Insane Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It...

Insane Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It... Chapter 41

Chapter 41:

It’s a few days before I see Becca again. I don’t go to any scheduled meetings, and I avoid her in the hallway. Nor do I eat with everyone else, or stay out of my room for very long.

That’s the plus side of living on the top floor that no one likes. I’m basically left alone, especially when I want to be. Becca hasn’t even attempted to make me visit her either. It’s like either she doesn’t care to, is too busy, or something along those lines.

I spend my days in my room, pacing, laying on my cot, the floor, or leaning against the wall. My mind is filled to the brim with memories of what happened. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what in the world truly took place on that day.

The most vivid memory of mine was the blood. How red it was… what it smelled like… who it was coming from… what the stain would look like afterwards… It’s a total sensory overload.

Up in my room, where no one could see me, and with those thoughts in my head… I would cry. I would scream into my pillow. Scratch my arms, hit the walls. Do anything, to try to get my mind off of it. I tried to just sleep it all off at first, but that wouldn’t work. Nightmares would invade my otherwise peaceful sleep, sending me bolting upright in bed, gasping for air.

Eventually, I just didn’t sleep. I paced, back and forth in the middle of the room. Hands constantly moving, rubbing my arms, pulling on my hair, tugging on my clothes… I couldn’t even keep my eyes on something for very long. Always darting to the next thing, examining it and moving on. However, there were moments when I would sit and stare. I don’t know how long I would stare, until eventually I would snap out of it, shake my head, blink, and get up to pace, or stop pacing to sit on the floor.

Basically, it was hell. Anxiety attacks, nightmares, self-harm behaviors.. All of it would have normally gotten me some hardcore drugs and daily sessions with Becca, or another one of the doctor types who specialize in that kind of thing.

But that would only be if they saw it happening. And because I was reclusively hidden in my room, no one saw but me. I’m not so sure now, if that was a good thing or not.

I think something deep inside my brain broke during those days. Something about telling what I remembered, and then being left alone with my thoughts afterwards… It changed something. I’m not sure how big of a thing was changed, nor how important…

But something did change.

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My last day of hiding started out with me taking a quick, tepid shower, and then getting dressed and rushing downstairs to get something for breakfast before anyone else could get into the cafeteria. So far, everything was working. I grab an apple, then sprint out of the room…

… only to run straight into Caden on my way out. He reflexively reaches out to steady me, his hands on my arms. Immediately, every bone and muscle in my body freezes up, and I’m stopped still, staring at him with a look of horror and repulsion. He doesn’t seem to realize it at first, but when he does it’s obvious.

He jerks his hands back as fast as possible, a look of shock seeming to pass over his face, immediately followed by a look of regret. “Oh God. Senna. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it was you…”

I can’t hear what he says after that, though. I take off down the hall, running almost faster than I was before. Once I’m back in my room, I slam the door and spend who knows how long having some sort of attack. Almost like the one from the days before, but this one was a little more violent.

By the time I become aware of what I’ve been doing, my arms are bloody, there’s stains on my clothes and the bed sheets, and I’m almost doubled over in stinging pain.

While I was doing it, scratching myself, there was no pain. But afterwards, it all just came in one big rush. It’s only after I get everything sort of decently clean, do I realize what I was doing.

I was trying to scratch his touch off.

A shudder goes through my body, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. This is what I’ve become. Maybe it’s from the lack of meds, or human contact… but I swear something snapped.

After that small revelation, I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, the apple left forgotten on the floor somewhere. I’m dimly aware of the door opening at some point, a gasp, and then something sharp piercing into my arm before I can even sit up or look at whoever was in my room.

The world fades out, and I’m left in the dark once more.

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Hope you liked it.

Wanna know something?

I wrote most of this with my eyes closed, listening to The Used.

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-Lexi