Vein Fire

by Adams, Lucia

  Hannah did think about it—all morning after she arrived at home. She thought about how the other Hannah was prettier than she was, thinner, and more outgoing. It was an easy choice—why have the broken version when you could have the shiny one?

  Hating herself was getting easier. One therapist had told her she’d outgrow the self-destruction and the cutting—as if it was child’s play. Ha! Silly woman. Time will tell, and tales of time were both cataclysmic facets of Hannah’s life.

  A cutter finding themselves in emergency rooms was the equivalent of a drug addict showing up, complaining of pain, and requesting opiates. The doctors expected all of her roads to be well signed—manipulative, attention seeking, and a false desire to die. They were wrong. What they saw as manipulation were her poor attempts at grappling with her anxiety. She never learned how to manage the overwhelming waterfall of her feelings. Desperate to feel better, she did the most primal of all remedies—injure herself. And the attention seeking behaviors they labeled her with? She never wanted attention, positive or negative. When someone became interested in her, her first reaction was to become scared—the next was to run.

  Jared and Matt’s recent attentiveness confused Hannah, and she didn’t like it. She wanted them to like her, but when they did, it was difficult for her to process—and they frightened her. Everything was two-sided for her, but with Jared and Matt, she wondered what they wanted from her.

  Still…it hurt. The other Hannah replaced her so quickly and she could not help but compare herself to her. The smooth, unmarred skin, the defined stomach, and perky breasts—she was stunning. She would have picked her, too. The desire to punish herself for not being good enough was intense when these thoughts playing in constant rotation in her head.

  The crazy things she did—like drive too fast, take too many drugs, have promiscuous sex, and put herself in dangerous situations—they were all veiled ways to hurt herself. Once, she attended a therapy group for girls like her. Sitting in a circle, hearing all the different ways people found to hurt themselves only gave her ideas. It did nothing for her self-discovery except in terms of her pain threshold. After a month and a pocketful of new ideas, Hannah quit the group.

  Her parents blamed the incident with Matt for her behavior. They were grossly uninformed of the extent to which she hurt herself. Despite this, she was carted between therapists and doctors who spent the majority of the time either telling her she needed to follow their suggestions and ‘be normal’—as if it was a choice, or she lied to them, playing games with their inability to circumvent a mind-fucking from a teenage girl. Once she spent an entire hour telling the therapist how successful and happy she was. The therapist jotted notes and smiled along pleasantly. At the end, pleased with it all, she asked Hannah, “Well then, why are you here?”

  Hannah said, “Because I cut myself.”

  The therapist lowered her eyes and let the smile fall from her mouth as she made a note on her tablet. The previous attempts might have failed, but Iris seemed different. Hannah liked her. She knew she’d go back.

  *

  She didn’t use the cold water, only the hot. The nail brush went into the shower with her instead of the washcloth. Scrubbing that girl off of her skin took time. The brush tore at the skin on her body, but it was necessary. Matt didn’t love what was on top, so maybe if she took it away, she would be good enough. All of the times she couldn’t say no to him—she wore the things she did for and said to him under her skin—they crawled around, moving when she tried to cut them out. She lost herself years ago and the only way to get her back was to escape out of her skin.

  The hot water tank was empty and the water ran cold. The self-loathing she felt remained. A lesson would be taught. Preparation took time. Hannah dressed, dried her hair, and applied make-up. In her head she reviewed the different scenarios—cutting would not suffice. The feelings etching her skin achieved echoed throughout her body with a much greater intensity. It was a calming sensation. Most people didn’t understand it, and she failed at explaining it. For Hannah, self-harm was simple: she hated herself, so she dealt the punishment she thought she deserved; or her anxiety was so bad, it could only be lessened by physical pain.

  Snapping her make-up case, she walked to the top of the stairs.

  It’s decided then.

