“Have you been in the hospital before? I haven’t. My father… didn’t believe in taking me to the hospital.” Leah frowned, regretting that she said anything. She hated talking about her father, but for some reason it just… slipped out.
“Yeah,” Emilia said, quietly, “but it wasn’t for anything major. No gushing blood or broken ribs or anything like that.” She paused, thinking. “Your dad wouldn’t take you to the hospital? Why not?” She knew some families didn’t believe in modern medicine, but Leah didn’t seem like the type to come from that background. She mentally reprimanded herself for making assumptions based on stereotypes.
“He never really… took care of me. He did the bare minimum that he had to do. He… hated me. He still does…” Why don’t you just spill your whole life story, Leah? She mentally reprimanded herself. She never talked about this, and she was honestly surprised that she was doing so without bawling her eyes out, as often happened. “It’s not a big deal.”
Leah shook her head, poking at the area where her IV needle was pushed under her skin. “No, they haven’t told me yet. They said they have to see how I do over the next day or so.”
“Ugh,” Emilia made a face. “Being monitored is probably one of the worst things.” She felt awkward hovering next to Leah’s bed, so she sat down in a chair a few yards away from where Leah was lying.
“Have you been in the hospital before? I haven’t. My father… didn’t believe in taking me to the hospital.” Leah frowned, regretting that she said anything. She hated talking about her father, but for some reason it just… slipped out.
“Talking… never helps me. I’ve gotten worse since I’ve started talking to the therapists now. I usually just keep everything to myself. It makes everything easier…” She trailed off, staring at all of the tubes and cords connected to her. She’d never been in the hospital before, so this was honestly sort of terrifying for her, though she’d never admit it. “Thank you for offering, though.”
Emilia bit her lip and nodded. “I’m sorry. Do you know how long they’re going to keep you in here?”
Leah shook her head, poking at the area where her IV needle was pushed under her skin. “No, they haven’t told me yet. They said they have to see how I do over the next day or so.”
“Honestly… I never really saw myself living past twenty. I don’t really know how I can get better. But… whatever.” She shrugged, trying to push the subject away as she always did. If she pushed it away long enough, maybe, just maybe, it would disappear, along with all of her problems.
“If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here,” Emilia said. “I mean, if you need to. If you don’t that’s alright.” Her last therapist would have her rehash every detail of what made her want to hurt herself, which only made her relive the moment and have the urge come back already. She had hated it. “Talking about things kind of sucks sometimes and even though people say it makes things better, I don’t really hold to that philosophy for all cases.”
“Talking… never helps me. I’ve gotten worse since I’ve started talking to the therapists now. I usually just keep everything to myself. It makes everything easier…” She trailed off, staring at all of the tubes and cords connected to her. She’d never been in the hospital before, so this was honestly sort of terrifying for her, though she’d never admit it. “Thank you for offering, though.”
I hate Saturdays.
Saturdays in the hospital are even worse.
Why are you in the hospital?!
Um… long story. Basically, I won’t be leaving the school for a very long time now…
I hate Saturdays.
Saturdays in the hospital are even worse.
“It is, but… Every single little relapse I have in anything is my fault. It’s always my fault. I know that I’m the one doing it, but… there’s a reason for all of it. It’s not all because of me…” Leah trailed off, biting her lip. She couldn’t let herself say any more than that, she knew it. It just wasn’t how she was. “I- I don’t know if I can do that…”
Emilia shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Sometimes things happen and people do what they think they have to do. You can get better, though. Life doesn’t have to stay bad forever.” She felt like a hypocrite, saying all the things she never believed herself, but maybe they were true. She hadn’t been able to do any of the things she used to do before she came to Ravendale since she’d arrived and for the most part she’d been feeling pretty good. Maybe Leah could reach that point too. A voice in the back of her head told her it was because she hadn’t been there long enough to really lose it, but she shoved that thought away.
“Honestly… I never really saw myself living past twenty. I don’t really know how I can get better. But… whatever.” She shrugged, trying to push the subject away as she always did. If she pushed it away long enough, maybe, just maybe, it would disappear, along with all of her problems.
“The therapists will probably be so pissed at me when I get back to school. Especially after everything with the scissors…” Leah sighed, moving her arm to run her hand through her hair, but painfully nearly ripping out her IV. “Ow, fuck. Have to remember not to move too much… And yes I do need to make it up to you.”
“They shouldn’t be angry at you. Isn’t it their job to make sure things like this don’t happen?” Emilia wrinkled her nose. “Make it up to me by getting better, okay? I don’t want you to be stuck in here too long.”
“It is, but… Every single little relapse I have in anything is my fault. It’s always my fault. I know that I’m the one doing it, but… there’s a reason for all of it. It’s not all because of me…” Leah trailed off, biting her lip. She couldn’t let herself say any more than that, she knew it. It just wasn’t how she was. “I- I don’t know if I can do that…”
Emilia nodded. “Yeah, sometimes the thing that’s supposed to make it better ends up making it worse. There’s that fine line and it’s pretty much impossible not to cross it one way or the other.” She smiled. “You don’t need to make it up to me.”
“The therapists will probably be so pissed at me when I get back to school. Especially after everything with the scissors…” Leah sighed, moving her arm to run her hand through her hair, but painfully nearly ripping out her IV. “Ow, fuck. Have to remember not to move too much… And yes I do need to make it up to you.”
If you smuggle in drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, or sharp things for me, I'll have sex with you. Don't talk about families with me and we won't have any problems.
