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Nov 15, 10 at 10:10pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
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NO NEW CHAPTER, NOOOES D:
Good luck with that writer's block.
quote Name Undisclosed
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Nov 23, 10 at 1:41am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
okay i feel really really bad...i don't have a chapter yet, i'm really really sorry guys. so i made a video! it's not the thank you video which is gonna be really *bleep*ing long, but yeah, just a little video because i feel really bad that i don't have a chapter for you guys. and pleaaaaase don't comment in this thread until i post the chapter, i appreciate it and all but i don't like feeling i'm getting more comments than actual story...like there's a page in here where I've done only one Schizophreak related post and the rest were comments...XD
and heeey boyz derz a surpriz @ de end i should have cut that out lol
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Nov 25, 10 at 8:33am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
;_; Aww no chapter.
QUIRKY QUIRKY QUIRKY.
♡ C A N D Y I S D A N D Y B U T L I Q U O R I S Q U I C K E R ♡
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Nov 26, 10 at 10:27pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
you could make a lot of money on this
i really think so
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Nov 28, 10 at 4:27am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I feel special, I'm in the first post
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Dec 1, 10 at 2:16am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Johnathan Morris shut up bitch, that was my deep voice, it was in no way querky.
srkiser2 uh, since I don't know you at all, I'm not going to scream at you for that comment. But, I'm just gonna say that even if I were to get this published I wouldn't do this just for the money. I mean, it would be nice to get money from something I totally put my heart into, but...that's just not cool, you know? Why puts their heart into something so much, just for the money? I don't want to make a profit out of Schizophreak. I just want people to read it. I want to send a message with this novel...I don't want the money... ._. Sorry if that sounded bitchy but I just felt really offended when I read your comment.
Anime Gurl =D
Yo, guys. I started a blog for Alyx, which you can find here! It's just gonna be a blog in Alyx's point of view about her thoughts on a bunch of stuff. My personal blog is in there too. :3 Make a tumblr and follow Alyx and me! =D And here's a chapter, yay! I'm so sorry for the long wait, ugh. I finally finished the chapter.
twenty-eight ~ self-destroyed
credit to Noasharvit from deviantART.
I spend two more days in the hospital. Robyn and I bond together for the first time in a very long time. We talk about her friends and what she's doing in school, what subjects she likes and hates. We talk about her boyfriend, Quinci, and how they're supposed to have a date soon. Robyn jogs my memory and reminds me that I go to Coldgrove High. I must be missing a bunch of assignments.
I get out of the hospital on Monday.
Elizabeth grins at me and tells me she hopes to never see me again, which makes me laugh. We say goodbye, I hop into the back seat of the truck beside my sister, and as a family, we drive home. We don't say too much, but Robyn talks to me, showing me the loving texts Quinci has sent her in the past few days.
When we arrive home, I take a tour around the house by myself, remembering the kitchen and living room and dining room and my room and Robyn's room and the bathrooms. I don't go in my parents' room because kids aren't supposed to find all the inappropriate things. I explore the basement and the laundry room and Dad's office.
After dinner, we all watch a movie as a family. I don't really pay much attention, I mostly stare at the screen without listening to the words. The movie ends and Mom says I can go to bed if I want to, because it's kind of late. She says I'll go back to school on Wednesday because I need two days of rest before I can go back.
I crawl into my bed with clean sheets and a warm blanket. I snuggle under the covers, happy with the silence of my room. My iPod is sitting on my night table, turned off, but waiting to play some music for me. I don't really feel like listening to anything right now, because I'm happy we're all a family again. Mommy and Daddy and Alyx and Robyn.
I close my eyes and wait for myself to fall asleep, after five days in a bed with a hard mattress and a thing blanket that did not wrap me up and keep me warm like a cocoon. I try so hard to fall asleep, but I can't. Why? Because I hear The Voices again.
Nineteen: I bet they all thought you were cured, huh, Alyx?
* * *
I wake up Wednesday morning, my heart thumping like frightened rabbit feet. Another nightmare.
Eighty-three: You're not ever getting a vacation, you know that, right?
* * *
Daddy drives me to school. He thinks I shouldn't be riding the bus because he thinks my head is too fragile to hear all the screaming voices and conversations going on. I'll get a headache, he says. The ride to school is quiet, especially after we drop off Robyn at the middle school. The radio plays quietly as we bump along the roads and potholes—cool jazz music that I heard him playing in his office last night after dinner.
“If there's anything you need, just call me,” he says when we're on the street that leads to school. “You have quarters to use the payphones, right, Alyx?”
“Yep.” I look out the window. Snow is melting into little islands on (forest green) grass, mud everywhere on the sidewalks. Probably from the little kids at the elementary school.
“I called the school's office while you were in the hospital and I told the secretary you had an incident because of exhaustion, so she's taking you out of your gym class for two weeks,” he adds, staring out of the dashboard as we pull into the parking lot. “She said your coach will be notified.”
“Okay,” I say. We're doing badminton in gym, which isn't too exciting. We pull up to the Kiss N Ride lane, car exhaust from the bus in front of us blocking the view from the windshield window. “Are you picking me up or am I taking the bus home?”
“I'm picking you up. You have an appointment with Jessica today. Your therapist.”
I nod, press the (red) button that puts away my seatbelt. “I'll see you later, then, Dad. Bye.”
“Love you, kid,” he says as I hop out of the truck and onto the sidewalk beside the school building. I wave to him and the door closes, and he drives off, speeding around the bus that was in front of the truck. I head inside the building, through the front entrance. Nobody says hello to me, which is understandable.
Eight: Your locker is number one-hundred-fifty-six, upstairs. Turn left, keep going, then go up the staircase and turn right.
I follow Eight's instructions, and he gives me my locker combination. The lock clicks open. Eight tells me it is a Day Two in school, meaning, this morning I have Psychology and French. I find the correct books, I shut my locker and lock it, and am directed to the Psychology room by Eight and Company. When I come in, about twenty people are in their seats, and they all stare at me, including the woman behind the big desk—Ms. Carmona.
A guy jumps out of his seat—curly brown hair, straight teeth, geeky clothing. “Alyx!” he screams. He runs up to me and hugs me so hard I almost drop my books. I look at him, taking him in, trying to remember who he is and what gives him permission to hug me. My brain suddenly clicks on and I realize this guy is Collin, the one who considers me his best friend even though I'm a schizophreak and should be kept in a cage for all to see.
“Oh my god!” he hugs me even harder. “I missed you so much! What the heck happened to you? You were absent for a whole week!”
I blink and look at him. Behind him is a table group with a blonde girl, a guy, and a guy who kind of looks like a girl but is still a guy. At the other table groups, everyone is staring at us. The guy who kind of looks like a girl stands up and walks over to me and Collin. He looks at me and starts saying hey, but everyone else joins into our triangle and we all form a circle, everybody crowded in on me, asking me where I was and how am I and what happened to you are you okay Alyx? Alyxalyxalyx?
I push myself out of the circle and sit down at the empty seat across from where the blonde girl with the buff guy were sitting. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to sit there, but the teacher doesn't object it. I put my books inside the desk, the part that opens up, and I stare at the wood after closing the lid. Collin sits beside me and looks at me and tries to talk to me but I block him out. I stare and stare at the desk until the bell explodes in my ears, and this means we all have to stand up for the national anthem and then sit back down to listen to the announcements.
When all that is done, Ms. Carmona starts talking. I think she must be welcoming me back to school or something, because she's looking at me and smiling. I try to smile back, but I end up staring at my desk again. The blonde girl at my table, Ashley, starts talking to me and asking me things but I don't reply. The guy beside her, Bruce, snaps his fingers in front of my face. I smack his hand away. The other guy, Cameron, stares at me, probably trying to read my mind or something.
Class starts. Ms. Carmona hands out a paper with words on it, and tells me I don't have to take it because I was absent for a whole week. While everybody else is writing their test/quiz or whatever it may be, I get up, and head to the book racks to see if I have any new notes. I reach my hand into the paper bag and fish out several pieces of paper.
