Текст книги "Triangle: The Complete Series"

Автор книги: Susann Julieva

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‘An Ideal Husband.’ I think you should audition.”

I stare at this guy that’s pulled me aside after class. He’s not one of my teachers, but I’ve seen him

around the department. The students that have been here at least a year call him Jeff and stop to talk to

him whenever they get a chance. I’ve heard them saying that he directs the really good shows this

department does, and that he hardly ever talks to first years.

“Yeah, I’ll audition. Thanks, man.”

* * *

I try to hurry out of rehearsal, but I don’t move fast enough. Jeff catches me as I’m shoving my crap

into my bag.

“Nick. We need to talk for a minute. Can you come back to my office?” I haven’t been able to shake

the feeling of him watching me through the whole rehearsal, and by the look on his face, I know that he

hasn’t suddenly changed his mind about giving me a better part.

I just nod my head, finish cramming everything into my bag, and follow him to the office he keeps

in a dingy little room backstage. The place is cluttered, every chair buried under books, show posters

lining the walls, and when he shuts the door it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

He sits on the edge of his desk for lack of any other place to sit, and starts talking about

responsibility. The responsibility of the actor, the director, the cast, the crew. He talks about maturity

and regret. I try to follow his words, but I swear the walls are closer than they were just a second ago

and I’m having a hard time catching my breath.

“…so I’m asking you to leave the cast.”

He stops talking, and I think it’s the silence that makes me focus. He’s looking at me like he’s

waiting for a reaction, and I have to replay what I can remember of the last few minutes to see why.

“What?” My mouth is sticky, and I have a hard time swallowing.

“I’m asking you to leave the cast, Nick. I had hoped that giving you the role of Marcellus would

make you realize that you needed to just focus a little more, to quit the drinking and the drugs, whatever

it is you’ve been doing, but you’ve gone in completely the wrong direction. If you’d even asked me for

help, this could’ve been different, but you’ve fallen so far from where you were last year at this time,

and you’re pulling us down with you. You’re making us drag behind, and as the director I can’t have

that. You’re no longer in this show.”

I stare up at him. Nothing makes sense. He shakes his head and steps over to open the door. “You

need to leave now, Nick.”

I just nod numbly, grab my bag and walk home.

It doesn’t hit me until I close the door to my own room behind me.

* * *

I’m at a party, trying to find something other than the watered down bowl of punch that’s had

everyone’s leftover liquor dumped into it. Back home I knew who could hook me up with the stronger

stuff, but I’ve only been on campus for about a month, and I haven’t been able to find anyone reliable

yet.

I see a guy in the corner with someone I know from one of my classes. He has greasy hair and flat

looking eyes, hands shoved in pockets that look full of promise. They exchange money and something

else that they keep mostly hidden from the rest of the room. I go over when they’re done, hanging

around and waiting for him to look over. When he does, I nod at him a little.

“Hey,” I say. He looks me over and sort of grins at me. I know he knows why I’m here.

* * *

“Marc, it’s Nick. I need you to help me out with something. It’s important. Call me when you get

this.”

“Marc, it’s Nick again. You answering today?”

“Marc?” It takes until the third call before he actually answers his phone.

“Yeah, Keller, it’s me. Will you stop stalking my phone now? What do you need?” His rough voice

cuts in and out on a bad connection. I can barely understand him, but the question is always the same.

And the answer I give is the same as it has been since I met him at that first party.

“I need you to take me somewhere, Marc. Soon. It’s really important.” Because you never actually

say what you want. Especially over a mobile phone.

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, his attention half on something else. I can almost make out talking on the

other end, and I know he’s dealing with someone else while he’s talking to me. I’m grateful he even

answered the phone if he’s that busy. “Five minutes, Keller. Where do you need me to be?”

I let him know I’m in my dorm, and he hangs up on me.

* * *

I’ve had one of those days where I can’t stay in my room. I need to be somewhere with other people, so

I find a party and start looking for someone to go home with. I’m not having any luck, but then he’s

suddenly there – Danny Rizzo. We’ve been rehearsing together for ‘An Ideal Husband’, but this is the

first time I’ve seen him offstage. All dark eyes and glowing skin and a sinful body. And shit, if I don’t

fall right at his feet.

“Pretty little Goth boy out all alone tonight?”

His voice curls around me like a living thing and makes everything else not matter. Nothing I ever

drank, nothing I ever took made me feel like this. I exist, I’m real, I’m alive. And I need more. All he

can give me.

