Opaque

31 | Weak Minded

"We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think. You can never trust the human mind anyway. It's a death trap." - Anthony Hopkins

Chapter Thirty-One

The human mind is a dark abyss of mysteries. Like quicksand, the more one tries to unravel its mystery and find the origin, the deeper and faster he will fall. The simplest of things to humans are usually highly complicated labyrinth. Like memories, for example.

Sometimes, in my case especially, when we try to forget something horrifying and pain-inducing, the more often we find ourselves remembering the specific event and memory. More often than not, things we do want to remember, like our best friend's birthday or the answer to a question on an exam, are wiped from our mind as if they never existed.

Its torture, really, living with a human mind. Because despite all of its complications and strengths, it can be horribly weak at the worst possible moments. When we need to be strong, tall, and brave, our mind fails us. After all, phobias, monsters, and average, day-to-day, fears are concocted in the recesses of our minds.

When the voices had drowned out--my mind most likely took pity on me--and the heavy silence had set in, my skin began to crawl. As if a million microscopic ants were marching on my skin, I felt every single part of me itch.

Examining my arms, legs, and any bare skin, I found no army of insects and yet my skin itched profusely. I tried to stop myself from surrendering to the prickling sensation, but in the end, the devil won. I scratched my arms and legs frantically and when my fingers tired out, long red marks were found on my previously unscarred body.

I felt insane.

During those moments, when the line between madness and sanity blurs, it's almost scathingly painful to stay rooted in one spot. All I wanted to do was to walk to the window closest to me and jump down. Of course my apartment was only two stories high, so I would most likely be very much alive by the time my body made impact with the concrete sidewalk--I'd break a few or many bones, but that was a different story--but the jagged ends of the black iron fence lining the thin rectangular garden right below my window sill would make the whole ordeal slightly more painful. I would also die if the pointed ends pierced a vital organ of mine on the way down.

But at that precise moment, with the silence pushing me against the floor and my ears still ringing from the voices, I couldn't care less that death awaited me outside. If life entailed the pain I had dealt with, death was a far better choice.

Although when I had entered my apartment it had only been five in the afternoon and the sun had been shining, the darkness that crept into the living room notified me that the sun had set.

There I laid, my face hidden behind the sofa, my body stretched out in a sacrificial way, and if someone had walked in, they would've thought I'd fought a battle with death and lost.

I didn't remember when or how I fell asleep, but it was a miracle nonetheless. Not that sleep was any better for I rarely dreamed pleasant dreams, but it was the lesser of the two evils.

When I next awoke, it was four in the morning and the world was still. Like an image, not moving and frozen, the whole world around me seemed to have been stuck in time. I felt the loneliness multiply and enlarge, the blackness around me morphing into a flesh-eating monster.

The voices were long gone, only a faint whisper remained, but their presence was irrefutable. They were here before and they would come again, I was sure of it.

I felt insane.

Groaning, I sat up against the wall. My breathing was uneven, my hands were tingling and had most likely fall asleep due to the awkward position I had previously been in, and my head felt heavy.

The voices had been nothing new, but their effect never dulled. They were the figment of my imagination, unreal and mythical, but they felt awfully real. Their faces rarely showed, but their presence was tangible enough to be surely felt.

I stood up on trembling legs and leaned against the wall for support. I was becoming weak.

I felt like slapping myself, roughly shaking my shoulders to break me out of the trance I had fallen in, but instead I let out a string of curses. I couldn't afford being weak.

Although I was still relatively far from solving the mystery behind the Irwin High case, I felt, in the pit of my stomach, that I was closer. I had caught Blaze, something even the most experienced agents hadn't been able to accomplish, and I had taught Scarface a lesson. That had to account for something.

Nevertheless, instead of relying on the positives for support, I sought out the negatives.

Liz was still in danger and would be until the mastermind behind Blaze's rise to power and the increased crime rate in Manhattan was caught. As far as I knew, from what I had been told to the information I had dug out on my own, the Irwin High case wasn't as simple as it seemed.

I had no idea why Agent Matthew put me on this case, but my best guess was that he, himself, hadn't known the complexities behind the whole ordeal.

Liz wasn't the only target in this case. She was just the most obvious.

I had yet to figure out the other potential targets, but from what I had overheard from Axel's conversation, Mia seemed like she could be one. Also, I had to discover what role Blaze played in the whole case.

When Agent Matthew had told me to catch Blaze red-handed in a crime, I hadn't given the specifics much thought. I was just elated to be given another, more high-profiled case, because it meant I was proving my worth. But in hindsight, everything looked suspicious.

There was no possible way he would've easily agreed to me being assigned a risky case and then hadn't even tried to prohibit me from concocting a plan that put his daughter's life in danger. There was no way.

And yet, he had. Why?

Questions swarmed my head until I felt light-headed.

Not only did I have to worry about all of the above, but I had my own side mission to complete.

When I had entered the FBI headquarters three years ago, I had naively thought my transition to an agent would be relatively simple. I had thought I would be able to embark on my own mission and complete it with ease given the unlimited resources the FBI had. But that never happened.

Instead of solving the puzzle that had entangled me in a filthy web for the past ten years, I was forced to embark on a three year long baby-sitting duty in order to prove my capabilities.

I had about enough of this mission. I was getting tired of constantly waiting for something to happen, only for absolutely nothing to take place. There was a small part of me that was beginning to think that Agent Matthew was simply paranoid, but the larger, more logical part, knew that couldn't be far from the truth.

I sighed. I had so much work left to do, but very little energy and motivation to do so.

Tired of being tired, I knew it was high time for me to pick myself off the ground. I'd start off small.

Mechanically, almost robot-like, I placed the sofa back into its original position and began cleaning the house. There wasn't much to clean, but I manipulated my brain into thinking that there was dust where there actually wasn't and that the containers under my bed needed to be organized. It worked. All for two hours.

At six in the morning, the sun had risen and the mental exercise I had been doing to calm myself stopped working. Perhaps luck was on my side for once or maybe God felt pity for me, but either way, I received a phone call ten minutes later that changed everything.

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