The cold water splashed over my face and I slowly lifted my eyes. I could now see my reflection; exhausted, dark, and lifeless in the fingerprint smudged mirror. I looked down at the bandages on my wrists, sighed, an angry, tired breath and pulled the sleeve of my sweater tighter over my hands. The bathroom door swished open.
“Lucy,” My mother warned, “you cannot go off on your own like this.”
I rolled my eyes, and turned slightly to look at her. The bags under her eyes, deep and dark, she blamed on me, probably, because I was the problem child.
“Don’t worry, mom. It’s not like I’m going to kill myself in the hospital bathroom. I have a little more ambition than that.” I laughed a bitter laugh. Her lips pursed as she crossed her arms.
“Don’t speak like that, Lucy. This is serious, not a laughing matter. We are here to save you.
I pushed past her, out the door and moved as fast as I could with a broken leg and crutches. She was soon right behind me again, telling me to stop, but once she figured out I wasn’t going to stop, she hurried to get in front of me and then put her hands out to push back on my shoulders. I toppled on my one good leg, quickly losing balance and falling to the ground. I hid my face while I wiped away trickling tears. I hated crying in front of her. It made me feel so weak and ridiculous.
“Lucy, look at me.” She said, a little softer. I glared back, but the tears only continued to rise up my throat.
“Did you ever wonder if maybe I didn’t want to be saved? Huh?” I screamed heatedly. “There is a reason I tried to kill myself, mom, and it wasn’t so I could be kept here longer. I hate this place, all these people. I hate myself. I hate you. So much. So much.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I was screaming with such force that I began to shake and tremble as I lay on the floor. My mother tried to pull me closer to her, but I pushed away, slapping her arms and making fists I intended to use, until suddenly, it just seemed like all my strength was gone. I was uselessly defensive, just sobbing on the ground. Then, I realized it was because my mother was enveloping me in her strong arms. She took away my bitter rage, simply by caressing me. It was the simple gesture I had been thirsting to feel. It was the comfort that would have saved me a week ago from jumping off the bridge. It had almost come too late, but for some reason, I was given one more chance to feel it. I opened my teary eyes, in time to see my reflection in the glass door; refreshed, peaceful and even just a tiny bit fuller of life.
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