When the malaise sets in…

My bones go awry,
it hurts to breathe,
the lump in my throat expands,
and I become numb with pain,

when the malaise sets in…

the void inside
develops a brain of its own,
it starts to suck me in;
I begin to slowly lose myself,

when the malaise sets in…

the candlelight I call hope wanes,
faith and belief become words
with no meanings,
dreams and ambitions dissipate,

when the malaise sets in…

it hurts to look in the mirror,
hurts to hear myself talk,
or even breathe;
my entire existence becomes painful,

when the malaise sets in…

I begin to fade,
and I melt like wax,
enduring the burning,
leaving only a noxious stench behind,

when the malaise sets in…

all my senses terminate,
the process of my unbecoming commences,
I start to collapse,
and I cease to be,

when the malaise sets in…
when the malaise sets in…
when the malaise…

*sigh*

sets in.

Rotten Tornadoes

From the crevices on my skin,
my being oozes,
everything turns to black,
and yet, not quite.

It is what it is;
I’m too fragile for this world,
and every convoluted thing
that resides beside me.

Am I supposed to know,
who I’m doing this for?
This charade called life,
do I even want it anymore?

Or did I ever,
want it like one dreams –
effortlessly, when sound asleep.

I kill my own dreams,
I silence my own screams;
who’s there to blame but I?
Blame, blame, blame –

Why should I?
What’s the point?
I’m not looking for solutions,
but a hand.

Daunted, haunted,
I live my days.
If sanity’s elusive,
why not embrace the haze?

I can run, and run,
and run some more,
but why would I rather fall,
floor after floor?

Can I say I’m tired,
for the millionth time?
Is it okay?

Am I okay?

Is anyone okay?

It matters no more,
where we think we belong.

It matters no more,
if we think at all.

The world has passed its judgement.

Now put us where we belong.
Tell us what to do.
Osctracize us, pity us,
deem us to be Earth’s trash.

We’re nothing more,
we’re nothing less,
than countless souls,
who so rapidly transgress.

We’re the ungrateful,
the putrid junk.
Don’t look at us!
We might have already sunk…

Phantom

Thoughts, feelings, actions,
they don’t match up.
The trifecta is cursed.
What am I to do?

Sometimes breathing is taxing,
and going through that process,
even more so.

I go here, there,
and everywhere
feeling like there’s nowhere
to go;
feeling like there’s nowhere
to stay.

I am but
a distorted figure,
wading through life,
in search of some meaning.

But it’s nowhere to be
found,
and I’m too shaken to
look within.

Once there was a cloud
of doom upon me.
Now it’s inside of me.

There is thunder,
there is rain,
unmatched destruction
and chaos.

What am I to do?

My trifecta is cursed,
and I think I am too.

Home

It was my turn to speak. I stood behind the wooden podium, clutching its edges tightly with my hands. I wasn’t facing the people at first. In fact, I think for a few minutes I forgot there were numerous other people in the room. I just couldn’t stop staring at her. I could only see the back of her head, her auburn hair tied firmly in a bun, with little teal colored clips on the sides that matched her dress and shoes. If she could have somehow seen how Aunt Jenny had dolled her up, she would have thrown up all over herself. But she was clean. Properly bathed, and graciously dressed, with perfume sprinkled all over her. She was so fresh and yet there was a stench that bothered me, something I couldn’t smell, but something I knew lingered in the air anyway. Groom them as much as you want, a corpse will remain a corpse. And my mother will remain dead. I think the only pain worse than knowing that someone you love is dead is the pain you feel when you realize that the person is going to remain dead. It’s also the hardest thing to accept. The more I stared at her lying in the coffin, the drier my throat went. I turned my face towards the people who had gathered to mourn my mother. I was already numb because of the anti-anxiety pills I had popped but felt more so looking at some familiar, and some unfamiliar faces. There were faces everywhere. Faces soaked with tears, faces with pretentious intended-to-comfort-you smiles, faces full of grief, faces hiding pain, faces hiding stories, and faces I just couldn’t read. At that moment, I wondered what my face looked like. I remember it felt very light. Almost like it wasn’t even there. I opened my mouth to speak, exhaled, shut my mouth, and pursed my lips. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to speak, or perhaps, waiting for me to break down. For a fleeting moment I thought of just walking away and exiting the building. I could even picture myself do it. But I didn’t.

 

“First and foremost, as is customary, I thank you for taking out time to be present here, with my family, in a time of great grief. Second, I should try not to sound like English royalty and should also drop the number bullet point speech act. It’s so weird that in spite of how awful I feel and how murky everything is at the moment, I can’t help but feel good to see some of you. It’s like a silver lining trying its hardest to prove that it exists. Surprisingly, I believe in them, even if only slightly. Dorothy didn’t.”
My brother shot me a quick look.
“No, Matthew, I’m not drunk, but I’m certainly feeling like it,” I replied looking straight at him, while also receiving a few sympathetic chuckles from around the room.
“Coming back to Dorothy, urgh, I’ve always hated this name. I only called my mother by her name when I was under the influence. It was a very clear pattern, but she couldn’t catch it. She could never tell I was intoxicated even when I puked brutally on the nights I lost control over myself. She never noticed. And I was fine with it. Of course all those days I spent crying, craving her warmth and affection and not receiving even a quick glance were torturous, but there was a silver lining.  My sneak outs were mostly successful, my sleepovers’ attendance wasn’t restricted to one gender, and I spent hours doing whatever the fuck I wanted to do in my room, as long as I didn’t make a lot of noise.

“Up until Matthew’s junior year, when I was eleven, there wasn’t a minute of silence in the house. Somebody was always laughing, or fighting. The few months all of us spent together before Dad left were terrible in every way possible, but the house was alive. And then Dad left and suddenly everything died. Mum, Matthew and I transformed into these plants that somebody had stopped watering. Dad’s here today, by the way, for some reason.”
I stopped to look down. There was mud smeared on one of my boots.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t blame you,” I said, looking directly at my father, with tears in my eyes. “If you wouldn’t have been here I probably would’ve complained about you not even caring enough to show up.”
I felt myself shift a little towards an emotional breakdown.
“Maybe I should’ve stuck to the classic write-a-speech-and-deliver-it system because I’m clearly really bad at this.”
No one chuckled. My brother gave me a comforting smile. The kind which tells you that the person in all honesty wants to hold and comfort you but can’t, for one reason or another. And suddenly, the tears started to flow readily.

“I just – I wish – ”
It became hard to form a sentence, even a word. In a quick motion, I wiped the tears on my face with my hands, and tried to feel the lump in my throat from the outside.

“I’m just going to say it. This is the last time the four of us will ever be in the same room and even though Mum can’t hear me, I have to get this out of my system. The last time we were all together was twelve years ago. And yes I’m very mad at Dad for just walking out, leaving his family behind to be miserable and depressed and to pop pills to force themselves to feel better. But I’m equally mad at the three of us. We should’ve been together, taking care of each other. Instead, we just retracted. We stopped talking to each other. Mum always had TV running in the background but I could tell she never had the slightest clue about what was on. We stopped eating meals together. We skipped breakfast, ate lunch separately, and even ate dinner at separate times. It was almost as if we were scared of running into each other, scared of seeing another suffering face in a dying house, scared that we would have to come to terms with what had happened.

“To be honest, I’m scared right now. Mom’s gone, I don’t know what Dad intends to do, Matthew is soon going to move to Europe, and I’m going back to University in a couple of days. Am I wrong to feel hopeless? No, right? I’ve spent the last twelve years just imagining what it would’ve been like if we had decided to stay together and not isolate ourselves. There was actually a day, Matthew you would certainly remember, when you and Mum were sitting on the front porch, on the bench. It was raining quite heavily. I wanted to smell the rain without it flooding my bed and that’s why I had come downstairs that evening. I remember sitting on the floor, at the head of the soaked staircase. And then Mum went inside to make some hot chocolate. And we were together, the three of us, just enjoying our cups of cocoa and the rain. And then, remember Mr Hurley from the bakery?” I giggled, looking at my brother with wet eyes. The expression on his face conveyed clearly that he had also started thinking about that memory. “He was in a hurry and he dropped his umbrella and then he fell. And – ” I was trying hard to not laugh, “You were so amused,” I spoke directly to my brother with a huge smile, “cocoa came out of your nose!”

I saw Matthew laugh. His laughter has always been very similar to Mum’s.

“I remember Mum laughing at you. She was looking at you constantly. She only looked at me to ask ‘Hayden, did you see him?’ with this wide grin on her face, something I hadn’t seen in years. I was laughing too. It felt great; just the three of us, sitting together, enjoying the weather, laughing about stupid things. A few minutes later when Mum got up, ruffled our hair and went inside, I thought things would change. But they didn’t. It rained several other nights, but we never sat together outside again to enjoy the weather.

“When Matthew went to University, the only time Mum and I spent with each other was in the car, to and from Dr. Haan’s clinic, every Friday evening. Even during those drives, we never talked. She would always put on the radio and we would just silently listen to it. After coming back home, she would go straight to the kitchen and I would go to my room. I spent most of last year in University and we didn’t talk even once. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, no letters; there was no communication at all. Hell, I don’t even remember the last thing she said to me. I wish I knew then that those words were going to be her last directed towards me. Why can’t we just listen closely to the people we love as if it’s our last conversation with them? Why can’t we just listen closely in general? Why do we only learn the importance of things and people when they’re not around anymore?”

I turned my face to look again at my mother. Tears kept running down my cheeks. My nose was blocked and my breathing had suddenly become very noisy. Words had stopped wanting to come out. I wiped the tears on my face, flashed a pretty smile, and continued.

“Before I leave this place, I want to say a quote, something my mother had double underlined in her copy of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar.”
I reached my hand in my dress pocket, and took out a folded piece of paper, and started to read from it.

