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|Thursday Morning (standard:drama, 645 words)|
|Author: shutout||Added: Dec 31 2000||Views/Reads: 2217/7||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A scary tale of what can happen when the routine gets old. Based on previous (I'm healthy now) but personal experiences.|
What an unusual feeling to have on a Thursday, just the average day in the middle of the week. You know that feeling of being in a zone, like something terrible has happened, and you’ve not had the opportunity to cry yet? I had that. I couldn’t understand what had happened, though. I was supposedly in a happy relationship, getting along fine with my friends and family, but all of a sudden I woke up devastated one day. I rolled out of bed without disturbing him. Starting the water in the shower, I tried to piece together the turn of events the night previous. Nothing came to mind, just the usual; me falling asleep on the couch watching reruns of 80’s sitcoms and him struggling to get me to bed at midnight. I got my usual six hours of sleep, the bare minimum needed to drag myself to a job I hated. I drenched my hair in the steamy water. As I lathered my hair, it became apparent to me why I felt like something was missing, or that something had died. My heartbeat started to pick up a little, I felt flushed, and fell into the tub. I cried. I sobbed loudly, no one heard me. I grasped desperately at my right knee, which had taken the blunt of my fall. It was tender to the touch. I had to get up; had get to work. I had to get to work to make more money. I couldn’t pay my bills if I didn’t work. I couldn’t pay my bills if I did work. I would continue to live off someone, or live off no one, because I couldn’t be trusted to take care of myself. My knee was swollen to twice its size, there was no way I could walk to the car, let alone go to work. I didn’t have any sick time left. I was going to get fired anyway. Why doesn’t he care that I’m sobbing in the bathtub? Why didn’t he care that I hit my knee, why didn’t he ever wake up and check on me? I would’ve checked on him. I wouldn’t have let him reach up to the shower ledge for the razor. I would recognize the look on his face before he had the chance to shakily gouge the blade into his left wrist, and shove it upwards. I wouldn’t want him to feel his flesh tear up to his elbow, even if it didn’t hurt me...I couldn’t feel it. I cared about him too much to let him do that. He doesn’t care about me; I’ll just bleed all over his tub. I wish my mom could’ve been there to fix things. She wouldn’t let me bleed all over the bathtub; she’d wipe up the blood and tell me to “get a grip on things.” God, the routine was over, and glorious release was mine. The bathroom grew dark, I felt cold, then nothing. Someone was talking to me, screaming at me. A man. Oh, it was him, pulling me off the bathtub floor. He must’ve heard the shampoo bottle crash when I fell in the shower. I should’ve tried to be quiet. He had to be at work in a little while, and didn’t need to be disturbed so early. As he hoisted me to his shoulder, I could see my own blood running down the small of his back, down his left leg and onto the floor. I couldn’t say anything, I was depleting and tired. I wanted to sleep. I wanted him to leave me alone so I wouldn’t have to clean that blood up like I always would. I don’t want to come back to a mess. I don’t want to start another day of my life like this. Please, put me back where I was, I was happy there. Tweet
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