Wren
I felt so heavy. Almost like there were bricks laying ontop of me. There was beeping in the background and the air smelled sterile. There were muffled voices talking and a hand holding mine. The skin felt worn and callused. I knew that hand. Anderson. He was here. He found me. I'm alive. I didn't want to be alive. Remembering everything that happened, the dull ache between my thighs, the crushed sensation in my chest where my heart used to be. I didn't want any of these feelings. I wanted to let go. I wanted to, no, I craved to be done. I had never had suicidal thoughts before. Even in my darkest moments I wanted to live. But this, now, I had no other reason. I didn't want to live. I wish they hadn't found me. I wish they had just left me there to suffer. Would I have died if no one
