Yay, multi-chapter! Soooo... I've got a lot of this done, actually all of it, so I'm just gonna be transferring it onto here. Should be updates fairly quickly, since all I've gotta do is edit a bit. Hope you enjoy, and you reviews feed the psychotic rabbits that reside in my head, so you should review. A lot.
-AmberGoddess
Have you ever stood on the top of a cliff and seen the whole world opened up in front of you? Felt like a bird, high in the sky, looking down on everything, totally untouchable? It's a euphoric feeling, and one that can be a tad dangerous. That feeling, one of utter freedom? If you're not careful, it can end in a nasty little tumble.
Some people, though, take that fall on purpose. They feel so alone, or unloved, or just plain worthless, they go to the top, feel the rush- and jump. In their minds, they're doing the world a favor. They don't deserve to live, or maybe their life is just so bad they don't want to. I was one of them.
It started my freshman year of high school. I felt like no one could touch me, or see me. I was invisible, completely cut off. The only time I was noticed was when someone needed something.
I was the school's genius girl, the one you went to for homework or study help. They would be grateful, you know, 'Oh, you saved my life, my project was due tomorrow, thanks so much for writing my paper, I love you-' you know, typical stuff. Then I'd go to the bathroom or walk through the lunchroom and I'd hear them, making fun of the loser with no life but books.
The thing was though, I didn't get mad at them. I believed them. I thought I was so worthless, just a waste of space that could be better put to use by someone else.
It got so bad, I wanted to die. Of course, I couldn't do anything about it, because that wasn't what I did- I was good little Willow Rosenburg, reliable to a fault. Anything out of the ordinary would just be so shocking it would- well, I didn't know what would happen, only that it would not be good.
In the end, I guess I thought that if I did what everyone expected me to do without saying a word, I might be less worthless. That if I helped them, and took their cruelty, and only cried at home where no one would see, I would earn my place. So I did.
I did their homework, and took their shit, and after a few months, I stopped crying. I shut myself down inside. I figured feeling nothing was better than the pain.
The funny thing was, of course, I should have been used to it. It was like that my entire life. From day one, my parents weren't there. They hired nannies and sitters to raise me, and only paid attention to tell me what I should be doing better. I tried so hard to make them proud, I did, but I just never could. My mother would just spout statistics at me, and I honestly don't think I saw my father for two weeks the entirety of the fourth grade. They were spirited academics, and I think the only reason they had a kid was so they could be considered 'family friendly'. It always surprised me that they were aware enough of me to remember to give me money for my birthday. Their annual convention for some esoteric thing or another fell the week of my birthday. It got to be a ritual- wake up, get dressed, go downstairs, and read the note with the check attached. They used the same one every year- I hacked into my mom's computer and actually found a file labeled 'W BDay Note'. That didn't shock me.
Anyway, freshman year was bad. I hid for most of it. I got to know the library really well, since the likelihood of anyone actually coming in there was less than zero. I still heard the little snide comments, but they started to be drowned out by the ones in my head. Worthless, wrong, they're better off without you, no wonder you don't have friends, you don't deserve them... It was like that almost constantly.
Then one day, maybe a month into sophomore year, I was walking into the library, when a guy came rushing past me, big with the hurrying, and bumped into me. It hurt- a LOT. I couldn't figure out why until the librarian, a nice British man by the name of Mr. Giles, exclaimed "Good Lord, you're bleeding!"
Needless to say, I was startled. Funny thing though, I wasn't startled by the pain, as much as how good it felt. It seemed to lift some of the tension off my heart. I got bandaged up quickly, reminded Mr. Giles of my name, and ran out.
When I got home, I went straight for the kitchen. Opening a drawer, I pulled out a gleaming knife. I knew my mother kept these sharp, for whenever an urge to 'cook' came upon her. I got used to pizza pretty fast.
Looking at the knife, I got struck with an almost unbelievable urge to just make a little teeny cut. I was torn- I knew intellectually that this was dumb, but I remembered just how good it felt before. I thought myself in circles, getting into the worst mental babble I ever had. It took me a minute to realize that I hadn't just remembered the earlier pain- I had a new bloody line straight down my arm.
Looking at the blood making it's way down my arm, I realized that my head felt clearer. I wondered at this for a second, then just dismissed it with a smile. Life might just be looking up...
A few months later, I was still in pretty much the same mindset. Worthlessness, pain, inferiority- cut. It made me feel better.
Monday morning I overslept. I hadn't set my alarm or something, and it resulted in me getting ready and leaving for school at a sprint. I got there just before the late bell, and made my class with seconds to spare. Of course, this brought me to the attention of the school bitch queens, Cordelia Chase and Buffy Summers, and their pack of hangers-on. They were the rulers of the school, cheerleading co-captains and alternating Homecoming Queens. These were the ringleaders of my tormentors as well.