“‘Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.'”

Everyone looked up at me, as I continued to smile through my tears.
“Dorothy had a great taste in books, movies, music, basically everything, except life. Well, I hope death is indeed like what Plath wondered it would be like,” I turned to face my mother’s corpse.
“And if it’s not, I hope you fill your afterlife with all the colors inside you that refused to spread while you were still here. I love you, and I will miss you.”

And without another word, I stepped down and quietly seated myself next to my brother.
“Feeling better?” He asked, handing me a tissue.
“Yes… and no,” I replied in a deep voice which is often the result of a blocked nose.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here. Aunt Jenny will take care of everything here. She said we can leave early if we want, which is good, because I can barely breathe. And from what I can hear, you’re not doing a great job breathing either.”
And with that, he stood up, held my hand, and we proceeded to walk out of the church. The priest was speaking again, but I was so low on energy, I couldn’t decipher a language I very well understand. Everything just sounded gibberish to me. Everything even felt gibberish, if that makes any sense.

 

Matthew’s car was disgusting. “Do you ever clean this thing?”
“Only when I have to.”
I rolled my eyes, and looked outside the window. In the rear view side mirror, I saw Dad get in the car with his date. My eyes filled up with tears again. Matthew had started the engine.
“Home?” He asked me.
And at that very moment, I felt everything collapsing, shattering, hurting. A four letter word saddened and pained me deeply. I didn’t know where home was, I hadn’t for years. The last time home felt like home was when I was eleven. After that, it was just a house, a place to carry out the basic necessities of life. Home is where the heart is, after all, and my heart died inside me gradually in the very house that I was born and brought up in. I thought I will never be able to call it home. I didn’t want to communicate my thoughts to my brother, so I just looked at him, nodded, and broke down completely. Every inch of my body hurt, both on the outside and the inside. Matthew held me tight.
“I – I don’t -”
“Shh, it’s alright, you don’t have to speak. I’ve got you, sis!”
“Home,” I said, with extreme difficulty. My whole face was wet, and because of the blocked nose, I couldn’t even breathe.
“You want to go home?”
I shook my head and continued to cry extensively into Matthew’s shirt, spoiling it.
And then I heard his heart beating. I put my hand over his chest to get a better feel, and it was calm, and rhythmic, almost compassionate. I removed my hand, kissed him on the chest where my hand was, straightened up, wiped my tears, and flashed my brother a smile.
“Let’s pick up two ice cream tubs on our way home,” I said.

Matthew started the car and we were soon on the open road.
Home is where the heart is, I thought, again and again. I closed my eyes and the sound of my brother’s heartbeat filled my ears. He was all I had, and I was all he had.
I opened my eyes and in a soft whisper I let the words fly out of me, forming a smile on my face, “home is where the heart is.”
I glanced at my brother amused who glanced back to give me a smile, and I wondered if our mother was looking at us from above, smiling too, maybe finally believing in the existence of silver linings.

Dunkin’ Donuts or Panera Bread?

My mind wandered the very minute the lady asked me, “How can I help you today?”
An obscure silence filled the room. Only the AC made a faint noise. The breathing noises in the room were even fainter. I focused on my breathing as I’m often instructed to. Inhale, exhale, repeat. It’s not always under my control, breathing, but that day it was. My thoughts, however, were not. My mind had started revisiting the day some of our friends had come over. It was a pleasant evening, I think, because I was freaking out before everyone arrived. I was also on my period, and was pretending to endure the pain. But afterwards, when we all started drinking, talking, and playing cards, the uneasiness in me started to fade away. Brett had cooked a delicious meal for everybody, including lemon chicken, pork chops, and prawns in a creamy garlic sauce. I’m not into cooking, really, so I just contributed by setting up the dinner table, and pouring wine into everyone’s glasses. And pretty soon, sooner than I had imagined, the evening came to an end. And the pleasantness ended with it. I was in the process of clearing up the table, and loading the dishes in the washer in the kitchen, when Brett walked in. He held me by my waist, from behind, swept my hair away from my neck, and kissed me gently. A smile spread across my face, and goosebumps showed up on my skin. My heart started to pound, but I didn’t know then if it was pounding because I was turned on, or because I was scared. He kissed me on my cheek, and lightly whispered, “thank God it’s just you and me now.”

I felt his warm breath on my skin, which stank of alcohol. He then pushed me against the kitchen slab with his body, and slowly started to pull up my dress. His warm hands grazed my thighs, and gradually reached my underwear. And then, the gentle behavior stopped. He violently pulled my underwear all the way down, the soiled sanitary napkin placed haphazardly on it, spread my legs, and pushed me against the slab harder. The seam of the counter-top hurt my stomach, but before I could react, he took my head and banged it against the slab. With one hand on my head, he started undoing his pants from the other hand. I wanted to ask him to stop, tell him that he was hurting me, that I was uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t have cared. Every time something of this sort happened, and I told him how I felt about it, he would act like he didn’t even hear me. That’s what always happened. When he wanted to do something, he did, and I would be reduced to just a toy, a body with no feelings, no sensations, and nothing to say.

So I kept quiet, and let him hurt me. He stuck his penis inside me, and pulled my hair, pulling my head closer to his face. Every inch of my body hurt – everything on the outside, everything on the inside. Tears had started rolling down my cheeks, but I tried my best to not make a sound. But a scream finally escaped from my mouth, when he pushed harder and the slab hurt my stomach with more force. The weeping turned into bawling. That’s the only time he ever took notice.
“What the fuck? Are you crying? Why the fuck are you crying?”
I continued to cry. I didn’t even try to speak, because I knew nothing would come out of my mouth, and whatever I did have to say won’t make any difference to anyone.
Annoyed, he pulled out, zipped himself up, and said, “You’re such a fucking buzz kill!”
And then he left. He left the house; he left me sitting on the kitchen floor, crying, with blood running down my thighs. It felt like –

 

“Karen? Honey?” My mom touched my shoulder and brought me back to the present. I looked at her, and then looked at the counsellor in front of me.
“It’s okay, you can take your time,” the lady said.
“It won’t make any difference,” I said, keeping both my hands on the table and sitting upright.
“What do you mean?” the lady asked, leaning forward.
“I’m not even sure if my issues are relevant anymore. What happened to me doesn’t happen anymore, and I will never let it happen again in the future. But when the future comes, what if I fall weak again? What if everything will happen again and I still won’t be able to stop it from happening? Or what if I’m making a big deal out of something that maybe isn’t a big deal?”
“Honey, you know it is a big deal,” my mom said, placing her hand gently over mine.
I quickly withdrew my hand from underneath hers.
“Do you remember the first thing you said to me when I told you, mom?” I asked her, almost welling up. “You said, ‘I told you not to rush into marrying him’. You didn’t hug me, you didn’t ask how I was feeling; you were just disappointed. Because I made a bad decision five years ago and now I obviously have to face the consequences.”
My mother’s face fell.
I rested my head on the table, face down.
My mother stood up and said, “maybe you should speak to Vivian alone.”
I held her hand, and looked into her eyes. She was trying really hard to hold her tears in, I could tell. I let go of her hand, and she walked out the door. I turned my gaze towards Vivian, the counsellor. She smiled at me.
“I don’t know where to start,” I said.
“You don’t have to. You’re not here to tell a story. You can say whatever you want to.”
“How much time do I have left with you?”
Vivian giggled.

“My husband’s dead now. The abuse has stopped. I’m living with my mother for now, but I would like to move out soon. I reached out to the company that I was working for earlier, and they’ve decided to take me back. In three months, I’ll be designing creatives again. But to be very honest, I don’t know if I’m ready. I’ve become so used to a dreary life, I don’t know if I’m cut-out anymore for a normal one.”
“We’ll address the normal life waiting for you later,” Vivian said, keeping her hands on the table. “Is it okay if right now we talk about why you think your issues aren’t relevant anymore?”
“What’s there to talk about? I just told you my husband is dead, the abuse has stopped, my mother is taking good care of me, so how the hell are my issues still relevant?” I started to tear up.
“For the next few questions that I ask you, simply answer with either a yes, or a no. Fair enough?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Did the abuse happen? It doesn’t matter if it happened yesterday, or last month, or last year, or five years ago. Just tell me, did the abuse happen?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Do you still think about the abuse sometimes?”
“Yes, all the time, even when I don’t want to.”
“Do you feel bothered? Every time the memories spring up?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you feel?”
“I thought there were only going to be yes or no questions,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, a little change in plans. So now tell me, what else do you feel when those memories knock on your door?” Vivian asked. Her face was serious, but her eyes were friendly.

“I – I feel depressed and agitated, and anxious, and I feel very very hurt. I feel myself splintering every time I think about him, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot think of the good stuff. The only good moments that I can think of are the moments that eventually went down the drain. And I don’t know what you’ll think of me when I’ll tell you this but I mourn his death. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I know the right thing here would be to hate him and be happy that he’s dead, but that’s not how I feel. I’m depressed.
“Mom’s trying hard, but I just roam around the house aimlessly, crying, and I don’t feel like playing board games with my mother, or watching TV, or reading a book; I don’t feel like doing anything. I can’t even sleep at night and those nights when I’m able to sleep with the help of sleeping tablets, I get nightmares, really terrible nightmares. I just don’t know what to do. I should be getting better, then why am I only getting sicker?”
I saw sympathy in Vivian’s eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine, or just a part of her job.
“Can I ask how your husband died?” She spoke.
“Arrhythmia,” I replied. “He was much older than I am.”
“You don’t blame yourself for his death, do you?”
“No,” I gulped. “I used to blame myself for not making his life easier while he was still here, but I don’t do that anymore. After the abuse intensified, the communication plummeted. Day in and day out I only imagined myself running away, starting fresh, but I lacked the courage to go through with it. I have always been this person you know, the one who wants to stand up for women’s rights, I mean I’m a feminist for fuck’s sake, and I couldn’t even stand up for myself and what I believe in.”
“I need you to do something for me right now,” she said, sitting up straight, with her hands still on the table.
“What?” I was confused.
“Think of five, only five good things about your ex-husband.”
“What? I don’t understa-”
“Just do it, please,” she said, interrupting me.

