I had been in the tub for so long that the piping hot water had gone cold. Emerging up from the tub, I reached out for the lone towel on the rack but only managed to brush my fingertips against the fabric. I stretched my body out further and before I knew it my feet slipped back and my body plunged forward. My left shoulder connects with the tile as my ankle clipped the edge of the porcelain bathtub. At first I didn't hurt at all but within seconds I became fully aware of my injuries. Whimpering, I tried to roll over onto my back but realized that I couldn't move at all. The thought of being paralyzed crosses my mind and my heart begins to race.
I tried to cry for help but couldn't seem to catch enough breath to do so.
"Seth?"
I hear dad call from the other side of the bathroom door.
"D-d-d"
He knocks lightly and calls again, "Seth? Are you alright?"
The knob rattles momentarily then stops and I hear him walk away.
No, come back.
Letting out a groan, I make another attempt to get up or even move. With all my might I rock my body back and land hard against the tile with a noticeable yelp.
The sound of a stampede is heard from the other side of the door and then there's a loud collision and the door swings open.
I would have been embarrassed for my lack of clothes but the relief of seeing my father was crushed by the humiliation.
Gawking down at me, he takes the towel from off the rack and tosses it across my lap.
"What happened?" He asks, stooping down next to me.
I was still in a state of shock so much that I was unable to speak which changed fast when he touched my ankle,
"Ah, fuck!"
His eyes widen at my language but then soften at the justification.
"Can you move it?" He asks, still at my side.
"I don't want to try…" I admit, wiping away a forming tear.
I hated crying, especially in front of my family.
I shiver and he instantly takes the shirt right off his back and wraps it around my upper body.
"Dad…" I began about to say something you'd hear on Family Matters but I didn't want to sound so over-sentimental,
"…Your eyebrows got nothing on your chest."
He chuckles softly as he helps me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, where he places me onto my bed.
"Other then the obvious…" he starts, "are you okay?"
I wiggle my way up the mattress while rubbing my shoulder,
"Yeah"
He retrieves my clothes from the bathroom and tosses them to me.
Slowly, I sit up and pull the t-shirt over my head.
He stands there not really sure if he should leave because I still might need him.
"Do you-" He starts, sort of gesturing his aid.
"No, I'm fine. I got it."
He nods his head and goes for the door and when he reaches the knob, I thank him. He smiles then leaves, halfway closing the door on his way out.
I wait a few seconds to drop my towel, just in case he forgot something and I'm yet again exposed. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and slowly maneuver my injured foot through the leg of the boxer and then the other, I stand and then quickly pull the boxers up the rest of the way. Shuffling over to my closet, I grab a pair a loose-fitted jeans and repeat the same process.
My shoulder throbs but I keep my mind on the beat so not to even think about my ankle and how much it fucking hurt.
I find myself standing in front of my mirror, my eyes almost magnetically drawn to the scar on my wrist.
God, I hated it. So cliché. Poor Seth Cohen can't deal with his dreams.
Limping back to my closet, I rummage through a box and recover an old wristband, not the hip bracelet kind all the little Avril's are wearing but a real one- Red and filthy. I pull it through my hand and onto my wrist, where I adjust it so it's concealing my scar. I hobble back to the mirror and take another look and I'm satisfied.
"Are you dressed?" Dad interrupts at the frame of the doorway, hand covering eyes.
"Yeah…"
I think about that day and wished it hadn't happened or maybe… maybe I wish I would have succeeded.
