Текст книги "Perfectly Damaged"
Автор книги: E. L. Montes
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
chapter 6
Logan
It’s hot as hell out here. I’m used to working under the sun, but today I could fry an egg on the fucking concrete. We started work on the McDaniel project four days ago. Between me and the other workers, it’s been successful. The foundation of the guesthouse is almost done, and I suspect by Monday we can begin the framing. With ten-hour shifts, our team has been known to beat its deadline.
“Lunch time,” Bryson calls out. I drop the hammer in my hand and hear the loud thump it makes as it hits the ground.
I’m starving.
Mrs. McDaniel insisted we use her patio instead of having us hanging around on the back of our trucks to eat our lunches. Either way, I don’t care where I eat. I’m a big guy and food is a necessity to keep me going.
When I approach one of the tables, I see that Justin, Danny, and Scott are already seated and digging into their sandwiches. An arm loops around my shoulder, and I tilt my head to look at Bryson.
A wide grin spreads across his face. “My aunt makes the best sandwiches around.” He winks. His remark about my mother makes me laugh. It’s true. They’re simple lunchmeat sandwiches on fresh Amoroso’s rolls, but something about them just tastes like fucking heaven on earth. My mother makes a point to prepare all of the lunches for Reed Construction employees.
“Yep,” I agree. We take a seat at the table with the others.
Danny lifts his head and looks around, searching for something. “Where the hell is Santino?” he asks.
I give a one-shoulder shrug. “No damn clue, but he can eat on his own time,” I say, digging into the bag and searching for my sandwich.
“Damn,” Santino utters as he exits the sliding doors from inside. “No love whatsoever. It’s cool, Logan. I see how it is. I was just using the bathroom.”
I laugh once. “You know how I get when I’m hungry. I’m not waiting for no one.” It’s true. I turn into the fucking devil himself when I don’t eat. I open the foil of my sandwich, ignoring everyone around me, and bite into the deliciousness my mother prepared. Santino finally joins us at the table. Uncle George had to leave early today for another doctor’s appointment. Before leaving, he gave each man his assignment and put his son in charge.
Santino clears his throat. “Yo, I have to tell you about this chick I met up with last night.”
“The blonde from Wasted?” Danny asks.
While chewing my lunch, I sit back and watch the conversation unfold. “Nah.” Santino shakes his head. “Another chick.” He waves his hand. “So there we are in my bed. Her wrists are tied to my bedpost. Her tits are bouncing as I’m banging her. I’m whispering sweet nothings in Spanish, and—”
“Spanish?” I ask.
Santino turns his head my way, his face clearly annoyed by my interruption. “Yeah. She wanted me to talk Spanish to her while we banged.”
“But you don’t speak Spanish,” I remind him. He’s probably the only Puerto Rican I’ve met who doesn’t speak a lick of it.
Santino flashes a mischievous grin. “She doesn’t know that.”
I lean over the table, laughing at him. “So you basically chanted a made-up language and passed it off as Spanish?” He nods, and his smile grows wider. “And she bought it?” I ask. Santino nods again. The rest of the guys burst into a hard laugh. “I bow down to you, master.” I stand up, raise both arms, and bow.
“All right, can I finish my damn story now?”
The patio door slides open and closed. All six of us turn to see who it is. Both Jenna and her blonde friend—whose name I think is Charlie—step out in their bikinis, each with a towel in hand. Jenna glances over, hesitant to move forward. She starts to turn back around, but her friend tugs at her arm just in time. My eyes flick over her face; it’s a weird instant reaction for me. There are two hot girls practically naked before me, but I glance at her face? She ducks her head low, nervously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
When I last saw Jenna on Monday in the shed, it was clear that something was bothering her. The moistness on her cheeks and the red rim around her eyes clearly showed she’d been crying. I know I shouldn’t have allowed it to bother me as much as it did. Women cry all the damn time, but Jenna seemed to be lost deep in thought. I’ve seen that sad, empty look a dozen times before in my mother’s eyes—when she cries, when she thinks back on my father, and when she thinks about Sean’s death.
“Ladies,” Santino greets with a nod.
Charlie smiles brightly and walks over to our table, dragging Jenna the entire way. “Hey, guys. What are you all up to?”
Santino leans in and whispers to us, “Watch and learn, guys. Watch and learn.” He turns, giving Charlie his winning smile, and begins spouting off stuff in some made-up language in an attempt to sound sexy.
Charlie smiles, pleased. “What does that mean?” she asks.