I closed my eyes and I entered the December two years ago, when we were decorating the Christmas tree together. It was so much fun. The carols were blasting on the speakers, and we were laughing and singing along. My mother was coming over to have dinner with us that night, and I was really excited. After decorating the tree, Brett went out with his friends, and I cleaned the entire house. After my mother arrived, we all had a wholesome dinner. My mother was going to spend that night with us, and we ended up playing board games until midnight. My mother then went to sleep in the room adjacent to ours.
When we entered our room after saying our goodnights to my mother, Brett locked the door, and pushed me against the wall, the wall that we shared with my mother that night.
“Mom’s right next door, please,” I whispered to him, but he wasn’t listening.
“It’s hotter when it’s forbidden,” he whispered back, and pushed me against the wall again.

I –

 

“I can’t do this!” I opened my eyes, and held my face. “Why are you doing this to me?” I screamed.
“Listen to me,” Vivian started, but I interrupted her.
“I’ve to go!”
“No, Karen, listen to me, please, give me a chance to explain,” she held my hand.
I withdrew my hand, but settled down to hear her out.
“Don’t close your eyes this time, don’t think hard, don’t enter a memory,” I was impressed that she was able to tell that I had indeed entered a memory. “Just tell me the five good things you loved about your husband, from the top of your head. Don’t think too much about it; just tell me the five things.”
“Okay, erm, he didn’t intervene in my personal life, like he never asked too many questions, and erm, he wasn’t a very jealous boyfriend or husband. Oh! He was a spectacular cook, and he always made me comfort food whenever I wanted it,” I was smiling.
“Good! Two more, tell me two more!” Vivian said.
“Okay, let me think. Erm, he always sang me a lullaby after a bad dream, I mean he would often sleep midway, but he did that, yes. And there was this long period of time when he supported me emotionally and financially when I was in between jobs.”
“Good, you did it, you told me five good things about your husband, I’m really proud of you!” Vivian’s eyes were beaming.
“Care to tell me what’s the point?” I was losing patience again.
“Now that you have all those things in your mind, just answer one question for me. Keeping all his good points in consideration.”
“Shoot!” I was curious.
“Does the abuse bother you?”
“What?” My heart started to sink. I could feel all expression leave my face.
“Does it still bother you? The abuse?”
“Of course it still bothers me! What the hell are you – ” and then it hit me.

Vivian continued, “Then why do you think your issues aren’t relevant anymore? Yes, the abuse has stopped. Yes, your husband is no more. Yes, your husband made you happy sometimes. But why on Earth should this invalidate your problems, or make them irrelevant?”
I didn’t know what to say. A tear escaped my right eye and fell onto my cheek. I fished for words inside my head, but I couldn’t find any. So I just stared at Vivian, with tears rolling down my cheek.
“Here,” she said, offering me a box of tissues.
The minute the first napkin touched my face, the waterworks rapidly increased. I was then bawling like a baby. Vivian got up from her chair, came around to me and put her hand on my shoulder. Crying, I squeezed her hand with mine, and then in an instant, I got up and hugged Vivian really tight. When we broke apart, she was smiling at me.
“I’m really sorry I spoiled your shirt,” I said, pointing to her shoulder, which was a little wet because of my tears.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling.

 

When outside, I approached my mother who was sitting on a bench, looking down, with her face in her hands. I tapped on her shoulder and she immediately got up to hug me.
“I’m so sorry, Karen. I’m so extremely sorry,” my mother couldn’t control her tears. I broke the hug apart, held her by her shoulders, and looked right in her eye.
“You’ve just completely ruined your make-up,” I said, chuckling.
My mother laughed a little too, carefully wiping her tears.
I held her hand, squeezed it a little, and we walked to the parking lot towards our car.
My mother sat on the driving seat, and I on the passenger seat. She adjusted the rear view mirror, started the car, and asked, “Dunkin’ Donuts or Panera Bread?”
“Cooper’s pub,” I replied.
My mother was looking at me and so I turned my head to look at her. She gave me a smile, and said “Cooper’s it is!”

The Man Who Jumped

Life can be very cruel, which is why a lot of us turn to death. Life’s uncertainties get too much for us to handle so we look for something certain. And we think death is it. But is it? A few hours ago, I don’t know how many hours exactly, a man jumped off the terrace, right in front of my eyes, to a fatal fall. He lives in my building, I mean he used to, but we never really talked to each other or even looked at each other. Sometimes we would collect our mail together from downstairs but none of us ever said a word. And tonight, he just frantically opened the door to the terrace, and walked past me and straight towards the marble railing. He didn’t see me sitting there, wrapped in a black blanket, resting against the wall. I didn’t say anything to him, I just observed him. I saw him look down first, where he would later land, and then up at the sky, maybe where he thought he would go after he crashes on the ground. I knew what he was doing, but I didn’t want to say anything to him. He rested his hands on the railing, which he would later climb on. But then his face fell, and he broke down. He made ugly noises as he cried, and he dropped to the floor of the terrace. He banged his head against the floor, and cried with a lot more vigor. And at that very moment, I sneezed.

“Holy fuck!” He said, startled. But he only looked at me for a second. I couldn’t catch his eyes, or even his face.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him, without looking at him. “I wasn’t planning on sneezing.”

He didn’t say anything after that. He stood back up, and stared at the sky. I could tell he was still crying, because he was wiping his face with his sleeve, constantly. I would’ve preferred for him to just jump without ever knowing that I was sitting right behind him, watching. But he saw me. That changed a lot of things. A very long period of silence followed. Well, it wasn’t technically silent. The noise of the traffic lingered in the air, and the noise the man’s nose made was very prominent as well. He then, finally, started to climb on the railing.

“You don’t have to do it, you know,” I said, and he stopped. And after a few seconds, he turned around to face me. And I saw him. It was dark, but I saw him, I saw his face, and most importantly, his tear filled eyes. He smiled at me, through the tears and the pain, and whatever else he was feeling, and then turned around again, climbed on the white railing, and jumped. I heard him hit the ground, but I had no intention of seeing what had become of him. I stayed there, wrapped in my blanket, and imagined what he would’ve looked like. I wondered if he looked just like they looked in the movies, face down, hands stretched, blood all around their head, or if he looked different. I wondered, sure, but I didn’t care. Which is why I stayed where I was. A short while later the police came, they noticed me sitting on the side, they thought I was hiding. They asked me how long I had been sitting there, and if I had seen what had happened. And I told them everything. I told them about his eyes too, but about that, they cared even less than I did. They asked me if I knew the guy or if I knew why he did what he had done. So I told them. I told them he was looking for certainty, but that he jumped only to something more uncertain. For all he knows, he landed in a world worse than this one. He escaped one world, but uncertainty is something he couldn’t escape. The police then asked me if I tried to stop him, and I told them I didn’t, not really anyway. They then asked me to leave the premises and I refused, telling them I liked the comfort of the night sky, and that I wasn’t planning on jumping. I told them I would go to my apartment when the sun comes up, and that they couldn’t make me leave unless I wanted to. They left after asking me a few more irrelevant questions. And I stayed. And I’m still here. On this cold terrace, wrapped in a blanket. And when I close my eyes, I see the eyes of the man who was in pain, the man who I don’t even know the name of, the man who jumped.

The Last Letter

Picking up Amelia from the train station wasn’t my idea. My mother had coaxed me to do it because she didn’t want her to take a taxi alone back home. I knew that if I were in Amelia’s place nobody would bother to pick me up from the station, and even though I wanted to bring that up with my mother, I decided against it. Amelia was coming home for the holiday season. After she left for university, the house according to my mother felt really empty and lonely, but I liked it that way. My sister threw a lot of tantrums and somehow I was the one who ended up running errands for her and my mother. Our brother Barry mostly stayed in his room reading books and being utterly depressed. He was the oldest one of us all, 27, and while all his peers from high school and university were working, my brother just stayed home and read books. I would call him an avid reader, but his relationship with books was way more intense. And he was very messy. Mother used to shout at him a lot in the beginning for being so disorganized, never cleaning his room, but after his first suicide attempt, she decided to leave him alone. She was the only one who brought any money to the family. She spent nine hours a day working as a seamstress on the weekdays, and on the weekends, she worked at the local bakery shop which was just three blocks away from where we lived. Our house was a rather decent one. We lived in an apartment with three bedrooms. When Dad was still around, Barry and I shared a room, but then Dad left and Barry’s books grew in number, and I had to move out of his room. My mother decided to give her room to me, and she slept most nights in the living room. But after Amelia left, she started sleeping in her room. I was still in high school back then, somehow getting by. The year was 1965. I took a taxi to the train station and waited for my sister’s train to arrive. It wasn’t too cold that day, but I was still hoping to just pick her up and get it over with. I walked around the train station and spotted her. She had a white coat on, and black pants with black shoes. Her head was tilted and between her lips was a Pall Mall which she was elegantly lighting with a blue lighter. I couldn’t help but stare at her for a while, during which I was both astounded and disgusted. I walked over to her and before I could say anything, she spoke to me.
“You’re late, Georgie,” she said to me, blowing her cigarette smoke in my face. My goddamn sister didn’t care about anybody but herself.
“I’ve asked you a million times not to call me that,” I replied
“And I’ve told you a million times that I’m not going to stop.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you want me to help you with your bag?”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” she said in her usual nonchalant tone.
We stood in unpleasant silence until she finished her cigarette, after which she picked up her bag and started walking towards the taxi stand. I followed her silently.
She talked to the cab driver while I put her bag in the car’s trunk. I got in with her in the cab and that’s when the silence grew out-of-proportion awkward. But I didn’t dare say anything. I just stared outside the window looking at our dreary town. I turned my head to look at my sister and saw that she was reading Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.
“Is that from Barry’s collection?” I asked, the thought of the awkward atmosphere still bothering me.
“Yes. He lent me a few books before I left,” she said without looking up to address me.
Barry and Amelia were rather close. He never let me borrow any of his books. I once borrowed Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, but I abandoned it midway which somehow irked Barry to a degree where he banned me from borrowing any more of his books. He hardly ever talked to anyone. He didn’t have any friends, except Amelia, who he regularly exchanged letters with. Their relationship always made me feel very distant and left out, like I didn’t belong in their world; every time the three of us were present in a room together, I felt like an intruder. My train of thought came to a violent halt when the cab stopped.
“Why are we here?” I asked my sister, looking out the window. We weren’t home. Instead, we were at my sister’s favorite pub, Sally’s.
“‘Cause I want to be here. Also, I thought maybe we should chat a little over a couple of beers and cigarettes before heading home.”
I was befuddled. It was very unlike of my sister to want to spend some quality time with me, but I tagged along anyway. She paid the cab driver, and before entering Sally’s, took off her band and let her walnut colored hair loose. They fell on her shoulders gracefully and it was truly an admirable scene. I wasn’t very fond of my sister, but I have to admit that she was beautiful.