“Hey, where are you? Are you okay? Class is boring without you.” - Anonymous
“Alyx, please come back.” - Collin
“Alyx, please, I'm so sorry if I did anything to hurt you.” - Collin.
“I'm sorry.” - Collin.
“Alyx, your absence is scaring me to death! PLEASE COME BACK TO SCHOOL! I MISS YOU SO MUCH!” - Collin.
“Alyx, oh, *bleep*, this is all my fault, isn't it? People at school are saying you killed yourself. If I believed in God I'd be praying to Him 'Oh, God, please let her be alive,' but since I'm an Atheist I'm just going to say, Please, please, please come back. It's going to kill me if I find out you jumped or hung or shot or cut yourself to a sleep that lasts forever.” - Cameron.
“Please...don't let those rumors be true...(sad face)” – Ashley
“Please, don't let the rumors be true. We all love you.” - Anonymous
I stare at the 8 pieces of scrap paper in my hands, only seeing jumbles of letters and words. Did these people all know I was in a coma? That the doctors at the hospital thought I was going to kill myself by taking too many sleeping pills? Did they know Nineteen did this to me?
I should have stayed home today.
I head back to my desk, careful to not let the scrap papers drop. All these notes are the most I've ever gotten, since Ms. Carmona started the practice of note-giving. Anonymous, Ashley, Cameron and Collin. Maybe these people all care about me? Maybe this class, Psychology class, they all cared about me, too. The smiles on their faces when they saw me coming into class must have meant something. The thought brings a smile to my own face as I sit down and spill my notes onto the wood.
Collin looks at me, looks down at the papers on my desk, and grins at me. Even though this is a quiz, he stops working, and leans over to hug me. “I missed you so much,” he whispers into my ear. “You had me worried sick, you know that?”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper back.
Collin pats my back and turns back to his test. Ms. Carmona smiles at us and announces to the class they have seven more minutes until they have to hand in the quiz. Seven minutes tick by, and Ms. Carmona starts talking again. We've started a new unit, neuroscience, simplified, because some of us don't take science class this year and we're not university students or surgeons or anything.
As a class, we take out our notebooks and copy down what Ms. C has on her computer, connected to the LCD projector, which shines onto a white sheet on top of the board. Like a good girl, I copy down all the notes on the board as they are. I try not to let Anyone take over my hand because the last time Someone did that, I scribbled all over my note page and had to copy off Collin.
The bell rings, and this means I have to find French class. Before I leave, I stuff my notes into the pocket of the hooded sweatshirt and gather my books. On my way out the door, Collin stops me. “Alyx,” he says, “want to sit with me at lunch?”
“Sure,” I reply. “Meet me at my locker.”
Collin nods, and heads off for his next class. Five directs me to French class, and Cameron from Psychology follows me.
Nine: He's going to kill you he's going to kill you.
Fifteen: Oh, piss off, Nine. They have the same French class with Madame Whatever and they sit beside each other.
Alyx's headvoice: We do?
Fifteen: (Rolls eyes) No, idiot, that's why I just said that!
I roll my own eyes, and slide into French class. Madame greets me in French, and I wave back because I was in a coma and lost some of my memory and how the hell do you say “Hello” in French? I take a seat at the back, and Cameron from Psychology sits down beside me. A few girls and a guy wave at me when they come in, and I wave back, though I'm not sure why.
The bell rings, and class starts. Madame says, in French, she is proud of our test results on the passé composé avec avoir et être. As Madame talks, I slowly recall everything I've learned in French class, and I can actually understand what she's talking about. She tells Michelle to hand out the textbooks. While Michelle is doing so, Madame walks over to me and smiles. She tells me, in English, that I can do the test right now because it covers what we learned last week, which I should know.
She gives me the test, which is three papers thick, and tells me I can write the test outside in the hall. Cameron helps me move the desk out the door and beside a row of lockers. I tell him thanks, and wordlessly, he returns into the classroom. I sit down in the plastic hair with metal legs, and start the test. I write my name, and stare at the front page of the test, scanning over the instructions and questions.
The test is pretty easy. I just have to fill out a bunch of blanks and make my own sentences using the given verb. On the last page I have to fill out a chart with all the verbs that conjugate with “être,” also known as a thing called “DR. and MRS. VANDERTRAMP.” I also have to, as a bonus, make the infinitive verbs into their English forms. Simple.
I finish the test, and, as quietly as possible, move my desk back into the classroom next to Cameron. I hand Madame my test, and grab a textbook. “What page?” I ask Cameron.
“Fifty-two,” he replies.
“En français!” Madame says from her desk.
Page fifty-two is an article, in French, and at the bottom of page fifty-three there are ten questions we need to answer. I read the article, twice, and I have to pull out my French-English dictionary about five times. I finish my work, tear the paper out of my notebook, and put it into my French binder. I stare at the desk for a long time, listening to whispers of desk partners and people walking up to Madame's desk to ask her some questions.
Finally, the bell for lunch rings. Madame yells out goodbye from her desk as we all leave. As I walk to my locker, Cameron follows me. “Hey,” he says, “want to do lunch with me?”
I shake my head no. “Can't,” I say, “I'm having lunch with Collin.”
“Oh,” he looks down. “After school, then? For a smoke?”
“I can't, I have to do something,” I tell him, not wanting to mention I go to therapy—something Mom told me when we all got home from the hospital. “We could hang out at lunch tomorrow, though.”
“Before-school smoke?” he asks, hopeful.
“Dad's dropping me off from now on. Long story.” I take out a five-dollar bill from the pocket of my jacket, then put it on. “I'll see you in Art class.”
I shut my locker and Cameron walks off towards his. I wait, leaning against my metal locker, and look over to my right. Cameron gets out his leather jacket, puts it on, shuts his locker and leaves. Collin comes along, holding his lunch bag and Peter. “Hi Alyx!” he waves.
I wave back.
“You want to go to the caf?”
I nod. “I want to buy some food, then go sit outside on the bleachers.”
We head down the stairs together, making our merry way to the cafeteria. People wave at me, and I wave back, but I don't know why they're waving at me and saying hey and yo. We enter the cafeteria, and I buy a cup of pasta salad, a cookie the size of my head, and a can of Coke. I lead the way out through the double doors, and we walk through the grass until we reach the metal bleachers beside the soccer field.
We climb up to the very top, and I put my lunch on my lap. Collin sets Peter between us, and we start eating in silence. Collin has a tuna sandwich, an apple and some popcorn. I eat my pasta salad with a plastic fork, taking a bite of my cookie every few pieces of pasta. When I'm done with my pasta, I crack open my Coke and chug it down in half a minute.
I finish up my lunch and throw the empty can down the bleachers. It bounces until it hits the ground. Collin shakes his head in mock disappointment. I burp. He laughs. We sit there in silence for another minute, and Collin zips up his lunch bag and sets it beside him, on his left. I stare out at the big glass wall that peeps into the cafeteria.
“So,” Collin says, “why were you gone for a whole week?”
Seventy-nine: You *bleep*ed up. Tell him that.
“Were you sick?” Collin asks. “You look kinda pale.”
Seventy-nine: Did you not hear me, Whore? I said, tell him you *bleep*ed up. And don't ask me why, because it's the truth.
Seventy-one: Go on, Alyxandra. You can't leave this kid hanging. Tell him why you were gona for a week. Or we'll beat the crap out of you tonight.
Fifty: He's going to be so angry at you when you tell him, Alyxandra. Even more angry than your whole family is.
“Alyx?” Collin pokes my shoulder. I jump and look at him.
“Oh,” I say. “Right. About that.” I look out at the school building again, try to see through the glass wall. I can kind of see bodies moving around, sitting at tables, carrying trays of food from the lineup.
Nineteen: Come on, bitch, Collin hasn't got all day. Spit it out or I'll do it for you, and we don't want that, do we?
“Alyx?” he repeats. He pokes my shoulder again, then grabs it and shakes it. “Alyx, answer me!”