I actually wake up in his bed the next morning. I pretend to be asleep when he starts to wake up, and

I get my ass out of there as soon as he’s left to go shower. I don’t do mornings-after. It’s not like there’s

anything for us to talk about. It was just one night.

One time.

* * *

I met Marc about an hour ago, and paid him more money than I ever have before. Everything’s taken on

a fuzzy haze, so I don’t know how long I’m standing outside of Rizzo’s door, just staring at it, before

someone walks by, laughing.

“You need to knock if you want him to answer, idiot.” The voice seems like it’s coming from very

far away, and I don’t turn fast enough to see who it is. It’s like trying to move through syrup, and by the

time I’m able to look down the hall, the voice is long gone. I wonder if there was even anyone there at

all, or if I’m hearing things now too.

The words echo in my head, and I realize that I haven’t knocked. I watch as my hand raises itself

slowly, rapping on the door.

I count my breaths as I wait for him to answer. I reach four and blink, and he’s suddenly there, the

door open enough for me to see the center of his body from head to toe. And even that limited view is

beautiful. I can only stare at him as he stands there. I’m still counting my breaths for some reason, and I

get to nine before he says something.

“What.”

It wasn’t the reception I was hoping for, but at this point, I’m willing to take anything. At least he’s

talking to me at all.

“I need…” I trail off. Why am I here again? What do I need? A fuck? A hug? Someone to talk to? I

open my mouth to say something, but all the words stick on my tongue, and nothing comes out.

“You’re messed up, Keller. Go home.”

This breaks me out of whatever haze I’m in. I can’t leave now. Not yet. Wasn’t there something I

wanted to tell him? Some reason I came here in the first place? Something that seemed so urgent as I

was in my room, laying on my bed, waiting as whatever I’d bought from Marc worked its way into my

brain.

Staring into Rizzo’s dark eyes, I remember why I can’t leave yet.

“No!” And I can tell I’m almost yelling, even though I don’t think I meant to when I opened my

mouth. But my own voice makes me remember what it was I wanted to say, and I push on even though

the words still want to stay hidden behind my teeth. “No, I won’t. I need to stay. And you need to listen.

I’m so sick of you ignoring…” He’s not even paying attention to me now. He’s focusing on something

over my shoulder. I slap my hand on the door, close to his face. “Listen to me! Pay attention to me for

one goddamn minute!” His gaze lands on me again, but it’s not what I want. It’s not enough.

I step in closer to the opening of the door and reach out my hand to touch the T-shirt that covers his

chest. He steps back just as my fingers brush the soft material, and I whine softly, like some sort of

pathetic animal, wanting something to touch, something to feel. His eyes turn dark and cold, and I’m

not sure if it’s from anger or from something else that might be pain if this wasn’t Rizzo.

“Rizzo, please…”

“No. I’m not your mother, Keller. Go. Don’t come around again.” And he steps back and closes the

door, cutting me off. Locking me out. Just like that. And that’s it.

I lay my hand flat against the wood, resting my forehead next to it and trying to breathe, but it’s not

easy. I can hear him moving on the other side of the door, doing whatever it is he does when he’s in

there alone. Every little sound is like a bullet in my head.

* * *

It’s the last day of sixth grade, and the sun is still high in the sky when I use my key to open the door to

the house. The sound of my bag hitting the floor echoes through the entryway and I call out into the

silence.

I walk a giant circle through the house before I find the letter from mom on the kitchen counter, next

to the blinking answering machine. The note tells me that she’s gone out of town with her new

boyfriend, and that dad will pick me up before dinner to stay at his place for the weekend. There’s no

phone number on the note.

I hit ‘play’ on the answering machine, and my dad’s voice is there, telling my mom that something’s

come up and that he won’t be able to pick me up. That he’s been pulled out of town on some business

and won’t be back until Monday. He doesn’t leave a phone number.

I look around again and wonder how such a big house can feel so much like it’s trapping you when

you’re alone.

* * *

I don’t go back to my room after I finally leave Rizzo’s. Instead, I listen to the low thrumming of the

drugs in my veins, telling me to find someone else to help me forget everything. I find a group of people

with more alcohol than they can drink, help them finish it off, screw one of the girls that climbs into my

lap, and pass out until the sun wakes me up the next day.

