My eyes open, the bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinding me as my vision adjusts. It takes a few seconds for me to get my bearings, the beeping of machines and white sheets covering my body indicate to me that I'm in a hospital.

I've been here enough times to be familiar with the atmosphere.

The mild throbbing in my arms makes me lift one up and examine the red, irritated skin. The stitched vertical cut taunt me as I'm reminded again that I can't do anything right. Not even kill myself.

As I stare at the wounded skin, I laugh, unable to believe that I survived yet another suicide attempt.

Why is life trying so hard to keep me here when I clearly don't want to be?

Soon my laughter turns to cries and I think I lose a bit of my mind as I rabidly pick at the stitches as I try undoing the thread that is keeping me alive.

The curtains open and I see Melissa rush in behind the doctors who are trying to hold me down. Deep, gut wrenching rage fills me as I see Melissa look at me with sympathy while I thrash in the doctor's grip. I scream, pulling out the I.V then continue trying to rip out my stitches.

Third time is the charm I hope.

Or not.

I cry out again in frustration when I see a doctor pull out a syringe and jab it into my arm, my body immediately relaxing as my eyes droop.

Laying back in the bed, I whimper softly before succumbing to darkness.

I don't want to be alive anymore.

****

"You're gonna make us late, Immy!" I can hear the agitation in Farrah's voice as I quickly try to put on my shoes. I tell her I'm coming, hurrying down to her. She's already waiting for me at the door, looking well put together in her jeans and button up shirt.

"There you are. The bus will be here in five minutes, we have to hurry, Immy!" She reaches for my hand and I link my fingers with hers. Mom and dad left already so Farrah has to take me to school.

"Shoot!" Farrah grumbles as my bottle slips out of my bag and rolls off. She runs after it, managing to get it before it goes too far.

"We're gonna miss the bus," she sighs as she catches up to me. Her face lights up as she seems to get an idea. "Wanna do something a little different today?"

I nod, feeling excited. I'm happy to do anything with Farrah.

She grins. "We'll take a short cut to the bus stop, but you have to stay close and don't let go of my hand, okay?"

I promise to follow her instructions and we take a different route than usual. I feel nervous. Mom and dad always stress that we cannot take any other routes and to always stay on the main roads, but today is an emergency so they should understand.

Farrah leads me through an alley way. It looks rough. A couple guys whistle at us as we pass and my grip on Farrah's hand tightens. She looks down at me with a smile.

"It's okay, Immy. No need to be scared."

"This is no place for pretty little girls like you."

Farrah gasps, turning abruptly to the man who said that. "We're just trying to make our bus," she explains, her voice grave.

"I can take you."

She shakes her head. "No thank you. Have a nice day." She begins to walk off, her pace faster than before.

"Almost there, Immy."

We've almost made it to the other side, a small gate swinging open when Farrah yelps in surprise.

"What's the rush?" The guy asks, gripping Farrah's arm. She keeps her hand in mine, holding me firmly. "Stay a while and I'll take you to school."

"No thank you." Farrah responds seeming perfectly calm. "We're almost there."

To my surpise, he lets her go.

We make it to school. She drops me off at my building before heading to hers… except… she isn't there to pick me up that afternoon.

I never saw her again.

The faint sounds of beeping makes its way into my mind, pulling me from the heart wrenching memory. I hear voices too, but everything is hazy.

"Blade." The call sounds distant. Far away. I struggle to wake up, feeling weighed down and heavy.

When my eyes finally open, I see Melissa and I'm ceased by anger. I never want to see her face again.

She reaches out to me, but I flinch, moving my head away. I realize I don't have much give with my hands and see that they're restrained to the bed.

She smiles weakly. "Just a precaution. We don't want you to hurt yourself again."

I look away from her, too angry to keep her face in view. A doctor walks in with a clipboard in hand. I recognize her from the last time I was here.

"Hello," she greets kindly. "I'm Dr. Goode. I'm your psychiatrist. It has been a while. How have you been?"

I don't answer. How does she think I'm doing?

She nods. "I understand you've been dealing with a lot. The anniversary of your parents death is coming up. It'll be five years since their passing, right?"

I nod in response, the mention of my parents death causing unwanted emotions to bubble up.

"It's a tragedy what happened to your parents. No child should ever experience that, but," she leans closer to me. "you deserve to move on."

I swallow thickly, wanting cry. Who does she think she is telling me what I do and don't deserve?

Dr. Goode continues. "You'll be staying with us for a couple days. Your body is still recovering from the loss of blood, so the hospital will monitor you here for a couple days. You'll be staying with us at the psych ward until you're no longer a threat to yourself. We want to help you get better."

I don't respond, and continue staring at the wall behind her.

Dr. Goode gets up and walks out, leaving me with the last person I want to be with.

Melissa clears her throat. "Here is your phone. It has been ringing a lot. I'll go get you some food. Is there anything you want?"

Again, I don't respond and she sighs. I start crying as soon as she leaves.

How am I supposed to look at my stupid phone when I'm handcuffed to this stupid bed?

I manage to figure it out and I'm shocked to see the amount of missed calls and messages left by Dustin and another unknown number. It doesn't take me long to figure out the unknown number is Miriam.

I send a response, apologizing for going MIA. I don't have the heart to tell them why I've been gone. They don't need to worry about me.

No one should have to.

*****