I turn my head so fast my neck hurts. “You want to know what I did? Fine!” The voice coming from the mouth isn't Alyx's voice anymore. It is Nineteen's. “I overdosed on sleeping pills!”
Collin's eyes nearly pop out of his head.
“I practically had a seizure, then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. They all told me I was in a three-day coma because of my overdose. I didn't eat up a whole bottle of the pills, mind you, I ate half of them, which was how much was left of the bottle. Nineteen made me do it because I couldn't sleep—No, no, that's not what happened, you little bitch! You were being so annoying, so demanding. Sleeping is a privilege, not a right! You tricked yourself into doing this! Its not my fault, idiot!”
The hand of this body snaps upwards and slaps the right cheek of the face.
Collin stares at Alyx. “Alyx...what the...”
“Shut up!” The hand slaps Collin across the face. He gasps. Alyx continues. “The doctors told Alyx they did a stomach pump to get all the drugs out of her body, while she was in the three-day coma. They found the cuts she made on her fat belly and everybody was very disappointed. Especially her parents. Now they're convinced their kid is mentally ill and suicidal.
“Anyways. The docs said Alyx should have been dying of kidney or liver damaged, because that kind of thing can happen when you overdose on sleeping pills like this idiot did. I guess we did it, helped keep her alive, I mean. I'm not too sure why we did, because she's so worthless, but I guess it's because she's better than most Phreaks we've haunted over the years.
“The main doctor, Kurt Something, said it was a miracle Alyx is alive. She should have been writhing in pain from so much kidney damage for, like, a month, but nope! She woke up fine and dandy.”
“Alyx?” he says.
I blink again, and look around. We are sitting on top of metal bleachers in what appears to be a school yard. “What?” I ask.
“What was that all about?” he asks.
“I don't know.” I look around again, like I'm making sure I really am on the bleachers in a schoolyard, not in the hospital and having a dream even though I'm awake. “Did my voice change? Was I talking like I was going to kill you?”
“Uh, yeah, kind of,” Collin says, shifting away from me a few inches. I look at him, his arms on the edge of the bleachers to support his lower body as he shifts.
My eyes blink, and my vocal chords release a gasp. “Oh, god,” I murmur. I clutch at my head with my hands, and lean over like I'm about to barf. “I'm sorry, Collin. Don't listen to her. That was Nineteen and she took over me. She says she can take over my head and make me say things I don't mean to say. Did she scare you? Oh, god, Collin, I'm so sorry.” I shake my head, still leaning over and looking at my (black) sneakers.
“Alyx, don't cry,” Collin says, patting me on the back.
“I screw up everything!” I explode. “My parents are so mad at me! They hid all of my pills—all of them! Even the Advil! Maybe my sister likes me again, but both of my parents hate me for what I did. The hospital bills are going to be high again, because I landed myself in the hospital again. They're so mad at me because of the bills. I am such a burden to them!”
“Don't say that!” Collin says, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I push him away without looking at him. “Nineteen, go away!”
“It's not Nineteen!” I tell him, putting my hands over my face. “I don't have any hope anymore. The last couple of days when I was home, the Voices came back and They told me everybody hates me. They told me I'm worthless and horrible and I scared everyone after what I did, but, Collin, it was an accident! Nineteen made me do it, but if I tell my parents they won't believe me and they'll think I was really trying to kill myself but I wasn't! And you know what will happen to me then? I'll end up in the hospital again, or maybe even the crazy house!”
Screams escape my throat. I clutch at my head again, fingers combing through my short hair. I would rip it out, but Collin would get too concerned, have to call for help—somehow—and I would end up in the hospital for having a slight breakdown.
I let go of my head, and run down the bleachers so I am on the grass. Collin runs after me, but I race away from him. I keep running as far as I can, running away from everything—the bleachers, the school property, Collin, myself, my problems, the Voices. My heart is beating so hard, faster than my steps towards the woods right beside the school, but off the property. I can feel the pumping of the organ that supplies blood to my body, pounding in my ears, louder than the other noises around me—the wind rustling the branches of the trees, Collin yelling.
Even though I'm not the most fit person out there, I keep running even though I might run out of breath soon. I run through the dirt path, trying not to trip over twigs and tree roots. I run past the fat trunks of trees and puddles of rainwater that hasn't been absorbed into the dirt yet. I can hear Collin shouting after me, I can feel him running after me, trying to chase me down.
I don't know what part of my body it is, but something under my rib cage is starting to hurt, like the bone has snapped or something. I get this a lot, especially in gym class when I don't want to do any more laps, but I have to keep going. I could ditch my afternoon classes, if I wanted to. But I shouldn't—I've already missed a whole week of school. There are assignments and tests that I need to catch up on.
I'm panting. My mouth is open and I'm breathing in and out of it, panting like a dog, except my tongue isn't hanging out and saliva isn't dripping all over the place. I make a sharp turn, so I don't have to comb through a bunch of dead plants with sharp burs that stick to your sweater. I hear Collin screaming my name, still running after me. The kid has a lot of endurance.
Finally, I trip over a tree root. My knees hit the ground first, and I gasp out in pain. Between my ears, my head throbs so hard along with my heart, and the throbbing is so loud I bet the birds in the trees can hear it. But birds don't have ears you can see, do they? I don't know—I won't ever get into biology or whatever subject is needed to know about animal anatomy. I will never do anything with my life, unless I become famous for being a schizophrenic serial killer and someone wants to make a TLC documentary about me.
“Alyx!” Collin yells. I hear his footsteps, but don't turn my head 180 degrees to look at him. “Alyx, what the heck was that for? I hate running!”
I keep breathing in and out of my mouth, inhaling Forest. Sweat drips down the side of my face and I wipe it away with the back on my hand. My throat closes a bit because I'm so out of breath. I stare at the dirt, which is going to stick to my jeans, but I couldn't care any less about dirt on my pants.
“Alyx!” Collin says again. I can hear anger in his voice, but I know he won't stay like that for more than a few seconds. “What the hell? Why are you sitting in the dirt? Alyx, look at me!” He is in front of me now, and my eyes are focused on his shoes. “Alyx?” He kneels down, but since he's so much taller than me, I can see his crotch now. “Answer me, Alyx.”
“Collin,” I say, in a very small, shaky voice, “I'm sorry.” My hands move to my knees, palms up towards the ugly, naked tree branches above our heads. Since they seem to have a mind of their own most of the time, my hands begin to shake as much as my voice. “I'm sorry I made you run.”
My lips quiver. “I've put you through a lot of shit, haven't I?” My eyes start to burn, because I don't think they can produce tears anymore.
“Don't say that, Alyx. I really don't like to run, but you were going to run away and I didn't want to let that happen.” Collin puts a hand on my arm, but I don't look. My eyes hurt too much to move a few degrees to the left.
“Don't...touch...me.” My whole body starts to shake now. My hands reach up to grab my hair again, my mouth opens, and the loudest scream I can muster escapes.
* * *
Jessica Varner, PhD, is my Psycho Therapist. She shares a floor of a building with another Psycho Therapist, who I haven't met before. The second floor of a random building has one secretary, five chairs in the waiting room along with magazines and a radio that plays terrible music. Jessica Varner has an office, the other therapist has an office, and there are two other rooms, one of them is a music room.
Jessica Varner PhD's office is large and open. She has a desk with a computer and some pictures. There is a couch with soft pillows, a coffee table. Across the table there is a chair where she sits while the patient pours out his or her feelings while she sits there making notes in her notebook. Jessica is maybe thirty-something, with (blonde) hair and (brown) eyes. Today her hair is pinned back in a loose bun. She's wearing a blue tunic that's way too baggy, jeans, and a bunch of necklaces.
“Welcome back, Alyx,” she says when I sit down on the couch. “It's been a while since we've seen each other, hasn't it?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Did you go to school today?” I nod. “How was it?”
“It was okay,” I tell her. “A lot of people seemed glad to see me. I got a lot of paper-bag notes in Psychology, mostly from my friend Collin, and one from my friends Ashley and Cameron.”
“Paper-bag notes?” Jessica asks.
