Thursday Morning (standard:drama, 645 words)
Author: shutout	Added: Dec 31 2000	Views/Reads: 3656/7	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A scary tale of what can happen when the routine gets old. Based on previous (I'm healthy now) but personal experiences.

What an unusual feeling to have on a Thursday, just the average day in
the middle of the week. 

You know that feeling of being in a zone, like something terrible has
happened, and you’ve not had the opportunity to cry yet?  I had that.  
I couldn’t understand what had happened, though.  I was supposedly in a 
happy relationship, getting along fine with my friends and family, but 
all of a sudden I woke up devastated one day. 

I rolled out of bed without disturbing him.  Starting the water in the
shower, I tried to piece together the turn of events the night 
previous.  Nothing came to mind, just the usual; me falling asleep on 
the couch watching reruns of 80’s sitcoms and him struggling to get me 
to bed at midnight.  I got my usual six hours of sleep, the bare 
minimum needed to drag myself to a job I hated. 

I drenched my hair in the steamy water.  As I lathered my hair, it
became apparent to me why I felt like something was missing, or that 
something had died.  My heartbeat started to pick up a little, I felt 
flushed, and fell into the tub.  I cried.  I sobbed loudly, no one 
heard me.  I grasped desperately at my right knee, which had taken the 
blunt of my fall.  It was tender to the touch.  I had to get up; had 
get to work.  I had to get to work to make more money.  I couldn’t pay 
my bills if I didn’t work.  I couldn’t pay my bills if I did work.  I 
would continue to live off someone, or live off no one, because I 
couldn’t be trusted to take care of myself.  My knee was swollen to 
twice its size, there was no way I could walk to the car, let alone go 
to work.  I didn’t have any sick time left.  I was going to get fired 
anyway.  Why doesn’t he care that I’m sobbing in the bathtub?  Why 
didn’t he care that I hit my knee, why didn’t he ever wake up and check 
on me?  I would’ve checked on him.  I wouldn’t have let him reach up to 
the shower ledge for the razor.  I would recognize the look on his face 
before he had the chance to shakily gouge the blade into his left 
wrist, and shove it upwards.  I wouldn’t want him to feel his flesh 
tear up to his elbow, even if it didn’t hurt me...I couldn’t feel it.  
I cared about him too much to let him do that.  He doesn’t care about 
me; I’ll just bleed all over his tub.  I wish my mom could’ve been 
there to fix things.  She wouldn’t let me bleed all over the bathtub; 
she’d wipe up the blood and tell me to “get a grip on things.” 

God, the routine was over, and glorious release was mine.  The bathroom
grew dark, I felt cold, then nothing. 

Someone was talking to me, screaming at me.  A man.  Oh, it was him,
pulling me off the bathtub floor.  He must’ve heard the shampoo bottle 
crash when I fell in the shower.  I should’ve tried to be quiet.  He 
had to be at work in a little while, and didn’t need to be disturbed so 
early. 

As he hoisted me to his shoulder, I could see my own blood running down
the small of his back, down his left leg and onto the floor.  I 
couldn’t say anything, I was depleting and tired.  I wanted to sleep.  
I wanted him to leave me alone so I wouldn’t have to clean that blood 
up like I always would.  I don’t want to come back to a mess.  I don’t 
want to start another day of my life like this.  Please, put me back 
where I was, I was happy there. 


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