8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Sunshine
I was out of the door and sprinting into my building before Elias could get a leg out of his Tonka truck. I’ve since locked myself inside, barred the doors as if there’s a zombie apocalypse and two deadbolts are going to keep the undead at bay.
Took me all night to forget about what he said.
Unfortunately, it sneaks up every few hours.
Even now, as I sit in class. Professor Jacobson is in his element today, discussing the final topic of the year—adverse reactions in the field of psychology.
Our assignments are due for this subject in four days, then we begin finalizing our term papers—praying we’ve passed.
Earlier in the semester I selected my thesis and have worked on it little by little since then, tailoring it to each of our weekly learnings and chapters.
It shouldn’t take me more than an evening to polish it and format it correctly.
My problem? Getting through this last segment because I can’t concentrate to save my damn life.
Against my will, Liz continues planting flashbacks from Dad’s event and my appointment in the middle of my skull.
They make my heart rate increase and my ears flush at the memory of what Elias said to me.
How mind-boggling his fingers felt when they teased my vertebrae on their ascent, leading to his conviction and the delicious way he said ‘mine.’
Surely, he is mistaken. There’s nothing tying us together other than a job and a love-hate relationship with my dad. Reminds me of that Grumpy Old Men movie—always fighting but becoming friends in the end.
Psychologically, they’re set in their ways and not apt to change unless there’s a positive or negative outside force. They’ll remain as is until they pass away, whether they choose to be friends or not.
Now, the development between us? I don’t know if I want it, not because I don’t enjoy his company—I always have—but it would ruin the fragile existence with my dad.
It’s just an infatuation. Elias has followed me for years, kept me sane and safe which led to the establishment of emotional bonds.
I have a hard enough time trying to decipher my own volatile feelings; throwing his into the mix would be a fucking mess.
Besides, he’s my friend. I don’t want to lose that. He’s the only one who doesn’t judge me even after Kate attacked him, and he’s seen me at my worst.
After the event, I read through his last text messages—over and over—hoping to find nothing, but there’s something there. It’s hidden in the rhetorical tone, the questions and words slipped inside to explain not only what he sees me struggling through, but how he views me in whole.
Klingon
I can’t. I won’t. I found you when you were a shell of the young woman you are now. There was no way in hell I was letting you return to a life where you may be hurt again. I trust your parents to keep you safe but there will be times where they’re not there, but trust me when I say, I will.
I need him to explain what the hell he means.
The first part makes sense; I was learning control over my body while my riders tagged along.
He’s saying that he’ll drag me back from the brink if he has to, that he won’t let me hurt myself.
Which hurts my heart, because that’s all I do—hurt myself someway, somehow.
It shows up in the lack of sleep, how I manipulate my medication to function differently instead of regulating and letting the pills do their job.
It’s the lonely late nights in the gym where someone could trigger me.
It’s facing classmates who want to see me fail simply because they don’t understand that my brain works differently from theirs.
Mr. Kensington sees tattoos as self-harm, but I know they’re the outlet. A source of relief that allows pain to escape rather than bottle up and threaten to eruption.
Klingon
I’ve watched you graduate high school. Start college, go on excursions with your dad, get your first tattoo, do all the cool things you’re now capable of doing, but I’ve also watched you break.
Seen the way your eyes go vacant, witnessed you take one too many pills, and I won’t let you continue to do that to yourself, Sadie. I can’t lose someone like that again.
I remember typing a response to that message, confused as hell.
And now that I sit here reading too much into it, I think I’ve figured it out.
He’s not going anywhere—the dynamic has changed.
He doesn’t see me as a damaged teenager anymore.
Instead, he has his eyes set on a grown woman who fights for her life every day.
He sees it all, watches me when I don’t realize he is; his stalker tendencies know no end.
Elias Sullivan is here for the long haul, ready to fight tooth and nail for damaged goods.
Is there anything to lose? I mean, this friendship…
it’s coming to an end. What if he leaves, and I never see him again?
