Where is my mind

3

Blinking my eyes open, the overhead light of the bathroom glared painfully into my tired eyes. I moaned and rolled over to my side, my back throbbing from sleeping on the hard floor. Pulling myself up off the tiles, I cursed under my breath. Each muscle ached in protest of the movement, and I twisted my sore body around to look at myself in the mirror. Really look at myself. God, I looked like shit. I was pale, even more than usual, and noticed I was thinning horribly. My cheeks were hollow, and my once electric blue eyes, the ones Gallagher just couldn't ever get enough of for some reason, were dead and lifeless. Just glassy spheres always staring straight ahead, windows to my decomposing soul. They moved slowly and mechanically as dark, bruise colored circles shadowed beneath them. He's not going to want you. Look at yourself.

"It's not my fault," I croaked. Liar. You're a liar. My eyes looked at the space next to me in the mirror, a shadowy image of a boy around my age stood off to the background. His shoulders shaking as I heard him giggle and shutter with laughter.

"I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you all!"

Reaching down and scooping up a discarded switchblade off the floor, I expertly flicked it open, as Terry had taught me so many times before, I lunged. I lunged at the boy. I wanted to kill this boy. See his blood run onto the floor and splatter onto the window behind him. But I went right through him. I ran full speed right smack into the wall, banging my head so hard I could see stars. Where the fuck did he go? He was nowhere to be seen, but I heard him. I heard him all right. His cackles echoed through the bathroom as many voices joined in and chanted: failure, failure, failure. Stepping back, and still gripping my head, I stared at the blade. It was driven so deep into the wall, it was down to the wooden hilt. I wrapped my fist around the handle and tried to yank it out, moving it up and down, up and down, to loosen it up. My sudden migraine halted my actions, and I began grabbing at the many illegal pill bottles that lined the bathroom, and I choked down a few pain pills without water. They burned and scraped at my already scratchy throat, but I managed and stumbled out the door into my bedroom. Terry stood in my room with his arms crossed, his already ugly ass face twisted into something even uglier.

"The fuck was that noise?" He growled.

"I'm hung over, and fell," I lied with ease. Shit, at this point I'm becoming a master in the art. Terry glanced at the switchblade behind me, protruding from the drywall behind me. He looked to me and then back to the knife, and my face contorted at the incoming yell-

But he just laughed. Bellowing waves of giddy laughter shook the room and made my head feel like it had tons of daggers spearing into it.

"Damn son, I'll have what you're having."

I squeezed my eyes closed as he slapped me on the back, bringing in more shocks of pain all over my body. Stop laughing. Oh god please one second without laughter. He guided me out of the room and led me to the kitchen where the Milkoviches were already banded together, chowing down their breakfast.

"Look who I found wallowing around in his own damn sadness?" he chucked, obviously having loads of fun with insulting me. I shrugged off his arm and sat down, staring at my plate.

"What's the matter, Mick?" Jamie spat around a mouth full of food, "Is it hormones? That time of the month?"

Mandy gave him a good, hard, smack on the arm, but that was nowhere near to stopping the group from howling with laughter like the pack of hyenas they were. Strangely enough, I actually felt like fucking crying. Me, I wanted to cry. After all the shit I've had to put up with, my fucked up family teasing me made me want to cry. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I didn't feel the lump in my throat or the tears begin to gather in my eyes. I couldn't feel anything. Mandy was looking at me with pathetic eyes, full of silent apologies. I ignored her, I didn't need sympathy. My brothers were as loud as usual, but I didn't say anything. I kept to myself and ate in silence. With the same fucking fork.

The next week was absolute shit. The sun began to dip below the horizon on a Thursday night, and my day had consisted of drinking and staring at the address Kevin scribbled down for me a couple days back. Now that I knew at least Ian wasn't six feet under, I didn't know what I wanted. We definitely hadn't ended on a happy note, and I was almost afraid of what he was gonna say. What I was gonna say. All week I have received relentless torment from my strange attackers. I felt constantly tense and on edge, and it was a horrible feeling. I felt assaulted, but not knowing who or what was posing the threat, I can't defend myself. All I could do was watch the shadows.

"You're going to burn," a voice hissed. I looked up and- the fuck was that? A goddamn alley cat looking thing sat perched atop my dresser on the other side of the room.

"What?"

"They're coming for you."

"Who?"

"Two times four equals Mike. I'm 400."

I shook my head. That made no damn sense and I'm talking to a fucking creepy ass cat with pale skin and weird fur patches that were scattered throughout it's body. Fuckin' diseased lookin' thing.

"They'll grind your bones and break your teeth."

I jumped at the new voice, a little girl was sat with her legs crossed against the wall beside my bed.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

"Missy Kill."

I shook my head violently a few more times and looked back to the strangers in my room, thinking they'd go away. They didn't, and many, many, blinking, staring eyes bored into me from the walls. Eyes were everywhere, everyone was staring at me.

"What will happen if they catch me?" I tested, staring at Missy. She was weird too, with on old black and white orphanage dress on, her black hair pulled back into pigtails and eyes so dark I think they were almost even black. However, 400 was the one that spoke.

"Try and avoid finding out," the cat chirped.

"Mick?" Iggy burst through my door and my head whipped towards his direction, eyes widening. They darted between 400, Missy Kill, the thousand some eyes lining the walls and Iggy, but he continued to look at me. Only me.

"You got the baseball bat? Bros and I gonna rob the Walmart a couple blocks up."

I shook my head numbly, "nope, haven't seen it."

Iggy shrugged and pulled out of the door frame, clicking the door shut behind him. I looked at the bat laying on the other side of the bed away from the door, still resting there peacefully since I never had the chance to put it back after robbing the Kash n' Grab few days back. I felt the weight of all eye's attention turned on me as I leaned over the side of my bed and grabbed the smooth wooden handle. Clenching my fist into a death grip until my knuckles went white, I stared back at the closed door.

"I need this more than you," I muttered.