I stayed up late writing this for you! Another long chapter (for me)! Enjoy!
Ian
I shut the door to Wanda's room, muffling her sobs. I lean my back against the door, my chest heaving up and down. I am an idiot.
Why did I say that? Why did I yell? I stand outside her room, lost in thought, until I hear a smash. I without thinking, I turn around and throw open Wanda's door. One glance around the room shows that Wanda isn't here, and my eyes instantly stare at the bathroom door. I run over and twist the door knob.
It's locked.
I knock and call for Wanda when I hear something fall to the ground inside. "Dad! Mel! Someone get the bathroom key!" I scream. "Wanda? Wanda, are you in there? Please just open up. Mel comes running up the stairs into Wanda's room, the rest of the family behind her. She hands me the key and dad tries to ask me questions that I ignore. I shakily shove the key into the lock and open the door.
Everything is in slow motion. Not like the movies, where everything is artificially slowed. I can see everything and move like I usually do. It's just that I can't process what is in front of me. I don't want to. The floor and walls are covered in blood. The mirror is smashed. But my eyes are instantly search for Wanda. It doesn't take long, because she is lying in the middle of the room, covered in her blood. Her once blonde curls lay around her like a halo, soaked red and brown. Her beautiful light blue eyes are closed, her long eyelashes clinging to her high cheek bones because they are filled with tears. Her shirt is pulled up so I can see each of her ribs stick out of her thin body. I didn't know any human could be that thin. I thought she was eating more.
On her stomach, the word "Sorry" is scrawled messily in her blood. It's my fault. I know that she meant "I am sorry" to me. I think I am going to be sick. I whip around and grab the waste basket by the door and throw up.
"Ian move!" Dad yells in my ear. I snap back to my senses. Dad pushes by my and I stumble back, completely frozen. It's my fault. It's my entire fault.
Mel is sobbing, and mom is barely holding her up. I can hear Kyle on the phone, explaining what happened. I hear words like unconscious, faint heart beat, blood, self harm, and suicide.
It's my fault.
"Dad the ambulance a minute away," Kyle yells to dad. Dad. I stagger forward to the bathroom again, towards Wanda and dad. He is trying to slow the bleeding as much as possible. The bath towels he grabbed are soaked with blood though. It's my fault.
"Ian get my bag," Dad orders without turning around. I am still frozen, but after Kyle shouts to me I start moving. I run to dad's study and get his medical bag. I sprint to the bathroom and get on the ground next to my dad. But that also means I am next to Wanda. It's my fault.
"Get out gauze and bandages. Take out everything in there that can help." Dad doesn't look at me. His eyes are on the dying girl in front of him. It's my fault. It's my fault she is dying.
Everything is still blurred. I am in shock. I still respond, albeit slowly. I get all of the bandages in the bag and start to hand them to my father. "Ian, I am going to need help. Wrap the gauze around her wrist. When you are done help me carry her downstairs." I use the whole roll of gauze and bandages, but the blood is already soaking through. It's my fault.
Kyle must have let the paramedics in, for there was a swarm of people telling me to put Wanda on the stretcher. I don't want to let her go though. Mel senses my hesitation and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Ian, let go of her. They will save her," Mel says fiercely, tears still streaming silently down her face.
I place Wanda carefully on the stretcher, and the paramedics start to wheel her out to the ambulance, shouting things that only doctors could understand. Dad follows and jumps into the ambulance after Wanda. I start to follow, but someone shuts the doors in my face, causing my heart to stop. What if I never see Wanda again? It was my entire fault.
"Ian, come on. You have to get in the car. We are going to the hospital," Kyle pleads with me. Numbly, I follow him to mom's car and get in. Mom starts the car and chases after the ambulance to the hospital. It's my fault.
Wanda
"Wanda." A soft whisper caresses my ear. No. My jumbled brain can't handle this at this damned hour of the morning.
"Darling, I have a few tests to run. I need to see how strong you are, and if you have learned more since the last test."
Fuck.
Jack, my first foster father, pulls me off the floor and drags me downstairs to the dreaded basement. Double fuck.
"Okay, I am going to test you pain tolerance. Do you remember you last test? It was on your 11th birthday. This is your 12th birthday present. I have tried to build up your tolerance and help you stand large amounts of different types of pain. Your results from last year were pitiful. Hopefully you learned more for this test. Now come here, Darling."
Jack drags me over to the cuffs on the wall. He twists my arms over my head and then clamps them with cold, hard metal cuffs. He then stretches my legs sideways so that they are on both sides of my body in a straddle. They are clamped as well. "First part, physical pain," Jack says shortly.
I try to squirm away, but an intense pain shoots up my legs and arms. I am flexible, but I have my limits. Jack checks the cuffs, and when he decides they meet his standards, he stomps up the stairs.
