Chapter – 18
I couldn’t remember much. Blind rage is just that.
Blind.
I recall destroying the mirror, then I could only feel pain. There was a great deal of blood.
The next thing I remember is my father yelling. His voice was filled with fear and urgency. Even in my semi consciousness, I was overwhelmed with guilt for scaring him. I then remember being carried. There was more shouting, words I couldn’t understand. I opened my eyes just enough to see my father struggling to keep me in his arms, fighting to hold my weight. My vision turned to see my hands dangling below. They were flowing red, the precious liquid dripping away.
I struggled to speak. I only wanted to say sorry. I needed my father to know I didn’t want to cause him fear. The rest of the family couldn’t be far away. Sorry was all that needed to be said, but my lips couldn’t so much as form the words.
I think that’s what dying feels like.
__________
I woke to the strangest sensation. My skin was on fire, while my insides were a numb cold. I tried to move some of the covers off my body, but my vision blurred, and my limbs were unusually heavy. I couldn’t feel my hands and feet.
I could hear people talking. Cain’s voice was there, then both my parents. I could hear my sister’s cane rubbing against the metal floor. She was twisting it clockwise, as she always did when nervous.
“When will you know?” My father’s voice was shaky. I could tell my mother was too choked up to speak. If my father couldn’t keep a steady voice, she certainly couldn’t.
“When, or if, he wakes up,” my brother said. “I can't be sure.”
“But he’s still breathing!” my sister said frantically. “Doesn’t that mean he’s recovering?”
There was a silence, where I imagined my brother shaking his head. “It’s a miracle he didn’t go into shock. He still may. The only thing I can say for sure is that, were he found any later, he wouldn’t still be breathing…”
The conversation continued. It may even have gotten heated, but it was just noise to me.
__________
It was almost impossible to tell dream from reality. My memories lost chronological order. For a time I heard my family talking in the medical room before I recalled my father carrying me to it. I thought my hands had been injured before Robert helped me pass the locked door. It was chaotic, worse than my memories usually were. Then came the dreams…
I stumbled into the medical room alone, my eyes barely open, my hands and feet bleeding horribly. I used my elbows to crawl forward, pulling myself onto the bed.
Black.
The next moment I was fumbling with a pair of tweezers, jerking large chunks of glass from my bloody palms. I remember being afraid.
Abel Page 20