hostile veins (h.s)

Chapter Three

When I awake in the morning, the first thing I notice is the pool of blood beneath me, staining my sheets beyond fix. I painfully peel the thin fabric sheet off the skin of my back, flinching with each inch that separates. Stars fill my eyes as I kick my feet over the edge of the mattress and the level of lightheadedness I feel is unreal.

"Oh, fuck," I gasp as I nearly collapse back onto the bed, clutching my head. I've lost a lot of blood.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to get up and clean the mess of my shattered mirror. The glass shards once littering my carpet now fill my garbage pail, alongside the chunk covered in my blood.

I exit my room with my phone in my hand, grabbing a plush white towel from the closet before locking myself in the bathroom. Steam soon fills the room as the hot water runs down the drain.

I peel my bloody clothes from my body, my favourite sweater completely ruined, and step into the shower. My body immediately relaxes beneath the hot temperature. Eyes clenched shut, I rub my eyes out of stress.

When I open my eyes to grab the shampoo, I notice the trail of blood swirling around the drain. I sigh and ignore it, waiting for the end of my shower before I attend to my injury.

I step out of the shower with a soaked bloody hand cloth in hand. My wound, now clean, stings like no other.

I pull the first aid kit out from under the sink and go straight for the disinfectant. The cap of the translucent bottle skids along the deep blue counter as I throw it and soak a chunk of paper towel. Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the stinging pain to come.

I locate the wound on my back and press the alcohol-soaked paper towel in, gasping and dropping the wad onto the floor.

"Fuck!" I gripe loudly, trying to contain my volume.

I bend over to pick it up and try again, this time going slower. The alcohol of the disinfectant causes a strong burst of burning pain to shock through my body. It felt like I was rubbing salt straight into my wounds, so I couldn't help but flinch each time I tried again. Mumbling curses to myself, I stomp my foot in pain a couple times as the intense burn radiates through the deep cuts over and over and over. It takes me another good fifteen minutes before I feel as if I've successfully cleaned the large cut.

Fuck, that stung like a bitch. Luckily, now the worst part is over.

After lathering a good layer of Polysporin ointment on my back, I open the white wooden cupboard on the bathroom wall and pull out the roll of gauze. Carefully, I tape a large chunk of the mesh fabric over the wounds, proceeding to wrap my small torso as well in case the tape decides it doesn't want to stick anymore. My scars scream as they rub against the itchy gauze. It's too big of a hassle to use nonstick sterile pads for comfort, and frankly too expensive to cover the entirety of my back. It's difficult enough to disinfect my back, let alone tape multiple pieces of sterile pads to it. I refuse to bother anyone to help, so I suffer instead.

Returning to my room quickly, I throw on some clean clothes and toss the bloodied towel in the trash. I go through so many towels from bloody injuries, it doesn't phase me at all anymore. I pull the ruined sheets from my bed and toss them, as well as the blood-soaked mattress cover. I throw a new set of sheets from my closet on my bed, careful not to cut myself on the broken mirror of the sliding door to my closet. A cool breeze causes me to shiver, reaching for the black hoodie on my computer chair before I even realized I was doing so.