“My Psychology teacher had this idea of putting anonymous, encouraging notes into paper bags—everyone has a paper bag—and it was meant to cheer us up, especially for the shy kids. If you think so-and-so's essay about a topic was good and you don't want to tell them personally, you can just leave them a note,” I explain.
Jessica Varner PhD nods. “I see. What did your notes say?”
“They mostly said how much they missed me, how boring class was, and something about not wanting 'the rumors' to be true.”
“I found out today that most of the school thought I killed myself because I didn't show up for a week.” I stare at the carpet under my feet. It's (cream), and looks like it's been vacuumed recently.
There is a moment of silence in the room. I hear the wind blowing outside, and a branch from a nearby tree tapping the window at the wind blows. Jessica doesn't write in her notebook, all she does is breathe. I breathe with her. She stares at me for a long time, and I stare down at the floor again because her staring is creeping me out.
“Alyx,” she finally says, “I was informed by doctor Kurt Manning from Coldgrove General Hospital that you, er, survived an overdose of your prescribed sleeping pills.”
“Yup,” I reply, picking up a pillow. I stroke it like it's a cat. “That is what I did, and now everybody is pissed at me, even though it was an accident. Are you going to scream at me about it, too? If you are, I am out of here.”
“I'm not here to scold for you what you did, even though it's not one of your best decisions,” Jessica says gently. “I just wanted to talk about it with you. And make sure you're all right.”
“I'm just dandy,” I mutter, setting the pillow beside me. I pick up a magazine on the coffee table and start flipping through it.
“Do you remember the night you overdosed?” she asks.
“Somewhat,” I reply. I stop flipping the pages when I reach a page containing photos from some 1,000,000th academy awards ceremony. The women are wearing outrageous, but stunning dresses. Even the uglier women look better than I ever will.
“Can you tell me about it? Can you tell me why you decided to overdose?”
I flip through the pages again. Reality television show stars dish on their pregnancy cravings, their breakups, their plans to make another million dollars per episode. “I wasn't the one who decided to do it,” I say, still looking at the glossy pages. “I was kind of, you know...tricked into doing it.”
Jessica nods. “How so?”
“I couldn't sleep that night. I was laying in my bed, listening to music—I do that a lot if I can't sleep—but then, something weird happened. I could hear The Voices over my music. Nineteen started scaring me, telling me horrible things about myself—” I don't plan to ever tell Jessica Varner PhD Nineteen reminded me of That Night “—that I'm not going to repeat. I told Them I couldn't sleep, so Ninety-five suggested sleeping pills. Nineteen, the really evil one that controls what I say, agreed with Ninety-five and she brought me to the kitchen, and I took one pill. The weird thing is, she was being really nice to me, which is unusual.
“Nineteen told me to wait about thirty minutes, to let the pill work so I could go to sleep. I waited, but nothing happened. I didn't even yawn. When the thirty minutes were up, Nineteen brought me the bottle of pills and a big bottle of water. She forced me into over-dosing. She tricked me.”
I stop flipping the pages of the magazine, stopping at a picture of some woman I haven't seen before. She's pretty.
“I finally fell asleep, but, I kind of remember something happening, something really gross. I don't know if this was real or not, but I remember getting up, running to the bathroom, and puking into the toilet. Or maybe someone took me there, I don't know. I puked five times, I think, and I think I might've had a seizure. I remember shaking like crazy on the bathroom floor for what seemed like a very long time—until someone took me back to my room and to my bed.
“I felt like I was slowing down. My head stopped pounding, I stopped shaking. I was laying very still in my bed. My heart was slowing down, too. I was losing my mind, I think. For a minute I totally forgot who I was, but then I remembered. The Voices were disappearing, too, which was a miracle! They were falling to their death—no, being sucked into a black hole. They were actually gone! I wanted to be happy, but I felt like I was shutting down. My heartbeat was slowing, my breathing was slowing, and I couldn't move.
“The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.”
Fifteen: Cool story, sis.
Jessica Varner PhD slowly nods as she writes in her notebook. “Number Nineteen tricked you into doing that? I see.” She stops writing. “Do you think Nineteen told you to do that for a reason?”
“She's the most evil Voice,” I say. “She hates me more than everybody else combined. I can't understand why she feels this way towards me. I hate her back, though.” I pause. “I think Nineteen was trying to kill me.”
|posts in thread|
Dec 1, 10 at 6:54pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Awesome chapter! Nice and long. (:
MORE MORE MORE MORE PLEASE ^^
quote Name Undisclosed
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Dec 5, 10 at 11:53pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
credit to me (xyxterftw on deviantART)
Once upon a time, a fifteen-year-old girl named Alyxandra Sawhill was raped at a back-to-school party held by Tyler and Damian Richmand. Many of Damian's junior and senior friends were attending, and the majority of them brought alcoholic beverages. Tyler was a sophomore, but because of his brother's popularity, he was able to invite several alcohol-bringing friends, as well.
Alyxandra and her best friend Autumn were definitely going to the party, as Alyx had been in puppy-love with Tyler for many years. Alyx and Tyler had conversed with each other many times over the course of the years they had known each other, but they had never been close enough. This night, this party, was Alyx's chance to get closer with Tyler. She wanted to talk to him, just a little bit. Maybe even get closer to him.
Alyx's plan had worked—she and Tyler had gotten very close, indeed. In fact, they got as close as two humans could possibly get. Yes; sex. Except for the fact it wasn't very passionate. Tyler did all the work while Alyx screamed under his hand which was over her mouth. He made his version of love to her with all the passion he could manage. Inoutinoutinoutinout, he made her bleed. Alyx tried to push him off, really, she tried, but he was too heavy and refused to get off of her for what seemed like hours of bleeding and crying and hurting.
He raped her.
* * *
...And he scarred her for life.
Emotionally and physically.
Finally, he left the room and they never spoke again. Alyx thought Tyler was drunk, but if he was, why did he put so much work into raping her? Why would he keep at it for so long? Why did he cover her mouth while she tried to scream for help—even though nobody was going to hear it anyways? Why did he sound so scary, so threatening? If he was drunk he wouldn't have ripped off her clothes. If he was drunk, he would have been gentle.
When school started again that Monday—after Autumn came out of the hospital from minor injuries from the car crash—Alyx wasn't hungover anymore, but the images from the night of September 18th were still flashing in her head. Inoutinoutinoutohyesalyxyesyesyes.
Nopleasestop. Stopittylerpleasestopityou'rehurtingme. GetoffofmeorIwillripoffyourdick.
Alyx tried to stay strong. She smiled at people she knew, talked to her “friends,” acted like nothing terrible had happened over the weekend. She assisted Autumn with walking to her locker, since she was a little shaky. When lunch came around, she ate like a normal person, even though she wanted to throw up after every bite. She hadn't eaten since the party, but she didn't want to eat.
When she got home that day, she didn't rush up to her bedroom to do her homework. In fact, she rushed up to her room to throw herself onto her bed and stay under the covers until dinner time, to make her parents think she was going to take a nap. She wanted to nap, very badly in fact, but she couldn't even manage to close her eyes for more than a second. Why? Because We began to take over. I think it was One who started whispering to Alyx first. That's why we called her One. Then Two came along. Three. Four. Five. Sixseveneightnineteneleventwelve, the list goes on.
Alyx started freaking out about The Voices in her head because she didn't know what was going on. She didn't know why she started hearing more than One. They went up in size each day. They called her ugly (she is), fat (she is), a whore (she definitely is), one-night-stand (indeed), and many other things that drove her insane. So insane, she did something very, very naughty.
In January, when the first semester exams were on their way, Alyx wrote something in her diary for the first time in a long time. Her mom bought the thing for her when she was in middle school, since that's when puberty and emotional changes began to happen—all the typical girly crap diaries are for. Alyx never filled the diary up, and one day when she was supposed to be doing History homework, she found her diary in the desk drawer. Half of it still had pages that needed filling up, so Alyx ditched her homework and wrote and drew and scribbled.
