39. “Figment”The scissors were right there. Orange handles splayed, sharp edges jutting out to meet the world. They were calling for me...my vision wouldn’t let me see anything else except for their perfect steel and the mouths that they could open on my arm. The mouths that would ask for more and vomit up little spurts of red that would soak through clothes and ooze over my skin. It was cold, there were windows on every side of the room with white curtains that swept inwards as the wind direction and speed changed. Everything was white, it was almost like Jay’s room at Paige’s house. The scissors sat on a white table in the middle of the room. I looked around but couldn’t find how I had gotten in and didn’t want to know how I could get out. It seemed like there was a door growing in the middle of the scissors as they snapped open and closed in front of me.
While I watched the two halves melted and formed knives with white handles, watched as the handles became gorged with blood and turned deep crimson. The metal dots that held the wood in place rusted over with dried blood and the blade grew dirty with it until there was a pool of blood on the table.
But they didn’t stay as knives...the blades split into six or seven different pieces, razor blades that soon sank under the weight of the crimson sea. A gushing river of red fell off the table, metal went with it, they were needles now, thousands of needles spawning in someone’s life...I watched as they jumped up and threw themselves at me. They all surrounded my feet, I watched as the metal congealed back to razor blades, then to knives. Before it could reach the scissors again my hand reached out against my will and grabbed one of the knives...bringing it up out of the soup so that I could see it. The blood all evaporated. I could see a door reflected in the blade, a door that my hand wanted desperately to open.
The knife shook in my grasp and dragged itself towards my arm, then raked across the tender skin there...it didn’t hurt as much as the scissors, it only cut a thin line. A thin line that swelled with more blood than anything I had ever done to myself had, a thin line that soon turned to a raging torrent of color that splashed on the floor. I sank to my knees, the blood coalesced and parted to make a door down to nothing, the way was so black. My hands touched it and fell through, I was going to fall too...I tried as hard as I could to pull away from the black but little tendrils of red crept out and grabbed my arms, pulling me towards the maw of that beast.
I heard footsteps...how could someone have entered here? Heard Jay calling my name, begging for me not to leave...felt his hands on my back as he tried in vain to correct what I had done...then the hands began to slip away. I struggled to free myself from the mouth...all of my scars opened and screamed obscenities at me, daring me to die. The screams carried me over to...
Staring at the cheap linoleum floor, only inches away from my face. Sheets twisted about my body and keeping me imprisoned, one of my arms tangled in the cord for a lamp. For a second I thought that the dark patch on the floor was blood and I was going to scream, but then I realized that it was a shadow. Sweat ran down my face and I panted desperately to calm down.After a few seconds or maybe they were even minutes of me being totally involved in that dream world I realized that Jay was caught in one of his own.
“Bobby...” he whined, thrashing about a bit. “Please don’t leave me alone...please...” he whimpered, coming dangerously close to ripping tubes and wires out of his arms and the machines. I noticed that they had tied his arms to the railings of the bed again...maybe he did this every night?
It took me a while to get free from all of the sheets and disengage from the cord so that the lamp didn’t fall over. When I finally did he was getting louder and more frustrated...his left hand kept on trying to grab his right wrist and peel away the tape. I wasn’t sure if I should bother him in a huge burst or gently, startle him or ease him into a calmer state.
“Jay...I’m here, it’s okay.” I whispered, easing my hand over his and stopping his incessant jittering. His skin was taking on a more brilliant hue, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. “I’m not leaving you ever again.” His whimpers lessened in volume and his head didn’t thrash as much. “It’s okay...I’m right here.” I kissed his forehead, “It’s okay.” His breathing quieted and he was just sleeping peacefully again. I sighed and got back into my bed and covered myself with all the sheets. Idle thoughts entered my mind. Had he done that when I wasn’t here? Didn’t need to think that...because I didn’t want to envision him calling out for me when I wasn’t there and never having any peace at all. I had enough guilt without that.
The rest of my night was dreamless.