  The worst thing that could happen to her was nothing. Suicide wasn’t her intention, but she wasn’t afraid to die. Being paralyzed would keep her from herself—on the outside. No courage was needed, just hate—and that is what she concentrated on. When she jumped from the top step, she thought things would be better in a few seconds.

  Tumbling downward in a tangle of legs and arms, Hannah landed in the middle of the staircase, not even making it to the bottom. She looked at a new scrape on her elbow which burned as the troughed skin exposed the lower layers to the air. The failure left her feeling defeated, but she climbed the stairs again, intent on improving her technique.

  The landing was very small—barely two steps in any direction. She stood in her bedroom doorway and started off with a slight run. Springing off from the top step, Hannah soared into the air. For the fraction of a second she was airborne, she was happy—thinking it might work.

  Hannah landed hard, on the outside of her right thigh. Her arm instinctively reached out to grab something and she could hear it snap as her body twisted on top of it. Sliding down, she settled at the bottom of the stairs. Good intentions to do bad things to herself didn’t always end in satisfaction. Trembling, the pain was welcome, but a trip to the emergency room was not. Her arm was definitely broken, and they would undoubtedly see her scars. Her mood wouldn’t be helped by uncomfortable questions and raised eyebrows.

  Hannah cradled her broken arm on her lap, wincing at the pain. A large sigh escaped her lips. She was tired of herself. Getting to the emergency room on her own would be difficult. She considered calling someone, but she wasn’t sure who. No matter what, she’d never admit to throwing herself down the stairs, but just as before, she knew they’d figure it out.

  Broken parts—arms, legs, skin, head—like a fragmented baby doll. One day she’d be whole, with a doll heart that was stronger than her flesh. Hannah was a mess. It seemed like Jared, Matt, and Marcus only wanted to play with her so they could feel her break. Letting them fracture her only made her want to do so herself. Existing in overlapping circles of dysfunction, she couldn’t remember the way out.

  CHAPTER 28

  Restoration

  Hannah’s wing was broken. Standing in her living room as she cradled it, Jared worried about his little blackbird and how this might affect her flying. He drove her to the emergency room, even though he didn’t have a driver’s license. Muttering something about him knowing how to drive anyhow, she said she was too exhausted to not believe him. The hospital was only two miles away, so the ride was short. Parking near the doors, he walked around to her side of the car and helped her out. She moved like more than just her arm hurt. A pink tongue poked from behind his lips to lick them as he imagined seeing her bruises.

  Once inside, Hannah insisted that she go back to the triage on her own. Jared paced after she first left. The snack machine’s inventory didn’t appeal to him, nor did he have enough change to purchase a soda. There was a fish tank where he spent fifteen minutes tracing the glass with his index finger, following the same fish as it swam back and forth. When he realized it might take a long time for Hannah to return, he gathered the golfing magazines and the Watchtower booklets, and stacked them in a pile which he placed at one end of the bench seating. He lay down on the bench and used the magazine pile as a pillow.

  This could take forever. I might as well sleep.

  The waiting room filled in with people as Jared slept. He didn’t wake up until a puddle of drool had dripped from his partially open lips onto the magazines. He knew people had watched him snore. Hannah entered the waiting room; her arm was in a cast and a sling. She walked slowly and carried yellow and white papers.
She nodded at Jared and they exited the hospital together.

  “What did they say?”

  Hannah’s head hung and her hair flopped downward over her cheeks. “Can I tell you in the car?”

  Jared put his arms across her shoulders and pulled her close to him as they walked to the vehicle. “Of course.”

  Jared drove again, as Hannah sat solemnly. She complained that the ride from the hospital made her car sick from all of the weaving on and off of the road.

  “Now are you going to tell me?”

  “They saw all of my scars on my arm and asked if I had broken my arm on purpose.” Hannah sniffed. Jared didn’t look to see if she had been crying or not, but it sounded like she was.

  Little bird’s broken on the inside. “Well, did you?” Jared sounded shocked that someone would do that, or even ask Hannah if she had done so.