Santino looks at her with smoldering eyes. It takes every bit of me to not burst out laughing. “It means, ‘I was thinking maybe you and I could be up to something.’” I was doing well biting back my laugh, but the moment my gaze shifts over to Jenna and I see her pressed brows and the look of disgust aimed right at Santino, I lose it. I burst into the hardest laugh I’ve ever had, which starts everyone else up. Laughter erupts around the table. Everyone but Santino is howling, but he just glares at us. That makes us laugh even harder.
“That’s not what you said,” Jenna pipes up.
Santino drags his glare her way. “Oh yeah? Then what did I say?”
“I have no clue,” she replies. I snort louder. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second I think her lips are about to twitch into a slight smile. But just as quickly, they fall back into the thin line she’s famous for.
“If you don’t speak Spanish, it may sound like gibberish to you. So, yeah, that’s exactly what I said.” Santino states matter-of-factly.
Charlie snakes her arm around Jenna’s shoulder, pulling her in closer. “But Jenna’s fluent in Spanish.”
Oh my God, this might be the best day of my life. I’m crying from laughing so hard. “Busted!” I cough out, pointing at Santino, who’s completely dumbfounded at this point.
Jenna nods. “Esto es cierto.” I’m not sure what she just said, but it’s priceless. It’s the cherry on top of this entire conversation.
Staggered and a bit played, Santino smacks his lips aside in a cocky way. He then changes the subject. “Anyway, you ladies still coming to the lake house party this weekend?”
Now this brings me to full alert. I wasn’t aware Santino invited them. I don’t care, but we typically keep the invites to a minimum, only inviting people we know and trust to our yearly summer bashes.
Originally, it was a family vacation getaway in the Poconos. My uncle built the home himself. I spent most every summer of my childhood at the small cottage by the lake. Sean, Bryson, and I looked forward to it every year. But as we grew older and my uncle’s business expanded, our little family vacations slowly vanished. It wasn’t until Bryson’s twenty-first birthday, when he convinced his father to give him the keys to the lake house for a small get-together with friends, that our new summer tradition began. Let’s just say that the “small” get-together was a major success, one we repeated most weekends that summer. Ever since, we’ve been throwing parties there on the weekends every summer, starting with Bryson’s birthday bash.
“I’m trying to convince this one to go.” Charlie points her thumb at Jenna. “She’s not so keen on spending a weekend with you guys.” I look over at Jenna, whose wide eyes have zoomed in on Charlie.
Santino gets up from his chair and makes his way over to the girls, nestling between Jenna and Charlie. He wraps his arms around the both of them. “I promise we won’t bite, ladies. We’ll be perfect gentlemen, unless you want us to have a taste. That’d be awesome too.” He says, looking at Jenna.
She shoves out of his hold. “No, thank you.” I can see her repulsion at the idea when she glances over at me one last time before marching to the opposite side of the pool. I watch as she tosses her towel on the ground and belly flops onto one of the lounge chairs.
“What’s up with your friend?” Santino asks. “She’s so uptight.”
I’m still focused on Jenna when I hear Charlie say, “No, she’s just going through a rough time.”
“Is she always like this?” I ask. I met Jenna less than a week ago, and I’ve already seen so many sides to her.
“Like what, exactly?” Charlie asks.
My eyes meet hers. She’s staring at me inquisitively, making me feel a bit uneasy for having been caught staring at her friend. I’m not sure why; I never feel uncomfortable or even a tad bit embarrassed—especially not in front of women. “Up and down. Like you’re not sure what to expect when you’re around her.”
Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and drops her hip as she sizes me up. “Yes. She’s always like that.”
“Pfft. Cray-cray,” Danny interjects.
Charlie jerks her head around and glares at him. She chucks Santino’s arm off her shoulder and bends over Danny. Her small frame looms over him, creating a shadow across his surprised face. One small hand goes to his shoulder, the other rests on the edge of the table. “The next time you call my friend crazy, I’ll show you just how crazy I can get. And never, ever say that to her. Do you understand me?” Damn. For a tiny thing, she can be deadly. Danny nods. “Good,” she finishes. Then she stands and strolls off to join Jenna.
Bryson lets out a long, low whistle. “That was intense. What the hell was that about?”
“I have no idea,” I respond.
The rest of the lunch hour we all poke fun at each other. Santino finishes the story he tried to tell when we first sat down, and a few of the other guys tell stories of their own. All the while, I sneak glances at the girls from across the pool. My eyes may be playing tricks on me, but I think Jenna’s been sneaking a few glances over here as well.
