Chapter Two

Edited ;)

Chapter Two

The car ride home is silent as usual. My mom and I aren’t really close at all. In fact we are total strangers. The only thing that she knows about me is that I was going crazy. My family is screwed up, well at least in my point a view. I have a younger brother named Miles; he’s fourteen and now getting to the stage of puberty where his emotions and hormones are all screwed up. He hates me; he hated me ever since I started to show signs of schizophrenia. Since I started to have signs of my sanity fading away.

My lovely mother was not close to me. I think she’s not close to me because she thinks I am insane—or more like knows that I’m insane. The worried glances she gives me when we are out in public I think are an act. I always embarrass her when I break down. I think she hates me too and wishes she didn’t have a daughter that was only years away from going legally insane.

My father doesn’t live with us. He lives in the great home called Johannes Mental Institute. He was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia twelve years ago, when I was four. Whenever I visit him he seems normal, he doesn’t show any signs of any mental illness. I’ve always wonder if the doctors diagnosed him wrong. My mom told me that he’s in there because a little after I was born he started to have these moments where he would freak out.  He would break down and ramble about how demons are after him. He would speak in different languages.

My father is where I would get my mental illness from. Beside him from being crazy he was the only family member that actually loves me. Who actually accepted me for who I am. He is one of the few people in the world who would understand me. He was my best friend beside Kyle.

Once upon I time in grade school and the beginning of middle school I had more than one friend. I was actually kind of popular, the kind of popular you would be in elementary school. But halfway through middle school I started to see ‘dead people’ more often. And I would freak out more often. So my ‘friends’ all left me because I was a freak to them. All of them accept for one, Kyle.

Kyle didn’t judge me, ask me questions that I didn’t have answers to; he didn’t treat me like a freak, he just listens. He is my only friend and I mean my only. The people that were once called ‘friends’ don’t even treat me human. I’m not like one of those lucky nerds who are invisible, who the popular crowd are totally oblivious to. No, everyone at Ridge Public High School know me, I’m the infamous Athena or as the people at school like to say ‘the freak who has no friends’. I’m called hateful names by everyone in the school, looked at dirtily and glared at by the whole student body, even the teachers hate me.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Since I was down on the popularity scale, Kyle must be equally as bad. Ha! No, Kyle was the ‘bad boy’ of our school. He has plenty of friends, plenty of girls lining up, so why would he want to hang out with someone like me? I honestly don’t know. It’s like the question of the universe.

Throughout the years he did his best to protect me from the mean people. But people still manage to get to me. Burning down my self-esteem and hitting all my insecurities. But I manage to build a wall around my emotions so now there words don’t hurt me as much.

That was a lie. All their words hurt me like knives but I don’t show my vulnerability to anyone. Not even Kyle. Not even my dad. It’s a sign of weakness and weakness is not accepted in my mind.

I really didn’t care what people thought of me, honestly. Even though their words hurt. And that was the truth. No matter what people call me I can’t change their impression on me. The only thing that get to me are the ghosts. Not even Kyle can protect me from that. No one can.

They’ve been haunting me my whole life. Making me scared. Since I was six I have always had nightmares. They were all about the same thing. Killing, murder, death, and war. Never slept peacefully in my life. Never.

I’ve tried everything pills, therapy, I’ve even got my brained scanned. Nothing ever worked; no one knows what’s wrong with me. Not even the drugs can take away my sight. I realized years ago that the only thing that will take away the sight is the death of me.

Mom pulls up to our house. It was pretty decent size and my room gave me privacy so I can’t complain. I immediately get out of the car and race through the house to go to my haven, my room. But of course as I past my brother he gives me a glare of disgust. I roll my eyes, trying not to show that his hate hurts me.

Also, once upon a time my brother and I were very close, that time was before I was going crazy.

You don’t know what a broken heart feels like until your own brother hates you. When I was thirteen and when Miles was eleven was when my sight got really bad. Then he started to get distant, everyone did. Then eventually he avoided me completely except when he gave me hateful comments and death glares. If looks could kill…

I was depressed for months, my own depression, not the stupid ghost’s. I can deal my friends turning their back but when my brother started to hate me, I cracked. I didn’t do anything drastic like cut myself or overdose on my anti-depressants. I just was nothing; I went through the motions every day. The only people there for me was Kyle and my dad. They helped me through my pain and eventually I got better, but not without nights of sobbing, feeling like I was nothing.

It was then realized that I was embarrassment to my family and my friends. My own flesh and blood can’t accept me for who I am and what I’m going through. I learned to accept that my family can’t accept me, no matter how bad that sounds.

When I reach my room I flop down on my bed and breathe deeply. I turn over to stare at my black ceiling.

My whole room is painted black but my walls are covered with photos of Kyle and I, pretty landscapes, and sketches and painting I have made over the years. Poems are clustered by my desk attached to the bulletin board. I love my room, it’s my women cave. The only place where I’m not judged because of this stupid curse.