We sat at a table in the corner and took off our overcoats. Underneath her white coat, she was wearing an azure full sleeved blouse. We ordered two bottles of beer and sat facing each other.
“Why are we doing this? This is so awkward,” I blurted out.
“Awkward? Is sitting here with me making you feel awkward, Georgie?” she said in a mocking tone. She smirked at me, fetched her lip gloss from her coat’s pocket, and applied it over her seriously chapped lips. I avoided her question and looked around the pub. There weren’t many people there on account of it being a weekday and the middle of the afternoon. There was a guy sitting alone in a booth with a glass of what looked like whiskey on the rocks. He was staring right at us. Well, he was staring at my sister, it was pretty obvious, but I was the one feeling uncomfortable. My sister was being her usual apathetic self.
“Quit staring at that guy,” she said, lighting a cigarette.
“He’s staring at you. How is that not making you feel uncomfortable?”
“Men stare at me all the time. If I start getting uncomfortable every time it happens I won’t be at ease any and everywhere I go.”
“You’re so vain,” I said in a low voice.
“Hey, you brought it up, kiddo,” she seemed to really enjoy her cigarette.
Our beers arrived a minute later and I quickly gulped one fourth of it down.
“Easy, Georgie.”
“WOULD YOU STOP CALLING ME THAT?” I screamed.
“Jesus Christ, would you fucking relax?”
She put out her cigarette, put both her hands on the table and looked me in the eye.
“What’s your problem, George?”
“You are! You keep calling me that name you know I hate. Just be a normal person and call me by my name. Why do you have to fucking modify it?” Our eyes were locked.
She was the first one to avert hers. She picked up her beer bottle, took a few sips, set it down, and apologized to me. I told her it was alright and that I overreacted and that I was sorry too, even though I really wasn’t. I was just being polite ‘cause I wasn’t used to talking to my sister one on one.
“How’s Naomi?” she asked me after a silent spell.
“Why do you care?”
“George, I’m trying here. Please stop talking to me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
She really was trying, and I was being rude. But I didn’t want to talk about Naomi. I didn’t even want to be sitting in Sally’s with her. I wanted to pick her up, drop her home, and then go out and have a beer alone or with my then best and only friend Akito.
“I’m sorry,” I said. This time, I truly was sorry.
“So tell me, how’s your girlfriend?” She took a sip of her beer and lit another cigarette.
“Jesus, how much have you been smoking?”
“None of your business.”
And my bitchy sister was back.
“I don’t want to talk about Naomi.”
She didn’t say anything to that, just smoked her cigarette, drank her beer, smiled at me in irregular intervals, and looked around the pub. I was doing the same thing, except for the smoking part.
“What are you humming?”
She caught me off guard. I didn’t realize I was humming.
I took a sip of my beer and said, “It’s a new Beatles song from their new album Rubber Soul.” The album was released just a few days prior and I was having a hard time getting the tunes out of my head.
“What’s the song called?”
“Girl.”
“Sing it for me,” she demanded.
“Haven’t you heard it?”
“Of course I haven’t,” she said with utmost ease.
“Why? It’s a beautiful song, and the entire album is bloody brilliant.”
“The Beatles are too popular for my taste,” she said, with her fourth Pall Mall since she had arrived, in her mouth.
“So who do you like?”
“The Hollies. Through and through. Their last album came out in September and it was mind-blowing.”
“I haven’t heard of them,” I said.
She snickered and said, “Of course you haven’t.”
We ordered two more beers.

After chugging my second bottle in one go, I felt a little buzz.
“Wow, relax, kid. This isn’t a competition,” Amelia said with a smile.
“Amelia?”
“Yes, George?”
“Why are we really here?”
She let out a sigh, put her cigarette out, folded her hands, and looked at me.
“I want to talk about Barry,” she sounded serious.
“What about Barry?” I grew rigid. I could sense that something was wrong.
“His last letter to me was rather bleak, and I’m kind of worried.”
“Aren’t his letters always bleak?”
“That’s what,” she said, shifting in her seat, and leaning forward. “This letter freaked me out. It’s the reason why I decided to come home for the holidays.”
She fetched the letter from her bag’s outer pocket and handed it over to me. I took it and unfolded the papers, but looked at Amelia once before diving in. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Under normal circumstances, I would never let you read Barry’s letter. But this concerns us both so I think yes, you should read it.”

I obeyed.

 

My dearest Amelia,

Today, I’m not feeling very well. I didn’t even want to write this letter, but I owe you it, and so here I am, penning everything down. You’re the only one I can be painstakingly honest with. I am so glad to have you. When you left for university, I was distraught, as you know. But I somehow like this letter arrangement of ours much better. I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, but if this turns out to be my last letter to you, I want to address everything I can on these papers.

 

“Last letter? What does he mean?”
“Keep reading,” Amelia said with some smoke accompanying her words out of her mouth.

 

Lately, I’ve been feeling indisposed. It feels like my insides are engaged in some kind of a violent quarrel within themselves, and I’m the one who is losing the battle. I’ll confide in you and tell you that I haven’t even been reading lately. Every time I pick up a book, I read a few words but I’m not able to comprehend them. I don’t want to live a life where I’m not even able to read or where I’m losing interest in the only thing that I ever wanted to live for. I don’t know what to do, Amelia. I don’t know who to go to. I know you asked me to visit Dr. Lillian, and I kind of did. I reached her office but couldn’t gather the courage to walk in so I walked back home, locked myself in my room, and cried as much as I could muster. On some nights, I force the tears out, on other nights they just refuse to materialize.
I often feel like I have these versions of myself hidden deep inside me that I’m somehow not able to access. I don’t think I know myself anymore.  The last book I read was The Catcher in the Rye, which I read for the eleventh time, which I’m certainly too old for. I know it’s one of your favorite books and the reason why I read it recently was because you were on my mind. I think about you a lot. I think about the pain you endure, the pain I endure, the pain Mamma endures, and the pain George endures. He always seems aloof and I can tell from his eyes that there’s plenty he is hiding; there’s sorrow he just won’t accept. I’m worried about him, I’m worried about you, and Mamma, and myself. I’m worried about our family. Do you think we’re falling apart? Both as individuals and as a family? The only time we ever sit down together is for dinner, which George often skips. And during the dinner, nobody ever speaks. The silence kills me a little every day, Amelia. Nobody talks about you, nobody talks about themselves or their day or anything at all. George is always in his room listening to the radio, Mamma is always at work, and I just stain the pages of my favorite books with my forlorn tears. Some days, I really wish you were home, that maybe things would’ve been different if you were here. But I believe that’s just wishful thinking. Things are how they’re supposed to be, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Mamma thinks otherwise. She thinks I can do something and that I can start by going out of the house, but the mere thought of it scares me. But I took her advice the other day, and I went out for a walk. It was crisp, but I felt heavy, like an invisible force was sitting on my shoulders. As I walked I realized that I wasn’t just carrying my own weight, but someone or something else’s as well. Something has been weighing me down, and some nights I feel it gently creeping inside of me. Like darkness. I don’t know what to do anymore with this wasted life of mine.
Some nights, I recollect the memory of the day I tried to hang myself. I see your face, and Mamma’s, and George’s. And I decide against trying it again. But now, I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve been reading and thinking about death a lot and I think I want to give it another try. Now I know you would not approve of this, and neither will anyone else, but I don’t want you to worry. It’s just a thought as of now. I remember the last time I wrote to you about having a thought about killing myself, you told me “But Bear, there are still so many books for you to read, and so many letters for you to write to me.” I think if I die, I’m going to miss writing to you more than I would miss reading books. You’re my sanctum, Amelia. I can spill my blood and my flesh and every other aspect of my being on these pieces of paper and I know you would hold them close to your heart and shed a tear or two thinking of me. I wish I was a better brother to you, a better brother to our little Georgie, and a better son to Mamma. I hate the fact that I was always the closest to Father. Ever since he left, I haven’t been able to do anything. Why did he leave us, Amelia? Why did he leave Mamma? I know it has now been a long time and that I should stop thinking about it, but I just can’t. The memories of all my time spent with him still haunt me. But I guess there’s no going back.
Coming back to the main subject, Amelia, I am truly exhausted. I don’t think I can go on anymore, and if this is what my life has become, sleeping amidst books that I desire to read but I’m not able to, living with a family who never talk among themselves, having my dear sister around me only in the form of words, then I don’t want this life. If I decide to go through with what I’m thinking of doing, and if this indeed is my last letter to you, I hope that you can find it inside of yourself to once again fold these papers, hold them close to your heart, and shed a tear or two thinking of me. I love you, little sister. Tell Georgie and Mamma that I love them too. I would’ve done that myself, but they’re too close; literally, not figuratively. I hope things work out for you in your life. You’re a bright young woman with a wonderful future ahead of you, which I’m sure of. You have a dark streak to you which, in my eyes at least, makes you exquisitely beautiful. George doesn’t know it and would never admit it, but he’s capable of grand things. I could never personally tell him that, because people have said that to me and I have always found it to be very annoying. So if I were to say this to George, he would roll his eyes, hiding his pain, and walk away. I know him and his eye rolls.
Anyway, Amelia, take care of them, and take care of yourself. Try not to worry about me too much.
Lots of love,
Barry