“Hey. Maybe we should make amends?” Bryson nods toward the other side of the pool. “The last thing we want is my father finding out that Santino’s sexually harassing our clients.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Let’s get it over with so we can focus on finishing today’s goals.”
The rest of the guys head back to work as Bryson and I make our way over to the girls.
chapter 7
Jenna
“Are we going to keep doing this, Jenna?” Charlie whines. I continue to ignore her. The last thirty minutes were hard to get through since I can never go very long without talking to her, especially when she’s practically in my face, hounding me. “Jenna.” With my eyes closed, I adjust myself in the lounge chair, making myself a bit more comfortable. As hot as it is, I soak in the sun and allow myself to tan in peace, disregarding her. “Jenna!” she cries out again. I think I’m enjoying this. This is payback for forcing me out of my room and then embarrassing me in front of the guys.
“That’s it!” I hear her wet flip-flops squishing across the patio. Before I can utter a word, Charlie’s legs are straddled on either side of my hips. I pop my eyes open and she leans forward, her face inches from mine. Charlie grips my wrists, places them over my head, and humps me. She’s literally humping me.
“What the hell are you doing? Get off me!” I struggle beneath her.
“Oh, yes!” she yells out, panting. “Fuck. You feel so good, Jenna.” Still humping. “Oh, God…harder.” She looks ridiculous. “You know how I like it, baby. YES!” Her back arches, her eyes roll to the back of her head, and then her body shudders as she acts out her fake orgasm.
Is she serious right now? “You’re absurd!”
She releases my wrists from her hold and sits back on my thighs. I lift myself up with my elbows and look up at my friend’s crooked grin. “Is that a smile plastered across your face, Jenna McDaniel?” I force my lips back to a thin line. “Well, I think I’ve succeeded. One point for me.” She shoves her hips, one time, into mine. “Boom!”
“Get off me.” I wiggle beneath her and push forward to move her off. But I can’t. Her legs are practically glued to my thighs.
“Careful. My pussy lips are twerking again. I may go another round.”
“I hope we’re not interrupting?”
Charlie and I turn our heads toward the voice. Can this day get any more embarrassing? Both Bryson and Logan are standing there, Bryson with a curious raised brow, Logan with his arms crossed and an amused grin on his face. Great. “I mean, we can come back if you need your privacy.”
Charlie, loving the attention, smiles mischievously. “Oh no, we’re not afraid of public affection. Are we, baby?” She looks down at me and winks.
For a split second, I imagine that I have eyes that can shoot out painful darts, and I aim those eyes right at the center of Charlie’s forehead. Since nothing is happening, I crook my neck, focusing on Logan and his charming blue eyes. He yanks my chain by lifting a hand and pointing his thumb behind him, silently questioning whether or not he should leave so Charlie and I can continue fooling around. Smart ass. He must have read my facial expression because his lips curl into a wide grin. An adorable grin. I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. What do you need?”
Bryson takes a step forward. “We won’t take much of your time,” he says. “We just wanted to apologize on behalf of Santino. It was unprofessional of him to treat you ladies that way. We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t mind,” Charlie declares.
Bryson nods once. “Right. Either way it was out of line.”
It’s kind of sweet he cares enough to apologize. “Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say.
Logan, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of me, clears his throat. “We’d still like to invite you ladies to the lake house this weekend. It’s an annual event, and if you come and stay, we’ll make sure you have your own room.” He’s looking at me intently, almost intimately, as if this conversation is just between the two of us. “We also promise no more remarks by Santino or any of the guys. Just think about it.” They both smile reassuringly and turn away, walking in the direction of the soon-to-be guesthouse.
Charlie hops off my lap, releasing the pressure from my thighs. She sits beside me with concerned eyes. Goofy Charlie has been turned off and now caring, loving Charlie is on. “Talk to me.”
My head slams back on the headrest of the lounge chair. “I left Dr. Rosario.”
She places her hand on top of mine. “That must’ve been tough.”
“It was…is. I’m just confused by it all. I thought I would feel relieved, but I feel stuck.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve been with her for almost a year. When you adapt to someone, they become a part of your routine, a part of you. And when they’re taken away, you feel a bit lost. No matter how much you think it won’t affect your life, it does.” She sighs and turns her head away from me. I can’t make out her exact point of interest, but it seems like her gaze is lingering over Brooke’s bedroom window, the one right beside mine. “Do you think this is for the best?” she asks.
