Delores’s throat burned from her crying, but no matter how much she tried she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She gripped at the tube inserted into her arm and tore it out. A small splash of blood sprayed across the crisp white bedding, the sight only added to her grief.
Blood. There was so much blood.
A river of it. An ocean of it. So much blood it would drown her.And thank the Lord for that small mercy, she thought.
Her eyes felt heavy, her body weak, as the door came open and two nurses came in, sharp features and high-pitched tuts. That’s all they had for her. She didn’t blame them either. They hated her for what she’d done, how could they not.
What sort of person was she that would harm her own children? A disgusting one. A hateful one. A vile and incomprehensible one. That’s what she was. No wonder Michael hated her. No wonder.
No wonder.
She had failed him, over and over and over. She had failed everyone.
Delores fought the nurses with exhausted arms and a tired mind. She fought them to leave her alone, to keep out the tube. To keep out the medicine and the drugs that would make her better. That would piece together her broken mind again. She didn’t want to be better, she didn’t want a clearer image. She only wanted to die.
She was a wicked woman. A bad woman. Evil through and through. She didn’t deserve their care and attention. She didn’t deserve anyone’s.
“I don’t know why I did it,” she cried out. “I don’t know why!” she screamed until her throat burned and felt like the words were cutting her, slicing up her throat like a butcher’s knife. She flailed and hit out. She pushed at the nurses, rose high on her bed and screamed and screamed and screamed as she tore at her hair pulling out clumps, and begged them to make it stop.
“Make it stop!” she screamed louder. “Make it stop.”
Two more nurses came in, each with their own tut of disapproval. They grabbed at her ankles, and she kicked out and fell, only to be caught in their too tight grip as they held her down and stabbed at her vein.
Stab stab stab.
Her screaming peaked and then stopped. It died on her trembling blue lips.
“…blankets…”
She was hot.
She was cold.
She was here.
She was there.
She was nowhere.
She was falling into forever.
She was glad.
She was sad.
She was angry.
She was exhausted.
Delores’s eyes rolled in her head, the room a blur of colors and shapes all around her. Her gaze fell on her husband stood in the doorway, his body leaning against the doorframe. The nurses too busy to notice him there. Or too angry at her to care.
But she saw him.
And she wanted to apologise again for what she had done, but what was the point?
An apology wouldn’t take away her wicked crime.
An apology was nothing.