I have no clue what time it is, but the sun is high above me when I drag myself out of there. I get

back to my prison of a dorm room and don’t even bother to lock the door behind me. I don’t really see

the point. No one ever comes here anyway.

I think about going out and finding another party. Finding someone else to spend tonight with. But

I’m feeling so transparent right now that I’m not sure anyone else would even be able to see me.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time I think, every time I breathe in, every time I blink

my eyes, it hurts so much I think I’m going to scream. But I know that screaming would hurt just as

much. Or more.

I turn my head to look away from the ceiling, and my eyes land on the wonderful little pile of stuff I

bought off Marc yesterday. It helped to numb things enough that they didn’t hurt so fucking much, the

memories of getting kicked out of the show, of Rizzo shutting the door in my face.

I grab the bag and tip the whole thing out onto my bed, a little avalanche of pills. I look at them,

count them, wonder how many it’ll take to make the memories stop hurting. I grab one of the bottles left

near my bed and wash down as many I can with the warm sludge left at the bottom of it. It burns all the

way down.

As things start to go fuzzy again, I wonder if it’ll be enough to make the pain stop.

Chapter 13

Ripcord

DANNY: Rehearsals for the show are finally getting somewhere. More precisely, to the point where

everybody seems to settle in, and the initial awkwardness passes. You can tell by those quietly working

behind the scenes, building the set or sewing costumes stopping every so often to watch.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. The only reason I got into acting was that it pisses Lilah off so bad.

She’d planned for me to become Mr. Bigtime to impress her Country Club friends. Guess she’s still

trying to make up for the old faux pas, a.k.a. her marriage to my procreator. After divorce number one

(which is the only one that counts for me) I figured that I had two options: to play along and grow up to

be another bitter high-class zombie, or to never take shit seriously and do my own thing. Start my own

game. Make my own rules. Yeah, I thought it was the cooler option too.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? For the very first time, my own thing’s been snatched from my hands. And

I’m left standing here, dumb-founded like some pathetic bastard, beaten at the game I created. Damn if I

know how to deal with things now.

So I’m doing what anyone with the least bit of pride would do. I play pretend. I keep the show

going. ‘Cause hey, it just so happens that I’m an actor. And a damn brilliant one, too.

I don’t sleep much, period. Grazzo’s crazy genes. Lilah used to say it was abnormal, having all this

energy and needing less than five hours of sleep. Back then, she said it with a wink and a smile. And

dad would grin and reply, “Comes with the ‘abnormally good-looking and talented’ package. Deluxe

version.” With the split-up she lost her sense of humor like others lose a car key.

It can be a curse, though, being this restless. Every once in a while there are phases when I feel like

running up my walls at night, under pressure like a steam engine. I just can’t seem to lie still long

enough to fall asleep.

With all this time on my hands, by now I know the entire play by heart. Not just my lines, pretty

much everyone’s. And Jeff is stunned by the intensity of my performance. I couldn’t care less. I’m not

doing this for him. I’m doing this because I need to. Hamlet, man, he’s perfect. Being on stage is the

only time I can relax. I can pour everything I feel into the role. Everything. Everything that I can’t show

in my own life. Because I’m Rizzo, right? And Rizzo doesn’t get his heart broken.

I’ve been leading a saint’s life of chastity since the day James walked out of my life. That’s basically

what he did, no matter how pathetic it may sound. This is a first, so cut me some slack. For some

completely messed-up reason, even the thought of anyone touching me now fills me with disgust. I bear

it on stage, or when I’m with the crew, and if I weren’t so gifted at pretending, I’d be screaming out

loud with anger and frustration every time it happens.

I quit smoking. Yeah, well. I didn’t want to need that damn nicotine. I didn’t want to need anything

or anyone anymore. I’ve had enough of any of that needing shit. I’m finally past the point where I

would kill for a smoke. It gets a little easier every day. Most days anyway.

I dug out some of Grazzo’s old records, and I listen to them sometimes. There’s no one that plays the

sax quite like he does. I thought about giving him a call, but hell if I know what joint in which city he’s

playing tonight. He might not even be in the country. Sometimes I try to recall what it felt like when he

was still around, when we were still a happy family. But the memory has faded to a strange mosaic of

fractured bits and pieces.

Man, I loved being on the road, waking up in a different city every day. The circus of jazz, roaming

from town to town. Constantly being on tour with his buddies. I was just a tiny little fart, but those were

good times. The best. And then that bastard went and never even tried to get shared custody.