“I have no idea. But I felt suffocated. I still feel suffocated, Charlie.” I adjust to sit up. “For God’s sake, I’m in my early twenties and my parents control everything I do. It’s as if I have no say whatsoever in my life. Sure, they’re never here physically, but they manage to control every little thing anyway: school, work, therapy. For once I just wanted to feel in control. They treat me like I’m incapable of doing anything. Like I’m a pet puppy who can’t be left alone without destroying everything, so they keep me caged.”
Charlie gives my hand a tight squeeze. “I know the past few years have been difficult for you, Jenna. Especially the last eight months.”
“Don’t,” I interrupt flatly. The last thing I want to be reminded about is the last few months of my life. I’m aware of how difficult it’s been. I’ve lived through it. But I’m still here, fighting through it, managing somehow. It can’t be so bad if I’m surviving each day. It could always be worse, right? At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s the only thing that’s giving me hope.
That’s the end of the conversation. Charlie knows how much I can handle, and she’s learned throughout the years not to push my limits.
She stands. “Want to take a dip? I can’t take this heat any longer.”
“Sure.”
Sometimes I wonder how I became so lucky to have her in my life. Neither one of us can replace Brooke for the other. She meant different things to each of us and we’ll never be able to fill her shoes. But in some small way, having Charlie around helps me hold on to a piece of my sister that I’d lose otherwise. And I think it’s the same for her. She’s been there for me through and through for the past few months. It’s taken up to this very second for me to realize it. Knowing that I’ll always have her, that she’ll always be there for me, makes me grateful. Like today. I needed someone to pull me out of bed and force me back to reality, and she was there.
* * *
Charlie sits at the island in the kitchen, chatting away as I whip up scrambled eggs and bacon. She hasn’t left my side since last night. Being the good friend she is, she insisted we rent movies, eat junk food, and have a good old-fashioned girls’ night. The last time I had a night like that was about a year ago—when Brooke convinced me to watch Grease for the thousandth time. She had a massive John Travolta crush and refused to believe he acted in other movies. I smile, remembering how Brooke would jump up and dance along with the scenes.
Charlie didn’t realize it, but I needed her last night more than anything. I didn’t trust myself alone; I could’ve easily fallen back into a depressive spell. It isn’t difficult to succumb to my gloomy moods, but with Charlie around I’m able to avoid my racing thoughts for a short period of time. We stayed up all night, talking about nonsense and watching comedies. My mind was free of everything I’ve been dealing with the past few days. I even laughed. That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time.
Who needs Dr. Rosario?
“On the latest issue of Cosmopolitan: ‘100 Ways to Satisfy Your Man,’” Charlie reads, flipping through the pages of the magazine. “Now this is what I’m talking about. Ooooh…” She looks up at me, intrigued. “Did you know that a female can have several stages of an orgasm?”
I turn off the gas range on the stove and toss our breakfast onto plates. “And here I thought there was only one.” I smirk.
“Well, it’s been a long time since you…” She wiggles a finger, pointing toward my lower waist. “You know.”
She always has to go there. I glare, warning her to cut it out. “Thanks for the reminder.” She catches the plate as I slide it her way.
Charlie raises her hands, palms forward in surrender. “Look, last remark about this subject and then I’m finished.” She waits for my approval. When I sit down across from her and silently start eating, she takes it upon herself to go on. Leaning over the counter with her hand cupped around the side of her mouth, she faux-whispers, “They have magical toys to help you reach any stage you desire.”
Just as I’m about to toss a piece of toast at her, my mother steps into the room. “The last thing I want is to walk in on my daughter and her friend discussing sex toys,” Mom remarks.
Why does this keep happening to me?
With wide eyes, both Charlie and I watch as my mother gracefully passes us, opens the fridge, and removes a container filled with green juice. She never misses a morning without having her self-made, healthy energy drink. She’s wearing her workout gear and the silky strands of her red locks are tied back perfectly in a ponytail. “You girls are up early,” she points out, pouring herself a tall glass of the green tar.
“More like still awake. We haven’t slept yet,” Charlie responds.
My mother nods in acknowledgement. “Ah. That explains the dark circles under Jenna’s eyes.” I laugh at her judgmental remark. This woman can ruin my day and make my blood boil within a split second. Why? Why does she feel entitled to say anything at all?