"Oh look girls, it's the fashion reject! Where'd you get those clothes, Goodwill?" Cordelia was in rare form today. Some of her insults actually hurt. Others just made me want to crack up. Buffy, on the other hand, was quieter, but made up for it by having a particularly nasty jibe when she did speak up. She had an irritating ability to figure out exactly what you didn't want people to know, and use it against you. It must come with the whole cheerleader deal.
"Well, Will, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Red eyes and runny makeup- girls, I think the freak actually has a heart! Hey, wait, what's this?" She grabbed my arm and pulled up my sleeve. I couldn't figure out how she knew about my cuts- probably saw the edge of the bandage or something. Didn't matter anyway, now they were all surrounding me and mocking the 'poor little Emo chick'.
I was really surprised that they would be making fun of me when I was there. Usually they were more careful to not offend the person who saves their grades. Then a new thought struck me, one that made all of my remaining good humor from last night completely drain away, to be replaced with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I figured that either they were all PMSing or there was a new go-to genius in school, destroying my current status as 'somewhere near useful' and demoting me to 'worthless'.
This single thought revolved around and around in my head, drowning out their taunts, until it finally got to be too much. Without saying a word, I jumped up and ran out. This time I knew I was crying, but I didn't care, just ran. I stopped, finally, when I got to the front doors of the school. If I left now, not only would I be breaking the school rules, I would be defying the unwritten code that keeps everyone in their nice safe little niche. Without a second thought I stepped out.
I knew that everyone would know about my cuts, if they didn't already. It was just one more thing that made me a target. One thing I did know, though- if I went back, I wouldn't have a place anymore. I was just the freak who cuts herself and isn't good enough for anyone. I started running again, just trying to get away from all the pain in my head. I could feel the thoughts in my head, like they had a physical presence. And god, did they hurt. Worthless, waste of space, no one likes you…
When I stopped again, I realized where I was. Kingman's Bluff, one of Sunnydale's only cliffs. It was usually a pretty popular spot, since you could see almost the entire town. I loved it. It felt like I was a bird, weightless and free, flying high above all of the expectations and pain. I came up here to think a lot. I loved to sit on the edge and dangle my legs over the void, like I was daring myself to just fall. I never would though, and there was always a modicum of peace when I left.
Today, though, I had a storm in my head, black thoughts swirling and hurting. I stumbled to the edge and looked out, hoping for the calm that usually accompanied the action. All I got was more pain. I hated everything about myself and my life right then, and finally I let it all go. I screamed, shrieking my pain and rage to the sky. All I got for my troubles was an echo and a seriously irritated bird.
My head felt a little clearer, and in a flash of clarity, I knew how to make it all stop. I looked over the bluff, and felt a peace settle in my heart. I took a deep breath, smiled… and jumped.
I felt an instant of falling, and the euphoria that brought my heart was unbelievable. Then came the part I hadn't thought about- landing. I hit hard, and instantly was wracked with agony. The one thought that came to mind was that dying couldn't possibly hurt this much. I had managed to screw up killing myself. I had one last thought before I drifted into blackness.
Well, fuck.
I woke to blackness. For a second this confused me, because I was pretty sure I wasn't dead. I bummed about that for a minute, then moved on to the issue of why everything was black.
First idea: it was nighttime out, I was still at the foot of the cliff, and I was going to slowly die of exposure. I shuddered, since I didn't particularly like the sound of dying so slowly and uncomfortably. I dismissed that idea quickly- too much for me to handle.
Second theory: I really was dead, and an eternity of blackness and itchy feet was my reward for being so useless. That wasn't much better than my first idea, and it showed the state I was in that I cheered up from the thought that I didn't screw up suicide. Of course, I was slightly depressed when I realized that the best I could hope for in my afterlife was itchy feet, but I decided not to dwell on that either. I moved on, seeking less un-fun realities.
Third guess: I needed to open my eyes. I considered, and decided to try it. I cracked open my eyelids, and shut them again almost instantly when a spike of pain railroaded through my skull. Well, that discarded the eternal blackness theory, and quite possibly the cliff bottom idea as well, although that was less certain.
That idea was completely thrown out when I realized that cliff bottoms were probably not this comfortable, and definitely weren't accompanied by a nurse. At least, that's what I assumed she was, aided by the fact that the instant she saw me move she started poking and prodding at me and writing down- something, I wasn't sure what could be gotten from seeing how much I twitched.
"Good, you're awake. I'll send for a doctor. Don't try to move." With that, I heard footsteps move towards the direction I assumed led to the door and fade away. I cursed. I had wanted to ask her questions. Well, it gave me chance to take stock. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes a slit. Ow.