The following Saturday, Alyx and her best friend Autumn went to the mall together, even though Alyx would have gladly stayed home and slept the whole day through. But since they were best friends, Alyx went shopping with Autumn, even though there was nothing of interest to do there. Sure, everything was cheaper because the holiday sales were over and the stores were hiring again, but there was nothing Alyx wanted to buy, not even food.
Autumn shopped and chattered happily about the new guy in her Science class—a foreign exchange student from somewhere in England. He was so hot he had the best accent he was so sexy Autumn just wanted to ram him as hard as she could because she was the slutty type of best friend but still the best any girl could ask for. Autumn offered to pay for lunch (Taco Bell, cheap bitch), but Alyx just stared at the table, not looking at the food, which smelled delicious. However, as Autumn slurped her Coke, her cell phone, which was sitting on the table, began to ring. Confused, since she was not expecting a call, she picked up the phone and pressed the green button that was shaped like a phone.
The call was from Alyx's mother, who screamed that they needed to come to the front entrance of the mall now, and she was sorry but Alyx had to go somewhere, and Autumn was not allowed to come. Autumn, horrified at Lynda Sawhill's screaming voice, pressed the End button and told Alyx what Lynda had said. Utterly confused, the girls headed out of the food court and found the main entrance of the mall. Sure enough, Brian Sawhill's truck was sitting there, and he honked the horn, signaling for Alyx to hurry up and get in the truck.
Alyx apologized and said goodbye to her friend, and reluctantly hopped into the truck. Her sister Robyn wasn't there, which was unusual. The way Autumn had imitated her mother implied it was a family emergency, like a grandparent or aunt or uncle had been killed. But no, this was something different. Brian said he'd explain everything when they arrived at their destination. Alyx sat in the car for the next thirty minutes, wondering what the hell was going on. As she looked out the window—Brian and Lynda refused to talk to her, or each other—she realized that they were driving to a place she hadn't visited in three years since breaking her nose—the hospital.
Brian dropped off his wife and his first-born daughter. Lynda practically dragged Alyx into the hospital. First, they sat in the waiting room and registered to be called in. Lynda had a large purse with her, which Alyx and Robyn nicknamed The Purse because it had everything possible inside of it. She opened up The Purse, fished out a book from Alyx's room, and handed it to her daughter.
“What will I need this for?”
“You might be here a while.” Lynda didn't look at her daughter as she spoke. She picked at her manicured nails.
Alyx opened up the book, but all she saw were paragraphs from sentences from words from letters. She indeed saw the words, but her brain was screwing up more every minute. She couldn't comprehend even one sentence.
Eventually, a nurse called out “Alyxandra Sawhill.” Alyx and Lynda stood up and followed the nurse into a hallway, which lead into a new hallway that went horizontal instead of vertical. Nurses and doctors bustled about, some carrying clipboards or trays of food. Alyx peered into rooms that were supposed to be hidden by curtains, but they were open for everyone to see: old people with breathing masks, a girl whose face was literally green, a teenage boy who was reading a book in his bed.
Finally, they reached an empty room, which had a door instead of curtains. The room was small, with white walls, a bed, and a chair. In the upper corner of a wall there was a security camera. Alyx looked at the nurse suspiciously. “Excuse me, Miss, but why's there a camera in here?”
The nurse looked up at the ceiling where the camera was, and shrugged. “I'm actually not sure if those work or not. I'll go get you a gown, and a doctor will be with you shortly. You can sit on the bed if you'd like to, Alice.”
“Her name's Alyx,” Lynda said, with a very cold tone of voice.
“Alyx. Right.” The nurse left, Alyx sat on the bed, and Lynda sat down in the chair, pulled out a magazine from The Purse, and put it an inch away from her face, like she was trying to hide it. The nurse returned, and handed Alyx the gown. “I'll be back in a minute to take your blood pressure and temperature.”
The nurse left again. Lynda didn't peek out from her magazine, so Alyx stripped out of her clothes and into the ugly hospital gown, struggling to tie it so her back wouldn't show. The nurse came in again, holding an arm cuff used to take blood pressure. Obediently, Alyx held out her arm and the nurse took her blood pressure, then wrote it down on a clipboard. The nurse pulled out a pen, clicked a button and a bright light shone from one end. “Look at me,” the nurse said. Alyx stared at the nurse as she moved the light left and right, up and down.
“Looks good,” the nurse said to Lynda. “Dr. Fred Carter will come shortly.”
The nurse left. Alyx stared at the wall for what seemed like forever, not even blinking, until Lynda stood up and marched out of the room with The Purse. Since there was a tiny window on the door, Alyx went over to the door, stood on her toes and peeked out. Lynda was talking to a doctor, who looked very serious, nodding quite a bit. The doc glanced over, and Alyx hurried back to her bed.
The door opened, and the doctor and Lynda walked in. Lynda sat in the chair again, but the doctor smiled at Alyx and began asking a bunch of questions. Howareyoudoyouknowwhyyou'rehere? Ohyoudon't? Wellyourmotherhasmanyconcernsbecauseof whatshefoundinyourdiary. Areyouhavinganysuicidalthoughts? Haveyoueverself-mutilated? Doyoufeelsomeoneiscontrollingyou? Areyouhearinganyvoicesareyouseeingthings? Doyoufeellikepeopleareouttogetyou?
Another doctor came in two seconds after Fred Carter has asked the last question. Dr. Richard Fox, some kind of mental health specialist. Dr. Fox looked at Alyx and started saying random things: “Obvious chemical imbalance, lack of emotion, we should do a blood test.”
Dr. Carter agreed with Dr. Fox, who asked Alyx if she was afraid of needles, even though she was a big girl and shouldn't have been afraid of them. She shrugged, as she didn't really care for needles. “I don't mind needles,” she said. “I kind of like the pain.”
“Mrs. Sawhill, would you mind just waiting outside for a few minutes? Dr. Fox and I would like to ask Alyxandra some personal questions.”
Wordlessly, Lynda stepped out of the room. Dr. Fox looked at Alyx and asked her more questions: Had she been drinking lately? Had she ever tried drugs? Marijuana, meth? Did she understand why she was here, Alyxandra?
When she replied No to the last question, Dr. Fox pulled out a few pieces of paper. Alyx looked at them, and realized they were photocopies of the random salad of words in her head from several days ago. Her eyes nearly popped out in disbelief. She started shouting, That sneaky little bitch! Snooping through my shit again!
The doctors seemed slightly appalled at Alyxandra's outburst. Alyxandra explained how Lynda was famous for snooping through her belongings, especially her diary, which had been hiding under Alyx's mattress after she was done with it. The doctors nodded, but explained that Lynda was very concerned, and they were glad Alyx was here, because she could have done something horrible like committing suicide.
“Why do people think killing yourself is such a horrible thing?” Alyx asked without any emotion. “Would they rather you be killed by being skinned and beheaded, then put on display for everyone to see? Or a simple, peaceful death by overdosing on sleeping pills?”
“Disorganized thinking,” Dr. Carter murmured to his partner in crime.
“What?” Alyx asked.
Dr. Carter explained that judging by her actions and train of thought, he thought she had some kind of “mental illness,” as he called it. Or not, maybe she was just feeling down today, or just needed someone to talk to. If that was the case, he was happy to help. Or, if she preferred, he could bring in a female doctor if Alyx felt uncomfortable.
But even if a mental illness wasn't the case, there could be something else wrong. They were going to have to do a blood test, a urine test, and have her talk with another expert/psychologist/psychotherapist, just in case, just to make sure, justjustjust.
An hour later they did a blood test. They took Alyx's O positive blood in three little containers, and it only hurt when they took the needles out. They left and said they'd be back later, but if she needed to pee it was okay for her to leave the room and ask a nurse for a cup to pee in. Obviously, Alyx was unable to pee under pressure, so it was two hours and a meal later that she did pee. The nurse from earlier, Nina, brought Alyx a plastic box with a sandwich cut in half, some apple sauce and apple juice. It didn't taste like anything, but Alyx ate the whole meal because she was hungry. Later, a woman and Dr. Fox came into Alyx's room and asked her a bunch of questions.
