I wake to the rhythmic beeping of what could only be a hospital vital monitor. I reach over to the remote, to turn off what must be an asinine medical drama on TV when I realize I can’t move my arms. My eyes shoot open, the white walls and fluorescent lights blur my vision. I begin to thrash before pain shoots through my chest and arms, forcing me to rest. That’s when I hear the dull, bored voice in a tone I’ve heard so, so many times and I realize all at once where I am, and what is happening.
“Heroin.” My mothers voice sighs. “That’s new, Blythe.”
I squint my eyes and make her out, sitting in the corner with a steaming cup of coffee with a look on her face that says “Damn it, Blythe, again?” She’s worried, but the worry on her face is covered by disappointment, disgust, and contempt.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She scoffs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Beth.” I choke out.
She shakes her head and comes over to my bedside. “Blythe. Your heart stopped. You died. When are you going to stop this?”
“When I have a mother who cares more about her children than her image.” I spat back. “Or a mother who tries to help her children instead of throwing money at all of their problems.”
She took a deep breath. “I gave you money so you wouldn’t be thrown in jail for stealing. Remember your lavish stay in county? Huh?”
I rolled my eyes, turning my aching head in the other direction. I could hear her rummaging through things beside me. “Well, you’re getting your wish, Blythe.” She said.
I turned back to look at her, she was holding a large folder filled with documents. “I’ve contacted adult protective services, and with the help of the doctors here and our lawyer, you are now under my custody, again. And the first thing you’re going to do is get well, and then go to rehab, the second you’re discharged.”
My mouth dropped open. “You can't do that. I am twenty-six years old!” I snap, thrashing my aching arms.
She put the folder on the bed side table and folded her arms. I couldn’t help but notice her deep brown hair. As it always was, perfectly coiffed and sharply trimmed to her shoulders. My mother was always this beautiful, tall supermodel of a woman. Her skin was a beautiful golden brown and her eyes twinkled a deep hazel. No one would ever see the disdained looks she’d throw at me, the shame in her beautiful eyes, the way she would tell me my art was great, but my sister's writing was immaculate. There is so much pain between us… Why is she doing this? Why didn’t she just let me fucking die already.
“Yes, Blythe, you’re twenty-six. You also weigh ninety-seven pounds and this is the third time you’ve overdosed in the last six months, Blythe. You are a detriment to yourself and if you’re not stopped…” She trailed off, her voice breaking and for the first time in my life I saw a single tear roll down her cheek before she quickly brushed it away. “This is it, Blythe. If you can’t do this, if you continue to fight me. I have no other choice but to cut you off. I can’t keep staying up nights, praying that this isn’t the night that I get the call that you’re dead. This is the last stop.” She said.
She stood, examining me before she turned around, brushed off her long skirt, and strutted out of the room. A nurse came in quickly after her, I swallowed hard, noticing now the NG tube in my nose. I rested my head back on the pillow while the nurse told me all about how hard they had to try to bring me back, how they were sure the combination of starvation and drugs had finally done me in for good, how they had to strap me to the bed in order for them to get the NG tube in because I wouldn’t stop fighting them. I couldn’t help it, I tried to stop it, but the tears came anyway.
___
Hello! If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading! This is probably my third rough draft of this story, so I will be periodically going back to change some things/fix grammar mistakes, etc. but by the time the entire story is published it *hopefully* won't need anymore editing. I hope you all enjoy!