God, that thought hurts. Everything we’ve had together up until Dad’s event will be replaced by an entirely different existence.
Right now, this feels like a break up, like we’re cutting ties.
Elias and Sadie, the two people who rehomed kittens and fought inside of a hospital room to first blood–breaking up.
He’s the only friend I’ve ever had—losing him would make the world so much colder… emptier.
Patience; he’s making room for something more, child.
“Don’t say that.”
You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a woman, one he sees with his eyes wide open.
“Stop talking. You’re not helping.”
Am I not? You’re surviving.
“Not with your help. I have to drug you to keep you from feeding me through a meat grinder.”
“Is everything okay back there, Miss Wilson?” Professor Jacobson’s voice drags me away from the argument I’m having with a demon—reminding me I’m sitting in a fucking classroom.
And, apparently, drawing enough attention to myself that the students are smirking, waiting for me to do something spontaneous.
“Yes, Professor. Sorry for interrupting.”
He nods, returning to his lecture then switches slides on his power point.
The next one has a video of a child sitting next to her parents, looking at the way she’s filled in coloring pages.
I see myself in that little girl, confused and curious; simply wanting to be a kid but unsure why the sheets come out dark and scary.
“Psst. Sadie,” Chelsea whispers to me, twisted halfway in her seat with her entourage watching nosily.
“What?”
“Next time you decide to talk to the voices, do it somewhere else. We don’t want your crazy rubbing off on us.”
Liz swarms my ear, whispering taunts that find their way deep into my canal and traveling out of my mouth.
“The only rubbing you experience is scratching for crabs, you nasty bitch.”
Her snooty face sours, mutating when my words hit their mark—center body mass.
“I should’ve beaten your ass the day you ran into me. Taught you a lesson in keeping your eyes open and your fucking mouth shut,” she hisses.
“It would’ve been the dumbest thing you could do, and that’s saying a lot since you’re stupid as fuck,” I warn.
She goes to say something else equally as ignorant when Professor Jacobson chimes in. “Ladies, the course material is at the front of the room. I suggest you pay attention and not waste the last week before finals.”
Chelsea nearly combusts where she sits, getting a few more words in, which send me through the roof.
“Wonder how fast the Dean will block your degree when he figures out you’re the professor's whore.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
Anger fueled force bends the plastic of my pen in half in an attempt to channel my fury—and fails. Throwing it down, I snatch up my bag and reach inside the front zipper. My pills have to be in here; I always pack extras for when something sets me off and boy has she.
Digging desolately, I can’t find them. Shaking my bag, hoping to hear the familiar sound of rattling medication, I go so far to dump everything on the floor and start sifting through it.
They’re in an orange prescription bottle labeled with my name medication name, dosage, and the emergency number for my psychiatrist but fuck, it’s not here.
Someone will need emergency services if I don’t get the poison inside of me soon.
“W… where the fuck is it?” I shout, nose diving into a manic mood swing.
Too late.
“Where’s what?” Chelsea goads me again. “Can’t find your pacifier? I hear groomers like watching young women suck on them when they fuck.”
Attention passengers, this is your co-captain speaking. Please buckle your seat belts as we will be experiencing extreme turbulence for the duration of this flight.
Out of my chair, it's Kate’s hands shoving my belongings into my backpack: pens, notes, tampons, tissues, highlighters, cinnamon candies, my tablet, everything.
They have to be hers as all I can see is the skin melting off the knuckles and her disfigured bones; some of her sludge sticks to me as it slides away from where her nail beds used to be.
Years ago, I would slip into a peaceful sleep when she took over, but not anymore. I’m here watching her rampage as it unfolds. Lucid and trapped in a nightmare I can’t escape.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, my body moves as if I’m living in slow motion. I can’t seem to find the stairs fast enough—needing a quick escape to the lower level and out of the door. Where fresh air waits for me and a corner to barricade myself in.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Weird bitch, running to find her binkie!” Chelsea coos and her friends laugh.