After the pain had faded somewhat, I looked around. Fluorescents, generically cheerful wallpaper, itchy sheets. Great. If I could have deluded myself at all about the nurse, my surroundings confirmed I was in Sunnydale's biggest hospital.
I took a quick run-through of my body. Head: jackhammers were hammering away in my skull. Arms: sore and itchy. Torso: bruised, with a definite jab in my side. Legs: numb.
Wait, NUMB? Why couldn't I feel my legs? I started mentally freaking out, interrupted minutes later by the doctor opening the door.
"Well, Ms. Rosenburg, I'm glad to see you're awake. You had us worried for a bit there!" He seemed to be a cheerful man, one of those guys who wouldn't let anything get him down. I probably would have liked him, if I wasn't so busy freaking out silently. Sadly for him, the second I realized he was a doctor, my freakout became verbal and very much not in my head.
"What's wrong with my legs? What do you mean, you had us worried? How do you know my name? And why would it be so good that I'm awake, I mean, yeah, sleep, sleep isn't awake, but if I needed to be awake, you could have just woken me up! How were you worried? How long have I been here? What-" He cut me off here. As soon as my babble had started, his eyes had gotten wider and wider, until I thought they would just pop out.
"Woah there! Let's just rein it in a little there." Great. A cowboy doctor. My luck. "To answer, well, some of your questions, we were worried because you've been in a coma for almost four days. You stabilized yesterday, and we've been waiting for you to wake up ever since. We got your name out of your wallet, it was in your pocket. You've been here for five days, the coma didn't set in until we let up on the drugs. And your legs? You have severe lacerations, so we applied a local anesthetic as well as the overall pain medication. Should keep them pretty numb. You've got three broken ribs and a concussion on top of that. You're really very lucky."
I was impressed. Not only had he kept track of my babble, he'd answered it with an impressive babble of his own. AND he had answered almost all of my questions. Lucky? Of course, I couldn't fault him for not answering them all, I hadn't been able to ask them all. I decided to immediately remedy this. As soon as I opened my mouth, though, he cut me off.
"Ms. Rosenburg, I recommend you rest some more. In spite of having been unconscious for close to six days, your body needs to recharge. It's been focused on healing, now it needs energy, and it won't get that if you're active." He seemed very determined, but there were just a few things I wanted to know. I raised my hand tentatively.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before bringing his hand down and giving me a slightly forced grin. Well, what do you know? Happy-man can be irritated! I side-tracked briefly before starting and asking him, "Okay… three questions." He nodded. "One, um, not to be rude, cuz you've been really nice and all and I don't want you to think I'm not grateful, cuz I really am, but this just popped into my head, and I-" he had to cut me off again. "Sorry. Um, who are you?"
He laughed. "Sorry, Ms. Rosenburg, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Doctor Wyatt." Okay, name, check.
"Good. Nice to meet you. Next, what happened to me? I mean, not my injuries, you explained those, but what happened?" I was really nervous for this answer- what he said could pretty much determine my future. If they thought it was an accident, I'd be warned to be more careful and then discharged, but if they thought I was suicidal, they'd keep me under close observation.Which is just stupid when you think about it. It's not like I'm gonna do it again. I frowned. I'm really not. Huh. I shook that off to think about later.
"It says here you were found at the base of King Man's Bluff. Looked like you fell. Do you remember anything? Were you startled at the top?"
Relief. He didn't know why I was up there. Then I realized he was waiting for an answer.
"Oh! Yeah, startled, that was me. I saw a… a frog! Yeah, that's it, a frog. Icky nasty little green things. It jumped and I screamed then I guess I fell and blacked out. Stupid frogs. Heh." I grinned as innocently as I could at him, which really wasn't that much. I guess it was enough though, since he only peered suspiciously at me for a minute before writing something on his chart.
"All right, then, Ms. Rosenburg. But please do be more careful next time you're on the top of a steep cliff." This guy kinda reminded me of the librarian, Mr. Giles. If Mr. Giles was American, and a cowboy. Huh. "You said you had another question?"
"Yes I did, as a matter of fact!" I smiled up at him. Then I wondered why he looked impatient. Oops. "OH! You want to know what it is!" He nodded. Can people nod sarcastically? "Did, um, did anyone come to see me? While I was here?" When I finished, my voice was significantly smaller, and much more scared.
He looked at me sympathetically. "I'm afraid the only people to see you were the hospital staff. Do you have any idea where your parents are?"
Prague, Budapest, Vienna, who knows? "No."
"Oh. Well, then we can try to get in touch with them if you-"
"Dr. Wyatt, just tell me when I'm gonna get out of here." I came off much colder than I intended. I was upset, though I didn't know why, and was trying not to show it. I was used to my parents' absentee behavior, so why was I getting upset about it now? Maybe it was that I thought they should come visit their only child when she was in a COMA for FIVE DAYS.
I think I have issues.