“You’re so much like your father,” Lilah always says. And that’s no compliment, coming from her.

* * *

I could’ve asked why, but I didn’t. Neither did anyone else. Jeff never made a big announcement. We

have a new Marcellus, and nobody seems to notice. Or maybe it’s that nobody cares. I gotta admit, it

really doesn’t make much of a difference who says the lines in the end.

“What happened to Keller?” I ask Trey quietly when we’re leaving.

He gives me a completely blank look, kind of scared he might have missed something important.

“To who?”

Is it important? Damn man, the kid was just one of the leads last year. But anyway. I can’t be

bothered to explain, so I just shrug. “Forget it.”

It’s just after five in the afternoon and it’s dark already. The long, empty corridor echoes from our

steps and low voices. The chill of winter hits us harshly as we step outside, and when I draw in a sharp

breath, the icy air stings like needles in my lungs.

“Foggy again,” Andrea mutters, winding her scarf around her neck twice before embracing her own

shivering body. “God, I hate November!”

I don’t know, I kind of like the dark months, but I don’t say that aloud. Steph takes my arm and

presses her freezing body against mine. I resist the urge to push her away.

“Where to?” Dave looks over for guidance as we step onto the misty path and start to leave the

brighter area close to the building behind.

Andrea snorts. “Smart. Because today we clearly won’t be going to where we’ve been going to for

years after rehearsal!”

“To the cafe then?”

“Oh please.”

I can’t hide a small, quick grin. She walks on faster and rolls her eyes as she passes me by. Andie

and I have known each other pretty much all our lives. I don’t think Jeff had any clue on her practically

being my sister when he gave her the role of Ophelia. He seems to believe that she’s the yin to my yang.

If there were anyone I’d be able to talk to about James, it’d probably be her. But I don’t. Actually, if

there were anyone I’d be able to talk to about James, it’d be James.

Were we ever really close, or was it something I imagined because I wanted it? Did he ever really

trust me? Did I trust him? Were we pals? Friends, for Christ’s sake?

I suddenly think of Nick the other day, of him shouting at me, desperately. “Listen to me! Pay

attention to me for one goddamn minute!”

Pay attention. I wanted, I needed to have James’ attention. I had to have all of him. I can still feel

him now, pressed up against me. I can feel his breath trembling on my face, his hands on my back,

pulling me close. The scent of his skin in my nostrils, his taste on my lips. It’s that craving that’s driving

me insane.

Abruptly my feet seem to stop on their own account.

“Danny?” Steph looks at me with mild surprise. I can just make out Cafe Plato in the distance, like a

beehive oozing light in this misty darkness. I don’t answer when I free my arm from her tight grip and

step away.

“Danny?” she repeats, sounding worried. Everyone else has stopped as well and stares. Attention. I

have everyone’s attention. Always.

Call it a gut feeling, but this uneasiness gnawing at my stomach is as bad as it gets. Something about

Keller. Something about the other day. Something about that look on his face, in his eyes. Something

about when I wouldn’t, couldn’t respond. Something alarming. All he asked for was… what the hell did

he ask for anyway? Why was he there? Why did he come to me?

I turn around. Screw this. I’m heading for his dorm. Right now.

* * *

I sit down on the dorm’s freezing front steps and watch as the ambulance pulls out of the driveway. It’s

completely dark now. Fog mysteriously wavers above the grounds. I can hear when the car leaves

campus, that’s when the siren starts to wail. It sounds more and more distorted until it eventually dies

away in the distance. They’re really moving fast.

The few people who’ve crowded at the entrance are staying on for a bit to gossip. Big scandal, right?

Nobody asks me if I know anything about it, and no wonder. What would I have to do with some drugaddicted

punk who got himself a ticket for a one way trip? Yeah, what would I?

Nick looked completely dead. And beautiful, in a bizarre way. White as snow. Perfect like a doll.

Delicate skin in sharp contrast to the raven hair.

As the mad adrenaline rush starts to fade, I’m beginning to feel more and more exhausted. Like all

energy is slowly draining from my body. And the thought crosses my mind that if I hadn’t stopped by

his room tonight, no one else might have. Maybe not for days. Come to think of it, I’ve never really

seen Keller with anyone. He’s got to have some friends, right? He’s got to have somebody.

More and more people are crowding on the front steps now, the news is spreading fast. And from

what I overhear, none of them seem to know Nick. Some vaguely remember “that guy who always wore

black, you know, the one with all the piercings.” “That jerk who always swore a lot?” Yeah, man, that’s

him alright. And apparently everybody knew that he’d had it coming. Assholes.

