21. Voices
TWENTY-ONE
VOICES
HOLD ON: GOOD CHARLOTTE
CALISTA
T he silence in my head has been unsettling, a strange mixture of relief and unease. It's a consequence of ignoring the voices for so long, prioritizing Addy above all else, even though she doesn't deserve it. The constant internal clamor that once made concentration impossible has faded... maybe a little too much.
Addy appears and disappears when she wants. Most of the time, she's physically present, but when I truly need her, she's nowhere to be fucking found. At times I long for her absence, yet the thought of losing her fucking terrifies me. She's been with me since the beginning, a creation of my imagination, a refuge from the daily trauma I endured. We were both chained in that attic, but she retained a freedom I lacked. She chose to stay, while I never had a fucking choice in the matter.
She was my confidante, my only friend, even when I pushed her away. She reminded me to take my medication, urging me to increase the dosage during difficult times. She'd scold me for cutting myself when I was having a bad day. Yet, she also handed me the blade at times, always telling me where to cut so I wouldn't accidentally kill myself, because that's not why I self-harmed. I did it because it made me feel alive in a world full of darkness and despair.
Her actions were paradoxical, both logical and utter nonsense. It was a twisted kind of sense. Fucked up, I know.
Addy was my light in the darkness that was trying to swallow me whole. But sometimes she'd plunge me right into it instead of pulling me out. She persuaded me to end my life more than once, but she also talked me out of it. She was my savior when I was spiraling down a path of self-destruction, even when I didn't want to be saved. She cared about me more than I cared about myself, but at the same time, she pushed me to the edge, forcing me to take risks I shouldn't have taken, like she didn't care about me or what might happen to me.
I confided in her, admitting my deepest fears and secrets, but she already knew them; she was a part of me. I had created her, built her into something far greater than what she was ever meant to fucking be.
But she wasn't real, a truth I constantly had to reaffirm, even now, especially when the guys witnessed me having conversations with myself. They couldn't see her, but I could. They know about Addy, yet they don't judge my crazy. They accept me, but even I recognize the need to let her go.
In the bleak solitude of those dark days, she was my unwavering support, my only listener, my only constant. She never left, never betrayed me. And that's why the prospect of ending her existence—of silencing her—feels so fucking agonizing, even though it might be necessary for a normal life once this bullshit is over.
"Stop thinking about me," Addy whispers, materializing beside me as I lean over the balcony, chain-smoking.
"I'm not," I lie, noticing the colorful array of pills on the railing near my elbow.
My throat constricts, my pulse races, and my heart pounds. I haven't been taking my medication lately. I've felt better than ever, so I rationalized skipping them. But deep down, I know this complacency is a dangerous game. I'm supposed to take them daily, but I hate them. Some leave me feeling good, others sluggish and despondent, even more depressed than before.
"If you want to get better, Cali, take your meds," she snaps, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
A flicker of something secretive shines in her exotic eyes—a hidden emotion I can't quite decipher. Before she launches into a lecture like my mother used to, I scoop the pills into my hand and pop them into my mouth like candy, washing them down with a minimal amount of saliva.
"Fucking happy now?" I scoff, studying her enigmatic expression.
"Very," she purrs, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "So, how have you been feeling lately?"
I shrug. "Ready for this shit to be over. Is it bad that I just want to go kill Dom and Killian's fathers so we can just move onto mine?" I turn to her, asking selfishly.
"I get it. You want them gone because you want the pain to stop. You think that if they're no longer here, then living life will be much easier and you'll finally find the happiness you've been longing for your entire life. Right?" She lowers her voice to a soothing tone, a soft smile gracing her lips.
"Exactly," I admit, deep down knowing that it's not that easy.
"It's going to take more than just killing everyone who hurt you for you to be happy again, Cali." She looks at me, reading my mind, which pisses me off.
"It's not that simple, is it?" I mutter, staring out at the city lights blurring through the cigarette smoke.
The weight of her words settles heavily on my chest. She's right, of course. Killing Ash, Dom, and Killian's fathers wouldn't erase the past, and killing my parent's wouldn't magically heal the wounds that fester within me. It would just be another act of violence, another layer of darkness added to the already suffocating pile.