  Her voice was small—he almost couldn’t hear her. “Yes,” she said.

  “Hannah! Why did you do it?” Jared began swerving even more as he drove the car.

  “Just watch where you are going or we’re going to wreck.” Hannah panicked, holding her broken arm to her chest.

  Jared exaggerated his breathing. “Fine. We can talk about it later. What did the doctor say about your arm?”

  “I fractured my ulna. I have to follow up with my orthopedic surgeon in a few days. That’s it.”

  “Did he give you any other directions?”

  “Just stupid ones like keep it elevated and he gave me pain killers—not that I didn’t already have some.”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing we need to talk about.” Jared had staunchness to his voice.

  Hannah leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Let’s not talk at all until we safely get back to my house.”

  “Deal.” Jared laughed at her uneasiness.

  After arriving at the house, there was an uncomfortable silence. Jared didn’t want to bring up the things the doctor had asked Hannah about, but he needed to know. Watching her wasn’t good enough anymore.

  “How about I make you comfortable in your bed and we can talk there?”

  “Okay.”

  He hadn’t yet discovered anything which Hannah refused to do.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and he took her shoes off for her. Rubbing his hands over her small feet excited him. He pulled back the covers and helped her to lift her legs onto the bed.

  Jared savored fussing over Hannah. “I’ll fluff your pillow…okay…we can stick one under your arm…that’s right…I am about to cover you up. Yes. Now how about I get you your pills and a glass of ice water?”

  Hannah nodded, “Thank you…that would be nice.”

  Jared ran downstairs for the water and her purse. When he came back, he eased onto the bed with her, petting her hair as she swallowed pills. “Why did you throw yourself down the stairs? Did you think you could fly?”

  Hannah laughed, “I can’t fly.”

  Soon. Jared stroked her hair. “Then why did you jump?”

  “Sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing I can do to stop from thinking about the bad things. What do normal people do to forget things?”

  “We just push them out of our minds.”

  “I don’t know how to do that. Maybe that’s why I hurt myself.”

  Jared moved next to Hannah, slid her head onto his chest, and put his arm gently around her shoulder. “I think you’re amazing and beautiful.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh…since I first met you.”

  Hannah snuggled closer to him.

  “In fact, I need to ask you two questions. This is embarrassing for me, but I was wondering if you’d be my first?”

  “First what?” She turned her head to look at him.

  Jared took Hannah’s uncast hand. “I mean my first time to be with someone. I think it’s awkward to ask, but I feel a special connection with you and I want to share this with you.”

  “That’s sweet. You’re so nice to me and I don’t know how I would have made it through these past few days without you. It’s been really hard, you know?”

  The prey takes the bait. “I always want to be here for you. But I also want to take care of what happened to you—erase the memory in a sort of way.”

  “How can you do that?” Hannah’s face scrunched in confusion and she repositioned her hand in his so their fingers intertwined more.

  “If you let me borrow your car for a little while, when I come back, I’ll explain everything.”

  Hannah shrugged. “You can borrow it; I don’t mind.”

  Jared smiled and kissed her forehead, “Thank you. I need to leave now—will you be alright?”

  “Of course, take my keys and lock the door on your way out.”

  “I will.” Jared leaned in to kiss her mouth and Hannah returned the kiss.

  *

  Without a car, Jared couldn’t make the preparations previously, so he had a lot of work to do. In his backpack he had hidden an empty beer bottle, rags, and a brick. He stopped at the convenience store, purchased a gas can, and filled it. He forgot a lighter, so he went back into the store and bought one. He remembered where the house was and before he arrived, he filled the beer bottles with the gasoline and stuffed the tops with shredded rags.

  Parking in front of the house would only have been a problem if they expected him, or if he was slow—he was neither. There was no thought behind the act. The brick in one hand, the Molotov cocktail in the other, Jared stood on the sidewalk, put both items down, and lit the rag coming out of the bottle. He quickly grabbed both items, took three running steps, threw the brick through the front window, and immediately tossed the bottle inside.

