Author's Note
this chapter is based off of the evanescence song tourniquet...the guy in the chapter is based off a guy i know...i doubt you'll ever read it, but sorry if you do...my apologizes to anyone offended
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I was trying to get rid of the pain. It was the only way I knew how to. But for once it wasn't working. It was only bringing more. As I lay here, I'm pouring out a crimson tidal wave. I feel betrayed, almost, that my once trusty friend isn't taking care of the pain as it usually did. I'm bleeding too heavily, and I realize with shocking clarity: I'm dying.
I wonder if all those years I spent denying the church will have me denied. I wonder if I'm too lost to be saved. The question silently echoes in my head: Am I too lost? I wonder if its too late for help.
I realized I still wasn't sure if I wanted to die or not. A single tear rolled down my cheek. My younger brother walks in. I thought he was with mom. Oh fuck.
"Mom!" he yells it, I'm sure, but I hear it so quietly. It's then I notice my vision going hazy around the edges. But I'm not here anymore....I feel myself floating away, only one demand in my mind.
I wanted my salvation returned to me. I didn't care how. I knew the cut cried for the grave, my soul and mind were with it. But I couldn't go. There was something tying me here that I couldn't let go of. And then everything went black.
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When I woke up, I thought I was dead. Everything was white and sterile. But when I tried to move my arm, the IV drip caught and the events returned to me. I looked down and saw all my work from the past years. All the scars I tried to hide to prevent this from happening. Everything exposed. It didn't feel right.
A kind looking woman came in the door. She was wearing flowery scrubs, the kind pediatricians wear. She started talking in a slow voice like I was mental. I guess in a way, I was. She went on and on, but only the last thing she said stuck in my mind and made sense:.
"You'll be entered into the mental facility as soon as we can guarantee that you're stable."
The words had hit me like a sack of bricks. I can't believe that was only last week. And now I'm in the asylum, a semi-permanent tourniquet around the scar.