It's Nothing Personal

by Gorman MD, Sherry

  “Look at you, with your big, bad knife. What are you going to do with that, Marcus? Hack me up for the world to see?” Lacey laughs at me as she spats out the words. There is no sign of fear in her eyes, only disrespect.

  Something happens inside my head, and I snap. I swing the blade across the side of her face. Now, I see fear. Her skin is completely white, and her eyes are wide and round. She reaches her hand up to her right cheek, which was slashed open in a clean, long line. Blood trickles down her face. The next thing I recall is pulling the knife out of her belly, and the feeling of her warm, sticky blood trickling from the silver and red blade onto my hand.

  From behind me, I hear the thunder of a man’s voice.

  “Drop the knife!”

  I don’t turn around to face him. Instead, I just stand there, motionless, and stare at Lacey. She’s crouched down on the floor, crying and screaming, while she clutches the hole in her belly. Blood is everywhere, soaking into the cracks in the floor and surrounding Lacey in an expanding circle of red.

  Her crying is too much. I can’t take the sound of her. I’ve got to make her stop. My right hand still grips my knife, and I raise it over her chest. My grip is so tight on the handle, the muscles in my arm start to quiver.

  “Shut up bitch!” Spit shoots out of my mouth and splatters on Lacey.

  Lacey continues to wail.

  Directly from my right, “Drop the knife!”

  It’s Lacey’s boyfriend. I take my sight off of Lacey for just a second to look at him. He has .38 pointed at me. I can almost peer down the barrel as he aims for my head. He breathes heavily, his pupils are the size of tiny dots, and I can see his hand shaking as he grasps his gun.

  At first, nobody moves. Then I see Lacey squirm away from me, and I lunge at her with the knife.

  Pop!

  My ears ring. Blood starts to gush out of my stomach, but I don’t feel any pain. The world spins. I drop the knife as I fall to the floor. Then, there is only blackness.

  My chest blows up again.

  I try to remember what happened next, but there is nothing, until now.

  There are people on both sides of me, placing some kind of cover over my legs, chest, and arms. I know my stomach remains exposed because I can feel the icy air hitting my skin.

  “Okay to start?” asks the deep, male voice.

  Okay to start what?

  “Absolutely,” says a woman’s voice, soft and silky. She’s right by my head. I can hear her body moving around.

  Fingers press on my chest, just below my breastplate. They are covered in some kind of rubber. In the next instant, a straight line of agony rips down my abdomen, from just below my ribs to just above my groin. I can feel the cold metal sharpness of the blade against my skin. My tissue pulls apart and frost hits my insides.

  Oh God, make it stop!

  The torture is so consuming, that I nearly pass out. But I’m brought back when I hear a high-pitched noise. It buzzes on and then off, in short bursts. Zzzzzzzzp. Zzzzzzzzp. Each time, a blast of electricity sears the skin on my belly. There is a foul odor, like something burning.

  It’s the scent of my own flesh.

  The pain is more intense than the highest high. There is no escaping it. Still, my heart rate remains steady and slow, even though my mind is shattering.

  Bitter air saturates my insides. Something is shoved into my belly cavity – something metallic and large. The sound of gears cranking fills my head. With each series of clicks, the metal thing grows bigger and bigger, stretching the hole inside me until I nearly split in two.

  Next, I feel tugging. It makes me want to vomit. There is something wet and slippery on the skin of my belly.

  It’s my guts!

  Time stands still. I can’t tell if it’s been minutes, hours, or even days. The pain never lets up. I am so cold. Every once in a while, I try again to move or scream, only to be reminded that my muscles are dead. Eventually, I give up. There’s no point. I’m starting to lose my mind. All I can think about is the overwhelming pain and what will come next.

  This is hell.

  At some point, there is tremendous pressure inside my belly, and my guts are no longer lying on my skin. They must be putting my parts back inside me. Gears crank again, and the thing that was stretching my belly open seems to be getting smaller. Finally, I no longer feel the metal in my stomach.

  “All right Mandy. We’re closing.” It’s the same male voice from before.

  A sharp instrument repeatedly stabs my skin, moving in a line from my groin up to my chest. They are sewing me back up. Every time the needle spears a little higher on my belly, I can feel a wiry thread being pulled behind it. I make it through one stick, only to know that another is coming.

  I am surprised by moist, warm air touching my left ear, and then I hear her. It’s the woman who said “absolutely” so long ago. Now her voice is cold, almost dead, and barely more than a whisper.

  “This is what you get for slashing up that girl.”

  Her voice sounds familiar, but I can’t figure out where I’ve heard it before. The needle driving up my belly continues. My mind starts to drift, and then blackness takes over. I slip away into nothingness.

  ***************

  “Wake up, Marcus. Open your eyes! I can’t take that thing out of your mouth until you open your eyes.”

  Everything is foggy again, but I can hear voices.

  “Marcus, wake up!”

  It’s her! The voice. She did this to me. I’ll fucking kill her!

  Someone grinds their knuckles into my chest. It’s pissing me off. I want to punch them, but my arms are too floppy and uncoordinated. I’m gagging on something. I open my eyes, just a crack, and I am instantly blinded by the brightness of the room. My stomach is killing me.

  “Marcus!” I hear the woman’s voice. It’s soft and soothing, so different than before. “You’ve just had surgery. You need to open your eyes. Time to wake up.”