Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Winter
Present
I stood there, the speakers at the nurses’ station going off with
calls, shoes squeaking against the linoleum floors, and the T.V.
broadcasting a news channel as I leaned into the wall, rubbing
my hands together and feeling his dried blood now grainy on
my skin.
There’s so much you’re forgetting.
What was I forgetting?
What did he want me to have?
He’d said it as if he were leaving me something. Like he
wouldn’t be back for it.
Needles pricked my throat, but I swallowed them down.
He was just going to bleed out? Because he couldn’t choke
down his pride and ask for help?
I couldn’t believe him. He was insane.
And—in the back of my mind where I would admit it to
myself—he was going to leave me. He was just going to let
go.
I steeled my jaw, refusing to cry another damn tear for
him.