Seeing Red

  Actually, I feel kind of peaceful knowing that the blood is running down over my arm. I’m pressing the point a little deeper so that I feel the sharpness of the blade this time, but the pain somehow becomes a comfort. I’m aware that there is a lot of blood now that I’m cutting deeper, and that it’s dripping onto the bed, but I don’t care. I’m in a world of my own.

  Until there’s a scream from downstairs. Mom! The shock makes me slice the blade in deeper, but I soon drop it. I’m only half aware that the blood is spurting from my arm as I jump off the bed and race for the stairs.

  When I get to the living room, I stop dead in my tracks. Madeleine is lying on the couch crying and holding her stomach. Her knees are tucked up, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing that her pyjamas are absolutely soaked with a dark red stain that seems to be growing between her legs. Mom is holding the phone and punching in numbers – calling an ambulance I’m guessing.

  ‘Maddie?’

  I can barely get her name out. I’m scared. I notice Mom turn at the sound of my voice.

  ‘Tom?’

  I can see that she’s not looking at me, but at my arm. I look down and I see that blood is pulsing from an open wound where I’d pushed the scissors too deep.

  ‘Mom…’

  I look at Madeleine again and she’s crying and hurting and I swear that the blood stain between her legs is getting bigger. And I look to where my own blood is dripping onto the polished wooden floor. And before you know it, I’m sliding down to join it.

  CHAPTER 17

  New shoes

  Well, as you can see, it didn’t all end in death and destruction. This is a nice place, I guess. I don’t have to do much of anything, and the doctors are kind and they seem to care. I’ve fallen in love with the nurses, of course. How could I not? They’re all so sweet and they seem to make a special fuss of me. Some of them even come to sit with me on their break and we sit and talk and look out over the lawns and the trees in the garden.

  Madeleine is coming to see me today. She’s coming on her own for the first time. Usually she’s with Mom, and to be honest I love seeing both of them. Mom has been really wonderful, and so has Dad, really, but I don’t see much of him. He can’t just leave his work as easily as Mom can, after all. But I’m really excited that Madeleine is coming alone. I’ve really missed having special quality time with my sister. Especially since she has forgiven me for not being a good enough brother when she needed me most.

  Thankfully, Madeleine’s bleeding wasn’t serious. Well, it was, but because Mom was there to call the ambulance quickly, it was easily resolved. And to be fair, some judicious stitching stemmed the flow of blood from my arm with no problem.

  The bandages are still on my arm, as you can see, but it doesn’t hurt. The bandages will be off before I leave here. I’m only going to be here for a month. And actually, I don’t mind being here, if you must know. For a rehab clinic, it’s quite a comfortable hotel, as I constantly tell the nurses. The psychologist I see every day seems happy enough with our little chats. Madeleine and Mom come often, and I’ve already mentioned how I feel about the nurses, right?

  My only dark moments come when I think of Sylvia. And I still think of Sylvia often, particularly late at night in my room when I’m alone. Thinking of Sylvia still hurts more than the cuts on my arm ever could. I’m still in love with Sylvia truth be told, and I go over in my mind how I’ll try to win her back after I leave here. In my dreams it’s all smooth and easy, but in truth I’m scared. All the same, I will try to contact her.

  And it’s when I think of Sylvia that I fancy that I can feel the scar on my arm, carved into the shape of the letter ‘S’, begin to throb. It’s a fanciful notion, but real enough to me just the same. And in the darkest moments, I still feel as though I’d like to find some scissors and run the sharp blade points against my skin. I’ve realised that it’s like an addiction. The shrink tells me that I can break that addiction, but something tells me that it won’t be easy. I’m always going to have to be on my guard.

  I’m wondering what Eddie and everyone at school will say about all this. I guess they’ll all have me pegged as a looney-tune, but what do I care? If I can get back with Sylvia, they can all say whatever they like. And if I can’t get back with Sylvia, then I’ll always have Mom and Madeleine. And the nurses here swear to me that there’ll be plenty of other girls – as if girls are all I’m interested in – and like going out with girls will stop me thinking about the scars on my arm and the blades of sharp chrome scissors. Like I’m totally shallow or something.

  But then Hell, who am I kidding? Maybe the nurses are right. I might think darkly of sharp cold blades from time to time, but I am a teenage boy. Of course girls are all I’m interested in. And Madeleine will be here soon with the latest clothes catalogues and the new shoes she’s just bought herself. And faced with that prospect, the very last thing I’m going to be thinking of today is seeing red. That can wait for another time.

  About the Author

  Peter Lancett is a writer, fiction editor and filmmaker, living and working in New Zealand and sometimes Los Angeles.

  He claims that one day he’ll settle down and get a proper job.

  IN THE SAME SERIES

  Seeing Red

  PETER LANCETT

  The Questions Within

  TERESA SCHAEFFER

  Breaking Dawn

  DONNA SHELTON

  Marty’s Diary

  FRANCES CROSS

  Don’t Even Think It

  HELEN ORME

  Copyright

  Seeing Red

  PETER LANCETT

  Series Editor: Peter Lancett

  Published by Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Radley House, 8 St. Cross Road, Winchester, Hampshire, SO23 9HX, UK

  www.ransom.co.uk

  ISBN 978 178127 171 1

  First published in 2008

  This ebook edition published 2013

  Copyright © 2008 Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Cover by Flame Design, Cape Town, South Africa

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  The right of Peter Lancett to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.