"No," I whisper, the word barely audible above the city's hum. "But it feels like the only way to... to stop the bleeding."
The image of my parent's faces flashes in my mind—a ghost of pain and betrayal. The memory stings, a fresh wound opened by the very thought of confronting them. Addy reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine. The touch is surprisingly comforting—a familiar warmth in the chilling night air.
"There are other ways, Cali,” she says softly, her voice a gentle counterpoint to the turmoil raging inside me. "Ways that don't involve more bloodshed, more pain."
I pull my hand away, the sudden withdrawal feeling almost violent. "Easy for you to say," I snap, the bitterness sharp on my tongue. "You were there. but you weren't at the same time. You didn't actually feel it."
She doesn't flinch, her gaze unwavering. "I felt it with you, Cali. I lived it with you. But that doesn't mean we're trapped by it. We can choose a different path."
Her words hang in the air, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm of my despair. The idea of a different path, a life free from the shadow of the past, feels both terrifying and strangely alluring. It's a path that requires more than just eliminating the source of my pain; it demands confronting it, healing it, and learning to live with the scars.
"How?" I ask, the question barely a breath.
The hope, fragile as it is, flickers within me, a tiny spark in the vast darkness. Addy smiles—a genuine smile this time, devoid of the usual unsettling undercurrent.
"One step at a time," she says, her voice filled with quiet strength that surprises me. "We start with you taking your medications consistently. We start with facing your parents, not with a weapon, but with the truth."
The thought of facing my parents, of confronting the years of abuse and neglect, sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. But this time, the fear isn't paralyzing. It's a different kind of fear—a fear mixed with a flicker of determination. A fear I can face because I'm not alone. Not anymore.
I take another drag of my cigarette, the familiar burn a small comfort in the face of the monumental task ahead. The silence in my head is still unsettling, but it's no longer empty. It's filled with the quiet hum of possibility, the faint whisper of a future I can almost reach. And for the first time in a long time, I feel a glimmer of hope, a fragile but persistent light pushing back against the impending darkness.
"Fuck it, they still need to die." I flick the cigarette butt and spin on my heel, walking back into the apartment to see the guys sitting on the couch just watching me.
Great, they all just witnessed me talking to myself again. Fucking hell.
Before I join them, I stop in the kitchen and grab a beer and a bottle of water, stalling on my way back to try and come up with something to say that doesn't involve me talking to my imaginary friend. Seeing the recliner open, I head for it and sit down, ignoring their intense stares. Taking a huge gulp of my beer, I glance at the four of them, noticing their mischievous grins.
"Okay, what is it now?" I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Nothing, just enjoying watching you out there," Dom says, a smirk on his face as he licks his lips.
"What, watching my ass or watching me talk to myself?" I snap, suddenly feeling very annoyed.
"Your ass, totally your ass," Killian chimes in, rubbing his hands together.
Ash snickers, and Five just looks around at them, most likely feeling left out of whatever is going on between them. I smile, unsure if they're fucking with me or not, but refusing to let their snide remarks put a damper on the rest of my evening. Changing the subject, I turn to Dom and return his grin with one of my own, dark and disturbing in every sense.
"It's your turn tomorrow, Dominic. Have you decided how you're going to kill your father?" I ask, flashing him a wink as his smirk slowly begins to fade, reality setting in hard.
He brings his beer bottle to his mouth and chugs it, obviously stalling like I was just moments before. The room falls silent, the TV fading into the background, and the only sound that surrounds us is the rapid beating of our hearts. Dom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single object, waving it in the air with a sadistic smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"With these," he says, confidence sparkling like diamonds in his bloodshot eyes.
"Brass knuckles?" Five laughs, taking a hit off the joint in his hand.
"Yup, I'm gonna beat his sorry ass to death." Dom nods and gulps down the rest of his beer, sliding his fingers through the holes in the weapon.
"Works for me," I tell him, already picturing the beating in my mind.
I lean my head back against the chair, my eyes closing on contact. They begin to talk amongst themselves, laughing and joking as if tomorrow we're not going to commit another murder, as if it's just another day for us.
Well, when you think about it... it is just another day for us. We're the kids our friends' parents told them to stay away from. We're dangerous and reckless. We're the fucking killer kids, and we make people's monsters disappear forever.