Breakfast consisted of applesauce and some rather suspicious looking oatmeal. Breakfast also ended up joining the chicken and mashed potatoes from last night in the toilet. Jay had taken one look at it and shaken his head...two bowls of rather unappetizing colorless messes weren’t very appealing to me either. But he had to eat something, so I bought some crackers from the vending machine and slipped them to him. He needed to eat, he was recovering from massive blood loss. I didn’t need to eat...well, I did. He would prod things at me and refuse to eat unless I did. I ate. I drank. They just were meaningless.Jay didn’t seem like he remembered any of last night, but he did have rather large bags under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, the smell of the sick and sickly was never an inducement to sleep...even with me right there to counteract it. Maybe he slept well, it was just the dreams that wore him out. Even I could see that he had to leave soon or he’d just wither away, even with me sneaking him food. It seemed like he was brittle and would crack if the temperature changed.
But he couldn’t go while they could still measure things in his body that were troubling, while he still had little quivers and nightmares about heroin and ecstasy and LSD and speed and cocaine. While his arms were still healing, while his wrist still throbbed and tugged on his fingers. While the fans held a silent vigil outside and left hypocritical little cards where they said it was awful what he had done and they wished that he had been able to talk to someone about it...these were from the same people who had screamed at him to cut, screamed that he needed to rip his life away for their pleasure. A day or so earlier a girl had actually tried to pull something, she’d raised a knife to her wrist and tried to slit her troubles away while pinning them on Jay and his...accident. Everyone pretended it was an accident, a stage trick gone awry. The scars weren’t real, he’d just had them tattooed on, Jay Gordon was still whole and sane.
The sympathy died off when another star, I don’t remember from what band or even what name he had before he changed it to something short and sweet, overdosed and wound up showered with flowers and gifts from little girls and squealing older men who thought he would look pretty on their sofas next to the pictures of mother and the sprays of artificial flowers. So, in time, the little pile of stuff for Jay left. It was scary that it happened in the space of a couple of days, but that other star was so much more popular and mainstream and...well...he didn’t cut himself did he? He only used needles, not knives.
Sometimes I’d leave to go and clean up back at the hotel and come back to find him looking out the window and absently peeling up the stray ends of the tape on his wrist. The nurses were starting to trust him again, but they’d still tie his arms up if he gave even the slightest indication that he’d take the bandage off. I heard them whisper that if he saw what had happened to it he might flip out and take them with him to whatever grave he had picked out. I can’t say I wasn’t anxious as to what he would do. I didn’t know if it would look like his hand had been reattached by a handy grandmother with her sewing needle just at hand, or a handyman getting a little too frisky with his staple gun. I did know that it was more likely than not that he would flip out. When they changed it they always put up a screen between him and his wound...as if the lips of the gash could croak out words from between the stitches and convince him to commit more atrocities.
“Bobby...can you ask them to let me leave? Paige won’t.” he said one night after the squeak of the nurses’ shoes were far away and his arms were safely secured.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea right now.” I said quietly.
“I’m sorry.” And he sounded like I had just said I was leaving again.
“It’s...it’s because they don’t know if you’re going to do it again and they don’t know what the drugs are doing to you..what they did to you.”
“I’m fine.” he whimpered. I could barely see him with the lights off and the curtain closed. I heard his arm grating against the metal.
“I’ll ask tomorrow. But promise not to get all upset if they say no, okay?”
He was silent for a while, the only sound his fingers picking at the tape, peeling it up and then pushing it down. He had mastered the fine art of doing things one handed, even though it pulled on stitches and hurt his wrist. “I promise.”
I sat up and looked at him, there was a slight gleam around the space where his eyes should be. “I love you Jay, I don’t want you to be let out if they don’t think you’re healthy enough to be. I’d die if anything happened to you again.” Watched as he tried to turn onto his side, then silently crept up and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Everything will work out fine.” I whispered, running my hands through his hair gently. He nodded and closed his eyes. I pulled the blankets up tighter around him and went back to my cot.