 

When I finished reading the letter, I had tears in my eyes. I knew my brother was depressed but that he was thinking of killing himself again was something I had no idea about. When I looked up, I saw that there were two new fresh bottles of beer on our table, five cigarette buds in the ashtray, and that my sister was smoking the sixth cigarette, with tears streaming down her face. I was stunned; I really didn’t know what to say. It was my sister who broke the silence.
“What do you think?” she asked me, staring at the table.
“When did you receive this?”
“Just day before yesterday, and that is why I decided to come,” this time she looked at me. “Did you see Barry before coming to pick me up?”
“No, he was in his room, like always. The last time I saw him was during dinner last night, but he seemed fine. He seemed like his usual self,” I said.
“That’s the thing, George. Barry’s usual self is not fine. He is suffering, can’t you tell?” Amelia was fighting her emotions, trying to put on a brave face, but her tears were giving her true feelings away.
“Let’s go home,” I said. I gulped down my beer, Amelia gulped down hers, we paid the bill, and started to walk home. Sally’s was just two blocks away from our apartment building. When we reached home, mother wasn’t home. And I was glad.
“I know what to do,” I said to Amelia.
I knocked on Barry’s door, and waited for him to respond. A few seconds passed but there was no response. Then Amelia knocked and said, “Bear, you in there?” She sounded scared. I was getting anxious too.
But then, after a short while, the door opened and Barry came out. He saw Amelia and at once hugged her real tight. They stood that way for about 30 seconds and that sight would usually have made me very jealous and I would’ve rolled my eyes and walked away, but that day, I self invited myself to their little hug retreat. Both Barry and Amelia wrapped their hands around me, and for the first time in a really really long time, I felt safe and protected. When we broke apart, I looked at Barry from head to toe. His hair were long and unkempt, he was wearing a plain black t-shirt with red pyjamas. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Put some shoes on, big brother. We’re going out for drinks.”
My brother opened his mouth to refuse but Amelia interfered, “I won’t take no for an answer. You asked me to take care of George and Mother and myself, but you forgot to ask me to take care of you, which at this point of time is all I want to do. So c’mon, let’s get going.”
“Wait a minute,” my brother said and he went inside his messy room full of books, and brought back two books to us. He handed the first book, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, to Amelia. Amelia hugged him in return as I stood there, once again, awkwardly. He then presented the second book to me. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, much to Amelia’s amusement.
“You won’t be able to abandon this one,” Barry said to me.
“And if you do, I’ll abandon you,” my sister added.
The three of us hugged again, and then Barry looked at the two of us, his eyes welling up with tears. He smiled his wondrous smile, and said, “Are we going out now or what?”

As the Days Go By

I carry around a world of grand liaison on my shoulders,
a dark cloud strolls right above my head,
subtle raindrops fall on me like hard rocks,
my feet sway gently on the withered ground.

My feet sway gently on the withered ground,
arms lazily fling on the sides,
my palms fight an endless battle between confinement and freedom,
my eyes twitch wildly at your sight.

My eyes twitch wildly at your sight,
a sumptuous pain creeps inside my dying heart,
‘Cause I carry around a world of grand liaison on my shoulders,
and my feet sway gently on the withered ground.

The Cult (Part III – The Escape and the Aftermath)

If you’ve read Part I and Part II of the story, you may proceed.

---

 

I honestly couldn’t tell if the music was still coming out of the tent or if my ears were ringing and I was the only one who could hear it. The rope around my body had suddenly started to hurt; it felt like someone had just tied me up. I didn’t know for how long I had been unconscious. It was still dark but it felt like I hadn’t been conscious for days. When I looked around, I saw that Marty and Evie were also tied up, but they were still unconscious. Jeremy lay on the grass in front of me, just looking at the sky. When I made a movement and sound, he tilted his head to look at me.
“Ah, you’re awake. It’s such a beautiful night,” Jeremy said, resuming looking at the sky.
“What the hell is happening?”
When I moved a little more, I could feel the grass under me wet and that’s when I figured out that I had peed myself, even though I was hoping I hadn’t, and I stank of different things. I was disgusting.
“Wait,” Jeremy said. And then he called out to the man behind all of this. “Dr. Fujita! Vivien Turner is awake! The Quaalude girl.”
Fujita felt like a familiar name, but I was in no shape to dig in to my memory. But when the man came out of the tent and removed his gas mask and stood in front of me, I didn’t have to dig into my memory because I recognized him instantly. It was Dr. Itsuki Fujita, the psychiatrist who used to practice in Hemlock Creek a long time ago. He was born and brought up in our town, and I remember when I was in middle school, a lot of Creek High’s students were his patients. He was forced to leave town when he had started doing drug experiments on the high school students and almost everyone was always spiralling and were getting addicted to Dr. Fujita’s special drugs. I had never officially met him, he wasn’t ever my doctor, but he was in the news for the shit that went down at Creek High, and that’s how I remembered him; only on TV, and in the papers. But that night, he was right in front of me, and in a position of power.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Turner?” He asked in his deep voice, with his hands at the back.
“What – what are you doing here???” My head was spinning and it was a struggle to keep my eyes open.
“Yes, I shall tell you that, of course. Jeremy, wake her brother and her friend up, please.”
My eyes followed Jeremy. He picked up and wore a gas mask before entering the tent. When he came out of the tent, he was holding two needles. He went over to my brother first, and put the needle in his neck.
“JEREMY!” I cried, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Relax, child. It doesn’t hurt. Much,” Dr. Fujita said to me.
My brother started to move. He was trembling at first, but then his body slowly started to calm down, and he opened his eyes.
What followed was a series of curse words thrown at Jeremy, a few “who the fuck are you anyway” directed to Dr. Fujita, and a few tears that were shed in the fear of the situation. I was really scared too, which is why when Marty started crying, I joined him.
“Tch. Tch. Look at the Turners weeping,” said Jeremy, chuckling at our misery.
He then went on to wake up Evie. Evie awoke the same way that Marty did, her body trembled at first and then slowly started to calm down. But the minute she looked around and realized that she didn’t understand anything that was going on, she freaked out, and fumbled a lot, so I didn’t quite understand a word she said. At one point of time, all three of us were talking simultaneously. We wanted answers, the ropes around our bodies hurt us, and we obviously weren’t completely sober.
“Shut up! Just, shut up everyone!” Dr. Fujita shouted. “I haven’t assembled you here to listen to this constant nonsensical indistinct chatter. I have assembled you here to help you. And I can’t do that until and unless you cooperate with me.
“Help us? We don’t need your help, Dr. Fujita,” I said, crying.
“Fujita? Oh God, is this the same Fujita who was banished from the town when we were in middle school?” Evie asked, bewildered.
I could see rage building up on the doctor’s face, but then I also saw him drop the rage and take a calm and composed tone with Evie.
“First of all, my child, I wasn’t banished from Hemlock Creek, I left on purpose. All I ever wanted to do was help everyone, but everyone in the town had such closed minds, I could never have achieved what I desired here in an office without patients, because everyone thought my methods were dangerous; it’s utterly outrageous, to call my methods dangerous. They’re not dangerous, they’re unconventional. They are experimental, and they are fresh, and humans fear any and everything they don’t already understand. Their demeanor told me that I wasn’t a part of my own town anymore, and that’s when I left. I left and I formed a group, a group of people with open minds, people willing to try new things, people willing to give life a chance. Don’t think of me as your enemy, children. I’m not it. I’m only here to help,” Dr. Fujita closed his eyes after he finished talking, took a deep breath, and let the breath out, and opened his eyes.
“By group, you mean cult, don’t you, doctor?” I asked. “I don’t want to listen to your bullshit. You have to let us go, all of us, or this time you will be kicked out of the town, maybe literally.”
“But you see,” the doctor sat down in front of me, pulled on the string of rope attached to my chest, with his index finger, “I can’t let you go. Not yet, anyway.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I was agitated and it was showing.
“I want to make your lives better, it’s as simple as that, my child,” he said, slowly moving away from me. “I want to help you see life in a different light, I want to help you live your life better.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Evie asked. She sounded scared.
“By altering your brain chemicals, of course. I’ve been doing this experiment on your brother,” he said to Evie and then turned towards me, “and your friend. And the other boy from your school and when I’m done, they’re all going to feel much better and they’re going to lead extraordinary lives.”
“What you’re doing, is going to ruin them. You were the reason behind so many students’ deteriorating mental condition when you used to practice in the town. I remember everything. It was all over the news. You call your methods unconventional, but you know that they are dangerous, and sick,” I said.
“Well, I’ll agree they are a tad dangerous, and I’ll take pride in it because a little risk is necessary to reap benefits properly.”
“Little risk?! It’s not little! You’re toying with the minds of young people, why don’t you realize that? Ever since Jeremy’s party the other night, Ava has been acting weird. Not happy, but weird. Like a fucking zombie. Who knows what she’s going to be like when you’re through with her. Where is she anyway? Still unconscious in the tent?” I asked.
I could see Dr. Fujita’s face turn red. I was annoying him, I was making him angry, and I wanted to continue doing that because some part of me thought that he would let us go. But it really wasn’t going to go down like that.
“Enough talking. Jeremy, get them inside the tent. It’s time we start the healing process,” the doctor said, put on his gas mask, and went inside the tent. When he came out, he was holding three needles. He gave two of them to Jeremy who went on to inject the needles into my brother’s and Evie’s skin. I could hear them screaming, resisting the needle, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Dr. Fujita. His gas mask made him look creepy, and I remember I didn’t resist and I let him inject me ‘cause I knew there was no getting out of that situation. Not yet, anyway.