Areyouhearinganyvoices? Really? Whataretheysayingtoyou? Aretheycallingyoubadnamesandmakingfunofyou? Doyoufeellikepeopleareouttogetyou? Doyoufindyourselfsittingstillforlongperiodsoftime? Doyouthinkyourfeelingstowardseverythingarenegative?
Yes. TheytellmeI'mawhoreandIshouldkillmyself. Yestheycallmefatandstupidandugly. Yesthey'reallouttogetmeI'msoscared. YesbutIdon'tknowwhythatis. YesIdon'tfeellikegoingplacesorevengoingtoschool. IjustwanttostayhomeandsleepbutMomwon'tletme.
Lots and lots of questions, more answers. The female expert murmured to Dr. Fox about some kind of medicine for Alyx to take. Alyx told the expert and Dr. Fox everything she could think of that was going on in her head, but the only thing she didn't mention was what happened the night of September 18th the previous year at the Richmands' back to school party. That would cause a commotion. The police would have to be inf—no, that wouldn't happen because there was no proof. Alyx took a bath when she got home, and the next morning took one of her mother's morning-after pills. She got her period a few weeks later. There was no proof.
She knew it happened, it really happened. She was a regular fifteen-year-old girl that night, until the incident happened. She had friends, hobbies, went places, did her homework, went to school, didn't hear any Voices in her head. After Tyler showed his true colors, Alyx showed hers. Her monsters, her evils, came out to play because Tyler welcomed them out to play.
Right there, in her hospital room with Dr. Fox and the woman, Alyx started to cry. The docs were baffled because this was the most emotion she had shown them all day. Alyx said she was scared, she didn't want to be crazy. She wanted to go back to normal. She didn't know why she wrote that stuff in her diary. The Voices took over, it wasn't her. The Voices were evil and They just wanted to take over and make her crazy, she said. She didn't mean to do it, honest. It's not her fault it's not her fault.
The docs told her to calm down, calm down Alyxandra. We're going to do some tests. We're all experts at this. It's not likely there's something overly wrong going on with you, you're still a teenager. But if these tests show up positive, we're going to make sure you get the best treatment possible. Don't worry, everything will be finefinefine.
They did a brain scan a couple of hours later. The woman running the machine told Alyx she had to lay very still and this would only take two minutes. Alyx lay down on a metal bed, was covered in a heavy blanket that looked like a fire retardant, and closed her eyes. The bed moved in towards the machine, and Alyx heard a loud buzzing noise. She eventually slid out of the machine, and the woman said “All done! The results should come back within a few minutes!”
Alyx was led to her room by the lady expert, whose name happened to be Jennifer Holliday, PhD, MD, and a bunch of other doctoral things. Alyx sat in her bed, staring at the book that she still hadn't read. The cover didn't look very interesting, so she left the book where it was. The woman who worked the MRI scanner burst into the room, holding papers that looked like Xray results. “Jennifer?” she said.
“Excuse me a minute,” Jennifer Holliday said to Alyx. She left the room and Alyx stared at the white walls for what seemed like forever. When she was getting impatient, Alyx walked up to the door and peeked out of the window. Jennifer Holliday was talking to Lynda, holding up the pictures of Alyx's brain. Lynda looked hysterical, she was yelling, but Alyx couldn't understand her through the metal door. Not wanting to be caught, she headed back to her bed and sat down obediently, crossing her legs. The metal door opened; Jennifer and Lynda walked in.
“Alyxandra, honey? I'm afraid I have some...not-so-good news.”
|posts in thread|
Dec 6, 10 at 6:52pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Ah, I've been wondering about this for a while. Moar pls? :3
quote Name Undisclosed
|posts in thread|
Dec 9, 10 at 11:57pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Amazing! I wonder if the Anonymous person is gonna be important later in the story or if we will even find out.
What to do now.
|posts in thread|
Dec 16, 10 at 3:03am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
twenty-nine ~ trashing it up
Credit to m0thyyku from deviantART
“And here I am,” I say, taking one final puff of my cigarette before throwing it out the car window. Cameron hands me a new cigarette and the lighter, and I light myself up. I look out the window at the cliffs, the hiking trail just a few yards and some hundred yards down. A bird flies over the car, honking away. I think it's a Canada Goose. Canada's not too far from here, so I guess the goose is flying back from Mexico.
It's a Friday afternoon, and school ended about half an hour ago. I didn't have the chance to hang out with Cameron at lunch the last two days, because I had a couple make-up tests for English and History. So, here we are, chilling in his car near a cliff, smoking his cheap cigarettes. I should steal some from his glove box if he steps out of the car. I think Dad's starting to notice his own cigs going missing.
Cameron stares out the window of the dashboard with a blank look in his eyes. I watch the ashes pile up on his cigarette. He blinks after half a minute, inhales carbon monoxide, and flicks the ashes out the window. “That,” he says, “sounds pretty damn trippy.”
I roll my eyes and take a puff of smoke. I cough. “I wasn't tripping,” I say. “It was real. Now I'm out of gym for two weeks.”
Cameron looks up at the rear view mirror, then back out at the trees below us. “Yeah. You were out for a week, after all...Hey.”
“When you said you were in a coma—” he pauses to take a puff, then exhale “—What happened? Did you have really cool dreams? Nightmares? Saw the light?”
I think for a second, trying to remember. I remember the few minutes that felt like hours where my heart was slowing down, and I remember waking up in the hospital, but in between that? I can't remember anything, except total blackness. I didn't see a light, either, but when I was closing my eyes after my seizure, I might have seen a star. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I with I might have the wish I wish tonight. That kind of star. But it faded because my eyes stopped moving.
It felt like a long time, the blackness. Usually, when I sleep, I close my eyes and then the alarm clock rings half a second later. But when I was comatose, I actually got my rest, even though I was still tired the next few days.
“Nothing happened,” I say to Cameron, who looks a bit disappointed. “It was just total darkness.”
“Oh,” he says, looking out the window again.
“So...what did you do while I was gone?” I ask. “In school, I mean.”
“Didn't really learn a lot,” he says, flicking some ashes out the window. “I'm not good at making friends, so I didn't do that. I guess I've settled into the world of school at Coldgrove quite nicely.”
“That's good.” I look out of my own window and blow a puff of smoke out into the light breeze. “My sister just helped me remember a lot of stuff, while I was in the hospital. She told me about my life, and her life. It was pretty interesting. When I got home, I explored the house a bit, and my memory came back quickly.”
“You get amnesia after a coma?”
“Yeah, but mine wasn't too bad because I was only out for three days,” I explain.
“Pretty weird it was only three days,” Cameron says, looking at me. “You downed have a bottle of sleeping pills. How much is that? Twenty? You should have been dead or something. Your kidneys should have exploded. You should have been writing in pain for a month, because when it's a suicide attempt they won't let you have a transplant from a donor, even if you decide you want to live!”
He slams his fists on the steering wheel and the horn blares. “Jesus!” I say. “Why are you so mad at me?”
He sighs. “I'm not mad at you. Sorry. It's just...why did you live? If there is no God, why did you live? He'd let people die if they were trying to kill themselves. Yeah, I know Jesus saves, but...”
“What the hell are you on about?” I ask. “I wasn't trying to kill myself.”
“Why did you live and he didn't?” Cameron continues. He throws his cigarette out the window, and puts hid head in his hands. “Don't take this personally, Alyx, but why him and not you? He got hit by a train. Yeah, he was trying to kill himself, but he died on impact. You weren't trying to—I don't know what the hell you were trying to do—but you lived.”
“It was an accident,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow.
“That's what everyone said,” he continues, staring at the steering wheel. “'He shouldn't have been wandering around on the tracks.' 'He should have.' 'You could have.' Like it was all his fault, or all my fault or something.”
“Cameron.” I put my hand on his arm. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Remember a week or so ago I told you that I watched my best friend get hit by a train?”