Angrily, I clink my fork against the plate, stabbing my scrambled eggs. I refuse to allow her to bring me down. I refuse to let her words ruin my perfect morning. With my mouth full, I keep my head low and enjoy my breakfast as Charlie tries to make light of the situation.
“So, Mrs. McDaniel, I see you’re going for your daily run. Keeping the body in shape for Mr. McDee, huh?” My best friend never fails to amaze me, but at this point even my parents are aware of her bluntness.
“Charlie, we’ve been through this numerous times. I’d like it if you’d refer to me as Laura. Mrs. McDaniel just seems a bit old, don’t you think?” Ha. I snort, silencing the room. I peek up to find my mother’s piercing eyes narrowed in on me. “Is there something you’d like to share, Jenna?”
Because I feel it’s my daughterly duty to be a total bitch when she is to me, I respond with an arrogant smile. “Well, Mother, last I remember you’re not getting any younger. In fact, a fiftieth birthday is slowly approaching, isn’t it?”
There it goes. My mother has a thin vein on her forehead that shoots across from the base of her left eyebrow and disappears into the right side of her hairline. When she’s upset, it pops out a bit more than usual. When she’s furious, it pulses. Right now it’s popping, not quite pulsing just yet. But I know I hit a nerve. Well done, Jenna. Well done. She knows how to push my buttons, and I know how to push hers. When we’re together, we’re lethal.
My smile falters as I watch the look in her eyes slowly change from ticked off to competitive, challenging even. Her stare still glued to me, she finishes her drink, places the cup down, and flashes a knowing smirk. “Dr. Rosario rang.” My heartbeat hammers rapidly at her statement. “You're going back. No question about it.”
The stool screeches along the tile floors as I stand abruptly. My heart feels like it’s struggling to break free of my chest. “I thought there was a confidentiality agreement between her and me.”
My mother's smile brightens. It’s a fake, mechanical, smile, like that of a Stepford wife. “Yes, anything spoken between the two of you is most definitely confidential. But when I'm paying for the weekly visits, it's her duty to notify me when and why she stops charging my account. It was an agreement we had.”
I can’t believe this. It’s just another way for her to control me. “I'm not going back,” I say sternly. I want to make her very clear of my intentions.
I’m. Not. Going. Back.
“Jenna, yes you are. These therapy sessions are good for you.”
Good for me? “You have no damn clue what's good for me!” My face heats in rage as I lean over the countertop. My fingers grip the edge to keep me from lunging at her. “You waltz around here, claiming to know everything, but you don't. You don't even know your own daughter. I question if you even knew Brooke at all.”
“Jenna, stop,” she demands.
Uncontrollable anger rushes through me. “Or maybe that’s it. You knew Brooke so much more than me. You paid so much attention to her that you failed to see that you had two daughters, not just one. You make it very clear, Mother, that I’m a lost cause, that I’m useless in your life, in this family, and in this home. You manage to make me feel everything ugly—not only on the outside, but also on the inside. You make me more broken than what I am.”
“Oh, honey,” she says softly, eyes filled with pity. “You need to stop blaming others for your failure.”
“Mrs. McDaniel…” I hear Charlie gasp in pure shock.
I’m furious. She does this. She knows how to hit every single nerve of mine. She knows how to make me ill and disgusted with a simple look in her eyes. She knows how to work me up. The question is why. Why does she continue to do this? Why does she feel the need to control my life? Does it make her feel powerful knowing the control she has over me? Is it because she’s so desperate to push me away she’ll do anything to manipulate my emotions?
“Jenna…” Charlie’s voice is distant. I barely make out what she’s saying. The voices in my head are overpowering everything—even my own thoughts. “Breathe,” I hear her say faintly. I can’t. It’s hard to breathe. My fingers grip the granite, my eyes are unfocused, and my body is trembling as I try to fight for air.
She doesn’t love you, She never has, She hates you, Why would she love you, You’re a pig, You’re disgusting, She wishes it were you that was dead, not Brooke, She would’ve rather buried your body six feet underground, You’re a waste of space, Why are you even here, Go kill yourself already and get it over with, She doesn’t care what happens to you, She’s never cared…
The evil voice continues to dominate my thoughts. Every time I try to fight through it, I falter. It roots itself down deep within. Running. Running usually works. I push away from the counter, turn around, and dash out of the kitchen, into the foyer, and out the front door.
You stupid fucking bitch, You’re a joke, No one cares about you, They all think you’re crazy, because you are, Just do it already, Kill yourself, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it. DO IT!
