“By honey, we’ll be back in two weeks,” my mom woke me up. I rolled over as she closed my bedroom door.
It was almost night already. I had just slept about eight hours after only being awake maybe seven. I was still tired. Oh well, more sleep would fix that.
I woke again. Four in the morning. Almost another eight hours. Damn.
I was getting hungry. I couldn’t move. It hurt too much. Why?
“Aaaaah!” I twitched my arm over my mattress. So much pain. My body seemed to be waking up a little. I could just start to barely move. It hurt so much. I looked down to my wounded arm. It looked to be worsening. I was cold. Breaking through my aching muscles, I reached down to my feet and pulled my blanket over me. I would do something in the morning. I was still tired. It was too painful to move.
I woke up. Eleven in the afternoon. I was getting worse. I was getting thirsty. I had to use the bathroom. I could barely move.
Someone was knocking on my front door. I could hear the faint pounds downstairs through my closed bedroom door. They were loud; maybe it was Camryn coming over to see if I was mad.
I tried yelling.
“Help,” a weak cry was all that came out. Did I lose my voice? What was happening to me?
The knocking stopped. I laid silently wanting to cry; nothing came out. I fell asleep.
Six in the evening. I was so hungry, so thirsty; I had to use the bathroom so bad.
Why was this happening to me? I think I woke up to knocking again. I don’t remember. I left Corey in the woods when she needed help; was this my punishment. It hurt her to walk home; I made her walk home all alone, knowing that I was mad at her. I deserved this.
My whole body ached. I wanted to go back to sleep. I wasn’t tired anymore.
Hours upon hours; I laid in bed almost motionless. Why couldn’t I just fall asleep? My entire body was in pain. I couldn’t do anything. No one was coming to help. I was alone for two weeks. If I did not heal myself, then I would die; so, so very slowly.
Camryn’s parents, they had a key. They would come check on me if I didn’t come over in a few days. Could I last that long.
The phone rang. I pushed with all my strength to get off the bed. I was moving, slowly; slowly I shifted to the edge of my mattress. So much throbbing. I fell.
I laid in searing pain on my bedroom floor. I listened to the phone ring, over and over, no one would come. I hurt so bad. My arm, it was killing me. Why me? I fell into sleep.
Two in the morning. Four hours of serene sleep. Now pain.
I wet myself. I was so ashamed. My room smelled of my piss. I didn’t smell it, but I knew, once someone else opened my door, they would. I hoped nobody would find me. Why wouldn’t this go away?
I could feel my stomach eating itself. I was so hungry. My mouth was so dry. What little water I had in my body, my head now laid in. I hate drooling. I began crying. I was so pathetic. I was alone. Hours passed.
Hours of thinking, watching my life play out in my head, all my regrets. I didn’t care about sex anymore. Fuck sex! I just wanted Camryn. I wanted her then. I wanted her to hold me. Tell me that everything was ok. Hug me, kiss me. Make my damn pain go away.
Fuck my penis, I hated it! It was the one that got me into this mess. If I just let my mind control my body and not my penis, I could be sleeping now. No pain. Wake up in the morning and go over to see her. Watch TV. Talk with her. Laugh with her. Touch her skin; just her hand would be the entire world to me. If I could just smell her, maybe my pain would go away.
Everything changed so fast. I was having sex with her little sister. Fuck me! Why!? I wanted Camryn. Sex destroyed everything. Now we always fought; a constant tug of war. I was on the floor, so much pain. I lost. I was alone. I didn’t want to die.
I could feel my body weakening every hour. Why did I have to stay awake? Why couldn’t I sleep through the pain, like before? I was pathetic. Weak. I reeked of dried piss.
I was dehydrated. It hurt so bad to move. I wanted to be saved. I didn’t care anymore who did it. I just wanted food, water, comfort.
My window. If I broke it, someone might check on me. I looked around. Clothes, a few paperback books, my alarm clock.
With all the strength I could gather, I reached up and pulled my alarm clock to the floor with me. Some papers and my old pocket knife fell too. I ripped the plug from the wall and with everything I had, I tossed it into my window. My entire body throbbed and flared with fiery burning sensations as I threw my clock. Ow. Too depressing to describe, too for me to take.
I blacked out. I awoke; still dark. I looked to my window.
Damn glass hole in the wall. Why did they make them so strong? Barely a crack. I stared at it. It felt like hours passed but the sun never rose, time was at a standstill. I was worn out. I fell asleep.
Daylight. I did not know the time anymore. Someone began knocking. I reached out to my clock. It was too far but I had to try. My arm. My arm was dying. Tears fell from my eyes. They would probably amputate it. It was disgusting. I’m sure my room now smelled of it too.
Damn it. If I thought ahead, I could have set my alarm clock to make noise to get someone’s attention. I stared at my reflection in my pocket knife. It was definitely too light to break the window. I probably didn’t even have the muscles to through it. I looked to my dying arm. I was worthless.
Wait. I felt all the pain in my arm; if they amputated it, it wouldn’t matter maybe. Tears billowed from my eyes at the thought. It was the only way. I needed something beyond my weak mind to push me to safety. I picked up my pocket knife with my uninjured hand and drug it over to my dying one. It was grotesquely discolored.
As I opened the knife, my breathing became deeper; faster. The knocking at the front door stopped. I had to do it then.
I drove the blade into the base of my pinky. I tried not to think. I screamed insanely. My voice broke open into a choir of horrific screaming.
I had to give it my all; I kept driving the blade into me. I couldn’t bear to look. This was all or nothing. Two days of feeling myself die, I had little time left, if I failed now, I had even less time.
The silence downstairs broke into banging on the door. I kept screaming. Screaming.
The banging was louder than ever. Then it stopped. I stopped. I let go of my knife. I didn’t want to look down. I did.
My pinky finger was completely detached from the rest of my hand. I’d never seen myself bleed so much. The silence was deafening. I dropped my head into the blood. I fell asleep.