I hear a knock on my door, I groan. “What?” I ask with annoyance.

“Miles and I are leaving to go to his game.  Do you want to come?” My mom asks, her voice is filled with reluctance, probably because she doesn’t want me to come so I don’t have yet another embarrassing break down. But for every game/practice that Miles has she asks me anyway.

“Mom, no! She can’t come.” Miles hastily whispers. But I hear it anyway. I almost laugh at his how much he resents me.

“No, I don’t want to ruin Miles’s reputation more than I already have.” I say with an emotionless laugh. I got used to the fact that my brother would rather get castrated then have me show up at one of his games where I have the potential to breakdown.

“Okay, then. Don’t forget to take your drugs. Bye!” Then she leaves with Miles sculling behind her. It’s only five, what am I going to do? Maybe my favorite sport, sleeping.

I didn’t realize I started to fall asleep until I hear something outside my window. Oh my god, is someone breaking in? I grab the nearest thing I can find and hold it up in a defense position. My window opens and someone climbs through it. I’m about to hit the intruder when I recognize the messy brown hair and the leather jacket.

“Kyle! What the hell!  You know you could have used the front door instead of breaking in my window.” I yell at the boy who’s dusting of his jeans.

“I know but what’s the fun in that?” Then Kyle looks at my defense weapon.

“You were really going to defend yourself with Hamlet?” He asks and smirks. I hit him in the arm with the aging book.

“Ow, what was that for?” He whines while covering his arm.

“Literature is a great weapon, my darling.” I say and flop down on my bed, sighing.

“So how did the new therapist go?” I groan at his sudden question. All therapy session make me wanna, to bite my fingers off. One by one until they’re all off my hand. In fact I would rather bite all my fingers off and give them to a hobo than go through another therapy session.

“I take it was the same, horrible,” He implies. I pause for a moment. “They gave me new drugs.” I say with fake enthusiasm as I sit up and hold up the new bottle of pills. Kyle jumps on the bed and falls back down, and then he takes the bottle from my hands.

“You know these are not that bad. I think you really scored big this time.” He says. I laugh a little.

“Of course you would know, Ky. You’re like the drug expert.” I say. He really knows his drugs. I guess that’s something all bad boys know.

“Anyway, so I was bored and I wanted to know if you wanted to do something.”

“So I’m your last resort? Thanks Kyle.” I say jokingly. “We could watch a movie, mom updated are movie shelf.” I volunteer.

“Cool.” Is all he says.

We go down the set of wooden stairs to the movie room that had a futon and a few couches; okay it’s really our abandoned living room.

“Let’s watch the Last Exorcism. I need something to laugh at tonight.” The movie is kind of ironic considering that I’m seeing dead people.

“And they call this a horror movie?” I ask laughing after the movie is over. This movie is actually really funny to me. Yeah, scary movies to me are like comedy movies probably because of my current situation.

“Athena, you’re not supposed to laugh when someone dies. That’s so cruel.” He says with a scowl.

“It’s…..so…..funny.....though.” I say through laughs.

“Whatever weirdo. Let’s do something else.”

***

Thirty minutes later we’re in an intense game of candyland. The game is almost done and I’m ahead of Kyle. And boy, is he getting mad about that. It’s my turn. I pick up a card and I won. I skip all the way to the chocolate kingdom with my pink gingerbread piece.

“SWEET VICTORY!” I scream. Kyle rolls his eyes and mumbles something that sounds like ‘whatever’.

After we clean up all the pieces and put the game board back into its box we’re lying down on my bed. It’s 8:00; mom and Miles would be here shortly.

“Athena I’ve got to leave. I have to meet up with someone later.” Kyle says with an expressionless face.

“Does this someone pee sitting down?” I ask with amusement.

“Maybe.” Is all he says. He gets up and leaves. And when I mean leave, I mean him jumping out of my window. I don’t know how he survives jumping four stories.

I roll my eyes and smirk. He meets up with a lot of someones who pee sitting down, if you know what I mean.

***

Three hours later I’m lying down in my bed trying to sleep. Mom and Miles are in there beds probably sleeping like babies while I’m in here trying to count fluffy sheep. I couldn’t go to sleep, I’m too scared to do so and I have been too scared to for the past ten years. Every single night I would a have a graphic, vivid nightmare that would question my sense of reality. It’s horrible.

I close my eyes and force my brain to think happy thoughts as I snuggle Friday to my chest. Friday is my bunny that my dad gave me when I was three. I don’t even remember why I called the fluffy think Friday. It’s my comfort object; it made me forget the things in my past.

I’m just about to doze off when I felt the intense depression. My body curls up like it did earlier today. It feels like something was on top of my chest suffocating me. I can’t breathe. I choke trying to get air. It fees as intense as it did when I was at the mental institute.

I open my eyes and look to my right, where I feel the presences the most. There’s something staring at me with red eyes and horns. And it is not a ghost. It looks like a demon.