Always Together | ✓

Chapter Two

June 13, 2006
Dear Dad,

I've been hearing whispers. They're more like mutters.
It's so low it feels like a fly is flapping its wings around my ears.
I shoo it away with my hand, but unlike a fly, the voice stays.
It doesn't feel like it's in my head because it's distant, but then I feel it right inside my brain.
It's confusing.
Screeches. Murmurs. Mutters
That's how it started.
But then the voice got louder and louder.
It's scary.
He's scary and mean.
The man who lives inside my head is so evil, way more than Scar and Shenzi.
He keeps telling me to do things I don't want to do.
One day, I was helping Mom cook and I heard him.
It was a whisper at first, so low I barely heard him.
The more I ignored him the angrier he got.
He told me to cut myself; said I wasn't alive.
"Just try it. A little snippet," he'd said. "You're not alive. It won't hurt you."
I was close to losing it, Dad. I was so close to cutting myself, I had the tip of the knife digging into my skin, but Mom stopped me.
She screamed and then suddenly I was in our old kitchen, cooking with you, seeing you on the floor.
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
Red.
Red—

"MISS PETERSON," A gentle voice says my name.

Removing my gaze from Devin's words, I look to my side to find Mr. James' concerned face.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." I close the journal and place it on the table next to my lunch.

The silver spoon mirrors the aftermath of staying up all night until the sun rose with a new day. My eyes are a hooded mess. The green irises are being swallowed by red lines and my golden ringlets don't bounce when I walk through the halls of the school. They're stale and lifeless. Much like I feel after reading this.

But I can't stop reading and I'll happily stay up countless nights until Devin's memories are imprinted in mine because it isn't fair. It's not fair that he had to go through all of this alone and if I'm able to copy and paste his thoughts to mine, then he'll never feel alone again.

That's how I want him to feel when he's with me. Loved. Accompanied. Wanted. Never ever alone. Always together, with me.

As heartbreaking as the words are I couldn't stop myself from turning the page and reaching for another journal. Even Angie stayed up with me, her tiny paws flipped the pages my hazy eyes couldn't see. I'm on the fifth notebook.

Devin's much older now, around fourteen. He's talked to his dad about girls. Debbie's still around, even in high school, but she's too popular to give him a second look.

If only she were to see him now, she'd regret ever treating him like that. He seems sociable and has a couple of friends outside of school because of baseball. This is where he met Luis, according to Devin, they hit it right off the bat when they first met.

Devin seems to be nicer to his sisters and the family is a lot closer too. They go to the cemetery once a year to see their dad. Their father's suicide is a wound that will never heal but the girls and Ms. Elena are slowly coping. Devin, not so much.

The past three years have been harder on him than the day his dad died. He hasn't had nightmares for a while, which is a good thing, or so I thought until I kept reading and found the night terrors have been replaced by something worst.

Much worse.

A deceitful voice of a man who makes Devin do things to himself. I loathe that voice. He makes Devin feel unworthy of living, like trash. It makes me feel like trash whenever I finish reading what he says to him and I am twenty-two. I can only imagine how easy it must have been to manipulate a teenage boy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Mr. James says, nervously adjusting his colorful tie.

His style is nothing like Devin's. Where Devin wears shorts and sweatpants with dark shirts and Nike Free Runs, Mr. James dresses in crisp slacks and button-down shirts with peculiar ties that show off his charming personality.

"No, you didn't interrupt me. Actually, I wanted to speak to you about last Friday. You were going to ask me something."

"Oh, it's not i-important," he stutters a little. "Don't worry about it."

"If you were going to ask, then it must've been important. What is it?"

He ruffles his curls. "A few teachers go to a Happy Hour after school on Fridays and I was just letting you know."

"Alcohol and I aren't the best of friends." I try not to blush, but fail when my ears warm.

Mr. James chuckles. "Neither are we. I hate drinking. The few times I go I order water with mint and pretend it's a Mojito," he whispers, making me laugh.

"Sounds like something I'd do."

"How about lunch?" My eyebrows furrow. He clears his throat and with rosy cheeks says, "Since you don't like to drink maybe we can do a late lunch after school this Friday?"

"I'd like that. I have to show you some test scores anyway."

"I'll see you Friday, then."

I nod. Looking at the clock, I notice I have ten more minutes until lunch is over and pick up Devin's journal.