I scream at myself to sprint through the voices. I need the voices to go away. I need them out of my head. They’re invading my mind. Houses, trees, parked cars all dash by in my peripheral vision. They all seem to be zooming by quickly, yet I feel stock-still, like I’m in a slow-motion movie. I’m not running fast enough. Forcing myself, I push hard, one foot in front of the other, faster and faster. Each long block fades in the distance with each one I pass.
It burns: my shins, my chest, my throat. Everything. My breathing is ragged. Choking in air, I continue to dart down the street, round a corner and down another street. The quicker I run, the more my skin feels the harsh breeze of this early summer morning. I push forward, daring the wind to take me away—away from my thoughts, from my fucked-up life, from my screwed-up mother. Each taunting word from the voices forces me to keep going.
Minutes. Hours. I’m not certain how long it’s been before I collapse by a corner. Queasy and drained, I bend over. Sweat coats my face, neck, and arms, and I have to grip my knees for support. The urge to vomit settles in. Breathing is difficult to do. Everything is blurry. I vomit, over and over again, hurling the little breakfast I managed to eat all over the green grass of the street corner. The same street corner where kids are now lining up to wait for the school bus.
“Gross,” one of the kids yells.
“Are you okay?” another asks.
“She’s not wearing shoes,” a little boy points out.
I barf again.
I hear the school bus pull up. All the kids hop on, and then it drives away. There’s no way any more bile can come out of me. Exhausted and weak, my body collapses to the ground. My heart is still hammering as I struggle to scoot over and lean my head against the pole of the street sign.
In a complete daze, I focus straight ahead at the house across the street. The image before me is…well, perfect. A white picket fence surrounds a beautiful brick home with matching white shutters. The neatly manicured lawn beckons me to lie soundlessly on its bright green surface. It's this temporary comfort, this temporary peace, which tugs at my consciousness. But it’s beyond my reach. My eyes roam over to the left side of the lawn. Catching my breath, I admire the oversized pink dogwood tree. It gives the home a pop of color, a cheerful color. I look up at the terrace on the second level, which appears to wrap around the entire home. It looks like the perfect place for the owners to relax and enjoy a glass of wine or simply sit and enjoy the sunrise.
Picture-perfect.
My home, twice the size of this one, is twice as beautiful on the outside, yet on the inside, it’s filled with darkness. Filled with taunting judgments. Filled with sadness. There’s nothing flawless behind my house’s closed doors. The image of the house is just a facade for those who pass by to smile at. It’s an illusion engineered to make them think, “There’s the perfect home with the perfect family and the perfect life.” If only they knew the truth. The truth that haunts me endlessly, the truth that longs to break free. Instead, the truth is hidden behind flower boxes and shiny glass windows and wood and walls and lies.
Just like me.
I continue to stare at the home, trying to discover if there’s something else behind the brick walls other than perfection. I can’t be the only one in this world, in this state, or even in this damn neighborhood that’s screwed up. My mind shifts to a few years ago, when I was just as confused as I am today.
* * *
I like it up here. As high up as I am, I’m not afraid. The roof is my sacred place to get away. No one knows this is my escape, not even Eric. Well, except for Brooke. The only reason she knows is because she followed me one day, which is a usual Brooke thing to do. Still, she swore never to tell, and she hasn’t as of yet. I like it this way. Quiet. Even when cars zoom by in the distance or birds sing during the day or the crickets chirp at night, it’s peaceful. Just me and my thoughts.
But something is happening to me. My thoughts are slowly being taken over by someone else. I hear voices; I don’t know whose. It started with one voice a few weeks ago. The voice said awful things about me and even about Eric. Then it multiplied to two, then three different voices—all consuming my thoughts. The voices are draining me. I try to shake them off, pound my head with my fist, anything to get them out and make them stop. Nothing works. I can’t ignore them…except when I run. I run and run until the voices vanish, and by then I’m exhausted and collapse.
The first night it happened, I was scared and alone. I was home, sitting in bed studying for the SAT exam. Everything had been going great. My grades were improving and I’d applied to several colleges, hoping to be accepted into the same university as Brooke. Eric and I were doing better than ever. I’d never felt such a high in my life, even with all the pressure from my mother to do better in school. But then darkness descended and clouded over my world. My mood instantly changed. I felt like someone was in the room with me, spying. I grew paranoid. Then the voice began. It called me stupid and other foul names. It spat out hurtful words. It made me feel disgusted with myself.
