growing more annoyed. I just wanted him to leave. He needs to just leave and I'll be at peace. I wish I wasn't alive, I wish I wasn't here. I wish I never met anyone.
He left the room and I went to sleep. Everything blurred but I'll be fine, I always am.
•
Doctors and nurses scream at each other as they run across the hallways wheeling me into the operating theatre. I look over to my wrists as clear fluids begin their journey into my veins. My heart is in my throat, my pulse is echoing throughout the room, my limbs are quivering, and my lungs are screaming. Nurses force plastic tubes up my nose, as jets of cold air enter my sinuses, giving me relief. Inkblots dance before my eyes like a symphony of lights. A sudden sleepiness overcomes me and slowly my vision dims.
I wake up again feeling like a brick is on my chest. My ribcage is bandaged like a mummy and a sickbay gown hangs loosely on my scrawny shoulders. I look like a vampire... And not the kind from twilight that girls swoon for. I'm talking about real vampires. Pale, bony and sickly.
The doctors say I'm lucky to have survived this but if only they knew. If only they knew I didn't want to be lucky. I just wanted to die that night.
On my hospital bed, I sit and stretch out my arms to relieve some nervous tension. My room is nothing but dull grey walls and the smell of disinfectant. My ears perk up as I listen to doctors and nurses conversing outside. Their voices grow louder and louder as I hear their feet coming closer to my door. I crane my neck towards sounds, only to spot the brass knob of my door turning. My heart begins to race and my breathing becomes shallower. I quickly pull out a pocket knife from under my pillow and slip it into my pants pocket. Stealthily, I roll out of bed, forgetting about the various tubes attached to my body. I wince in pain and tears well up in my eyes as they get yanked out of my arm.
"Crap," I muttered and started walking to exit the room. I needed a shower and I needed to get the hell out of here.
"Ms. D'Amelio," I heard a nurse shout, "where are you going?"
"Anywhere but that bed. Can I leave?"
She advised me to go back to the room and we headed there. I sat up straight on the bed as the doctor came in to assess me. He was a big, tall man. Maybe 6 ft tall but he had brown curly hair. Reminded me of my father and so my body stiffened and my nerves chilled.
"Are you okay? I won't hurt you," he said. I found that hard to believe. Those were the same words my father told me before he raped and abused me senselessly.
I won't hurt you.
You're safe with me.
But those were all lies. All I've ever been told is lies. A bunch of fucking lies. I didn't say this aloud, I just trusted the process. I trusted that he wouldn't assault me here and he'd just do what he needs to do.
"You've healed a lot over the past five months. There's still a lot of damage but nothing bedrest and medication can't fix. We have to ask you a few questions just for the sake of our files. Let me know when you're ready or if it's better for you, I could ask a female correspondent to do it."
He knows. The tests must've shown something... fuck. I nodded my head as a signal to let him start and he grabbed his clipboard.
"Name?" I looked at him with annoyance. "I know your name, but it's a part of protocol." Oh.
"Dixie D'Amelio."
"Birth date?"
"June 25, 2004." We're in the year of 2019. What a fucked up time to be alive.
"Age?"
"I'm 15."
"Emergency contact?"
There's no way in hell I'd ever mention my parents. I'd die in this place before one of them mustered the courage to care. "Noah Beck." I took a deep breath and started twirling my fingers in my palms.
"That's the gentleman who's been here with you for the past five months. He's also the one who brought you here. Do you have a contact number for him?"
My heart stopped and now I felt like shit for telling him to leave earlier. Fuck.
"I-I do. Umm it's 3156728977." I was hoping it didn't change in the five months I was unconscious.
"Perfect. The nurse at reception has the prescription for you and we're going to notify your emergency contact that he can come to get you. Upon closing the payment, you'll receive your discharge papers and final documents," he said.
I took a while to process everything that happened as well as everything he just said. If I have to go through so much trouble to stay alive, I'm pretty sure I'm better off dead.
"Thank you doctor."
He nodded and started making his way out. Then he stopped. All of a sudden he stopped and turned midway to face me. "You didn't deserve what happened to you and I hope whoever did it gets the karma of their life."
I couldn't respond to him as he walked out immediately after but the one thing I could think of was, 'yeah, I hope he gets it too.'
A nurse came to pull the tubes from my arms as well as help me clean up. I was really bruised and I looked completely fucked up. "Damn," I whispered.
The next hour I spent gathering my things and crying in the bathroom. There's so much pain as well as guilt in my heart— seeping through my bones. I felt everything and I felt it so damn deep as well.
"Your emergency contact is here," the nurse said and I walked out to meet him.
He jumped up speedily as he saw me and started charging towards me. Normally, I'd be scared when men approach in this way or at all— but not with him. He made me feel safe and I'm sure it's because I've fallen in love with him. It's sad, falling in love with a person who will never see you this way.
"Ready to go?"
I nodded and we left the hospital. The charges were already cleared when we went to the cashier. She said the source was anonymous but I'm sure either Noah or my grandparents did it; thank God for them.
•
The car ride was silent but I'm at my house. I left the car before he could've said anything to me and ran upstairs to avoid contact with anyone. I never expected them to be home anyways— they never were and I doubt they'll ever be but all the better for me.
My room looked different. It was clean. There wasn't a distinct smell of alcohol and dirty clothes— it smelt feminine. Almost like my sister's room. Everything was also in the same place I left them. My journal was hidden in the same box it always is and my secret stash of bourbon in the wall was also still there. Thank God...I'd need that later.
Whoever cleaned my room either put everything in the exact places they found it or I'm actually losing my mind and I left it this way. But I'm not complaining. One less thing to worry about.
My head hit the pillow and suddenly everything came crashing down at a million miles per hour. What would I do for school now that I've missed a whole five months of it? How would I handle my addiction? What would I do about Noah? There's so many "what what what" and not enough answers.
"Fuck my life," I groaned.
My phone pinged. It's Noah. I could tell without even looking because I set a special notification sound for the times he would text me.
Noah B: hey, how are you?
Me: I'm fine and you?
Noah B: are you really fine? And I'm good.
Me: I'm not dead so that counts for something right? Lol. And I'm glad you're good.
Noah B: It counts for a lot, don't try to die on me again. Please, it scared me.
My fucking heart.
Me: I can't promise anyone that but I'll try my best.
Noah B: for a 15 year old, you've been through a lot. I don't know much but only pain and terror could drive someone to hurt themselves the way you hurt yourself.
This is a prime example of what we weren't gonna do. We weren't going to sit and talk about my suicide or my depression or my declined mental health. That wasn't up for discussion and it never will be.
Me: Can we not talk about this? I really don't want to.
Noah B: got it sorry. i'm just glad you're back home. i hope you like your room, did my best. not a big house cleaner but i got help from your sister.
Was it even possible to like someone to the point where your heart was aching for them? Because that's the only way I felt about him.
Me: Thank you and yes, I like it. You didn't have to.
Noah B: i wanted to. it's a bit late, so i will let you get some rest. text or call me if you need anything at all. take care dix.
I wanted to tell him that I loved him. I needed to tell him how much I loved him but I couldn't. I couldn't pass that line with him and so I left it alone and responded with a "yeah, i will."
No harm, no fucking foul, I guess.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone