After some time, the doctors returned to them and explained that the girls were given mild sedatives, and asked if the girls had relatives they could contact. "Yeah," Brick said, giving the doctor a serious look. "Professor Utonium."
Hours later, Professor Utonium, Dr. Brisbaine, and Dexter arrived. "We arrived quick enough," Boomer said. "They're just alive and sedated."
"What did they try to do?" Professor Utonium demanded.
"Bubbles tried to slit her wrists, Buttercup tried to OD, and Blossom tried to burn herself." Brick's answer was blunt, and jolted Professor Utonium to a new level of anxiety.
Butch tossed the canister to Dr. Brisbaine, who caught it easily. "You might want to go through the local pharmacies and see where she bought that."
"We will," Dr. Brisbaine said.
"I will," Professor Utonium volunteered, taking the canister and walking out. "You stay here with the girls."
–
The noontime sun rose over Roseford City, and the boys arrived to the hospital with Dexter and the two adults in tow. After inquiring at the front desk, the receptionist gave them their rooms. The two scientists began to follow the Rowdyruff Boys until Dexter pulled them back. "Don't. Let them talk to them alone."
"But—"
"Let them. The Rowdyruff Boys are the only ones who can fix this."
The creak of the wooden door alerted Blossom of an intruder, and her eyes turned towards it, not very ready to talk to Dr. Brisbaine or the Professor, not even Dexter. But it wasn't either of them. It was Brick.
She didn't say anything. He didn't either; only moved across the room to sit at the chair beside her bed. And for a few minutes, nothing, only giving each other a never-ending stare.
Finally, Blossom spoke. "So are you going to say something or are we going to stare at each other all day?"
"I was hoping you could tell me." Even the look of his serious face brought a comfort to Blossom, that he was alive. And yet, there was that certain wariness because he seemed composed; much too composed even for someone like Brick.
"What is it you'd like to know?" She wasn't going to show her caution. But she had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask her.
"Let's start with why you tried to burn your own house down." His tone was icy, but every movement he made, if any, showed nothing.
"I was upset," she said evasively, turning away.
"Blossom." She could hear the warning in his voice. "Look at me." She refused to. "I'm not going to say it again."
It was rather unnerving to hear him using her name, rather than his given nickname to her. This was the main reason why she turned back to look at him.
"Why did you try to burn your house down? With your superhero brain, you would've thought that the fire would leap to the other houses and burn them down with you. Sound like fun?"
"I wasn't really thinking straight."
"That's not an answer."
"Brick—"
"That's. Not. An. Answer."
"You want a real answer?" she retorted, finally breaking. "I was tired! I was tired of living! When I opened my eyes the day you died, it... it all just came back to me! The guilt, the grief—and I tried to get through it, I did! But I just broke! Okay?! I broke! So I decided I was much better off dead than alive and walking around with all that weight on my shoulders! Because..." Her eyes filled with tears. "I killed you, okay?! It was my fault you were dead and my fault they couldn't recreate you and I just couldn't live with that guilt!"
Brick stood up abruptly, causing the chair to slide back a few feet away from him. "You couldn't live with that guilt?! What guilt would you have to live with?! I killed myself! It was my fault I died and you think just because you killed us the first time, you've killed us the second time?! Get over yourself, Blossom! Aren't you the kind of person who thinks through every outcome to find a solution?! What you did was just plain stupid!"
Brick was panting now, letting out every word he tried to filter. He pinched the bridge of his nose and pulled the chair back, sitting down. "You shouldn't have done what you did. I never thought you'd really do something stupid when you were supposed to be smart." He took a deep breath and exhaled while she wiped away her tears. "New question. Why didn't you think about anybody else in your life? You decided to kill yourself all because of me?"
"Those are two questions."
"Blossom, don't try my patience. Now talk."
"Because they wouldn't understand... how deep the guilt was. I'd been getting letters and emails from the professor every day and they were all extremely cheerful, giving me the good points of his day and saying how happy he is that I'm recovering." She shook her head. "They don't understand. They would never know the guilt we felt was irreparable."
"But your sisters know?"
"That's a third question."
"Blossom." He sounded plainly irritated. "Answer me. I'm not good with patience and you know that." She did. He didn't even have patience for his own brother Boomer. For neither of his brothers for that matter.
At first, nobody said anything. Then Blossom mumbled, broken and emotional. "Brick, yes. If I think about it, I did decide to kill myself because of you. Or more importantly, because of your death. And yes, my sisters knew about the guilt."
"So you made the pact to kill yourselves?"
Blossom gave him a humorless smile. "Yeah... It happened two nights ago... before the fire... I said I was tired of living and playing pretend and so were they... but we didn't tell each other how we'd kill ourselves. How did—?"
"Bubbles tried to slit her wrists and Buttercup OD'd. She's still alive. Butch got to her in time."
Blossom lied back down on the pillow. Tears came to her eyes once again and she threw her arm over her eyes. "Brick, I'm so sorry... you were right... it was stupid..."
"Then answer my questions without stalling if you're really sorry," he said. "Why'd you wait a whole year to kill yourselves?"
"We didn't at first. Honestly, we did try to adjust. But the night we decided to kill ourselves was because..." Blossom paused.
"Blossom," he warned her. "You'd better tell me the truth."
She exhaled the deep breath she took. "It was because we were tired. Tired of lying to them, to ourselves. We just had to face the fact that we would never get away from it... Never stop seeing every memory—good or bad—of you three come back at night."
She fixed her roseate eyes with his crimson ones. "Brick, at times, I have to force myself to get up over and over since I came to Roseford. It was like one of those effects when you didn't want to be in one place but when you leave it, you want to go back... It was just like that..."
"I don't follow."
She averted her eyes to look at the white ceiling of the room. She seemed to be gathering her nerve. "We wanted to get away from Megaville because your memory was just... so strong there... but when we left, we wanted to go back because we didn't want to forget you. It was like that."
He stayed quiet, trying to absorb this crucial piece of information she'd given him. She missed you, his intuition whispered. He dismissed the idea but it refused to fade.
"Why did you cut yourself?" he asked instead.
"What?"
"Why did you cut yourself? And how long have you been doing it?"
She seemed to have stopped breathing. Then she let out a breath. "I don't know... the cutting just seemed to make me feel better. Like I deserved the pain." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know how, but it just made it all better."
She opened her eyes and pulled aside the blanket. Even below the knee-length hem of the hospital gown, her legs were hideously scarred. He didn't realize things had gotten that bad. "What the hell did you think you were doing to yourself?!" His composure had slipped once again, and he was yelling at her. "You thought you were doing yourself a favor by cutting yourself?!"
She nodded quietly. He pressed a hand to his forehead, took a deep breath, and released it. He seemed to be taking deep breaths often. "Why the hell did you suddenly become masochistic after I died? Why the hell does feeling like you deserved pain make you feel better?"
He remembered Dexter trying to tell him and his brothers something when they left for the hospital and he'd clutched a sheaf of papers in his hand. He must've been trying to tell them about their scars. He needed to be straight with her. He looked her in the eyes. "Blossom, the next time something happens to me and my brothers, I don't want you or your sisters trying to kill yourselves. Understand?"
Behind his gruff tone, she could hear his concern. Brick. Concerned for me. She nodded, relieved. "I understand." And joy glimmered inside her when he showed her a small smile.
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DISCLAIMER AGAIN: I know it's already several chapters in, but if you're sensitive to elements of suicide and self-harm, don't read this.
No comments at this time, except sorry for the long wait. Low-key forgot. (•◡•) /
- BlackAndWhitePersona