Sing Me To Sleep

Chapter 20

Ray came back before the detectives did, much to my content, brandishing Taco Bell and clothing. It took all of my self control to refrain from jumping up and hugging Ray when he handed me a plastic bag holding jeans and a plain black Tshirt. I do offer him a grateful smile and slide out of the bed, disappearing into the attached bathroom as he settles into the single blue visitors chair.

I peel the papery gown away from my body, grimacing at my own appearance in the wide mirror. I look like shit and, just by breathing in, I can tell I smell like it as well. I reach into the shower, turning the hot water on full blast and allowing the steam to filter through the small room before stepping in. As the warm liquid pelts my skin, almost burning, I feel cold. I'm numb to everything, like suddenly my emotions switch has been turned off and I'm unable to even feel. But as I stand there, watching the water gather in droplets on my pale flesh, streaking across the scars that cluster and line my arms and thighs, I wish that it could just wash them away. And that's exactly what I try to do. I scrub at the markings, first simply rubbing and then clawing at myself, trying to make them all just disappear. I wish it would all just go away, the scars, the memories. Everything. I don't realize it for a long time, not until the shaking sobs actually turn into ragged, whimpering breaths, but I'm crying.

As the water and soap streak my body, pale white and foamy lines against the pink and red blemishes, I cave in on myself. I slink forward, doubling over and sliding my back down the cold tile until I'm in a sitting position with the water still showering me in the slick heat. I allow myself to cry, hugging my knees against my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I don't care that my wails are probably evident to Ray, who is still to my knowledge waiting for my return in the main room, or that the detectives could be listening to my every wordless sob. I simply let my body take control, my mind fading away into the black recesses I know so well.

When my cries eventually die down, my shakes subsiding and my breathing falling back into a normal pace, I stand up. My legs are a bit unsteady under my weight, but I manage to keep my balance and step out of the water, turning it off, and facing my own fogged up reflection. I'm a blur through the condensation that layers on the mirror but I make no move to wipe it off. Instead, I towel off quickly and slip into the clothes that Ray brought me. It feels good to be back in regular jeans, my ass not visible and viable to uncomfortable drafts when I stand up, and the Tshirt clings to my torso, making me feel self-conscious when I glance down and catch sight of the scars staring back at me. But it makes me feel less like a patient, like a victim, and more like a person again.

When I finally step out of the bathroom, Ray is still relaxed in the visitor's chair beside the bed, waiting. Since he's off duty right now, he's not wearing scrubs like I remember seeing before. Now, the stiff blue uniform is replaced with loose jeans, a faded grey color, and a vintage looking Joy Division shirt.

He looks when I come in, sliding back into the bed and casting my eyes downward. I know he had to have heard me crying in the shower, it was impossible to have not, but he doesn't say anything about it, for which I'm grateful. Instead, he simply sits up straighter and offers me a soft smile, handing me another plastic bag. This one has the food. I dive in and Ray sits back in his chair, watching me with an amused look on his sharp features. I would normally argue-- I don't want someone studying me while I'm pigging out-- but right now I don't really give two fucks. My hunger is more important and I kind of like having his company, even if most of it is in silence.

Halfway through devouring my third burrito, Ray finally speaks. "What was it like?" He wonders, sounding genuinely curious.

I glance up at him and raise an eyebrow. "What was what like?" I ask around a bite.

"Being in a coma," He elaborates. "I've worked here for two years now and I've seen a few people going in and out of comatose states, whether by choice or not, but I've never been able to ask what it's like." He shrugs limply and averts his eyes nervously, like he's just asked me the most embarrassing question in the world.

I laugh softly to let him know I'm not offended by his curiosity. If the roles were reversed, I would probably be asking the same thing. But when I open my mouth to answer, suddenly my entire mind just shuts down. I try to recall what it was actually like, being in an unconscious state for twelve days, but everything seems blurry and unclear. I remember the darkness, surrounding me like a blanket and suffocating, but other than that, my mind seems to have been wiped clean.

I don't remember anything.

Finally, I let out a sigh instead of real words and reply with my own shrug. "I don't really remember anything about it," I admit.

"Nothing?" Ray asks, seeming surprised by my answer.

I shake my head once, taking another bite and swallowing before continuing. "The last thing I honestly recall is school, right before the pep rally. I went into the bathroom and took the pills and then..." I furrow my brows, trying to revive the memory of the twelve days spent inside my own head. "Then waking up here."

And then something comes back and I sit up straighter, Ray mimicking my movement, almost unintentionally. "When I woke up, I remember remembering." I stare down at the white sheets that lay over my crossed legs, trying to sort through some of my thoughts, attempting to organize the chaos I feel in my mind. I shake my head again as if the physical motion will put some order to it. "But I don't remember what I remembered."

And now I sound crazy. Well done, Frank.

Ray watches me with a curious gaze, trying to understand what I'm saying when, in all reality, even I'm not sure what I'm saying. I sigh, my head starting to hurt, and settle back into the pillows with yet another shrug, bringing the last bit of the burrito to my lips, saying, "Forget it. I don't remember," before taking another bite.