(part 1 -here, part 2 – here)

Her mouth gaped open as she saw the bloody hand-prints covering the wall near the light switch. Her head swarmed as she looked to see his hands covered in blood, to his elbows. He didn’t seem to be the least bit shocked or concerned, and she wondered if this was how it was supposed to be. Behind her, the bed lay rumpled with a pool of red blood where she had been only moments ago.

She looked at him as he cracked the door open to talk to the voice on the other side, and unable to make sense of any of it, she gathered her things and pulled the door open enough for her to slide out between them. But the boy on the other side had already seen. His eyes became large and his mouth turned into a snarl as he pointed to her, demanding to know what she’d done and how she could possibly bloody up his room.

It was then she looked down and realized that the blood was all hers, and for the first time she could feel it dripping down the inside of her pants leg.

The other boy, the one with blood on his hands, told him to be quiet, to let her go. And, she ran. Out of the room, and into the bathroom – unrolling as many squares of toilet paper she could off the roll, sticking them inside her panties. She stuffed extra tissue in her pocket as she quietly peaked out the door. She could hear the boys arguing in the other room, one of them angry because his mattress had been “soaked through.” She quietly ran down the stairs, and softly told her friend they needed to leave NOW and her friend promptly complied at hearing the urgency in her voice.

“What happened?” Her best friend asked as they drove silently against the black town. “We…had sex. I’m bleeding.” She said, her voice distant and steady.

They arrived at her best friend’s home and she went straight to the bathroom to change out the tissue paper she’d carelessly rolled and stuffed into her panties. The whole lot had soaked through in the matter of only a few minutes, so she grabbed a panty-liner from her friend’s bathroom vanity. As she sat on the toilet, she could hear the blood slowly trickling into the clear water, turning it red. She shoved the panty-liner back and opted instead for an overnight maxi pad.

Slowly, she got up and washed her hands – believing this was nothing but normal. When she opened the door, she could hear the soft giggles of her friend as she sat, talking on the phone to the boy she’d just met. Her friend paused, looking at her – searching for a clue to explain the expression that had taken residence on her face. “I’m going to bed,” she said, pointing to the bedroom door that they shared. Her friend nodded, and then she walked away, leaving her friend on the couch.

Suddenly, she was awake again – as if she’d been startled, but the room was dark and quiet. She felt the bed beside her but her friend hadn’t come in yet. Trying to see the clock, she squinted to make out the red numbers. It’d only been an hour since she’d laid down. She tried to get comfortable, twisting and turning, but she couldn’t get rid of the aching that spread through her down there. It throbbed just enough to keep her from falling back to sleep.

Slowly, she stood back up and walked the few steps to the doorway, where her own hand shot out and grasped the door frame, keeping her from falling. Her best friend put the phone down, cautiously eyeing her “Are you…alright?”

Silently, she shook her head. “I think I’m going to pass out,” she added quietly.

“I have to go, I’ll call you back,” Her friend said into the phone, hanging up.

Her friend was beside her, helping her back to the bathroom where she sat again. This time, though, there was more blood. It steadily streamed into the toilet in small amounts, occasionally with a slight “plop” as it hit the water. She looked at her friend, embarrassed, and asked, “Are you supposed to bleed like this…after…you know?”

Her friend, deep in thought, shook her head. “I’m not really sure, but I don’t think so. You should call the hospital or something.”

With that, the phone was handed to her and she began to call her gynecologist, although she had no clue why since they would definitely not be open during the wee hours of the night. The answering service answered, and was barely helpful, telling her that some people bled more than others and if she was concerned to go to the hospital. She hung up. She wasn’t concerned. She laughed slightly at the thought of not waking up again – it wasn’t like anyone would really care. Hell, it might actually relieve them, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. It’d been months since she’d gotten along with her parents, and months since the depression had first set in. After all, would the man who had shoved the letter she’d written to him explaining her desire to stop living back in her chest while calling her a selfish baby really ever miss her? Probably not.

And yet, despite the sadness that gripped her, she picked the phone up and dialed another number. Her hands were working on their own, because she’d already decided she didn’t even care what happens.

Welcome back!