When I woke up next, my eyes opened for a very brief period, I looked around but couldn’t see anything except for smoke and the color red. I could hear the music and the chants. I knew I was inside the tent. I wanted to move and get out but before I could do that, I breathed, and I was unconscious again. The next time I woke up, I woke up with a flinch. I sat up immediately and had major difficulty breathing. I was lying next to Marty and Evie, both of them unconscious. I wanted to get up and run away, but I couldn’t feel my legs. I turned around, while sitting down, and saw that I was not alone. A guy I had never seen before was standing behind me.
“Jeremy!” he screamed. “Come out at once, one of them has woken up. Jeremy!”
“Please, please let me go,” I held the guy’s leg and begged.
Jeremy came out of the tent, wearing his gas mask, and holding a needle. He took off his gas mask, and threw it over me for the stranger to catch.
“Go inside, Zachary. The doctor needs people. I’ll deal with her.”
Jeremy sat down, and came close. I wasn’t tied up, but I felt like I was. It was really hard to move.
“Aren’t you a feisty little girl?! Now c’mon, let’s go back to sleep,” he said, and was about to poke me with the needle, but somehow, I gathered strength, and punched him in the gut. He wasn’t expecting it and dropped the needle accidentally. I quickly reached for needle, and even though I couldn’t feel my body, I think it knew what it was doing. I jabbed the needle in Jeremy’s neck and before he could scream, he drifted into a deep slumber. I tried to get up, but couldn’t. I could hear the chanting, and I had to get away from there before anyone came out of the tent and caught me.  I crawled my way to Evie, reached inside her jeans’ pocket, and took out her car’s keys. And then I crawled for as long as I could and when I could get up, I did, and walked out of the forest. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I got lost, and bruised, but what matters the most is I got out of the forest, I started the car, and I went straight to Hemlock Creek’s police station. I drove in a very rash manner; if I had encountered any cars in the way, I would’ve definitely hit them. I wasn’t sober, but I made it to the station alive.

It was an arduous task to explain to the officer what was happening. I was fumbling with words and I kept feeling like I would pass out any minute.
“Miss, calm down and tell me what’s going on,” Officer James said.
“No, we have to hurry, the doctor and his henchmen are going to ruin our lives. We have to go to the forest. NOW!” I was definitely panicking.
I think I passed out in the station after that. The process was pretty simple thereafter; the cops busted Fujita’s practice and retrieved everyone. Fujita and his men obviously had a terrible fate waiting for them, but to say that we were better off would mean underestimating the damage that had been done to us. When I woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t tell what day it was. I saw my Dad in front of me, and before I could talk to him, I passed out again. The next time I woke up, I saw my Mom on the chair next to me, but she was fast asleep. I wanted to get up but couldn’t, cause I was hooked to a machine and to a glucose bottle. I felt heavily sedated so I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I just couldn’t. So I decided to wake up my mother.
“Mom! Hey, mom! Wake up!” I whispered, but she didn’t move. Then I realized we were in a room and I didn’t have to whisper.
“Mom!” I yelled and she woke up with a start.
Disoriented in the beginning, she soon realized that I had woken up and that it was a big deal but instead of saying anything to me, she ran to the door, opened it, and shouted for the nurse to come in.
I wished back then and I wish even now that I would’ve woken up with Dad in the room. But, at least I was conscious again.
“How are you feeling?” A question that my mother should’ve asked me instead came from the nurse.
“A bit sedated, but not enough to go back to sleep,” I said, clearly. I was surprised I wasn’t slurry.
“The doctor will be right with you!”
The nurse left the room and my mother just stared at me.
“Are you not going to talk to me?” I asked her.
“No, honey, I just thought you weren’t ready – ah – forget it. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
“No wonder, sweetheart. Can I hug you?”
Before I could say yes, I started crying, and then in between tears I said, “About time you did!”

It felt like a really special moment back then, but every time that I have thought about it since, it hasn’t felt all that special. I was directed to stay at the hospital for one more week. For that one week, I saw neither my brother, nor Evie. They were directed to stay in the hospital for one more week, and so was Ava. After I was discharged, I didn’t go home. I stayed in the hospital, in Marty’s room and waited for him to wake up. It was cold in the hospital, so I had asked my Dad to bring me my coat from home. I was sitting in the chair next to Marty’s bed, just looking at him, waiting for him to wake up, all the while rattling the bottle of pills I was prescribed to keep the withdrawal symptoms in check in my coat’s pocket. When I started to fall asleep on my first night at the hospital after my discharge, I felt like Marty woke up and tried to talk to me. But I realized soon that I was hallucinating. The next morning both the doctor and my father suggested I go home and rest. But I refused to leave Marty’s side.
“At least go take a walk. Don’t stay holed up in a room,” the doctor said.
“Okay.”
But I didn’t go for a walk. I swallowed two pills and asked at the reception for Ava’s room. I had to see Evie too, but Ava had me really worried. When I reached her room, I opened the door, and saw that her mother was sitting on the edge of the chair, as if just waiting for Ava to open her eyes. She looked at me and got up.
“Vivien! How are you, child?” she came up to me and hugged me. It was warm. I hugged her back.
“I’m doing okay now, Mrs. C. How are you holding up? And how’s Ava?”
Before she could reply, she broke down.
“She hasn’t – hasn’t woken up. Is she ever – is she going to wake up?”
“She has been through a lot, Mrs. C. But don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll wake up soon,” I reassured Ava’s mother but I wasn’t sure about when she would wake up, or if she would, myself. I planted a kiss on Ava’s cheek, and walked back to Marty’s room, too upset to say another word to Ava’s mother. That night, sitting in the chair next to Marty, I had a nightmare. I saw that all of us were back in the forest and we were tied to the trees and the ropes were searing and leaving burn marks all over our bodies. I woke up with a violent jerk when it started to ache too much in the dream. I was trembling and I reached for my bottle of pills and downed three of them. After that, I called my Dad and asked him to come over. Dad brought me some lasagne from home which I hurriedly ate.
“Dad, I think I wanna go home,” I said; I was really tired. I hadn’t been home in god knows how many weeks and I needed to rest in my bed. I couldn’t have waited forever for Marty to wake up.
“I’ll give you a ride and then I’ll come back here,” he agreed.
“Oh, one last thing!”
I had totally forgotten about Evie. I had to pay her a visit. I asked for her room and one of the nurses took me there. When I opened her room, I was happy to see that she was awake and her father was feeding her soup.
“Vivien!” She said, with her mouth full. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been asking about you since morning, how are you doing?”
“I was discharged a few days ago; I just stuck around in the hospital to be with Marty. You look well,” I said that because she really did.
“Yeah, my dad here has been taking care of me. Dad, this is my friend Vivien, who I was telling you about. Vivien, this is my Dad, Noel.”
“Hello!” I gently said, and Evie’s father flashed a big smile and nodded, with the soup bowl in one hand and a spoon in another.
“How’s Marty?” Evie asked.
“He still hasn’t woken up. Neither has Ava.”
“Shit! I hope they’ll be okay. I’m getting discharged tomorrow, I think.”
“That’s great, Evie. I’m going home right now. I’m very tired,” I said to her.
She smiled at me and said, “No wonder you are. Get some rest and I’ll see you soon.”
I walked over to her, kissed her on the cheek and left her room.

When I reached home, my mom asked me if I wanted to sleep in her room and I refused. I told her I needed to lie down in my own bed and be alone for a while; away from people checking my temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate all the time, away from all the machines, away from everything. When I lay in bed, I felt the need to take some Quaalude. I started sweating and reached for my bottle of pills again. I took 5 of them and went to sleep.

Ava took some time, but eventually woke up but to this day she is dealing with the trauma of what happened to her. She regularly visits a psychiatrist, some days she’s good, some days she’s back in the forest in her head and she sees and hears things that don’t exist but existed once upon a time. My brother on the other hand, never woke up. He died in his coma. The doctor said his body couldn’t take so many drugs mixed up and that even if he were alive, his withdrawal would’ve been very hard to treat. Evie had a speedy recovery and left town to go to University in a big city. It has been five years since the incident, since we encountered and fought a psychotherapy cult. I myself see a psychiatrist every now and then, because of my anxiety and the trauma that I went through partly because of my own mistakes. That’s the thing about mistakes, I guess. We either learn from them, or we repeat them. But under no circumstance can we eradicate them. We ruined our lives to a point where some of us had no life left to live. And we can now not afford to repeat our mistakes. We have no other option but to learn; we have no other option but to live.

The Cult (Part II – Into the Woods)

If you’ve read Part I of the story, you may proceed.

