Sane

Chapter.33

*4 months later *

Dezmon had dropped out of Highschool after Niya's death .He couldn't bring himself to go home ,and he had started doing drugs heavily.He decided the best thing to do was to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.He  sat on the edge of the narrow bed, staring blankly at the white walls of his room in Mary Ann Psychiatric Hospital. The starkness of the room mirrored the emptiness he felt inside. It had been four months since Niya's death, yet every time he thought of her, it was as if she were still there with him. Her presence lingered in his mind, vivid and haunting.

He often found himself slipping into trances, moments where reality blurred and Niya seemed to materialize before him. In those moments, he could hear her voice, feel her warmth, and see her smile as clearly as if she were standing right beside him. It was both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of what he had lost and what he could never have again.

"Dezmon," she would say softly in his mind, her voice carrying the familiar lilt that always soothed him. "You need to keep going."

But how could he? The love of his life was gone, taken by the relentless grip of bipolar depression. Niya had fought so hard against the darkness that enveloped her, but in the end, it had been too much. Her decision to end her life left Dezmon feening , struggling to comprehend a world without her.

He would sit by the window for hours, watching the world outside continue its indifferent march forward. Cars passed by, people went about their lives, all oblivious to his pain. It felt wrong—how could life go on without Niya?

In his mind, their conversations continued. He would talk to her about everything: his day at the hospital, the therapy sessions that felt like an eternity, and the overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to consume him.

"I miss you," he'd whisper into the silence of his room.

"I know," she'd reply in his imagination, her voice gentle yet firm. "But you have to find a way to live for both of us."

Dezmon knew he needed to come to terms with her death, but acceptance felt like betrayal. How could he move on when every fiber of his being was yearning for her? The hospital staff encouraged him to participate in group therapy and individual counseling sessions, but it was hard to articulate the depth of his grief—the way it twisted and turned within him like a living thing.

Each day was a struggle between holding onto Niya's memory and learning to let go. He feared that letting go meant losing her forever, yet holding on so tightly kept him trapped in a cycle of pain.

In rare moments of clarity, Dezmon realized that Niya wouldn't want him to be stuck in this limbo. She had always encouraged him to chase his dreams and embrace life fully. Perhaps honoring her memory meant finding a way to do just that—to live not only for himself but for the both of them.

But for now, as he sat in that small room with its oppressive white walls, he allowed himself to drift once more into memories where Niya was still alive in his heart—a place where their love remained untouched by time or tragedy. Dezmon's trances became a refuge and a prison, a place where he could escape the unbearable reality of Niya's absence. Each time he slipped into those moments, her voice would wrap around him like a comforting blanket, but the pain of her loss was always lurking just beneath the surface. In those depths of despair, he sought solace in the only way he felt he could control—by cutting his wrist.

At first, it was a small act, a release of pent-up emotions that felt too overwhelming to bear. The sharp sting of the blade against his skin offered a fleeting sense of relief, a distraction from the emotional turmoil that churned within him. With each cut, he felt a momentary connection to something outside of his grief—a physical manifestation of the pain he couldn't articulate. It was as if the blood that flowed was carrying away some of the weight that pressed down on his heart.

But as time went on, the cuts grew deeper, more desperate. Each time he entered that trance-like state and spoke to Niya in his head, he felt compelled to inflict more pain upon himself. It was a twisted ritual that both terrified and comforted him. He believed that by hurting himself, he could somehow bridge the gap between their worlds—hers in the light and his in the suffocating darkness.After all she was what kept him SANE.