In the Lion's Teeth: Second Edition

Chapter Four

Less than an hour later, something inside your mind shifts, like a tectonic plate. It cracks and snaps and shakes and fuck, fuck, you have to keep it together, you can't let it shatter, not now, no, you're so close, Benji will be back in less than two hours, you have to hold it together —

The voices become physical, hot legs skittering up and down your spine, and you slam your back against the wall, shifting and squirming but it doesn't help, scrubbing at your back with a rolled up towel doesn't help, and your hands can't reach and you open your mouth to you don't know what, but weird gibberish spills out, random words that have nothing to do with each other, oh, god, what is happening to you, no, no, you've read about this, about disorganized schizophrenia, but that's not supposed to happen with schizoaffective disorder, is it? The only similarity aside from the hallucinations is supposed to be potential paranoia, right? Not this, not this, oh, fuck, if you can't even control what's coming out of your mouth, is your mind next? Are you finally shutting down?

Your eyes are open, you know they are, darting around the opposite wall, the band posters and club flyers Mitch keeps pinned up, but they're not right, they're shifting, breathing, and the wall is getting closer and the ceiling is dropping, slowly, very slowly. It's only a matter of time before they're right on top of you, oh god, what's going on? What is this?

Something bites your leg and you jerk back onto your bed so hard you slam your head against the wall behind you and it leaves you breathless and curled up, gripping hard on your hair. Your face is tight, eyes squeezed shut, and you force them open to check your leg and make sure there's no blood.

There's nothing there.

The skin is perfectly smooth and undamaged. But you felt it, it was so sharp and there was so much force behind it, what... how?

The static roars in your skull, high pitched and sharp, curling around your brain and shooting out into your muscles, your veins, pushing through your whole body, pulsating, stabbing, like billions of tiny needles everywhere and there are voices, sort of, but you can't understand them, they aren't in either language you know. But they're screaming, howling, clawing and tearing your brain apart underneath your skull.

You're dying. You're finally dying. Somewhere, somehow, in the chaos in your brain and in your body, you manage to grope out for your phone, and eventually you figure out your password to unlock it, and you send Benji a poorly constructed text:

pls try hurry need u back heer

Your fingers go lax and your phone slips through and lands with a soft thump on the carpeted floor. For a few seconds, you sit, shaking, and then, finally, the sob that you've been crushing down, down, compacting deep in your chest where nobody can see, bursts out like a parasite that's been using your body as a host, and you cry for the first time since you left your psychiatrist — deep, body-wracking, bone-shaking, muscle-clenching sobs, and you don't stop until you can't breathe any more. You fall back on the bed and you close your eyes, hoping to find silence somewhere in the darkness.

***

Your eyes shoot open and you jump out of bed, overbalancing and stumbling forward, when something, somewhere, smashes apart with a loud crash.

The thick carpet of fuzz over your mind blurs everything into a disorienting mess of color and sound without source, but eventually you're able to push aside enough of it to remember where you are and realize that the noise is someone banging desperately on the door.

You stumble to the door, opening it and leaning against the frame so whoever it is can't see how unsteady you are.

It's Benji, and her eyes are wide, her shoulders are heaving, and her lips are slightly parted with her heavy breathing.