My muscles are burning. I feel like I am on fire. I can't focus on anything for longer than a few seconds. Sweat drips down my face and the rough concrete wall cuts my back. I am going to pass out. The only thing that is keeping me conscious for now is the test. If I pass out, I fail, and there will be hell to pay. I made that mistake last year.
"Marvelous! You passed the physical part of the pain test." I didn't even hear him come down the stairs. He lets me out of the clamps and I fall to the ground, tremors shooting up and down my sore muscles. "Oh, get up, Darling. It's time for the emotional part of the test." Jack drags my limp body to a table with a rope. Is there such a thing as a triple fuck? Last year, he only tested my physical pain tolerance. I have no idea what to expect.
I force myself to get on the table, and he ties me down. "Okay, we are going to chat. For every tear, I am going to do this." Without warning, Jack yanks out a lighter from his pocket and puts in on the top of my skin. Then he flicks in on. I unsuccessfully try not to flinch, but Jack doesn't notice. He takes out his knife and cuts the burn. I feel a little bit of my blood start to drip out of the wound.
"Alright, Darling. Remember. For every tear I see, you get one more burn. I want you to sit there and listen to me. Stay silent. Am I clear?"
I don't respond. All of his questions are rhetorical.
"Okay, Darling. Let's begin. Now, I recently received a call about your mother and father. Remember how you saw them drown in the ocean. That was a lie. They faked their deaths. Your social worker called to say that they are happily living in California. When asked if they wanted you back, they refused. They said, and I quote, 'We faked our deaths because of her. We didn't want her. She ruined our lives, so we swam out and pretended to drown. Instead, we swam to a small island and waited. We paid a few people off to tell her we died. We had no family, so we knew there wouldn't be a funeral. We recently came out of hiding because now she is in foster care.'" Jack stops to look at me. My throat is tight, and I am looking up, trying to hold back tears. "That was a quote from your mother." Jack whispers in my ear and I can't control it. The pain rips through my body, heart, and soul. I can't stop the sobs that come. "Oh, Darling. I thought you could do it."
Jack starts counting and I try to control my tears. I soon realize he is counting each of my tears. "Tsk tsk, Darling. Twenty four tears. You know what that means. Jack leans down and starts making the burns, and then he takes the knife and cuts the sensitive skin with a sickly sweet smile.
"We need to run a few more tests." I hear faintly, as if someone is talking upstairs. Jack doesn't seem to hear it though. Oh God, more tests. I don't know if I could handle it. "She passed most of the tests though, which is amazing." I hear the voice say again. What? I didn't pass the test.
"When will she wake up?" Someone asks. Wait… I know that voice. I search my brain, but it's like searching through muddy water. Each move just makes more dirt cloud my vision. "Can she have visitors?" The familiar voice asks. Oh no. Jack is sending visitors? Are they going to give me more pain tests?
I don't hear the response. No! I want to know who is coming. Everything is silent. Jack still stands over me cutting, but I don't feel it. Maybe my body shut down. Suddenly, there is a click that sounds like a door. Someone is coming to the basement! I try to scream for help, but I can't move my mouth. I try to move the rest of my body, but I can't feel anything. I notice Jack is gone, but I am still in the basement, tied to the table.
"Oh my God." I hear someone mutter. Where are they? They sound close to me now, like they are sitting next to me. But I can't see anyone. I can't even turn my head, so I just lie there and listen. "Wanda, I am-" The voice breaks and the person takes a deep, rattling breath. "It's my fault. I am so sorry I said those things to you. I shouldn't have insulted you. I was just trying to say that you deserve so much better. You deserve the best. You deserve a happy life full of recovery. Maybe, when you are ready, you could settle down with a man that loves you and spoils you rotten. You deserve that. I definitely don't deserve you. Not after this. What I said caused you to kill yourself. Oh Wanda, why didn't you say something? I didn't know you cut. But the doctor found scars from self harm all over your arms, among other scars." The voice is also so familiar. I wish I could see who it is.
"You are going to get better. I will try everyday to help you recover if you still want to see me. I don't know how you feel about me though. You must hate me." The voice stops suddenly and I hear a sniff. "I am going to touch your hand now." Oh my God. It's Ian. Only Ian asks permission to touch me, because he is the only one I let touch me. I try to call to him, but I still can't move. I am frozen. I feel warmth on my right hand. I want to grip his hand back, but my fingers won't respond. Damn it.
I need to tell him it's not his fault. I thought he would understand my "Sorry" I wrote. I forgive him. I want him to help me recover. I want him to be the one that loves me and spoils me. Wait…what?
Before I can process what I just realized, Ian interrupts. "Mel and Kyle want to see you. I have to go now. I will see you soon." Ian promises. Then the warmth on my hand disappears.
Okay. Well that happened. If you are confused, Wanda is unconscious at a hospital. First she was reliving old memories, but then she started to hear what is happening in the hospital. There will be a brief Ian point of view in the next chapter to explain more. Please follow, favorite, and review! I am going to send out sneak peeks again!