Memories #2
“I do,” he said. “What did the police say?”
“They saw my record and didn’t believe me.
They charged me with aggravated assault and attempted second degree murder and said I’d be held without bail until trial.
My aunt requested they send me to a psych ward in the meantime because I was in mental crisis and it would be inhumane to hold me in prison without treatment for my mental illness.
She came back with letters from my psych team, my official diagnosis, records from my previous psych stay.
She was relentless until a judge agreed to have me await trial in a mental facility instead of prison. ”
“Wow. Your aunt sounds,” Dennis hesitated, searching for the right word.
“Like a badass?” I guessed. He nodded. “She really is.
She probably saved my life with that. She came to visit me every single day, and Ari and my uncle came to visit whenever they could.
It took a while for the man to be released from the hospital and be ready for trial.
Once the case went public, two separate witnesses came forward and testified in my favor.
One saw him leaving the parking lot to follow me, and another one heard the fight down the street and had called the police, too.
Also, the bodyguards at work and a couple other girls from my job gave testimony about him getting aggressive with me in the club.
“I was acquitted and the man was charged instead and found guilty. He should still be in prison, actually. He got a three year sentence. All this started over summer and ended late September.”
“Right before you moved here?”
“Yup. I was only home for about a month before I moved here.”
“Hm,” was all he said. He was watching me, no doubt sorting through timing in his head.
“I’m guessing you realize I lied to you after that frat party about why I moved here. It wasn’t from trying to run the girl over at school. It was because of this trial.” It was silent for a second before I asked, “Do you think I’m messed up?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?” I found his response hard to believe.
“Not at all. I think you had a screwed up childhood and carry a lot of trauma, but you’re not messed up.”
“If you say so.” I moved my stuffed animals to lie down and cozy up beside him. “Just so you know, I don’t usually try to beat people to death. That only happened once.”
He laughed. “I’m surprised it was only once. I have another question, but I completely understand if you don’t wanna answer it.”
“Go ahead. If I don’t wanna answer, I won’t.”
He hesitated a moment before asking, “Was it true when that girl said your dad made you watch the murder?”
“Yes.” I waited for him to follow up, but he didn’t.
It was obvious he wanted to and was holding back.
“I can tell you.” I took a moment to mentally prepare before starting the story.
“When I was seven I realized my parents did bad things, they tricked me into helping often, and I wanted them to stop. I told my parents this and my dad said he’d fix me.
Usually I only helped with car parts in the garage, but the next time he went for a car theft he made me come.
I guess he thought it would desensitize me?
Or maybe he wanted to punish me. I don’t know.
But he brought me along for some fucked up reason and things went bad.
The car alarm went off, the man ran out to stop us, my dad pulled a knife, and I started crying for my dad to leave him alone. ”
I paused to take a deep breath. My heart was pounding.
My body was getting hot. My stomach was pushing up through my throat.
“It made my dad so mad… I’d never seen him that mad.
He said he was gonna toughen me up the right way and stabbed the man to death in front of me.
Anytime I closed my eyes he’d stop and make me open them, then keep stabbing.
Someone heard me screaming and called the police, which is why he got arrested.
That’s why my mom hates me. She thinks it’s my fault he finally got caught. ”
It was silent for a good thirty seconds. I sat up to look at Dennis. For once, he was speechless.
“It’s okay. You can talk,” I urged. He still didn’t, so I kept going. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve told that story since it happened. Since the trial. I’ve only told it during testimony.”
“Oh,” was his quiet response.
“Stop acting weird.” I nudged him. “I’m not upset about it.
Not right now. Which kinda confirms what Ari said about my mood still being off,” I realized.
“Shit, I think she’s right. Normally I can’t tell this story.
Ari doesn’t even know the details. I might not be normal yet.
Definitely not manic, but I don’t know where I’m at.
” I smiled before excitedly turning to him.
“Speaking of, you wanna know what it’s like? ”
“What what’s like?”
“Mania.”
“Sure. I’ve seen it now, but I’m curious how it feels. I can’t really imagine.”
