Sunday…
Jesus! I cry sharply as the pain shoots through my
hand. Who knew such a cut could cause a great deal of pain. I release a string
of cusses as a new pain surges through me when I attempt to move my hand once
more. I have to admit that I cannot handle this. The slightest of movement
brought tears to my eyes, yet I felt numb from lying in the same position. I try
not to hold my breath as I make another attempt to move my hand to a new
position.
“Are you alright?” A voice asks startling me into jerking
from my newly acquired position. I quickly hold my tongue from uttering more
profanities.
“Who the hell are you?” I snare taking in the very
tall stranger standing by my bedroom door with you behind him. His height
overshadowed yours.
“You don’t remember? What is your last memory?” The
stranger asks with concern as he moves further into the room.
My eyes search his face. The features are familiar,
yet not very familiar. I seek my mind as a need to place the face consumes me. A
memory sparks. I close my eyes as more memories spill forth with yesterday’s
events take priority.
Red. There was a lot of red. Blood spilled from my
veins. The color was rich, attractive, beautiful. I had watched with interest as the blood
formed patterns, running down my arm before leaking to the floor.
The chocking sound reminded me of your presence. The
look on your face was priceless. Your eyes followed the trail of my blood with
disbelief. It was at that moment that I realized that slitting my wrist in front
of you was not the smartest of ideas, especially after you released a
hair-raising scream that shook the building.
The scream worked in your favor as it brought a good
Samaritan to my house. I’ve always thought it funny how there is always a
person somewhere rushing to a stranger’s aid. It was as if such designated
heroes lurked nearby waiting to save a body if not a soul. With the Samaritan
in the house, everything accelerated. Someone wrapped a cloth round my wrist to
stop the blood that was flowing freely.
Both of you proceeded to hustled me to some clinic
where a nurse cleaned the cut, applied Betadine antiseptic, slapped on a
bandage and prescribed pain killers. The Samaritan took his newly acquired
title seriously for he insisted on taking us home and sticking through the
night with you.
“What is your
last memory,” The Samaritan’s voice repeated dragging me away from my musing.
I open my eyes and try not to frown as I see you
both hovering around me. Shit! Last night unfortunate accident has cost me pain
and earned me two stifling baby-sitters. I suddenly wished I had completely
bled out. That would have worked had I done the deed while alone.
“How many times are you going to ask me that?” I
snap back. The Samaritan’s questions centered around my memory every time I
woke from sleep. I wondered if he expected me to lose my marbles. I would not
blame that line of thinking since I at times wondered if I still had my sanity.
I slightly contemplate feigning amnesia but quickly
abandoned the thought. With amnesia, the Samaritan would see it his duty to
help my misfortune. He would designate himself my constant companion, something
I did not need.
I make an effort not to groan loudly as the Samaritan
smiles at my disposition. It dawns to me that he is one of those annoying people
who were always cheery no matter the circumstance. With his best smile, he asks
how I am feeling.
“Could I have a glass of water?” I ask instead.
Somehow, I knew that telling him how crappy I felt was not going to help either
of us, since he would keep his smile and be cheery about it, while I would
still feel like killing him.
I watch his retreating back as he rushes out of the
room to do my bidding. The Samaritan seems to have free reign of my house. It appeared
like you trusted him to let him take charge of my house. My eyes turn to you to
find you looking at me. I ignore your censure look. I wonder how it is that you
have not yet burst an aneurysm with all those hard looks you have directed my
way.
The Samaritan comes back and hands me a glass. I grimace
as a new pain grips my hand while I move to grab the glass. It is ridiculous,
how the slightest movement from my upper body seemed to affect my bandaged
hand. It was also maddening how there was nothing I could do about it.
With exaggerated patience, I let the Samaritan fuss
over me. After the water he insists on feeding me. I take a few spoonfuls
before faking exhaustion to get rid of both of you. I close my eyes, listening
to the footsteps as they left the room. My eyes open once I am satisfied that
the room is empty and quickly head to my medicine cabinet. I have a great need
to take something that would knock me out, something to make me forget my pain.
“There is nothing there.” You say from behind me as
I open the cabinet. I had not heard you get back to the room. I smile mentally.
I am not the only one prone to sneaking.
“I do not know what you are talking about.” I close
the cabinet having confirmed your statement. It does not come to a surprise
that you have cleared my cabinet of my stash. It was becoming a game to us; me
hiding and you finding. You loved the game yet I hated it since you derived me
from my pleasures. All was not yet lost since I knew of some hiding places you
did not.
“I am speaking of what you are looking for.” You say
with a knowing look.
I tried not to smile at your words. It seems like
you are practicing censorship today. You were not going to call them by the
street names you thought you knew. I decide
to also play coy. I point to my left wrist, “I need painkillers.”
“They are by your bedside table.” You say going
along with my lie.
This is new, this is different. You always catch me
out on a lie, yet today you pretend it is gospel. Yesterday’s events must have
shaken you more than I imagined. I walk back to the bed and swallow the pills
you hand over to me. Your posture is more alert than usual. You pull a chair by
my bed as I slip into bed to keep watch.
Wednesday...
