Iɴ MɪʟD FʀɪɢHᴛ • DᴏNɴɪᴇ DᴀRᴋᴏ

the fourth

      THE SMILING MAN is only there in darkness. as we watch a presentation on south american history, he stands next to the teacher and stares at me.

     i stare back at him. i grit my teeth. i think he's trying to say something, but he can't stop smiling so nothing comes out.

     he's in front of me now. something's different.

    my heart begins to pound when i realise.

     he looks worried.

    i choke on my own saliva, like a fucking idiot. i stand up and excuse myself, the teacher staring in concern but with no aversion.

     i run to the bathrooms. my heart feels like it's being squeezed like a child with a water balloon.

    my lunch doesn't stay where it should be. i empty it into the toilet.

     staggering to my feet, i wipe the vomit off my lips with toilet roll, tossing it in the bowl and flushing it along with the disgusting liquid.

    i can still taste it. it burns the back of my throat and i try not to gag more.

     i stare in the mirror. the lights are on. i wish they weren't. i want the smiling man to show me what's wrong.

     Yoko crashes into the toilets, pulling me against her chest and patting my heat comfortingly. she asks if i'm okay and i tell her i was sick.

     she gives me her water bottle and tells me to keep it for the rest of the day. she'll take it home and clean it afterward.

     i pat her on the back and thank her. i sip the water and follow her back to history.

     my hands shake.

—

     although me and Yoko are ages with one another, it regularly feels as if she is my older sister.

     at least, it does when things like me barfing in the school bathrooms happens. i think it's some instinct some people have to adopt someone as their own and care for them if they're in need. i reckon in some situations it's because they don't get enough support themselves.

     that isn't Yoko's case, though. i think her strange mother just taught her to care, and she practices it on me. i don't really have much of a problem with it.

     i'm sat now talking to my counsellor. i don't like telling her much. she's a short lady with specs and a bob, and she loves to talk about herself.

     i tell her 'my grandma died' and she tells me all about how miserable she was when her neighbour's best friend's ex-husband's fiancé's cat died and how sad it made her. it's not the same, Sharon.

    Sharon doesn't know about the smiling man. i'm in counselling because i saw a woman commit suicide when i was eleven and got a lovely case of post-traumatic-stress-disorder as a result. i've recovered for a while now but they still give me Xanax for the anxiety.

    nowadays i just spill whatever nihilistic shit my brain comes up with at her face. i tell her how i don't feel real and i feel like nothing is.

    today she asks me how i'm doing.

    i say i'm doing fine. even though i'm not. i'm just trying to get through this quickly so i can meet Donnie and then go home and have a sleepless night and let the smiling man show me what's happening.

     Sharon talks about how her sister saw a deer the other day.

     Sharon, the wankiest old woman ever. My unbearable itch.

     then she asks me something i'd never expect her to ask.

    "do you think you're alone?"

     i just stare at her for a moment. i'm confused. she seems to want a comprehensible response so i tell her, "i don't have any evidence to prove that i'm not, nor that i am,"

    Sharon laughs like a fool. snorting and hitting the table. "hunny, i mean in your everyday life!"

    i sigh. i say that i feel pretty alright as opposed to being lonely. i have a friend and now i think i'm dating someone. i leave out the part where the smiling man keeps me company. without him i think i would be lonely.

     Sharon claps her hands and asks me about the lucky guy.

    i shrug and say it was out of the blue but he's a nice guy. i think we'll get along. i think we're similar.

     Sharon asks if he's hot and i resist laughing. i'm no rocket scientist but i know that asking something like that is majorly unprofessional.

     so i shrug. i know this'll disappoint her, but she deserves it. to cheer her up i tell her i'm actually meant to be meeting him soon. i ask if i can leave now so i'm not late.

     she giggles and shoos me away. tells me to have fun and be careful. oh, and not to forget the new meds.

     my brow furrows as i leave the room. new meds? i'm all stocked up on Xanax, why do i need new meds?

     i go to reception and tell them my name. they check me out and give me a plastic bag containing a jar of pills with a name i can't pronounce. i ask them what they're for and they say it's something new.

     i don't reply. i just leave. i'm pretty sure i'm a test subject, then. i check the times for taking them. to be taken before meals.