The Dysfunction Of Evan: Books 1-3 Collection

34. Manic

*(Astrid)*

I sat on the couch going over my test review for my Medical Ethics class, my Oscar staring me in the face. Next to it, a pile of scripts that had arrived over the past week. I sighed and tossed my homework aside. I wanted to talk to Tom. Because of our schedules, we'd been reduced to phone tag and text messages. Betrayal had already proven to be a success, with reviews from opening night raving about the production. It'd been two weeks since I'd seen him. Though it was only a week until I'd see him again, after Spring Break, it would longer.

I picked up my statue and held it, feeling its weight. Proof that I'd succeeded at something in my life. Why didn't I feel like a winner? My eyes strayed to the fresh marks on my arm, the empty liquor bottles on my coffee table. I hadn't showered in days, my hair was oily and gross, my body odor over powered my deodorant. For what ever reason, when I came home from LA, I fell in to a deep depressive episode that I couldn't seem to shake. I went to class, stayed on campus to do my homework, came home and fell asleep on the couch watching TV. Some Best Actress I was. I couldn't even act myself out of this bullshit maniacal funk. I didn't deserve to be in that film, I wasn't talented enough to be in a multi-award winning Best Film feature. What the fuck was wrong with people?

I hated myself for being weak like this. Hated myself so much I'd carved the word into my arm, destroying my Dark Mark tattoo. I didn't even care. I wanted to rip all of my skin off and boil it in acid.

I'd deactivated all of my social media accounts, too many people giving me shit for my speech and winning the award. Maybe they were right. Maybe my speech was pretentious. Maybe I didn't deserve to win, it was the first and only movie I'd ever done. Everyone else who'd been nominated had worked a lot longer and harder than I had. What had I done to win? Be fat and naked on screen, pretend to have emotional meltdowns, that's what I did. I made statements, I broke molds. I set new standards. Big fucking deal. Who was I to earn this award? No one. I didn't even want to be an actress, I just wanted to pay for school.

My phone rang, it was Tom, video calling me. I ignored it. I looked like shit, I didn't want him to see me like this. He didn't need to worry about me while he was busy on more important things. I didn't even deserve him. I was sloppy trash next to him. Yeah, I cleaned up well when I needed to, but the rest of the time, I was a reeking pile of shit.

My phone rang again, Tom again. Not a video call this time. I still didn't answer. As much as I missed him, hearing his voice would only make it worse. The ringing stopped, only to start again. I screamed in annoyance.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I threw my phone across the room, scaring Sassy. I burst into loud, gut tearing sobs. I picked up the box cutter and slid the blade across my thigh, the crimson liquid seeped from my skin.

"Fuck." I said as I realized I'd just ruined my couch cushion. I started a new line on my thigh, the damage was done, might as well keep going.

I stumbled into my bed several hours later, drunk. I woke the next day, realizing I'd slept through class. Whatever. Fuck it. It was nearly one. I rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone. I had six missed calls from Tom, two from Luke, and three from my aunt, who was on vacation. I went into my messages and pulled up my conversation with Tom.

'Hey, sorry. I've been busy with school. Mid-terms are coming. Love you.' I hit send. That should buy me some time.

I sent a quick email to my teacher saying I'd over slept because I hadn't been feeling well, and that I'd touch base with her tomorrow about what we'd gone over in class. After I was done, I realized I had text messages from my two best friends, who I'd pretty much ignored since I first went to LA. I'd gotten their messages over the the months, but I hadn't taken time to respond, or really even read them.