“Well, that's what happened to me.” Cameron closes his eyes for a full minute. I watch him. “His name was Eddy and he was my best friend for twelve years, since we were four. When we were in middle school, he came out of the closet, but only to his friends. He told his family two years later, in high school, and he got kicked out of his house, so my mom let him stay with us. We later adopted him.
“Over the next two years, Eddy started getting depressed after my diagnosis with schizo-affective disorder. But before I get into his depression, I just wanted to inform you that my dad as put into jail because he shot someone. When I learned he was going to be in there for 18 months, I just shut down. He was my role model. He was my best friend, other than Eddy. We did a lot of father-son things: Baseball games, fishing, taking rides on four-wheelers. When Eddy came to live with us, my dad treated him like another son, because I had always been an only child.
“Then, he shot someone.
“A few months before that happened, Eddy started shutting down. He didn't talk to me too much anymore, even though we were best friends and brothers bonded by adoption. I'm not exactly sure what was going on inside his head. His grades were slipping and he didn't hang out with our friends anymore. When I got home from hanging out with the guys after school, he'd always be in his room staring out the window. There were a few LGBT students at our school, and we had a GSA—Gay-Straight Alliance—club, too, but he stopped going.
“I think it finally kicked in with him—he was adopted by my family, and his biological parents hadn't even called him since the adoption was final. I'm not sure what the last thing they told him was, but it must have made him upset because he wasn't too happy the day everything was finalized, though he should have been.
“His depression lasted six months. Our mom took him to a therapist, but he didn't help. The therapist put him on medication, which just made him gain weight, which didn't make him any happier. I don't mean to sound like a dick, but he was really vain, probably 'cause he was gay and all.
“By the time six months hit, of his depression, I mean, he was himself again. He said hi to people at school, helped Mom with dinner and played video games with me again. His grades went back up from low Cs to high Bs. He went back to the GSA club whenever it was held. This happiness thing lasted a month and a half. Then, when the sixth week hit, he stopped. He stopped going to the GSA, stopped hanging out with me and our friends again. He barely came out of his room; would only talk to me if I came in to ask him what was up.
“One day, two weeks after he was unhappy again, he took me out after school so we could hang out together, just the two of us. We went to a burrito joint, since it was after school and we were starving. We got large burritos, which were about eight dollars, but they were a foot long and totally worth it. I remember I got a steak burrito with green onions, and Eddy got a chicken burrito with extra lettuce. We bought Cokes and ate our food in the shop, talking about how much of a bitch Miss Rogers was that day, as we both had the same English class.
“Eddy and I finished our burritos, headed out of the shop, and started walking down the street. A few blocks from the joint was a park that leads into a forest, and behind the forest are some train tracks. We walked through the park together, and Eddy was talking about something—actually, no, a lot of things at once. His mind was all over the place. I just listening to him, totally confused. Over the past two months, when Dad was placed in jail, my mind went all over the place, too, but I kept it all inside of my own head.
“We got to the train tracks a few minutes after we entered the forest area. It was a lonely day, though it was sunny. Though, it was March and it was all wet and muddy. My shoes were kind of old, so the mud didn't bother me too much. However, Eddy's shoes were a month old, pretty new, and usually he'd be wearing his trendy black rainboots, but not that day. I was kind of concerned, but didn't mention it. When we arrived at the train tracks, there were two thugs smoking, but when they saw us, they left.
“Eddy stopped talking for a minute and looked out at the tracks. I looked at him straight in the eyes, and I noticed they were red. Not in the way he'd been crying or something, but as if he was high. I asked him, 'Eddy, man, are you high?' and he said, 'Did some Mary Jane at lunch, that's why you couldn't find me,' and I said 'Eddy, why? Who'd you do it with?' and he told me 'With the guys,' meaning the bad guys at our school.
“I can't recite exactly what he said, but the gist of it was that he was admitting to me he was depressed, and he thought she had something called schizophrenia. He told me that lately he had been researching the Columbine High School massacre, for the past two weeks, and he considered doing the same thing at our school. Then, he realized it wouldn't give him any satisfaction, so he wanted to do something different. 'But what?' he said. 'I don't know what else I can do. The school massacre thing is a great idea, isn't it, Cam, but I don't have anything against anybody.'
“I just kept looking at him, not saying a single word, while he continued. He told me all about the Columbine Massacre, and even gave me a quote from one of the gunmen, Eric Harris—'It's fun being schizophrenic.' I then finally realized where Eddy was coming from. 'Eddy, man,' I said, 'Why do you think you have schizophrenia?' and he said a bunch of stuff—he was hearing voices, he didn't want to hang out with people anymore, he found himself staring at his walls and writing on them. He said everything that was going on, was because his parents hated the fact he was gay, and that struck him hard.
“At that point, he was going crazy. He couldn't stop moving around, like he had ADHD or something. I told him we could just go to the therapist again, but Eddy said no, therapists suck and they don't help because they don't care—they just deal with Crazies for the money. Which is true, but therapy was still a good option for Eddy. Or a psychiatrist, to give him some meds. But Eddy refused. He started telling me to take care of Mom, that I could have his stash of candies in the truck at the foot of his bed, that I could have all his shoes because we had the same size feet.
“I put my hand on his arm, and told him to shut up, stop giving me all this bullshit, stop trying to scare me! He told me sorry over and over again, his voice cracking with every apology. 'This was the only way,' he said. 'My parents—not ours—hate me because I'm gay. No boy will ever go out with me because I have schizophrenia. If I wanted to do a Columbine-type thing, I'd get capital punishment. What I'm going to do is the only way out.'
“'Eddy,' I said. He was walking away from me, standing on the tracks. The ground around us was rattling. A train was coming. 'Eddy!' I screamed, over and over again. I couldn't move, because I was panicking. 'Don't do it! Don't you dare f-cking do it! Suicide is for cowards, you freaking idiot! Stop it!' The train was coming faster. I started screaming again like a little girl.
“Before I could have done anything, the train hit him. I heard a scream that dragged on for about ten seconds. Blood spattered a few meters in front of me, and all I could do was just stand there with my hand covering my mouth while the train rolled away as if the conductor had no idea he had just hit a 16-year-old boy. After a minute, everything was quiet. I finally got the nerve to walk up to the tracks, and when I saw my brother, mingled, bloody and dead, all I could do was run. I ran back through the forest, through the park, until I could find someone, anyone.
“I found a girl and her boyfriend. I asked them, panting, if either of them had a cell phone because there was an accident. They looked at me weirdly, because I was freaking out and crying. The girl handed me her phone and I dialed 911 frantically. While the phone was ringing, I apologized over and over to the girl and guy and explained that my brother had jumped in front of a train. Finally, the 911 operator picked up. 'Hello, 911, what's your emergency?' 'My brother jumped in front of a train! He jumped in front of a f-cking train! Please, you have to help me, I'm using a random person's phone, I swear to God I didn't push him, he was suicidal and possibly schizophrenic and please, help me!' I was crying like a total baby. The woman told me to calm down. I told her which park it was, that the location was behind the forest. She told me an ambulance and the police were coming. When I heard the sirens, we hung up.
“The ambulance sped into the park on the cement path, a police car behind it. I handed the girl her phone, thanked her, and ran for the ambulance. The paramedics hopped out, and I told them to follow me. They said no, just hop in and tell us where to go. I did as I was told—I was still hysterical, repeating over and over again that I didn't do it. The female paramedic told me to calm down. When we finally got there, the female stayed with me in the ambulance and told me to tell her everything while the police and a team of other guys, coroners, I guessed, checked out Eddy's body.
“I told the paramedic everything Eddy had told me, up to the part where I freaked out and found the girl with the cell phone. She took notes in a notebook, hopped out of the ambulance, and talked to a police officer for a long time, pointing at me a few times. The officer nodded, and gestured for me to come out of the ambulance. I repeated everything I had told the paramedic, and the officer nodded. I think he believed me, because he told me to calm down. He gave me his cellphone, so I called my mom, who screamed when I told her what had happened. The officer took the phone, tried to clam down my mother. I don't know what she said, but the officer said to come to the hospital, we'd all meet her there. They hung up after a few more words.