  There was yelling, but it ceased as soon as he shut himself into the car. For someone who didn’t know how to drive, he left the scene stealthily. Towards the bottom of the hill, he was laughing so hard, he almost jumped the curb, but he regained control and cut across town to a bar two blocks from Hannah’s house. Pulling in next to their dumpster, he jumped out of the car and tossed the gas can and extra rags in with the bar’s garbage.

  Jared was proud of himself. He knew Matt doubted he’d do it, so he looked forward to seeing Matt’s expression when he told him. Such a fitting act of revenge and it happened so quickly. Jared tried to calculate how long it took him—maybe fifteen minutes, total—if that! Time meant something to Jared which few people could understand. He’d lost years of his life in the institution. Some things were never recovered, and he knew this. Going back to the state hospital wasn’t an option for him.

  Jared parked Hannah’s car about three feet from the curb. Parking was not a skill he had mastered. Inside the house, Hannah was sleeping. As he crawled onto the bed, Jared studied her. Leaving her to rest was an option he didn’t have the patience for, but there were many things he could do while she was asleep. After twirling some of her hair through his fingers, he kissed her gently. She stirred and emitted a soft moan. His erection moved in his pants. He sported a stiff cock since he had thrown the brick. Pyromania wasn’t his usual style, but he enjoyed the rush nonetheless.

  The thought of exploring her body as she slept appealed to his lurid curiosity. She would not sleep through this—she hadn’t taken very many pills, so he chose not to wake her in such an uncivilized manner. Waking up with her was something he looked forward to. There were parts of her which she hadn’t given to anyone else. These would be the things he would take, savoring moments that lay across other moments like a pile of discarded pictures.

  Jared was not a virgin, but he would not tell Hannah. In fact, no one knew but Jacqueline Spelding. She was the night nurse on the solitary confinement unit. At first, she let Jared out of his room at night, chatting and eating sponge cakes with him. After three months of stuffing his greedy mouth with her sponge cakes, she proposed an arrangement with him: They would have sex as an opportunity for mutual pleasure, and nothing else. Lifting the awkwardness of being in a relationship would
allow them to get each other off without an unnecessary complication. Jared agreed. Jacqueline was not attractive. She was in her mid forties with a short, dark, graying, curly hair style suitable for a woman twenty years older than her. Long black hair grew on her arms which disgusted Jared. She was overweight with joints which cracked when she either stood up or sat down. Despite this, Jared looked forward to having sex with her. She taught him how to be attentive to a woman’s body and what it meant to give pleasure as well as to receive it. These would be the things he would show his little bird…soon.

  Hannah was still asleep when he left. Fresh ice water, her bottle of pills, and a note saying he’d stop by the next day, sat beside her on the nightstand. Using his key, he locked her door behind him and walked to Matt’s house. Time expanded for Jared that day—he regained a portion of his lost years by making some of the moments worth twice as much.

  CHAPTER 29

  The River Of Hannah

  Jared knocked like a girl, with a faint pounding on the wood with a closed fist. The knock startled Matt, who wasn’t expecting visitors. He opened the door; Jared sauntered in and plopped himself on the couch with both arms extended outwards on top of the cushions. The stroll was feminine, so any respect he gained by the surprise visit, he lost with the walk.

  “Guess what I did?” Jared smiled.

  Matt closed the door and internally stuttered, waiting for Jared to say he had slept with Hannah. “I don’t know. What did you do?”

  “I burned that house to the ground.”

  “Really? What house?” Matt tried to stifle Jared’s glee by pretending not to know.

  “You know which one—the one where those men did that shit to Hannah.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  Jared clapped his hands and rocked as he laughed. “You should have seen it. I threw the brick at the window…it shattered—glass everywhere…and then in went the Molotov.”

  “Was there anyone in the house?”