It Needs a Name

Chapter 5

My alarm screams profanities at me, wrenching me from my deep sleep. I feel like I'm missing parts of my body, arms, legs, maybe my nose too. I run my hands through my hair - which tells me that yes, I do need a shower - and take a quick survey of my room. 

Messy does not cut it. War zone is a far cry from the state of this place. For some reason, I can't look at it for too long before I feel myself start to  split in two. I have to get out of this room, I have to get out now. 

I rip the down comforter off my mattress and scramble out of my room, stubbing my toe on the remnants of what must have been my dresser. I run down the hallway, keeping my eyes on my toes - which are starting to take on a purplish hue. I grab the banister, taking the stairs two at a time; there's only one place where I can be safe now. Only one place that this bad feeling can't reach me. 

I rip open the door to the basement, throw my blanket in the corner where my nest sits untouched from my last visit here. I turn around in circles, looking for anything I can use to block the door. 

Boxes that claim to be full of memories and my old school clothes are the first line in my defense against the evil that is seeping down the stairs. It's coming for me, I have to work faster.

I stack more boxes on top of my first layer, being careful  not to look at the contents inside. After I have five layers of boxes stacked against the door I can feel the badness twisting at the old, rusted knob. It throws itself against the wood of the door, shaking the walls and the overhead lights. 

I stumble into my nest, pull my comforter over my head and crash my eyelids shut. It has to go away. It has to. It will. It can't get in. It can't get in, I'm safe. Safe.

I curl my knees to my chest, trying as hard  as I can to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest and running for cover. 

The badness beats against the door with it's steal, poison fists. Screams that are not of this world tear through the brick walls and claw at the insides of my mind. I didn't prepare for this. No one prepared me for this.

No one ever told me life could be this way. No one ever told me that this kind of pain existed, existed and never left you alone. Why didn't they tell me about this?

The screams get so loud that it feels like the world might come crashing down on me. That doesn't seem so bad, at least then I'd have relief from this torture.

How does Mother not hear this? Why doesn't she come running to me to make sure I'm okay? Doesn't she care?

I don't want to know the answer to that question, not that question or any other. 

I rock back and forth, shoving my fist into my mouth to silent my own screams. Red bubbles up from my flesh and falls into my mouth, tainting my tongue and teeth. Bitter iron spills into my body and burns me from the inside out. Destroying every whisper of goodness in me. 

Destroying every chance I ever had at getting better.