Thank god the door wasn’t locked. Thank god he was still breathing, however shallowly. Thank

god… thank god for what? It’s not like things couldn’t have been that much worse, is it? Because how

much worse could things get?

I can’t bear to be here and listen to these idiots talking and joking around me anymore. I rise to my

feet to walk away.

In that same moment, James arrives, probably from a late class, and pushes through the crowd to get

through to the entrance. He’s wearing that ugly old coat, and he looks pale, but handsome as ever.

Without seeming to notice, he’s moving straight towards me, and I don’t move an inch. And for a

second there I’m hoping… I don’t know what. That he’ll stop to talk, and take this throbbing pain away.

That he’ll smile at me again, see me again, care again. That things will be just like they were between

us. He looks up as he passes, and our eyes meet briefly. He doesn’t even flinch, just moves on, and

disappears inside.

I close my eyes and try to breathe it off. But the nausea keeps rising all the same, and there’s cold

sweat on my hands. I walk away quickly, until I reach the lonely darkness of the park. The fog and the

black shadows of the trees swallow me.

White as snow. Perfect like a doll. Should I ever fall, who’s gonna be there to catch me? Who’d even

dare to tell me if I pushed things too far? Trey? Andrea? The thought makes me choke out a small,

painful laugh.

After all this time, after everything that’s happened, I don’t know whether James would just watch

until I hit the ground, cold and unmoved, or if he’d still care enough to pull the ripcord to save me in

time.

White as snow, and perfectly still. Why did the kid have to go and pull some shit like that? Did he do

it on purpose? Was it an accident?

Things with Nick were never supposed to be complicated. But I guess a lot of things weren’t

supposed to be. Why the hell did I have to be the one to find you, Keller? Why did you ever come to

me? Don’t you know that I’m crap at this kind of thing? No strings attached, you knew that from the

start. It was supposed to be a one night, one time thing. I never gave you reason to hope for more than

what it was. And you didn’t, did you? Why would you have? You don’t even know me! And I sure as

hell don’t know you.

I’m sick and tired of putting on a show. I’m sick of them all. Sick of the emptiness. Sick of being on

my own.

And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

There he is, wimpy prince Hamlet who can’t get his act together, right in my head. And anything but

wimpy now that I’m beginning to understand. What was I waiting for? What the hell was I waiting for?

Are you gonna live, Keller? Was I too late?

My stomach starts to turn, and I lean against a tree, coughing painfully. Violently fighting down the

urge to heave. The effort seems to drain me of all energy, leaves me small and sore. The icy air stings in

my lungs again. Everything around me momentarily fades to pitch black. White as snow, and images of

angels and demons are spinning in my head. It feels like a dance of death for the prince of pretending.

Over there, I remember. Just over there is where I kissed him last. Just over there is where James

finally seemed to be mine. Snow on Halloween night. How fitting is it, something as unlikely happening

that very moment? How unlikely is it, Rizzo falling for someone like him?

There’s only questions left, no answers. There’s only might-have-beens and could-have-dones. And

still, no regrets. It makes me calmer, realizing this. Have I been changed? Am I still the same selfcentered

bastard I once opted to be? Am I still playing games, or has the game begun to play me?

White as snow. Perfect like a doll. And a distant ripcord, dangling just above my reach. There’s

nothing left for me to do except wait. I’m standing still, feeling the rough bark beneath my fingertips,

listening into the darkness. And so I wait.

End of Book 3

Back to Table of Contents

Book 4

Retribution

by Susann Julieva & Romelle Engel

Chapter 1

Time Out

NICK: Dark. Numb. Quiet. Hot, hard hands shaking shoulders. Dark eyes, familiar voice, worried (like

it shouldn’t be, never is). Not supposed to be here. Why now?

Fading. Dark again. Still. So still.

Angry voices. Loud. Too many. Beeps and lights, noises and hands. More hands. Fading in and out.

Moving. Cold. More lights, alien wail.

New pain. Throat, stomach, head. Twisting, aching, stabbing, tearing, turning inside out.

Cold. Freezing. Shiver. Hot. Shiver. Nauseous. Shake.

Talking. Screaming. Begging. Please, please, make it stop.

Stop.

