The Arrival | The House of Voices #3

Twenty Seven - Real?

Real?

 

October:

It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room. Surprisingly, it was brighter than the corridor outside, which had been completely white, just like any mental facility you’d expect.

Heart thumping in my chest, I stepped into the room and, as soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I spotted Parish immediately.

He was lying in a little ball on the floor, his cheek pressed against the ground, his back to the door. His hair had grown since I last saw him and, from what I could tell, they’d put him in a strait jacket. I felt my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest, from anger and sadness.

But at the same time, I also felt tears of joy start to well up in my eyes. It was Parish. I was finally looking at him again, was close enough to touch him again. And I was getting him out of this hell hole. He was going to be alright. And the thought of that made me ridiculously happy.

I took a step forward. He didn’t move.

I’d practically flung the door open and, even though I was wearing sneakers, the sounds of my footsteps were echoing loudly throughout the room, but Parish didn’t stir.

Sleeping pills, I thought. That was the only explanation for it.

I stepped further into the room, treading quietly so that I wouldn’t startle Parish. When I was an arm’s length away from him, I paused, unsure how to proceed. Should I tap him on the shoulder, or would that scare him?

Not wanting to risk it, I decided to call his name. “Parish? Wake up.”

I was surprised when his response came instantly. “Go away,” he hissed, his voice gruff.

“Parish, it’s me; October,” I tried again, blinking slightly in confusion. Hadn’t he recognized my voice.

He scoffed. “Go away. I’m sick of your crap.”

It felt like someone had reached into my chest and was squeezing it as hard as they could. I had worried that he’d still be angry with me but a large part of me had wished he’d be over it. That Parish would be happy to see me… apparently I was wrong.

That didn’t mean I was going to give up. I didn’t care if he hated me or not, I was going to get him out of this place.

“Parish, I’m sorry about what happened with us,” I said, dropping to my knees and reaching over to touch his shoulder. “But we can discuss that later, okay? We need to go now.”

When my hand touched his shoulder, Parish jerked violently, almost banging against the metal foot of his bed. “Don’t touch me!” he hissed.

“Parish, please. I’m sorry, but we need to go now. You can be mad at me later.”

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled, turning him around and was shocked to see the state he was in. There were bags under his eyes, and cuts on his neck. His bangs touched the tips of his eyelashes, and a shadow of stubble covered his jawline. And he looked furious, chocolate brown eyes flashing dangerously, teeth clenched.

“Stop it!” he screamed at me, jerking out of my grip and kicking himself into a sitting position. “Stop pretending to be her!”

I’d been about to reach out to him again, but froze. “What?”

“Get out of here. I’m done with your games.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Leave me alone. Leave October alone, and stop pretending to be here. I’m tired of it.” His voice cracked at the end, and I saw tears brim his eyes. He was shaking. And I desperately wanted to pull him into a hug, but I had a feeling that would make things worse at the moment.