Chapter Text
12/27
I rarely feel scared anymore. I haven’t in years. Horror movies don’t scare me, and while Dad screams like a baby on roller coasters, I only feel thrill. There was one moment in recent, however, that I felt genuine, body freezing fear. My brother Charlie is only a year younger than me, but to me, he feels much younger. Someone I have to protect. Seeing him at his worst feels like watching a glass vase shatter in slow motion. There’s an inevitable dread of the inevitable contact with the floor. The damaged shards are almost irreparable.
When I was 14, Charlie had to go to the hospital for stitches. It was after a particularly bad relapse, and he wouldn’t stop bleeding. I remember that day pretty well. I was doing homework in my room, and I heard him panicking in the bathroom. The door was cracked open, and when I peeked in, he was pouring blood, desperately trying to rinse his arms in the running bathtub.
I felt sick seeing it. He was covered in blood. He had a white t-shirt on, and it was covered in blood like he’d been stabbed. He saw me, and started sobbing and panicking more.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do, Tori!!”
I called 999 with him breaking down, and the lady on the phone instructed me to put pressure on the wound. My first thought was about the jumper I was wearing. I took it off and wrapped it around his arms. We both sat on the floor, crying together and trying to slow the bleeding. It wasn’t working much. That’s how I learned how bad cotton jumpers are at absorbing blood.
The ambulance was very quick, and one of the first things they did was tying a tourniquet around each arm. I felt idiotic watching this. Why hadn’t I thought of it? Was he in danger because I hadn’t thought to do that? I felt myself spiralling, and when the medical team bombarded me with questions, I went on autopilot. No, he has no allergies. Yes, he is on medications. Yes, he’s had a history of self harm. He also has an eating disorder. Charlie won’t admit that part. No, I don’t know when he last ate. No, I wasn’t with him before that time, I don’t know what happened.
I was asked if I wanted to join him in the ambulance, and join him at the hospital. I wanted to, I wanted to so badly. But Oliver was in the house. Our parents were not. I had to make a choice, and as much as I needed to know Charlie would be alright, Oliver was too young to come with, and too young to be left alone. I gave the paramedics our parents’ contact information, and they took Charlie away.
I ran the bath water until it was clear. Thankfully, there was no blood on the floor. At that moment it seemed like I felt nothing, like I was still on autopilot. I know better now. I know better because after the bathroom was clean, the next thing I immediately did was check on Oliver. Somehow, he kept asleep during the chaos. I climbed into bed with him and just held him. From my room, I could still hear Bon Iver playing from my laptop. I knew my microwave noodles were getting cold, and I’d have to explain tomorrow why my essay was late. I didn’t care. I was exhausted. I fell asleep holding Oliver, a sense of relief coming with the darkness.
The next morning felt so chaotic. My parents came home. Charlie wasn’t with them. They too bombarded me with questions that I really couldn’t answer. I felt heavy and exhausted. Oliver still had no clue. I don’t think he does now, either.
Charlie went back to the hospital today. I’m feeling that dread again. Every time I see that jumper, I feel the dread again. I think it’s time to throw it away.