Thirty-Six

Winnie

Visiting hours ended, and Jasper was forced to leave the hospital. He couldn’t sweet-talk the nurses this time, and Trey hadn’t paid anyone off to let him stay. I was on my own.

I waited until midnight, after the shift change, and then I wandered into the hallway. The clothes I wore from The Whip were still in a white plastic bag in the closet. Nobody expected me to wear them when I left, but they were still mine, so they stayed.

Old habits died hard, and I dug out the boots. I turned the right one over and saw the tiny blade taped against the inside of the heel. I had taped it there in case I panicked and needed to run. The pressure had been eating me alive, and I had known that, even if I couldn’t cut at The Whip, I’d wanted the blade close. I’d needed that blade.

I pulled it off and didn’t even bother running it under the faucet with some soap and water.

I was done with life. Once I was alone, the pain came crashing down.

Jasper was home where he belonged, and by the time he got word, I’d be gone. That was how I wanted it. I wanted to die alone so that nobody would ever live with the fear and agony like I did. Seeing my dad with that syringe hanging from his arm was ingrained in my brain. You couldn’t ever forget seeing something like that, and I knew this was for the best. When Jasper saw me again, I’d be tucked inside a coffin or maybe obliterated in an urn. It didn’t much matter what happened to my body. I didn’t have parents who would visit me or a mantel for my ashes to sit.

Opening the bathroom door, I went inside and closed it behind me. The shower stall was small, but I pulled the curtain back and stood inside. My teeth didn’t chatter, my arms didn’t tense up, and all the usual anxiety disappeared. That was how I knew it was time. I’d fought too hard for too long, and this was my chance to take a break. I was ready for heaven to swoop me up and carry me home. If I couldn’t have Trey, I wanted to see my dad.

The first cut I made quickly because I wasn’t sure how fast it would bleed out. The second arm, I took my time and savored the burn and then the ache. My wrists were sliced open, and I closed my eyes and waited for the blood to pool in the drain.

I wasn’t going to go to another foster home.

There wouldn’t be college or a boutique of my own.

My dreams were nothing more than excuses. Excuses that kept me from ending it all.

Winnie Dawes wasn’t meant for more. She was just trailer trash, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, who was meant to follow in her parent’s footsteps.

But life works in mysterious ways, and I didn’t see the next chapter coming.

Nobody in my shoes would have.

I rested my cheek against the cool tiles, and then the bathroom door opened. The scream was so shrill, I was sure it’d keep any dying girl alive a little while longer. She was ruining my moment of peace.

“The angels are coming now,” I told her. “Dad’s close.”

Cindy knelt down in front of me and wrapped white towels around my wrists. “I knew better than to leave,” she said. “I knew you were too levelheaded, too fast. It didn’t make sense after all you’d been through.”

I’d known her for only a couple of weeks. She didn’t know a damn thing about me or what my moods were like.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

The tears poured down her face, and her words were muffled with the sobbing again “I had papers in place with the social worker to adopt you. I didn’t want you turning eighteen, aging out, and then running. I wanted more for you, Winnie. And, I know you and Dray aren’t on good terms, but I still had to try.”

The words slammed into me so hard, I thought God had run me over with a truck instead of picking me up with his wings. She couldn’t be serious. Nobody besides my father had ever wanted me, not even my own mother.

“I don’t believe you. You just said that because I’m about to die.”

She screamed again for help and pressed harder on the towels around my wrists. When I looked down at her arms, the stack of shimmery bracelets she usually wore was gone. Now, I knew why she wore them.

“You cut,” I said.

It wasn’t a question. The scars were there. She’d done this, too.

“Yes,” she told me.

There wasn’t any time to say why or when because a couple of nurses carried me out of the shower, and then I was rushed down a long hallway. I was moving too fast to count the popcorn tiles, and that bothered me until the bright light came. It shone overhead, and I smiled when I saw it.

I had done it.

It was finally over.

Six months ago, Winnie Dawes died. She accepted the light and was welcomed home. But just because you’re accepted into heaven doesn’t mean you get to stay.

Surgery had been touch and go, and until they’d replaced all the blood I’d lost, they’d thought I might not make it—or so I was told.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Cindy’s tears again. She was there with Jasper, and they were each holding a hand.

I tried to lift my arms and touch my face to see if I was really still breathing, but I couldn’t move. They let go of me and I wiggled my fingers. I felt the burn beneath the bandages and the tugging on the stitches.

“Untie me,” I begged.

Cindy cried harder. “We can’t, sweetheart. Not until you’re better.”

Better.

I can’t think of a more opinioned word.

That’s the funny thing about life. Better is an observation. One person’s definition could greatly differ from the next guy. It’s all subjective—a feeling that can only be felt by someone who wants to get well.

It took me weeks and weeks to even open my mouth in a therapy session. When I did speak, it was all lies, so I could get discharged faster. The therapists saw right through me, and none of my methods worked. They’d seen it all. What I was doing was nothing new. That was when I came full circle and threatened to kill myself all over again.

I got the attention of everyone but for all the wrong reasons. I stayed tied to my bed, locked inside a little room like I was in jail, while cameras watched me every hour of every day. I’d lived most of my life alone, and I was still living that way. The eyes watching might as well have belonged to Jax. It felt just as intrusive.

Cindy came to see me every day, and I refused to speak to her. Jasper showed up during my tiny window of visitation, and I pushed him away, too.

I missed Trey. I needed him. He was the only one who could make it better, and that killed Jasper more than seeing me locked up. He withdrew just as I had, and I thought I’d lose him forever.

But soul mates don’t disappear. They go through hard times with each other, feeling every ounce of each other’s pain, and they pray. Jasper prayed for me when I didn’t want him to. He talked to a god I wasn’t sure existed, and he kept coming back.

We argued. I cried.

Cindy stuck her nose where it didn’t belong to try to help.

And then, one day, the medication and the pain decided to work together. We got along, and my body gave up fighting against them and wanted to be near them.

Trey was gone. He’s in prison and I’m not supposed to see him. My therapists don’t think it’s a good idea. The wounds are too fresh and the pain still too real.

But Cindy and Jasper are here. They’ve never left my side and I owed it to them to follow the rules and wait it out. When the time came, I’d go to Trey and we’d talk. When I was ready.

I was in recovery for me. Not to get well enough to run back to him.

It took me six long months full of good days and bad days to realize that and to stop hating myself. The scars that used to ease my pain and make me feel whole again don’t do that anymore. Somewhere along the way, my wrists turned into angry reminders of all my failures, and I wanted the scars to disappear.

I’m still learning how to love myself. I’m still working on acceptance. And that’s okay.

I’m an eighteen-year-old girl who’s been to heaven. That’s not something everyone can say, and I don’t say it with shame anymore. It’s my truth.

If I’ve learned anything on this crazy journey called life, it’s that heaven isn’t a destination. It’s a feeling of contentment that sets your soul free.

Winnie Dawes died six months ago.

And, now, she’s more determined than ever to live—to live for tomorrow and all the days after that. She doesn’t need a boy, a man, a mother, or a father to make her whole. She fills her missing pieces with dreams.

And, for the first time in her life, she’s alive. She jumped from the edge of heaven and into forever.