---

 

I could feel the sweat everywhere on my body – on my forehead, my neck, my armpits, everywhere. Sitting behind her never gave me the chills but what I was feeling was something entirely different. Maybe I was sweating because I was anxious about the pills, because this story is primarily about how drugs ruined us, or perhaps how we let drugs ruin us. But there was certainly something wrong with Ava; her vibrations were cataclysmic. When the bell rang, which again rang in my ears for longer than it did in reality, everyone stood up to leave. The literature professor said something and left the room before any of the students did. Ava made her way through, walking without caring if she bumped into others, and walked right out of the classroom. She didn’t look at me even once. I wanted to get up and follow her and shake her and ask her where she had been but my legs were numb and I just couldn’t get up. And a part of me knew, I guess, that she won’t answer any of my questions, so walking up to her and creating a scene in the hallway would’ve been profoundly futile. When I finally could get up, I looked for her outside the school but she wasn’t there. I wanted to search for her everywhere but I was exhausted. I went to the girls’ bathroom to wash my face. Evie was there, sitting exactly where we sat in the morning, smoking her bubblegum cigarette.
“Were you here all day, Evie?” I put my bag down and opened the tap. I stared at myself in the mirror while the cold water warmed my hands.
“There’s nothing better to do in school,” she replied.
I took my eyes off of the mirror, and smirked at Evie.
“You’re wasting water, Turner.”
I washed my face and used my t-shirt as a towel. I realized I looked like a terrible mess myself. My white t-shirt now had a dirty and wet patch on it, my hair was coming loose from everywhere in the pretentious bun I had put it in, and my lips were chapped; so maybe Ava’s appearance wasn’t that horrifying, I thought to myself. But it was. It really was. I went over to where Evie sat, and extended my hand. She passed me the cigarette and I took out my cell to call Martin.
“Hey, you at the parking lot?”
“I’m sorry Viv I forgot to tell you, but I left for Jeremy’s a while ago,” my brother said, again, calmly, like it was no big deal.
“Dude, what the fuck, Marty seriously?! I don’t even know what to say to you except that be wary of my tonight, I might fucking strangle you in your sleep.”
“Hey, I’m doing this for you, okay? Don’t forget that.”
“How am I supposed to go home, you asshole?” I passed the cigarette back to Evie.
“I’m sorry, Vivien. I had to go immediately, or else I would’ve dropped you home first.” He said he was sorry but I could sense nothing but nonchalance.
“I needed to talk about Ava too. Did you see her?”
“I did, actually. I waved at her but she just stared at me and walked away. I figured she was still mad at me so I didn’t try to talk to her or anything.”
“You’re pathetic, Martin Turner. PATHETIC.” And with that, I hung up.
Evie passed me the cigarette and I smoked, standing up.
“Jesus, Turner, sit the fuck down, you’re giving me a headache.”
“I can’t, Evie. I just, can’t.” I paced around in the bathroom.
She stood up and extended her hand. I handed the cigarette over to her. She took one last drag and threw it on the floor and crushed it with her boots.
“Let’s go, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Don’t you live on the other side of the town though?”
“Yeah, but what makes you think I’m in a hurry to go home?”

Evie’s car smelled great. Evie smelled great. She had a Scorpions CD already in the player which blasted when the car started and Evie immediately turned the volume down and I think she said something like “Sorry about that” but my ears had started ringing again because the sound was definitely deafening. We didn’t talk much in the car, she was lip-syncing to all the songs on the album and I was sometimes watching her, sometimes the road, and sometimes I was just staring at my hands. Surprisingly, we weren’t smoking either. I was expecting her to light a cigarette but turns out, her car is a no-smoking zone. No wonder it smelled like paradise and not the ditch within ourselves that we always voluntarily fall in.
“I don’t really want to go home,” I said just a few minutes before we were about to reach my house.
Evie stopped the car on the side. “You could’ve told me this before, you know.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I just, don’t feel like going home.”
“Say no more.” She turned the car around and drove with a new found enthusiasm.
She stopped the car at the dead end of Birchwood Drive, where the opening to the forest was, welcoming us with silver birch trees. Our town is called Hemlock Creek because it’s dominated with Eastern Hemlocks, but at the clearing of the forest, silver birches overshadow the hemlocks.
“We can stay here for a while.”
“And do what?” I was pulling on my jeans. I was very anxious and it was very obvious.
“Relax. ‘Cause you need to relax. We can smoke outside the car, and,” she reached to the back seat and took out a big silver bottle, “I’ve got something that will definitely relax you.”
“Woo-hoo!” It was fake enthusiasm Evie couldn’t detect. Or maybe she did, who can tell?
“You can handle vodka, right?”
“Yup.”
We went outside and sat on the bonnet of the car, staring into the forest and drinking, and smoking. We talked about a lot of stuff. I talked, mostly, about my love-hate relationship with Marty, my irritating mother, how weirdly awesome my dad is, how Ava had been acting weird (which caught her attention). I think it was the first time Evie and I had a real conversation. And it was great because words just flew effortlessly. It was so comforting to talk to Evie.
“Yes, I saw your friend, Ava. The first thing I noticed was that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. I mean, who does that?”
“And did you see her eyes, Evie? ‘Cause I did, up close. Her pupils were so heavily dilated that all I could see was black; just a big black button in the centre of her eye. It was almost disturbing,” I said, with a shudder.
“Maybe she was on something.”
Before I could say anything, Evie came a bit closer to me. She took the hem of my t-shirt in her hand, and crumpled it up. Her hands touched my bare waist on the side and I felt a spark inside my body.
“I really like The Guess Who,” she said, looking me in the eyes.
At that moment, I kind of freaked out. The bottle of Vodka was in my hand and I gulped down a good amount of it, and said, “Oh yes, they were great.”
I think Evie received the hint because she let go of my t-shirt and moved away from me a little bit. Not too much as to make it obvious, but just enough to make it noticeable.
She lit a cigarette and we smoked it together, but we weren’t talking. There was a long awkward silence which continued and was only then broken by a noise we heard.
“What was that?” My head immediately started looking for the source of the noise.
“Maybe it was a deer,” Evie was also looking around now to see where the noise had come from.
We heard another rustle and this time we saw not a deer, but a person going inside the forest. With her hair tied up in a ponytail, and her red crop sweatshirt, I instantly recognized it was Ava. I got off the car, handed the bottle to Evie but the minute my feet touched the ground, I was so dizzy I couldn’t stand up. I fell on the ground.
“Dude, you okay?” Evie sounded concerned.
“That’s Ava!” I said to Evie. “AVA! HEY, AVA!!!” I screamed.
I saw Ava stop for a minute, but she didn’t turn around. She looked like she went home and changed and groomed herself but her going inside the forest made no sense at all. She went on to walk further inside but I was still on the ground, screaming her name. Evie was trying to help me up but she was drunk herself.
We somehow managed to get inside the car.
“You sure that was Ava?”
“100%.” I was.
“Call her.”
It was a good idea and I did call her but it went straight to voicemail.
“I should’ve gone after her, Evie, I’m so worried,” I said with my eyes slowly filling up with tears.
“And we would’ve if we could’ve. Don’t sweat it. Let’s get you home.”
“Hey, woah, slow down. You’re drunk. No driving, please.”
“I’m not that drunk,” Evie sounded confident.
“Maybe we should wait a while. Maybe we can see Ava come out.”
And so we decided to stay in the car, watch out for Ava and sober up before going home. But we were obviously very drunk and we passed out and woke up around 2 hours later.
“SHIT! Evie, it’s six! DRIVE!”
“Huh? What?” Evie looked charming even when passed out, I mean, is that fair to anybody?
“My mother has been calling me like crazy. We need to go home. She won’t know I’ve been drinking though, would she? Do I smell drunk?” I was getting anxious again.
“Don’t worry, just go straight into the shower, wash up, and get into bed. Call your mom right now and tell her you’re on your way.” And then, Evie drove even better than she drove when she was completely sober.

The front door was unlocked and I tip toed inside the house. I had no idea where my mother was, but I wasn’t in the mood to get curious about that. I went up the staircase and straight into my room. And there she was.
“Jeez! Mom! You scared me!”
“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to. Just by the way, where were you?”
She was folding my fresh out of the laundry clothes.
“Why are you in my room?”
“Answer me first. Where were you?”
“I was with Evie. We were just driving around and lost track of time. I’m sorry.” I was trying to maintain distance so she couldn’t smell alcohol off of me.
“Still doesn’t explain why you weren’t answering your phone.”
“I’m sorry, I really have to pee, okay bye,” I said and hurriedly went to the washroom.
“You’ve escaped right now, but we will have to talk about this later, Vivien. You’ve been acting very weird lately and I’ve no idea what’s going on with you, and who is this Evie? Is she from school? I want to know everything.”
I didn’t say anything because I’m not too sure if I was supposed to. After a while, I heard mom leave the room. I took a long shower, and tried to relax in bed until it was time for dinner.

“Why are you guys in the living room and not at the dining table?” I asked my parents, who were lazily sitting on the couch, watching something on Comedy Central.
“Oh honey, it’s ready, don’t worry. We’re just waiting for your brother,” my mom replied.
“WHY?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’?”
“I’m starving and who knows when he’ll come?”
“Well, young lady, unlike you, he has been answering his phone and he should be home in another 10-15 minutes. So, relax a little.”
There goes the R word again. So fucking stupid.
“Do you want to come and sit with us, honey?” My Dad asked.
“No, I’ll just wait for you guys at the dining table.”

My head was still buzzing so I pulled out a chair, sat down and kept my head and my arms on the table. After which I’m guessing I passed out again, cause Dad was stroking my hair.
“You alright, Viv?”
“Oh, Dad, yeah. I’m okay. Is Marty here?”
“I sure as hell am,” Marty said, coming out of the downstairs bathroom, wiping his hands with a towel.
“Language, boy. Language.” Dad and I both said this at the same time, and then giggled.
I had so many questions for Marty but I couldn’t have asked him anything on the dinner table.
“Please stop shaking your leg, Vivien,” Marty said.
“I don’t think I want to.” I was anxious.
“Go to hell!” Martin’s calm broke. But only the one of his words, his face and demeanor was still as calm as a foggy night.
I was expecting Dad to say what he usually says when someone uses a bad word, but he was mute.

