Page 24 of Chasing Fireflies

*

Sara

Darkness. Black everywhere inside and out. The hardwood floor presses against my bare knees, and I stare at nothing. My mind races with scary thoughts, and I can’t seem to pinpoint on just one. I lean over and tears I didn’t even know were in my eyes fall out and hit the floor. I look up and wipe my face, rocking back and forth and wondering why I even bother to breathe. It hurts. “It hurts,” I whisper to the darkness.

*

A week has flown by, and I’ve seen nothing but these walls. I’m tired all the time, yet I can’t sleep, so I sit on the front porch and watch the fireflies at night. Cash constantly watches me. I want to scream at him to stop. Stop watching me. Stop looking at me. Stop beating, you stupid heart.

*

I think about dying a lot because I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of being tired, but not sleeping. I’m tired of my racing thoughts, and I’m tired of watching fireflies. I grab the knife and put it up against my wrist. Pressing down, I watch as red spills over my pale skin. I fall to my knees and close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

“Baby! Oh God, Baby, baby.” I hear my heart speaking, but I can’t feel its beats. My eyes won’t open, and blackness finally takes me over. I smile on the inside because the pain will finally be over.

*

I roll over and slowly open my eyes. They find Cash, and I sigh lightly and rest my face against the palm of my hand. Seeing the bandages around my wrist, a sickness sinks inside my chest and I look away. The sun shines through the window and makes his dark hair look golden brown. I look at the wedding ring on his finger and then look for mine. It rests where it should, and I twirl it around as the nurse walks in.

“You’re awake,” she whispers, seeing that Cash is fast asleep.

I smile, feeling better than I have in a long time. “We have balanced out your medications and set you up with a psychiatrist, but the doctor will be in to tell you all of that. I’ll let you rest and see you later on.”

“Thanks,” I say before she walks out. I turn back around and see my husband’s brown eyes looking at me.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I reply.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just a little tired,” I say as he stands up and stretches.

“Move over. I’m getting in with you.”

I smile and move over as far as I can. He lies down, and I rest my head on his chest, hearing the beat of his heart.

“I love you and I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Please don’t leave me,” he says.

“I won’t do it again.”

“Promise?” he asks.

“Promise, promise.”

Chapter Eight

Six Year Anniversary

Sara

This year flew by with changes of medication and tons of therapy visits. Most days I feel somewhat normal or more balanced out I should say, because really what is normal? Like all small towns, word got around about my suicide attempt, but the looks have stopped and most people have been very supportive. My wrist has healed, but the scar remains. It’s deep and ugly, reminding my husband and me that I almost left him. My therapist, Dannie, suggested I keep a journal and write my feelings down every day, so I try to do that. Unfortunately, my medication makes me sleepy and also less creative in life, but we can’t always get what we want. Maci totally understood and let me come back to work as soon as I was ready.

I look over as a pile of books get knocked down. “Shit.” I hear Maci curse.

“Everything okay over there?”

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