How does one go from a depressed and neurotic adolescent to a top ranking FBI agent?
For Agent A, it was as simple as taking candy from a baby. All she needed, however, was a plan and a set of rules. Luckily for her, she was a fast learner.
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FIVE DAYS HAD passed and my external wounds had healed, or, at least, were in the process of, but Dex kept me chained to my bed as if I was terminally ill. I suppose, he wasn't too far off from the truth. I was ill, perhaps fatally, but the sickness was not in my body. No--my illness had penetrated my soul and consumed it from within. I could no longer sit in one place in solitude. Silence became my greatest enemy for it magnified the voices I longed to suppress. Lying in bed, as if welcoming death, was a trip through hell for me, but sadly, Dex did not understand.
He meant well but on the fifth day, when he left my uncle's house with the excuse of picking up my overdue medicine, I couldn't have been more relieved. I had been this close to ripping out my hair. The second the door closed on his retreating figure, I threw over the two heavy blankets he had tucked me in with and planted my feet on the cool, hardwood floor. I recoiled as chills traveled up the back of my my spine, raising the hair on my arms, but the sensation of the warmth dissipating from my body, fleeing from the cold like an evil spirit, provided me the solace I craved. At last, my heart was once more a frozen wasteland.
Happiness, however, was as allergic to me as I was to peanuts. No matter what shape or form it came in, its presence was short-lived. It was as if my body had developed an intolerance for it because the second I found myself unconsciously smiling, my stomach twisted upon itself. Clutching my bedsheets with both hands, I lurched forward and gasped as the waves of nausea traveled up my digestive tract. I stood there, motionless, for a good thirty seconds, suspended a few inches above my bed, my heels digging into the floor, before my body reconnected with my brain.
I slumped back onto my bed, drained. Sweat clung to me like an extra layer of skin. It was only a matter of time before the all-too-familiar sensation of a needle digging into my scalp overwhelmed my senses. The darkness that would follow afterwards was my least favorite experience, however. It wasn't painful or uncomfortable like the others. By comparison, it was the most peaceful. Yet, it was the worst. The momentary blackout was torturous because it gave the illusion of being the end. Fading to black universally meant closure, or completion, but in my case, it was just the beginning.
My ears perked up as I forced my eyes shut, my other senses heightening.
"Angelinaaa...stay with us." Warm, tangible voices slurring and hissing like demonic snakes called out to me. "Don't leaveee us."
A strange sensation, akin to that of a feather's caress, took hold of my foot. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Panting, I crumbled on the floor a few feet away from my bed, a heap of bones. Although I almost always preferred the cold over hot, humid environments, I could not stand the bone-chilling air that surrounded me during my episodes. I shivered, and shrunk within myself.
My bedroom door was only a couple of feet away, but an invisible forcefield prevented me from leaving the room. The voices reached out to me, and I bent down from their weight. They did not want me to leave, but I had to. If I didn't pull myself out of the trance I was liable to fall into from time to time, I would relapse into the past. That was the one thing in the world that I wished to avoid at all cost. Closing my eyes, I repeated over and over, like a mantra, they are not real. Don't listen to them, Angie. You're just imagining them. They are NOT real!