* * *

I’m staring at a woman that’s sitting in a chair near where I am, and I know that she’s asked me a

question. Or told me something important. I know that I’m supposed to know who she is. I know that

the white coat she’s wearing should be some clue. I know that I should probably remember where I am,

too.

But I don’t. I don’t, because every time I try to grab onto a thought, it slips away again like sand, and

there’s nothing I can do about it. And really, it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

I don’t care about anything.

I watch her lips move as she talks, and the words move around me like I’m not even there.

“University, stress, friends, lifestyle, too much, common, drugs, attempt, help, medication, suicide,

Nick.” I know that last one, it’s my name. I remember…

* * *

“Nick, come on. Sign the papers. They won’t move you somewhere else without your consent, and

they won’t let me do anything unless you agree to it. I can’t have you in County Hospital, and my

lawyer says that unless you sign this, it’s either that or jail. The neighbors would never stop talking if

they found out. So sign the paper, and you’ll be moved somewhere else… I should’ve made your father

deal with you for once.”

It fades again. I’m glad until I forget to be.

* * *

I wake up with the sun slanting across my ceiling and the hard edge of something pressing into my face.

When I move my hand up, I realize that the edge belongs to a plastic bracelet that’s around my wrist just

tight enough that I can’t pull it off.

There’s a knock somewhere to my left, and when I turn my head, I realize that it came from the

closed door there.

“Keller, you awake?” A large man pokes his head in the room, his dark skin a contrast to his clean

light scrubs, and I just blink at him, wondering if I’m supposed to know who he is. The way he says my

name makes me think that I should.

* * *

Cold floor under my chest. Bare. Shivering and sweating and why am I on the floor? Someone’s yelling,

crying. It stops when I take a breath, and I realize it’s me. I clench my teeth together and it doesn’t start

again. Heavy weight on my back that shifts once I stop yelling.

“You done?” Deep voice. I nod and the weight is gone, dark arms picking me up to set me on my

feet.

“You going to run again?” I didn’t realize that I had been running, but I shake my head.

“Okay. Back to bed then.”

* * *

He sees me looking back at him and gives me a smile that seems mostly friendly. “Yeah, Doc said you

might be more with it today. You getting up for breakfast, or do I need to come in and haul you up?”

Terrified at the thought of this strange man coming in the room to “haul” me out of bed, I push back

my covers and slide out, wincing when my bare feet hit the cold floor. The man leaves without another

word, and I’m left to study this place.

The room around me seems familiar, even has a very few of my things in it, but at the same time, it’s

like it’s the first time I’m seeing it. I try thinking harder, hoping that my brain will give me some

answers, but all I get is some stupid fog, nothing in focus. Nothing that helps me any.

I step outside the door, bare feet on harsh carpeting, and look down the long hallway, a line of other

doors just like the one I’m looking out of. I see a woman up the hall leave her room, shutting her door

behind her, and walking in the opposite direction.

I have nothing better to do than to follow.

* * *

I end up in a sunny room where people are sitting down to eat breakfast. Mine ends up being a bowl of

shitty oatmeal and a banana. I never eat bananas, and I hate oatmeal. But the nurse (or whatever the hell

she is) who’s there tells me that I’ve been eating it since I got here. I try to tell her that I don’t even

know where “here” is or how long I’ve been here, but she just smiles at me and walks away.

She comes back after about 20 minutes to check on me and looks at my still full bowl and uneaten

banana. She frowns a little and writes something on a clipboard she’s carrying, then points me in the

direction of where other people are putting their trays.

* * *

I’m curled up on the floor of my room, shivering and sweating, and feeling like my insides are trying to

crawl out. Like my skin is too small for my body. Like I need something to make it better. And if I don’t

get it, my skin is going to split right from the top of my head all the way down my spine. And then my

skull will split open. And even then, it still won’t be enough to make this feeling go away. My face is

wet, and I can’t tell if it’s from the sweat or the tears that I can’t seem to stop. I think it’s about 3 in the

morning, and even though I know someone has to be out there, no one comes when I scream. There’s

only the hollow echo of my own voice.

I look up at the door (the one that was locked when I tried to open it a few hours ago, the one that I

pounded on until I could barely feel my hands any more), just in time to see someone peer in to check

on me. Their face is framed in that little window that looks out into the hallway, and for a second I think

that maybe they’ve finally come to help me. To finally give me something that will make me stop

shaking and puking and feeling like I’m going to die.

But the face is gone almost instantly, and I’m left alone again. I try going to the door, crawling on