“It’s impossible to imagine. It’s like being a kid!
Like when you’re really little and you’re going to an amusement park soon.
That super duper ridiculously excited feeling you get before something wonderful is gonna happen, and you’re too excited to eat or sleep because you can’t stop moving and the thought of food makes you feel sick.
And you get so fidgety but everything is so happy that it’s okay and it doesn’t even affect you, it doesn’t bother you and you barely notice it’s happening.
All you know is how excited you are for whatever’s about to happen and what’s already happening and you can’t stop talking or moving around because life is gonna go on without you and you have to do every single thing right now.
And you can’t get rid of that excitement or energy or feeling that everything will be fine,” I paused to take a breath. “That’s what being manic is like.”
“That’s… a lot.”
“It’s constant buzzing.” I gestured to my head.
“There’s nothing like it, really. But it does get scary how out of control it feels.
It’s kind of like being on the most exciting roller coaster but knowing you’re going off the rails, but you can’t stop no matter how dangerous it’s becoming.
And eventually you don’t even realize you’re on it.
You don’t remember a time you ever weren’t.
Your mind tells you it’s always like this.
You’ve never been sad. You’ve never been tired.
You don’t know what sadness is because you’ve never experienced it.
You don’t know what it means to feel nervous, to be discouraged, any negative emotion is gone and has never existed in your mind. ”
I finally finished, wondering if that explanation had even done it justice. It was so hard to describe. Even harder to fully remember once it passed.
“No wonder you act so out of it half the time. Sometimes you don’t even remember what you said a minute before. Or you directly contradict parts of your personality, sometimes within the same conversation.”
“That would be why.” I lay back down next to him, though he was still sitting up. “I’m starting to block you more, aren’t I?”
“What makes you think that?”
“All the questions. You ask things about my life all the time, but you never need that much detail. Could you not hear it this time?”
“Parts of it.”
“But not most of it?” I took his silence as confirmation. “How am I doing this? I wanna know. It’s driving me crazy.”
“You don’t remember details of your episodes, right?” he asked.
“Why? What’d I do?” I groaned and sat up. “Is it something embarrassing?”
“No. I thought it was cute,” he said. “You were excited about the mind reading.”
“I was excited?” My brows furrowed. That couldn’t be right. It was so obnoxious, I was positive even my manic self would hate it.
“You called it ‘so cool’ and asked if I’m telepathic.”
“Fuck.” I flopped backward as he started laughing. I’d been told that ‘so cool’ was one of manic Emy’s favorite phrases. He was telling the truth. “I’m sorry. I get so annoying. What else did I do?”
“Nothing annoying. You’re adorable manic.
” He smiled as I cocked an eyebrow. “What? I like you both ways. Of course I prefer you sane, but I can handle manic you when it happens. The only weird part is that you’re less aggressive.
” He chuckled when I smacked his arm. “I should probably go. It’s getting late,” he said, glancing at the time.
“You barely even sleep.” I sulked as he left the bed.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Wait.” I sat up and he stopped near the door. “If you can’t always hear me, can you still hear when I want you around? Like if I need you or something, will you hear me?”
“I always hear that,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here. ‘Night, Vixen.”
“Goodnight.” I got Frankie and my new stuffed animal once he left and snuggled beneath the covers.
* * *
Screaming intensified as something shook me. Red was flowing. A man was shouting. Another was begging for his life.
“Emy!”
My eyes shot open and I bolted upright.
“You’re safe.” Ari took my shoulders as I started to cry. “We’re at home. Nothing’s happening.”
“I don’t—” I took a heaving breath, “know why—” another, “this keeps happening—”
“Breathe.” She rubbed my back while I hyperventilated. “Don’t try to talk, just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
A few minutes of suffocating and streaming tears passed. I turned to Ari once I could talk.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for.” She yawned and climbed beneath the covers. “Scoot over so I can be your second Frankie.”
I moved aside to give her half the bed, then glanced at the time. It was almost four in the morning. My night terror must have woken her. I had dreamt about my dad. About that night.
“Thank you.” I held Frankie tight and shut my eyes.