Grabbing hold of the handle, I steel myself against the wave of pain I’m about to induce. I tense my muscles and pull out the knife. Nothing happens. My hands have failed me. My strength has failed me. My body and brain refuse to allow me to hurt myself. All this effort has caused more blood to spill out onto the carpet, effectively ruining my damage deposit. I wipe off my sweaty and bloody hands on a dry part of the carpet and grasp the handle again. This time I don’t really think about it or try any counting scheme. The knife slides out easier than I thought it would and it doesn’t hurt. Much.
I throw the knife as far as I can, which isn’t far, and focus on trying to get up. If getting off the couch was a chore, this is going to be hell. I was right and the wound is bleeding more and more. It’s Kirsten’s gift that keeps on giving. My left hand covers my wound and I push off the floor with my right. I manage to get to my knees before I almost collapse, but I grab the chair before I tumble to the floor again. Breathing too hard from the strain causes a coughing fit which threatens to send me to the ground, but I hold on. If I fall, I die. I can’t be sure if I coughed up any blood because my hands are already covered as it is. Coughing and crying has blurred my vision and I almost wipe it away, but that would just make the situation worse. Blood stings.
I shakily get to my feet and decide to give it a minute before I walk the few feet to the kitchen. Right then someone pounds on my door. I ignore it, hoping it’s no one who knows I’m home. It might be Kirsten, but I doubt she’d knock. I stare at the door hoping whoever it is will go away and leave me in peace. The knocking comes again.
“UPS!” He shouts.
I’m not expecting a package. This is not good. But I can deal. If I ignore him he’ll go away. He knocks again and shouts his threat through the door. It’s only threatening because I don’t want to make noise and have him hear me. Then he might never go away. Or he’ll do something to my package. Whatever it is, I want it. It seems like minutes until I hear him sigh and put the package down. I hear some shuffling around outside and I figure it’s him trying to hide the package from thieves. Good old UPS guys. That’ll deter people from petty thievery. Nobody suspects the lump under the welcome mat.
Anyway, I’ve put it off long enough. In the kitchen there are paper towels and alcohol. It’s not much, but it’s closer than the bathroom and we don’t have any bandages. I have a half-full tin of band-aids and I think I already used up the big ones. Kirsten was always harping on me to get a first-aid kit. “What if I get hurt?” she asked. I blew her off saying that nothing bad could ever happen to her. Maybe this is her way of getting me to buy one. I’ll have to remember that. Maybe next time her way of telling me won’t include such a drastic action. I should listen to her more often. I think that was my biggest mistake. Not listening. I always just nodded my agreement or focused on the television. I took for granted that she would always be there.
I stand up. I use the chair to stabilize myself until I am sure I can make it to the kitchen. I almost stumble then get a rhythm down. Drops of blood dot the carpet. Oh yeah, that deposit is definitely gone. In the kitchen I don’t mind the blood dripping on the linoleum. When this is over it’ll be an easy clean-up with the mop. In the freezer is a bottle of Vodka. I don’t know if this will clean the wound or make it worse, I’m a psychology major! The most serious medical information I have is from TV and Scrubs is not the most accurate medical show. I know I’m not supposed to drink it because that will thin my blood and make the problem worse. I read that in Maxim. Maybe it will help that it’s good Vodka and not that cheap Monarch crap my friend Brian drinks. I should have had Everclear. It’s basically rubbing alcohol with sugar in it. My drunkenness might have saved me. Past me sucks.