1969 - The Rolling Stones

Chapter Twenty Eight

The red stained my skin. My fingertips. My legs. My feet. I was red. Deep and dark, red. It's all I could see. The burning color, hot and horrid. The blood.

I slowly sat up in my bed, and placed a shaky hand on the inside of my thigh, feeling the crimson liquid that came from me. It trickled onto the sheets, and had already seeped into the mattress. I found myself lying in a pool of my own blood. Breathing became the most difficult thing in the world, and my whole body shook as if electricity ran through my tight veins. I glanced over at Keith, whose head dangled off the foot of my bed, while my hands left bloody prints on my satin nightdress.

"Keith?" I whispered to him, on the verge of tears. I stayed very still, too afraid of what might happen if I moved. "Keith, please wake up." My voice cracked as it got higher, but I was adamant about holding back the tears that began to sting my eyes. I used the dry side of my hands to gently nudge him. He tossed and turned his body before his eyelids finally fluttered open. Seeing the red that stained me, his head suddenly perked up in alarm.

"Olivia, what's happened? Are you alright?" There was fear traced in his words, as he quickly jumped off of the bed and got down on his knees next to me. He grabbed both of my trembling wrists and saw the glistening tears in my eyes.

"I, I'm not sure," You could hear in my voice how hard I was trying not to sob into his shoulder right then. "I don't know." Keith tugged at me gently, attempting to pull me out of bed.

"Baby, you've got to at least sit up. Come on." I stared him straight in the face, being the stubborn mess I was. "Olivia," He pleaded once again, "Please."

"I'm scared, Keith." I let the tears roll down my icy cheeks this time, as I carefully swung my legs around to the side of the bed. "Goddamn it, why won't they stop shaking?" I cried out, desperately trying to keep my quivering hands still.

 I heard him shakily curse under his breath, as the morning rain beat against the windows of my room. "Stay here." He stood to his feet, and raced down the hallway. I heard his staggering footsteps slow and the sound of someone taking the telephone off the hook. I began to remember when nothing could go wrong in peaceful Laurel Canyon. I remember thinking that the musical magic floating in the canyon air would protect me. It always had before. I didn't understand why this time was so different. Keith came stomping back into the room, swaying in his white pirate-esque shirt that hung out from the back of his tight leather pants. Even in moments like these, I still couldn't help but notice how magnificent he looked even when half asleep. "I called an ambulance, you know, just to be safe." Keith dug around in his little pockets, quickly pulling out a cigarette. I glanced down at my hands, still coated in blood, as he stumbled over to the window. Cold rainwater flew into my room as he lifted the window and lit the cigarette. I let him have it, letting the smoke travel freely as he sat himself upon the windowsill. Slowly shuffling over to the bathroom, I noticed the hot blood run down my legs and onto the hardwood floor.

"Shit." I upset myself even more, causing my cheeks to heat up, and tears to sting my eyes. Keith glanced up at me, hearing the word that escaped my lips.

"What do you think your doing?" He jumped to his feet as I continued to sluggishly drag myself across the floor.

"I've gotta get cleaned up." I replied, as I decided that I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I stared down at my bloody hands and watched teardrops fall onto my skin.

"Oh, right, uh, let me get that." He hurried past me and grabbed a rag from the bathroom, running warm water over the small piece of cloth. I watched his face as he took each of my wrists in his hands and ran the damp rag over my skin. Suddenly, it was as if the world stopped. I squeezed my eyes tightly as I felt pain in my stomach similar to a thousand knifes cutting into me. I held onto Keith's forearms as I struggled to hold myself up. There it was again, the sharp, painful twisting and turning of knives in my gut. I dropped to my knees on that cold tile floor. Keith was a clueless mess as he just stood there, holding tightly onto my hands with a puzzled look in his eyes. That deep red liquid found its way onto the floor, and it was as if with every jab of pain, more blood gushed from my body until my room appeared a crime scene. My cries were hysterical, waking and worrying everyone in the house. Paramedics rushed through my front door, interrogating me and strapping me onto the uncomfortable gurney as everyone watched in confusion.