Chapter 59
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Oakley is nervous, shifting all over my lap, and it makes me take another swig from the bottle. Did I do something while I blacked out? Something to hurt him?
The idea makes a fierce kind of anger roll out of my chest, and it startles me at first. I didn’t ask for this emotion.
It’s like a fiery kind of possession. I didn’t pull it from my stack of carefully sorted ‘safe’ emotions.
It’s not a go-to when I want to escape. This is something else.
Something almost foreign…but as I sit with it, I realize it doesn’t feel wrong. Just different.
I’m losing more time. I sugar-coated it for Oakley, but I keep waking up in places I don’t remember going, and I can feel the demons in me so close to the surface.
They’re saying things that make me want to drink more and more to drown their fear.
They aren’t mean demons. Or, not all of them are. They’re mostly scared.
And fear is not one of my safe emotions.
“Ky…” Oakley is looking down at the space between us, and my stomach sinks. Oh my god, I did something.
You messed up! Fix it, fix it!
The feeling is so strong it nearly bows me over. By habit, I bring the bottle to my lips, then pause.
If drinking is causing the problems, I need to stop.
Oh fuck no. I can’t stop.
We have to.
My hand trembles there, halfway to my mouth.
“Holli thinks it’s not the drinking.”
That’s when I look at Oakley. Really look. What is he talking about?
“She’s a shrink, or whatever.” Oakley is biting his lip now, his plush, kissable lip, and it makes me want to both rip it out of his teeth so he doesn’t hurt himself and also bite him in punishment. I wonder if he’d even let me, since I clearly fucked up so badly.
“She thinks that…” Oakley shifts. “Have you ever heard of multiple personalities?”
Oakley actually looks at me, and I look back.
What is he on about? Those eyes of his are tortured, like they usually are.
Only this look is different from the one he gave me before he asked me to kiss him.
That one was stunning, pleading, exquisite—one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. This one looks…guarded.
“Yeah?” I think I’ve seen a movie with it or something.
Oakley rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…”
His words hang. Is he trying to tell me that’s what he has?
Immediately, I know I don’t care. So what if Oakley’s crazy? He has to put up with me, so that works out.
Putting the bottle down, I grab his hand. “I don’t care what you have, mousey. Everyone is a little crazy.”
Oakley gets the most adorable, confused look on his face. Then, he shakes his head. “No, not me, Ky. You.”
Me? I frown. What is he on about?
“The blackouts…she thinks that’s what’s causing it.” He won’t look at me. “Another…personality. I don’t know.” Oakley lets out a breath. “She didn’t want to tell you ‘cause…well, Wyatt doesn’t like us very much. But I couldn’t keep it from you.”
The information turns around in my head. Wyatt? He thinks I have other people in my head?
I scoff, but I immediately regret it ‘cause Oakley winces.
And that’s when I realize he’s serious.
“You think…I have multiple personalities?” I can’t keep the incredulous tone out of my voice.
“No, that’s what she thinks! I…I don’t know…” Oakley turns a pleading look on me. “I’m just trying to help you, Ky. Please don’t be mad.”
Oh, so he does think I’m crazy. He’s being serious right now.
Suddenly, Oakley is too close. He’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.
Demon. You’re a fucking demon! Dad’s voice screams in my head as he tries to drown me.
“I…” I stand, shifting so Oakley slides off my lap.
“Wait, Ky.” He grabs for me, and I shake him off immediately. Oakley can’t think I’m crazy, right? Dad thought I was crazy. Oakley can’t be like my dad. He just…can’t.
My chest feels tight, and the room feels so small.
I can hear the rain on the roof, the hum of the computer, the thump of my heart, the rushing of the blood in my ears, and Oakley’s pleas to get me to wait.
It’s all so loud, loud, fucking loud. The voices are back now, too, calling me a demon, screaming that we aren’t safe.
I need quiet. Stillness. Safety.
Pushing out of the room, I stalk down the hall, into the living room, and burst outside.
It’s dark out, and the rain is falling in sheets. I walk straight out into it, turning my face up, letting the cold water splatter against it. It feels like tiny, icy needles, pricking me and melting down my face, running into a puddle at my feet.
I’m not fucking crazy. I’m not.
I stand there, wishing the rain could swallow me up. Wishing I could drown in it. The rain is so loud, which makes everything else quiet. I’m alone, but I’m not. It’s me, the water, and the feeling of an icy hug. And the demons.
They’re yelling, shoving me around, trying to take over. Trying to push me out of existence.
Suddenly, I smell cigarette smoke.
Jerking my head down, I scan the area, but I don’t see anyone. I squint through the rain. Everything is dark.
Just a memory.
I pull in a breath. I used to be able to make the pain go away by focusing on one thing. Like breathing underwater. Just that, and everything else faded into the distance. I try it again with the rain.
Dad’s voice reverberates in my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Focus on the rain. The cold slide down my face. The cold clothes sticking to my body.
I’m not crazy. I’m real. I’m me. I have a whole life. A whole life where…
I try to remember my childhood, digging up memories from when I was really young. I remember swimming in the pool in the backyard. I remember being able to breathe the water and Dad screaming at me, waving a paper in my face.
“Why’s your name on this, boy?”
I remember looking at the drawing. It was a stick-figure kid lying down, with X’s for eyes and red between its legs. There were two monsters there, too.
Dad had kicked me, demanding why my name was on it. But it wasn’t my name on it. I remember that with absolute certainty. Dad had gotten the wrong kid’s drawing. I didn’t make that drawing. It was some kid named Wyatt.
Wait.
I freeze. Oakley said the name Wyatt. Why would he say that? That’s my boss’ name. Why does Oakley know Wyatt? How? Wyatt never talks to me in person. He rarely talks to anyone. That’s just the way he runs his business. Runs this game.
My heart is racing. What the hell is happening right now?
I need to run. Need to get so blackout drunk I can’t think anymore. This is all just a bad dream. I’ll find some sort of escape.
So that’s what I do. I go inside, ignoring Oakley in the living room, who’s acting distressed, lock my door, and guzzle as much liquor as I can.
It works for a little while, until it doesn’t.
I end up vomiting nonstop a few hours later.
The whole time, all I can do is think about what Oakley said.
I realize that the memory from the pool is the earliest memory I have.
I was nine at the time. But it’s normal not to remember your childhood, right?
Right?
I end up lying on the bathroom floor, head pounding, stomach turning. I can’t escape it this time. Just like I couldn’t escape it when I sank in that pool. Reality will always come knocking, at one point or another.
Finally, I rouse myself, find a sticky note, and scribble something down. Only then do I pass out.