Love on the Scale

Chapter Thirty-Six

My eyes peeked open to an assault of bright white, and I shut them again. Everything felt foggy; I could move, but I felt weighed down and weak. It took a while for me to remember I wasn't supposed to be conscious at all, and I froze. Upon clenching my fists, pain shot up my arms, and I winced. I was still alive; I could hear my heartbeat. I could feel pain. I could smell the sterility in the air.

I'd failed, just like I did all through my life.

I opened my eyes again, and waited for them to adjust. I already knew where I was; I just didn't know how I'd gotten there. I reached over, hit the button to summon a nurse, and waited. My heart pounded; I hadn't even considered what I'd do if I failed. Failure wasn't even in my mind. I just assumed it would work.

The door opened, and a doctor walked in. Where was a nurse? The man was tall, stern-looking, and didn't comfort me at all. He stood next to the bed, looked at the monitor I was hooked up to, and wrote something on the clipboard he held. He then pulled off his stethoscope, pressed it to my chest. He wrote something else down, and then pulled a chair over, sitting in it. His eyes searched me, though I wouldn't look at him. He held out a hand. "I'm Dr. Mason."

"Christelle..."

He pulled his hand back after we shook, and went back to watching me in silence. I observed my hands, eyes going over my wrists, which both bore stitches, along with the inside of my elbows.

"How do you feel, Christelle?"

Knowing it was probable he knew everything about me, I opted for honesty. "Alive; not dead."

His stern eyes didn't change; I wondered if he'd been in the military. "Most would consider themselves lucky. How do you see it?"

"Unfortunate."

He nodded. "Well I think you're very lucky. It was a close call."

"You only think I'm lucky because you now get thousands of dollars in your next paycheck," I snapped before I could stop myself. My hand went up to my mouth in shock. When in the world had I become so rude?

Dr. Mason leaned forward then, looking into my eyes. He didn't show any pretense; indignation was clear on his face. "I didn't become a doctor for the money, Christelle. I wanted to help people, make a difference in their lives. People like you. You don't want to die."

"Of course. You know me better than I do, right? You've dug into my head, and you know exactly what I want." My voice broke on the last word, and I struggled to keep my conflicted emotions inside. "You don't know me. All you know is what you see, and what's on that stupid clipboard."

"You don't want to die," he repeated, voice measured. "You hate the world. You hate yourself. You're scared." His voice lowered, and his eyes softened. "But you don't want to die; you just want the pain to stop. You don't know how many cases like yours I've seen, Christelle, but that's not important. The fact is that you need to accept that you're important, and you have a role in this world. You don't have to die to escape your pain."

My tears burst free, ran down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. I wiped at it with rough hands. Dr. Mason stood, and gave me a small smile. "I'll come see how you're doing in a few hours. Try and think about what I've said."

Once alone, I listened to his footsteps retreat, until I could no longer hear them. His words bounced around in my head. I didn't want to die... I did want the pain to stop... but I didn't know how.

* * * * *

"You got visitors, babe," Mel, my nurse, told me as she checked my IV. She was a short, curvy woman. Nice, but tough as nails. She didn't treat me like a depressed girl that had just tried to kill herself, and I appreciated it.