After dinner, Marty and I went upstairs together and I asked him outside his room what he had brought for me.
“You’re going to be so happy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was able to arrange the buttons,” he said with a sly smile.
“WHAT?! REALLY?!?!?! Maaartyyyy!!!” And with that, I flung myself at him. I didn’t usually hug Marty unless I was drunk or really happy and feeling the sibling love. I don’t know what it was that day but Marty probably got it right.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” he asked with a warm smile, which I saw when we were done hugging.
“I – erm, yeah, okay,” I was fumbling, still buzzed.
“Okay, go to your room and I’ll get you the stock for this week. Please don’t overdo it this is all I have for now.”
“Aye aye, captain!”
I went to my room and patiently waited for a knock on my door. I couldn’t, obviously, take my mind off of Ava. I sat on the edge of my bed and called her again. It rang for a while but then went to voicemail. I didn’t want to waste hours trying to contact her. I decided to let it be. Maybe she didn’t want to talk, or something. And then my phone buzzed, and I received a text from Ava. It read “I know you saw me today. Tell no one.” Vague. I called her again but she didn’t answer. We exchanged a few texts then.
V – Okay but are you okay? I’m very worried.
A – Going out tonight, telling mom that I’m sleeping over at your place.
V – Okay but where are you going?
A – Where I need to be and where I belong. The silver birches are calling my name out.
V – I have no idea what you’re saying. What’s going on, Ava? Why are you being so weird?
And that was the end of it because she didn’t reply after that. A few minutes later, while I was still thinking about Ava and her texts, my door flung open and my brother jumped on me with an injection in his hand, very close to my neck. My heart had started beating very fast and I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t jab this needle in your fucking neck, you bitch.” He wasn’t calm at all.
“ Get off of me! What the hell?”
He pinned me down on the bed harder, the needle coming ever so close to my neck.
“No don’t do this, please, Marty, what’s up? Why are you doing this?” I was about to burst into tears but even that couldn’t have melted Marty. He was really angry and it was justified, but I couldn’t figure out then what it was.
He got up, grabbed my hand, and violently jerked me out of my bed and took me over to his room and then to his bathroom. There lay the destroyed iPad.
“Why would you do that? Why are you such a bitch? And don’t deny it, I know you did this.”
I had started crying extensively.
“Don’t cry! Answer me! What the fuck, Viv? You know how important this was to me. Have you gone fucking psycho or what? Is it because I didn’t get you the buttons? Seriously?”
I was nodding.
He didn’t say anything after that. He went back into the bedroom and I sat down on his bathroom floor, next to the broken iPad, crying.

After a while, when the tears had stopped, I stood up. I was too anxious to face Martin but I needed to go back to my room and I had to face Martin before that because he was still in bed. I slowly built the courage to face him, and I walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I saw Martin in bed, cleaning up after injecting himself, hiding the needle and the spoon under the mattress, and getting ready for a trip. It was a really sad sight, to be honest. I was relieved he was drugged because he would have screamed at me otherwise, but I still hated seeing him that way. I know he only used to take heroin in very small doses, never enough to completely pass out, but it was still a sad sight. Before I left his room, my eyes fell on his bedside table. He had taken the bottle of Quaalude out for me. I was feeling guilty about taking them, but Martin was almost asleep and I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the bottle and went into my room. There were 7 pills in total, 1 for each night, but I hurriedly swallowed 2 with water. Then I got into bed, and checked my phone. There was another text from Ava. My heart started beating out of my chest. I initially decided to open the message when the pills would start to kick in, but I couldn’t wait. I opened her text and it read: “Help. Forest.” I called her immediately but it went straight to voicemail. I texted her a few things but the messages didn’t deliver. I was slowly moving on to the heavy sedation realm and I liked that, but the whole deal with Ava was freaking me out and keeping me grounded, somehow. I stood up but my entire room was spinning, or my head was, and I had to sit back down. I remember thinking to myself, I’ll lie down for a bit. When I woke up, to my phone buzzing, it was midnight. I checked my phone and there were around 10 missed calls from Evie. I picked up my phone and called her back.
“Hey, Evie, what’s up?”
“Dude, I’m standing outside your house, where the fuck have you been?”
“I was sleeping, what’s the matter?” I was still very sleepy.
“Well, initially, I was just driving down to come see you, because there was this huge fight at home where my brother just left, he was acting very weird, not speaking and all, so shortly after he left, I left too, didn’t want to be a part of my folks’ fight, they were driving me crazy. But then, when I passed the forest, I heard some really weird trance music, only, it was kind of disturbing but at the same time tranquilizing, I don’t know how to explain except that it was very weird.”
And it hit me. I had totally forgotten about Ava’s ‘Help’ text.
“Evie, wait for me, I’ll be down in five.”
Evie was about to say something, but I hung up. I dialled Ava. Voicemail. I stood up, and while still dizzy, I somehow put my jeans and the The Guess Who t-shirt back on, without caring how spoiled they were, and ran to Martin’s room. It wasn’t locked. I went inside and saw him sleeping. I had to wake him up.
“Marty,” I shook him. “Wake up, Marty!”
He tossed and turned for a few seconds and then bolted upright.
“What? What happened? What’s the matter?”
“We have to go. It’s an emergency.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just, please, trust me. Are you stable enough to come with me?”
“I’m fine, but I don’t think you are.”
He stood up, held his head in his hands for a few seconds.
“Hurry up, we don’t have much time,” I cried.
“Would you chill? You look like shit. Go wash your face or something. I’ll see you downstairs in two.”
I went to his bathroom before he could, splashed some water on my face, and went downstairs. I kept staring at my phone, and I had to sit on the first step of the staircase because I was still dizzy. Exactly three minutes later, Marty tip-toed downstairs. Our parents’ room was downstairs and it was closed so we assumed they were asleep. We opened the front door, and snuck out.
“Shit! Wait, I forgot my car keys.”
“No, it’s okay. We’re riding with Evie. Don’t worry about it.”
“What the fuck?” My brother was irritated, but somehow still very calm.
“Bloody hell, you both look so fucking terrible. You guys aren’t sober, are you?” Evie said, sitting on her car’s bonnet.
“Everybody, just get in the car, and I’ll explain everything,” I held Evie’s hand as she slid down from the car, and pushed Marty to get inside the car.
I sat in the passenger seat, and my brother got into the back seat, and Evie started the car.
“Now, Marty, listen. Ava is in trouble. We’re going the forest, and –”
“Forest?!?!? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking nuts? It’s midnight, for fuck’s sake,” And at that point, my brother was as far away from calm as I’ve ever seen him in my life.
“Would you let me finish? I have a very bad feeling so please, just, roll with it.”
“If you have a bad feeling, then we should be doing the opposite of following the bad feeling. We should be at home sleeping like we were. I do everything you say, man, I get the buttons for you so that you can cope and sleep, do you know how hard it is to get them? And you want to go to the forest I mean what is this, some pretentious adventurous trip idea? Evie, stop the car.”
“No, Evie, don’t,” I said to Evie, and then turned my attention to Marty. “Marty, please just trust me. And thank you for everything, but it was your fucking fault in the first place. God knows what Ava has got herself into just because you were too fucking high to care where she was going and with whom.”
Martin shut up after that, and Evie was avoiding looking at me. I felt embarrassed ‘cause I was pretty sure Evie thought of me as a junkie, so I just looked outside the window, and there was complete silence in the car which no one tried to break, until we reached the forest’s clearing.
We got out of the car, and heard some noises in the distance. It was similar to what Evie described earlier, weird trance music. It was dark, and we could hardly see anything. It was simple. We only had to follow the music. So the three of us turned our phones’ torches on, and went into the woods. A few steps in, and I experienced a strong head rush which made me fall.
“Hey, you okay, Turner?” Evie helped me get up.
“Yeah, erm, I’m okay. My head’s spinning.”
“Mine too,” Martin added. “We should’ve done this sober. But then again, I would never have done something like this sober.”

We walked for a long time and then finally, in a distance, saw a red tent. Upon being closer to the tent, we realized that the trance music was accompanied by gibberish chants.
“Maybe we should go back. Now is the time to realize that this is a stupid idea and we should head back,” Martin’s voice was shaky.
Before I could reply, someone behind us spoke, with his hands on Martin’s shoulders and mine.
“I’m sorry, but it’s too late for you now, Turners.”
We turned around to face him, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. But it was a real shocker for my brother.
“Jeremy?!” Martin exclaimed.
“Hey brother. Glad you could join us. I never had the courage to actually ask you, but you found your way here, I’m so glad. We knew you would come looking for your girlfriend, and,” he turned to face Evie, “that you would come looking for your brother.”
“What the fuck kind of circus show is this? You know this guy, Turner?” Evie asked me.
“He – he is my – my brother’s friend,” I stammered.
“Oh, don’t be so modest now, Vivien,” Jeremy said, looking into my eyes. “I’m more than just your brother’s friend to you, am I not? I’m the reason you’re able to sleep at night.”
“Where’s Ava?” I needed to stick the point.
“Oh, you’ll know. She’s in the tent over there.”
I ran straight ahead to the tent, opened the zipper, and entered. I was welcomed by a strange smoke, and bright red lights, that had beautifully engulfed the tent in entirety. It had no scent but I immediately started to feel more light-headed than I was already feeling. And the tightness that I was experiencing in my throat and chest ever since I woke up started to fade away. I fell to my knees, my eyes were droopy but I could see, amidst the smoke, Ava, along with Evie’s brother Jayden, and another boy from school I didn’t know the name of, lying peacefully on the floor. Four people I couldn’t recognize stood above them wearing gas masks. They were looking right at me. The music was coming out of speakers, and the chants were a part of the music. And soon, I succumbed to the smoke and must’ve fallen asleep, cause when I woke up tied to a tree outside the tent, what I got to know and see, wasn’t pretty at all.

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Proceed to Part III.