No more overthinking.
No more stress.
No more burden of my past weighing on me.
The phantom pain of my dad’s scalpel hasn’t been there since I’ve heard her voice on the phone.
I’m a different man when she exists and if she didn’t, the man I’d become would start a war with himself.
Silence is scary, deafening.
What’s there to do in silence besides scream the pain away?
I don’t know. I’ve never learned, but Jo makes me want to.
I expect peace in death. Maybe learn if there is a heaven or hell. Am I going to spend an eternity in flames, or am I going to have wings and fly around the clouds? Or maybe none of that shit is real. Maybe it’s a void, a space where the afterlife gathers. Wishful thinking, I’m sure. When people die, that’s it. That’s where it ends. There isn’t anything after the last breath leaves your lungs.
And anything that says there is, it’s just a fable.
What I don’t expect is pain, which means, I’m not dead. I don’t know how the hell that can be. I made sure I cut long and deep. My eyes flutter open, and I expect the harsh light to make me wince, but the room is dark besides a glow coming from my left. I try to readjust my body, but my arms burn, and pain radiates up to my shoulders. I bite back a scream, but I can’t stop my eyes from pooling with water.
Holy fuck, that hurts.
“Jo?” a sleepy voice says beside me.
I stare at the door, completely shocked when I hear the nickname Eric gave me. I’m afraid to look because what if he isn’t there? What if I’m dreaming this, or this is some type of hell loop?
“Jo? Are you awake?” The side of the bed dips, and my eyes close when I smell his familiar cologne. I don’t know what it is, but it’s faint and it isn’t overpowering. It reminds me of fresh laundry after being dried, all warm with a fresh scent lingering.
I turn my head, and I don’t know what comes over me, but I start to sob uncontrollably. I can’t believe I’m alive. I’m embarrassed. I feel so lost and alone.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Eric settles beside me and covers us with another blanket. His body heat has me laying my head on his chest and holding him close. He wraps one arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You don’t know how worried I’ve been. Everyone has been, actually.”
A tear falls on his shirt, and I try to wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, but the pain in my forearm stops me. “I’m sorry,” I say. I’ve never felt weaker than I do right now. Not even when I was cutting my arms open did I have this huge gaping hole in my chest like I do right now.
“You can talk to me, you know. I’m your friend, Jo. I’m always here. We don’t have to talk about this right now. You just woke up; I’m sure you want to relax.”
I shrug my shoulder in an uncaring way. I don’t know what I want. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be at home. I don’t want to talk. At the same time, I want Eric to stay next to me. I want to scream at the top of my lungs that I need help because I know I’m depressed, but nothing is coming out of my mouth. I don’t want to be alone again.
Alone.
I glance down at my stomach and lay my hand on top of it. The memory of taking a pregnancy test flares in my mind, and it reminds me that I’m never going to be alone again. I’m not strong enough to be a mother.
“Eric, I … has the doctor said anything to you about me?”
“Just that you are very lucky. You lost a lot of blood.”
My eyes dart around the room, my vision blurry as I decide how I want to tell a guy I care about that I’m pregnant with another man’s baby. An encounter I don’t remember. Not only am I ashamed for trying to kill myself and him coming to my rescue, but I’m ashamed that I’m a statistic. The typical college girl. The one who partied too hard, trusted the wrong people, and now her life is forever changed.
I need to talk to someone who isn’t Eric about this pregnancy. The judgment in his eyes will kill me, and I’ve judged myself enough.
“He’s been waiting on you to wake up so he can talk to you. You aren’t allowed to leave the hospital for another sixty-three hours. You’re on—”
“Suicide watch. Yeah, I know the drill. Can you help me sit up more? I can’t push myself into the mattress. It hurts the stitches.”
“Of course,” he says quickly. He pushes his hands under my arms and lifts me up. His face is close to mine, and his blue eyes are dark with a hint of gray surrounding the pupil. I hold my breath as our gazes sink into one another. A silly part of me thinks, for a second, that he might kiss me.
I know it isn’t the time or place, and I look like hell considering everything that brought us here. I’m also scared. I don’t want him to kiss me. I know if I feel his plump pink lips on mine, I’ll want them again and again. I have too much to deal with and dealing with more feelings than I already have for him is something I can’t handle.
He leans his forehead against mine, and the break in connection has me remembering how to breathe again. “You have no idea how seeing you like that made me feel, Jo. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out of my head.” He cups the back of my head with his hand, and his minty breath ghosts over the tip of my nose. “I thought you were dead.”
“I wanted to be,” I admit, pulling away from him, and it’s like I’m creating a rift. I’m causing the space between us. I know he means well, and I know he wants to be my friend, but I can’t. “I still want to, Eric.”
He sits up, shock written all over his face, and his blue eyes are as wide as saucers. He scoffs and shakes his head. “What?” he gasps in disbelief, and then makes a few gestures with his hand. His brows are curled in the middle, and his cheeks turn red.
“You’re angry,” I notice.
“I’m trying not to be. I’m trying not to be selfish, but aside from my knowledge as a doctor, because medically—I get it. As your friend? Jo…” He takes my hand in his, and the first thing I notice is how big his palm is. He has a few old scars crisscrossed around his knuckles, like he hit something a few too many times, but other than that, his arms are golden, kissed by the sun itself. His hair is a dirty brownish blond, something in between. When the light hits it, I can see natural blond highlights, but when it’s a little darker, like it is now, it looks brown. “Jo, please.” He doesn’t give me a reason; he stares at me with sad ocean eyes.
An angel doesn’t come in white wings and a halo; they come disguised as the person you need most. The problem here is me. I’ll be the reason his good is tainted and inked in darkness, and I can’t be to blame for that. I’m too much for someone to handle.
I’ve heard that my entire life, and I’m not about to become a burden for someone else to dump. I know how it sounds. Pity me, pathetic Joanna, always looking for attention with her sad bullshit. I’m not trying to throw a pity party. I’m not seeking attention. I’m just trying to get some peace. Growing up, it was just me and my father. We lived in a rundown trailer park, and everyone pointed out how I was trailer trash, the girl with dirty clothes and a drunk dad who liked to hit me more times than not.