6: Stay With Me
The bright lights were blinding. I squinted, watching her chest rise and fall. The shiny floor squeaked under my Converse as I walked towards her. The heart monitor gave out an occasional beep to assure me that she was still alive. Her heart was still beating.
My hand found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Letting her know I’m here. That I’d always be here. I brushed my thumb along the back of her hand before pulling away. I saw it then, sprouting from her parted skin. Crimson red flowing freely from her wrist, leaking onto the pale white sheets, staining my memory.
I grasped her wrist firmly in the palm of my hand, putting pressure on the deep cut. To stop the bleeding. To stop the inevitable from happening. I yelled for a doctor, pushed the button on her bedside to call in a nurse. But no one answered. No one came.
Then, another gash appeared on her other wrist, pouring blood. Her breaths were shaky; my breaths were heavy. I reached over, gripping her wrist with my free hand.
The heart monitor was beeping again. This time, in warning that she was fading. The beeping got louder still, and more frequent, yelling at me while I yelled out to no one. Beads of sweat glimmered on my forehead. Hesitant tears sat, waiting to fall over my lashes. I’m tightening my grip, desperate to keep the blood from flowing. Desperate to keep her life from dripping steadily out of her body. But it’s escaping, slipping right through my fingers.
The heart monitor was relentless. It was screaming at me now. It was deafening. I pressed my bloody palms to my ears, willing it to stop.
I let out a scream then, and my eyes fluttered open. My alarm clock was blaring on my bedside table, beeping loudly. I sat up, my breath ragged, and reached over to stop the noise. It was just a dream, I told myself, over and over again. My face was wet with silent tears, my forehead slick with sweat.
My bedroom door swung open then, a familiar set of grey-blue eyes finding me. His hair was sticking up on one side as he flicked on the lights, rushing over towards my bed, only wearing boxers.
“I heard you scream. Are you okay?” Mase said, kneeling on the ground next to me.
I wiped at the tears on my cheeks and ran my trembling hand through my hair. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I just had a bad dream,” I said quietly. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He got up, and I thought he would leave. But he sat at the edge of my bed instead, turning to look at me. I dropped my gaze, realizing I was staring at the evident muscles in his arms and chest.
“Hey, it’s okay. I used to have bad dreams too,” he said, shrugging slightly. He gave me a half smile with that same look of understanding floating in his eyes.
“It’s happened twice before. The same dream every time,” I said.
The first time I dreamt of my mother was the night after her funeral. And then again two nights later. It was always the dream with the hospital bed and her bleeding from her wrists. No matter how loud I yelled though, no one came to help.
“It was like that for me, too. Same scene, same brutal ending. But it’ll get better. Just give it some time,” he whispered. And when I looked back up into his eyes, they were so promising that I couldn’t help but to believe him.
“How do you know?” I asked, whispering back. I wondered if he’d lost his mother too. My father never told me why Mase was staying with them.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the alarm clock went off again, cutting him off. I jumped back, my heart skipping a beat. I thought I’d turned it off earlier.
He chuckled slightly, before leaning over to click the ON/OFF button. “You probably just hit the snooze on accident,” he said, reading my mind.
“Yeah, probably,” I said, letting out a shaky breath.
“Do you want to talk about it? About your dreams?” Mase asked.
Talking about my dreams would only lead to talking about my mother. And even thinking about that made my insides turn, and caused my bones to ache.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” I said, not sounding convincing even to myself.
He nodded his head once, watching me. He got lost in his own thoughts then, a look of regret and guilt creeping into his eyes for just a moment. He sighed, going back to just looking sad again, and stood.
“All right, well, I’ll let you get ready for school. Sorry for just barging in wearing practically nothing,” he said, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he ran a hand through his messy hair.
“No, it’s fine. Thanks for checking on me,” I said, forcing my gaze to remain on his eyes, instead of his abs.
“Sure thing,” he said, and turned to leave. Before he shut the door behind him, I got a good look at his tattoo. The name Madelyn was written in fancy cursive writing.
For the rest of the morning, as I got ready for my first day of school, my mind kept wandering back to the name tattooed on Mase’s arm. And if Madelyn was the reason why his eyes held a pain so similar to my own.
***
I grabbed a muffin from the kitchen counter before rushing out the door towards my car. If I didn’t leave in the next minute and a half, I was sure I’d be late for my first day of school. I tossed my book bag on the seat next to me before turning the car on and driving out of the neighborhood, towards the highway.
I spent too much of my time this morning standing in my towel, hair wet, rummaging through my clothes trying to decide which outfit to wear. I ended up in my torn jeans, beat up Converse, and grey hoodie.
I muttered a curse word under my breath as I merged onto the highway, not knowing why I even cared about picking a nice outfit or making a good impression. Pretty soon they’d realize that I was the daughter of Jayne Hart, the mom/author who thought it was okay to off herself and leave her seventeen year old daughter on her own. The thought only angered me more, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. I clenched my teeth, pushing the thoughts out of my mind. I turned the radio on, focusing on the lyrics of the continuous string of crappy Pop songs being played until I got to school.
When I pulled into the parking lot of Deep Run High, my jaw dropped. It looked more like a BMW dealership instead of a high school parking lot. I drove by one shiny car after another until I finally found an empty space at the end, parking my rusty Jeep Wrangler. And as I made my way up the concrete walk way, into the school, I realized my car wasn’t the only thing that didn’t fit in. I didn’t either.
Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments please. :) And vote if you want, too. <3 Also, look to the right for a picture of our boy, Mase. ;) -Shahira
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The Chord to my Heart
Teen Fiction"When Lyla Carter comes home to find that her mother has committed suicide, she's forced to live with her father who she's conveniently avoided since he left them seven years ago. Lyla does her best to keep everyone at arms length until she meets Ma...
