Voices in My Head

Chapter 3: Outcast

When I entered my house, I was met with laughter and talking. I closed the door behind me and headed towards the source of the sound.

Two cheerful voices overlapped each other as they talked excitedly about their day at school. An older, weary but joyful voice was saying for the kids to calm down.

It was coming from the living room. I peer in, my form hidden in the shadows. Young identical twins, one boy, one girl, (the pair took most of their father's genes) sat on either side of a taller, dark brown-haired man in his late thirties on a black couch.

My step-father. The one who wanted me to be sent away to foster care if my mother hadn't step in.

I saw her watching her happy family from the couch opposite to them, putting a strand of her hazelnut colored hair behind her ear, a proud smile on her face.

She never looked at me like that with her warm light brown eyes. Not that I gave her a reason to.

'You don't belong here.'

I watched them have a good time. Happy, cheerful voices. Warm words, but cold voices. Unwelcoming voices.

I couldn't take anymore and left them to their own happy world. But I accidentally bump into the wall, alerting them that I was here.

Their heads shot up to where I was standing in the doorway of the living room, and they had different reactions when they saw me. The twins gasped although it wasn't surprising. They knew of my existence, but they don't really see me around and our parents never talk about me so I was pushed to the back of their minds.

"Allan?" My mother said, surprised to see me. And did I see concern in her eyes? I must be imagining things. She never cared about me before. She was just like my teachers, giving up on me when they saw how much trouble I was.

The man was surprised to see me. I heard his breath stop. He knew I like to avoid the family, and he did nothing to include me.

I know when I'm unwanted so I turned around to leave.

"Wait!" my mother called out.

I turned back around to face her, expectedly.

"What are you doing here?" Her husband interjected. I glance at the older man who had his kids away from me as if I was some kind of threat, some kind of danger to them.

'You're an outcast, even within your own flesh and blood.'

I shrugged. I may not be dying to be here, but it was a house that I live in. Not home, mind you. Just a place to crash in until I'm able to move out. I just have to wait one more year.

'Not surprising though. You mean nothing to them.'

His brown eyes bore down on me, trying to see what's my game. He's thinking of what to say. He has to be careful with his words because his kids are there.

I could feel the air thicken as the silence drags on.

I'm used to the silence. I'm used to breathing thick, suffocating air. So this doesn't bother me as much as it bothers him.

"I received a call from your school that you skipped classes again." He's playing it safe. "And this time it was for a whole week."

Mother stood up, watching nervously between us two, but spoke up, looking directly at me. "Allan, where have you been? I thought you cared about your grades. Are you okay?"

'She doesn't really care about you, monster.'

I kept silent, confused a bit of why my mother suddenly started caring about my well-being and schoolwork. Whenever Ryan and I would get into confrontations, she would not say anything, just watch.

"I allowed you to live here and this is how you act. Where did you go?" His angry voice contrasted greatly with his wife's gentle one.

I still didn't say anything. I couldn't exactly tell them of my DID and him. They would never understand. And I know Ryan will probably try to lock me up in a mental hospital or something.

"What? Trying to act tough now that I'm singling you out?" I could see the fear in the twins' eyes and how they held each other, scared out of their wits at seeing this side of their dad.

Now I felt kind of bad. They were just kids who should have a happy childhood.

I turned around, intending to leave when Ryan's next words stopped me in my tracks.

"Fool must be dumb and deaf since he's not answering me." He spat out, aggravated and irritated. "You're just like your pathetic father. He deserved to die in that fire."

I stared at him shocked as my mother gasped at her husband's words but she didn't say anything against it.

How dare he say that about my father. And I know for sure that he doesn't regret his words. I clenched my fists, drawing blood. I grit my teeth, but stood still. I don't want to pick a fight. I'll lose anyway.

I exited the room, no longer able to be in his presence. I headed to the kitchen first to grab an apple (It's hard to keep track of when I eat) before heading up the stairs to my room.

Dealing with my alternate personality makes my blood boil. But Ryan? He makes it extremely hard to keep my emotions in check when I'm around him. I can hardly stand to be in the same room as him. Pretty sure the feeling's mutual there.

But he wonders why I act like a rebel. Okay, most of the time it isn't even my fault. But when it is, I have a pretty good reason. And the only way I act "rebel-like" in front of him is when I leave the room, his questions unanswered.

When I reach my room, I open the door and roughly slam it after me.

I slid down the door until my butt hit the ground. Silently crying while grabbing fistfuls of hair.

'You're always alone.'

All the friends I used to have would always leave me, not that I can blame them. I wasn't the most sociable. But it still stung.

'Even your own mother didn't stand up for you.'

After my frequent disappearances, she stopped talking to me. Probably because she thinks I'm too much of a freak to be her son. But it's fine, you know. I don't blame her for thinking like that. I blame myself, too.

'You are the reason for your own father's death.'

Raging fire. Smoke stinging my eyes. Screams and yells, but I couldn't process them. Dropping to the floor in a heap.

'You don't belong anywhere.'

Insults at school. Insults at home. A mute freak at school. A mute outcast at home.

'So why keep trying?'

I read on websites that people with mental disorders need the love and comfort provided by their family.

It's ironic, isn't it? That the very people who can help me is the very people I have to hide my condition from.