“I kept apologizing over and over again. The officer told me to calm down, calm down. He put me in the police car after the paramedics had put Eddy's body on the stretcher, and we followed the ambulance to the hospital. We met Mom at the hospital, and she was going insane. We hugged each other in a waiting room, both crying like crazy. People stared at us in concern, because who would have known I had a suicidal brother, she had a suicidal son, and he went through with it?
“Not even an hour later, a doctor called us in. He took us into Eddy's room—he was just laying there in his stretcher, blood everywhere, bones broken. Mom fainted, but I caught her. The doctor told us Eddy was dead. They were going to do an autopsy and phone in the results, and send it in the mail. 'I'm so sorry for your loss,' he said, 'but if you could fill out some forms, that would be great.'
“The autopsy results came in two days later, by the phone. Eddy had died from head trauma, bleeding to death, and impact from the train hitting him. There were traces of marijuana in his system, and a bunch of stuff I didn't understand. They said a copy of the autopsy report would come in sometime the next day.
“The mortician did a great job. It was an open-casket funeral, but you could only see Eddy's face. He wasn't bloody and broken. He was sleeping forever. I was kind of glad that his funeral body was the last memory I'd have of his face—the sight of his fresh, dead body still gives me nightmares.
Cameron stares at the steering wheel. I stare at him, my eyes wide. I can't say anything. My heart has skipped a beat. Cameron is motionless. He hasn't even reached for a cigarette, which is weird, because he's always smoking. He's not crying, or showing signs of doing so.
“I don't...I don't know what to say,” I whisper.
“I'm so sorry,” I say, staring at the glove compartment. “That must have been horrible. Really.”
“Yeah.” Cameron finally moves; he lights up a cigarette and sticks it in his mouth. We sit there in silence for ten minutes while he smokes it. He tosses it out the window when he's done. Then, he turns the key around in the ignition, making the car roar to life.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I don't know.” He backs up, makes a sharp turn onto the road, and drives. He drives like a normal person, instead of his usual maniac-like driving. We drive past cliffs and cars, and soon we are driving into civilization. When we reach a neighborhood, we turn back and drive towards the cliffs again. I look at Cameron as he drives, his face like stone. We pull into where the car was sitting, on a cliff.
“Get out of the car,” Cameron says to me, monotone.
“Just get out, Alyx.”
“I will if you tell me why I should get out.”
He sighs, but not in the annoyed way. “Remember how I said that I told Eddy suicide is for cowards?” I nod. “I'm glad you didn't do it, Alyx. I'm sorry about what I said earlier, about you still being alive and Eddy being dead. I didn't mean it that way, if it offended you. I'm glad you're still alive. You have it worse than I do, I guess, but you're such a strong person.”
“I don't have it worse than you do,” I say. “Oh...oops...that was mean.”
“Okay, fine. No. We're at the same level, if you know what I'm talking about. But you're so strong, Alyx. You have friends—Ashley and Collin. I haven't had a best friend since Eddy. I don't know if you've ever lost a best friend to death or anything else, but unless you know how it feels...”
“I had a best friend. But she ditched me when I told her I'm a Phreak.”
“Okay. So you do know how it feels. But...I was right, Alyx. Suicide is for cowards.”
My heart stops for a second. Then it sprints. “Cameron, what...?”
“I'm a coward, Alyx. I admit it.” His hands shake. “I can't do anything right. I have no friends.”
“Cameron, I'm your friend,” I point out. “Right?”
“You think I'm weird, don't you.”
“Sometimes,” I admit, “but you're tolerable. Think of two weeks ago, when we first met, that lunch period in your car. You were so happy and you were laughing like a lunatic, but you were so happy...Cameron. I know it's hard to have someone you love die, but Eddy would have wanted you to live. He would have wanted you to keep living and be happy.”
“He was messed up. He didn't care about anybody.” Cameron puts his forehead on the edge of the steering wheel. “Not even himself.”
“I wonder how much pain he felt. When the train hit him.” He looks up, his face thoughtful. “It must have hurt, having hundred of train wheels running over your bones and body, breaking every single one. Crushing you, making you bleed to death. Cutting open the skin of your legs, your muscles or fat flaying out across the wooden tracks. I wonder what his last thought was.”
“Alyx, please get out of the car and take your backpack,” he says in a very calm voice. “You don't want to get hurt, do you?”
“Get out, Alyx.”
I take my backpack and put my hand on the door of my side of the car. “You're not going to do what he did, are you?” I ask. My lips quiver. “Please don't do it, Cameron. You were scarred by Eddy's body on the tracks—do you really think you're going to give me the same vision of you? Do you know how many people you're going to hurt if you drive your car off this goddamn cliff?”
“Only me,” he mutters.
“If you don't want to be scarred for life, get out of my f-cking car, and run. I don't care if you have asthma, you run, Alyx. And you don't call for help. Just leave me here to die from the pain, impact, head trauma, whatever happens. But if you don't want to run, just cover your eyes.”
“Stop saying my name, Alyx! Just get out of the freaking car!”
“No! I am not letting you do this! Stay here, please, talk to me!” I grab his arm. “Tell me what's going on. I'll—no, just get out of the car. Get out, put yourself in the passenger seat, and I'll drive! I'll drive us to the hospital so you can get help and everything will be okay!”
Cameron sighs through his nose. He clicks the seatbelt button, gets out of the car. I watch as he comes around to my side. He opens the door, grabs my arm, and yanks me out of the car, nearly ripping my arm out of the socket. He climbs in the car, closes the door, and shifts into the driver's seat.
“Cameron!” I scream. I pound on the window. “Don't do it, you idiot! Think of Eddy! Think of him! Live! Don't do it! Please!” I choke on my words. I pound on the window again, Cameron rolls it down.
“Step back,” he says.
He revs the engine, making me jump back, startled. He revs it again, and my hands fly up to my mouth. “No!” I scream again. “Nonononono! No!”
He backs up. At top speed, he drives upwards. His car crashes through the metal fence keeping people away from jumping off the cliff. My mouth lets out the loudest scream it can manage, muffled because of my hands. “Nooooooo!”
The car flies off the edge of the cliff. I scream again. It goes downdowndown, then it crashes into the ground. THUMP. My eyes widen until they are like plates. Everything is silent. “CAMERON!” I scream, my hands clutching at my hair. “CAMERON! NO!” I run to the fence, hold on to the edge, and peer downwards. Smoke is rising, and it hits my face.
Everything is silent again, except for my shaky breathing coming from my mouth. Silent tears pour down my cheeks, and my hand reaches for my mouth again. Birds are screeching and they fly up, through the smoke. They screech and fly somewhere, terrified that a car has come crashing through their tree.
I back up. I keep walking backwards until my feet stop on the gravel beside the road. All I can hear is the rapid pounding of my heart. I'm going to have a heart attack. I just witnessed a suicide. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. He told me to run. I have to listen to one of his last requests. I started running, backpack over one shoulder, screaming Help! over and over, at the top of my lungs.
|posts in thread|
Dec 16, 10 at 6:29pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
...wow. That was brilliant.
quote Name Undisclosed
|posts in thread|
Dec 19, 10 at 2:40am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I would totally love to read this...it's gonna take awhile (took me like, 2 days to catch up in Bloodthirst), but I um, watched that video. I AM JUST SO GLAD THAT YOU ARE NOT JUSTIN BIEBER. (Y)
Will edit when I um, start reading. *looks at HYUUUGE stack of books that are in my room longingly* D:
|posts in thread|
Dec 19, 10 at 3:19am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Neon Rainbow: thank you. it was one of those parts in this manuscript that i either choked up/cried writing, well, near the end of the chapter. (insert flashback of me bawling while writing "So I guess the goose is flying back from Mexico")
Liveslikebeth: good luck with that.
edit: v WOW.
|posts in thread|
Dec 20, 10 at 2:38am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I JUST HAD A HEART ATTACK! THAT WAS SO EPIC! HNNNNNG!
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