Page 11 of Monster
Dominik
Six months ago
That smile will forever hauntmy nightmares. And what’s worse, is I understand why she did it. Who wouldn’t? She lost her sister in an accident and then when she finally woke up, she was reminded of everything that happened. All of which is too much foranyoneto handle.
I don’t know how, but Joyce came rushing in behind me and not thirty seconds later, five other people came running in with the supplies they needed to try to save her life. And save her life they did. As much as this girl wants to die, she’s also determined as hell to fight.
Essa’s now on suicide watch—which means there has to be someone with her twenty-four seven and that person has mainly been me. Joyce has come to check on her a few times onandoff her shift, and the nurses and doctors have been in, but that’s it. They had to put her back under to give her more blood and while they did, they stitched up her arm as well, but I don’t think she’ll care about the scar considering she’s already covered in them. I don’t say that lightly, either.
From the moment I sat beside her in the hospital after the accident, I noticed all her scars. From her neck, down her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, fuckingeverywhere. Most of the ones on her arm are small and silvery in color, older. But the others appear new and fresh. Still red and angry with healing. She also has a big bruise around the entire circumference of her neck, but we didn’t know if it was from the accident, so we left it alone. But now I’m thinking it was because of something else entirely.
The guilt consumes me as I think about everything she’s had to endure. This girl looks like she’s been living in hell most of her life and it’s only gotten worse. I trace my pointer finger along the back of her pale hand. I notice how cold it is the second my skin makes contact with hers, so I hold her hand between both of mine in hopes of warming it up even though I’m always fucking cold myself.
I feel so fucking useless sitting here. I want more than anything to help her, but I’m not sure I can. What could someone like me offer her? I’m a worthless piece of shit with a fucking Oxy addiction and more. Granted, I’ve been sober for two years, but everyone knows that doesn’t mean shit because all it takes is one second and your sobriety goes down the drain like it never happened.
I subconsciously drop Essa’s hand as I bring my own to my inner arm and scratch through my hoodie. Sometimes I realize when I do it and other times I do not, but today I catch myself and force my hands back down. Being with Essa has helped my urges tremendously, but they still come. If all I do is scratch my arm when I think about sticking a needle in my vein again, I call that a win.
Taking a deep breath, I lean forward and grab Essa’s hand again. I rub my thumb back and forth across the back of her hand while I watch her face, looking for any sign she’ll wake up. She’s been out for almost fourteen hours now, so I don’t expect her to wake up anytime soon, but I’m hopeful. The beep of the machines and our light breathing are the only sounds in the room, and it feels somewhat peaceful, given the circumstances.
“Essa,” I whisper as I lean down to run my lips across the back of her hand, “please keep fighting, baby girl.” I kiss her hand before moving my head to the side to rest it against the bed beside her left leg. I close my eyes, exhaustion from not sleeping for over two days pulling me under, but before I do, I whisper one last thing. It’s something I don’t want to say because it’s beyond selfish, but a part of me is begging to say it out loud at least once and what better time to do it than when she can’t hear me.
“You can’t leave me, Essa. I need you now…” I whisper in the softest voice possible and then drift off to sleep right beside her.
