Twenty-six – Oliver

I don't know how long I lie there, but it feels like forever with this hot, pulsing pain coursing through my body. I keep my hand clasped over my mouth, hoping I don't vomit everywhere as the churning in my stomach continues to rise higher and higher. Even though I know I should, I'm too scared to move. I'm too scared to even look. I stare at the white ceiling and try to focus on anything but the pain or the noises outside of my bedroom walls.

The churning rises up again like a wave. I need to move. Slowly, I move my head and the rest of my upper body. My whole body burns and the pain becomes more intense. I have to move faster. I grab hold of my bed and gradually push myself up until my left leg starts to move. After a deep breath in, I haul myself up and stumble over into my bathroom quickly. I collapse, hitting my chin on the toilet seat and causing immense pain in my leg, before the churning finally causes everything to spill from my stomach.

My tear-stained face burns and my entire body throbs. How could all of this be caused by someone who's meant to love you? I remain hung over the toilet seat as my body continues to heave even after the contents of my stomach was emptied.

Tears start to spill down my cheeks again as reality finally breaks through the shock. The air and tiles feel like ice against my tingling skin. Why has everything got to be so uncomfortable when you're starving and broken? Why does everything have to hurt?

I slowly shift myself into a more comfortable position. Wiping my face with my shirt, I try to take deep breaths but the constant pain leaves me gasping for air. This is too much. Everything is cold and loud and painful... especially my leg. I shift my blurring focus to my leg and turn slightly so I can view the damage. Purple and red swell across a massive lump on my shin. The colours of my skin fade from my regular, dull skin tone to the aggressive purple that outlines where my mum bought her heel down onto my leg. Where my mum... where she...

I reach my fingers out and brush them lightly against my dry and discoloured skin. Pain buzzes beneath them. I know nothing when it comes to breakages and injury. I grazed myself a lot as a kid but have only ever broken a bone once, which was my arm. It was so long ago that I don't remember the pain. I bite back tears as I feel gently around the bruise, searching for any sign of breakage, but it's hard to feel past the noise of the pain. It's excruciating.

I sit there for a moment longer, attempting to drown out the hurt that corrupts my body, then I remember about all of the painkillers and anti-inflammatory that I have in my medical kit. There might even be something better. I fight my conscious, shaking... convulsing. I grab the strap of the kit and pull it towards me. I look down at myself. I'm ruined. Broken. I'm a mess swelling with pain. I look through the pills some more hoping there will be some that won't make me vomit even more if I take them on my empty stomach. No luck. All of the higher dosage pills require a full stomach. But I need something, codeine, oxycodone, penthrox even. Dad probably took those out in case Mum found it.

I grab the only pills that don't require food, even if they are the lowest dosage, and take four.

I don't move from the bathroom. I imagined it would be easier on my leg that way. Between vomiting and crying, I've been sipping on water, trying to stay somewhat hydrated before I throw it all up again. The pills came up too. I took two more.

I stare up at the ceiling. Something inside me is telling me this place is going to be the last thing I see if I don't do anything, but what can I do now? I've been starving for roughly a week and a half, I've been vomiting repeatedly, I still have cuts all over my body from the glass and I now have an injured leg. What can someone as damaged as me do in this situation? I can't imagine getting out. Even if she came in again, I wouldn't be able run. Dad's gone. Calvin… well, I don't even know what he would be doing now. Mum's crazy. There's no hope here. Not a single slither of it.

I lay down on the tiles, still watching the ceiling. My gaze flickers constantly from corner to corner in an attempt to find something to help me. A heavy feeling rests on my chest. It irritates me. It really irritates me knowing that I could fix all of this but I'm too scared to do it. I'm too scared of the consequences that might follow for everyone that's around me.

Eventually, I end up going through the entire medical kit. It's surprisingly big. I remember when Dad bought it for emergencies back when he went through a 'you have to be prepared for anything' phase. There wasn't really anywhere to store it so he just shoved it away in my closet at the time. I had only really used it as a paracetamol supply whenever I had a headache then but now I guess it has a much greater use. I push around the contents of the kit occasionally seeing some medicine I'm unfamiliar with and reading the label, wondering if it can help my situation. Most of them don't seem like they would.

I find the bandages I had wrapped around the wounds that the glass caused. I would wrap my leg in one but I have no idea if it would help or just make the pain worse. It really makes you wonder how someone could do that. Cause so much damage to someone else. I'm surprised my mum hasn't been the death of me, yet. It's like she's cut everything off from me, her emotions, her time, just everything. She's an abusive sociopath. She's an addicted, violent, alcoholic with no empathy for anyone but herself. She's a dirty narcissistic. A mental hospitals worst nightmare. The polices' hardest conviction. Her employments easiest dismissal. My dad's demonic dictator. A threat to any innocent life. But even saying that is more than she deserves, she doesn't deserve labels, she's a monster. She's just a monster.

I go back through the pills. I briefly check the dosage information on each. Reading the amount, time periods, directions... warnings. Do not consume this product if you are pregnant or breastfeeding. Do not consume alcohol. Keep out of reach of children.

Most of the medicines I pick up have strong dosages and stronger warnings. Do not consume this medication with other medicines. Do not consume more than 6 tablets in twenty-four hours. Prescription medication only. Take ONE tablet daily. Do not continue if you experience these side effects. Call the Poisons Information Centre.

I let the box of tablets I'm holding drop from my hand back into the kit then push it across the room, away from me. No...

For the rest of the day, I change between hovering over the toilet, staring at the medical kit and laying on the cold, hard floor. Then, once the blue-white bathroom light becomes too much for my tired eyes, I grab a handful of medicine packets, drag myself out of the bathroom and limp across the floor to my bed. By the time I lay down, my leg is once again burning with splintering pain.

I set the multitude of pills on my bedside table and watch them for a while. I can't push the thought from my mind. I know it's possible to fix all the pain I'm in and the solution is right in front of me…

I can't say I won't.

I pull a receipt out of my bedside table. I grab a pen. And I write. I'm sorry. Dad. Calvin. I'm so sorry. I briefly write my side. I apologise over and over and over again. Even if they might never see it.

Hopefully it's not the last thing I write. I fold it up and shove it under my pillow.

I turn away from the pills and shuffle slightly until I'm as comfortable as I can get, which, admittedly, isn't very comfortable. I lay there but my body doesn't relax. Water brims my eyes. My head vibrates with pain, the pain of giving up. The pain of knowing when, where and how I'm going to die. It's overwhelming but calm. The constant noise of bottles clanging and shattering, cursing and shuffling outside. I take deep breaths and try to find something to keep me afloat, but I've been left with nothing. Now I'm almost as scared of myself as I am scared of her.

I lay there exhausted. Waiting for anything, because anything is better than this. Then, I feel it. In slithers and streams, cascading away. The last of my hope slipping through my fingers...

I roll back over and grab the pills.