GIVING UP

This was a bad idea. This was a mistake. You shouldn't have done this.
Jill looked down at the rapidly growing pool of red in the sink in front of her. Her knees buckled; she dropped to the floor, her shoulder sliding down the cabinet.
Too late to change your mind, Jill. This is it. This is how you are going to die: curled into the fetal position on your bathroom floor.
Her vision was getting blurry and her head was growing heavier by the second. Gravity won the struggle as she gave up, her upper body slowly slumping forward.
No, Jill, you're not going to let yourself do this. It's just the sight of blood. It was a lot more than you expected. But you've got to call an ambulance. Go.
Jill blinked a few times, raising her head, trying to focus on the doorknob.
You're not passing out. Those pills take longer than that to kick in. It's just the sight of blood. Shake it off.
She raised one hand, trying not to look at the constant flow of red.
That's what you get for doing it the right way. Of course, this had to be the one time you took pride in something you did.
She began to shake; a tremor ran from her fingertips to her rib cage. The sound of the drops hitting the linoleum in a continuous patter was sickening.
Ignore it. Look at the door.
Her hand finally closed around the knob and she turned, pulling her arm to her chest and pushing herself through the narrow opening. She raised herself onto her knees in the bedroom, almost getting to her feet as she spotted the cordless on the dresser. Her vision turned purple as her head suddenly became weightless; she stumbled, fell onto her shoulder and rolled on her back, pressing her wrists even tighter into her shirt.
Shit. You left the phone off the charger all night again, didn't you? You'll have to use the one in the kitchen. Downstairs. Focus.
She inched herself out the door and to the edge of the stairs. Her vision was starting to get dark around the edges as she slid herself down the steps, one by one. The sound of her jeans rubbing across the carpet was getting farther away, replaced by a soft shooshing hum. Jill looked back up at the trail of red leading down the stairs.
See how far away that top step is? You're almost there. Then there's nothing but smooth hardwood and linoleum between you and the phone.
She reached the bottom, rolled left into the hallway, and slid along her back into the kitchen. Pulling herself up to the counter, then along the wall to the phone, she dialed and dropped slowly back down to the floor.
"911. What's your emergency?"
The voice in the phone sounded fuzzy and far away. Jill couldn't understand, but she answered anyway. "I need an ambulance. I slit my wrists. Ate a lot of pills, too. I'm at 121 Harper Street."
That's good, Jill. You made it. Now you can rest.
Jill shut her eyes, but the fuzzy voice in the phone wasn't stopping. She tried to listen, but couldn't hear it all.
"--on their way-- need-- hear me--hello?-- you to-- consciousness-- stay awake--"
Oh shit. The front door's locked! Jill, you've got to let them in!
Jill squeezed her eyes tighter and shook her head. "Made it to the phone. All I want is to sleep now." The fuzzy voice in the phone got louder but Jill didn't care.
Jill, you slide yourself to the door right now. You didn't come this far to quit here.
"Changed my mind," she said. "I give up. Can't move anymore."
You got down a flight of stairs and into the kitchen. You can go another 20 feet.
"Can't see anymore. Too heavy."
You're not too heavy. And you don't need to see. Just start moving again.
"I don't want to."
If you don't make it to the door, there's a good chance that you won't make it to the hospital. You don't want to die.
"Yes I do. Fuck it. Fuck my mom, fuck school, fuck my boyfriend, fuck my job, fuck my life. Fuck it."
If this is what you wanted, you would have stayed in the bathroom. But you didn't. Now get to the door.
Jill moaned and pushed away from the wall, forward into the darkness.