Innocent Blood

“Thanks guys,” I mumbled, walking into the kitchen and feeling probably a little too sour about them talking about me from behind the closed door. I made myself a glass of water and sunk into a chair, staring out the window. I didn’t react to the soft hand gently touching my shoulder at first.

“Vic,” Alyssa said softly. I sighed and bit my lip, turning to her after a few moments. Immediately, I wrapped my arms around her middle and pulled her close to me, the side of my head resting on her abdomen. She brushed her fingers through my hair as I clutched on to her. “How are you feeling?” she murmured. I unwrapped my arms from her torso and looked up at her, pulling her down to me. She leaned into my arms and I pulled her onto my lap, tilting my head and resting it on her shoulder.

“Tired.”

She didn’t say anything; she just sighed. Just in her sigh I knew she was tired, too. Probably tired of my shit.

We were quiet for a while, a thick tension clouding the space around us. “That was scary,” she finally whispered. I blinked and nodded.

“It really was an accident. I don’t know how it happened. It was so horrible,” I cringed as I remembered the pain I was in; my brain twisting and my insides collapsing. “I never want that to happen again,” I shuddered.

“I believe you,” she said gently. One of her hands snaked around to the back of my neck, and she curled her fingers against my skin. I lifted my head up and kissed the corner of her mouth, holding her tighter in my arms. “You said…” she bit her lip.

“What did I say?”

“You said you wanted to kill yourself,” she whispered. I tensed up.

“I did,” I said simply.

“I don’t understand.”

“But not really, Alyssa. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m really sorry. But it was so painful, I just wanted to die to end it,” I admitted. "I couldn't help but think that in the moment."

“But you don’t feel that way anymore, right?”

“Right,” I breathed.

“Good. Do you want to go in the other room? The other guys are here,” she said. I nodded. She slid off of my lap and held her hand out, and I grabbed it, my own hand almost magnetically attached to hers. I walked forward but she didn’t, causing us to stand close to each other. She leaned forward and kissed my lips passionately. I, of course, kissed her back. She pulled away and smiled softly at me, lightly pecked my lips again, and turned, dragging me to the main room.

“Hey buddy,” Mike grinned when he saw me. I looked at the ground, feeling a little embarrassed for what happened earlier. I really had caused a scene.

“What’s up,” I mumbled, sitting down on a free couch. Alyssa sat down next to me, hooking her right arm through my left. I bounced my right knee up and down in anxiousness.

“You feeling better?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “What time is it, anyway?” I asked.

“Ten,” Jaime said.

“Shit,” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly.

I frowned and looked down at my lap. Even though it was an honest accident, I couldn’t help but feel really bad about the whole thing.

“You know, let's just forget about today,” I said, looking up.

“That’s the spirit,” Mike smiled.

“Let’s just scratch this day off,” I said. I stood up, releasing Alyssa’s arm. “I’m just going to go. Start fresh tomorrow,” I said. I hastily walked back to my room, not waiting for them to tell me to “wait up”. I climbed back into bed and crawled under the covers, completely submerging myself under the blankets. I curled up on my side, staring at the wall sadly. “Is he okay, you think?” I heard one of them whisper quietly. Except the apartment was so quiet that I could hear them. I frowned because I hated how they were talking about me, sitting in a half circle, “discussing” me like I was some book-club topic. I knew deep down that they were well intentioned, but I still felt bad. I hated always being the subject of conversation—I also hated always thinking that I was the subject of conversation, even if I wasn’t. Why was I so selfish?

I blinked and stared at the same spot on the wall, focusing on the single color and not a single thought.

Frequently, though, my mind liked to think anyway.

As I mindlessly stared at the wall, I would shoot short, cool bursts of air up at the fallen strands of hair, making the pieces jump up and down—much to my own personal amusement. It was like they were dancing before my eyes.

The air around me suddenly shifted, a swift blast of cool air making me shiver more than normal. I was always shaking, though—but the feeling of the fresh, cooler air caressing the surface of my skin made me involuntarily shiver more violently. I didn’t react to the change in feeling though, because I genuinely didn’t care. It didn’t even register in my head that there was a creaking noise, indicating that somebody had opened my door and now stood in my room.

“Vic? It’s Dr. Crowly. How are you feeling today?” she asked. I just shrugged my shoulders as a response.

“Vic, you have a visitor, today.”

I blinked, frowning as bits and pieces from my time at the mental hospital came back. I wondered what Dr. Crowly was doing in this moment—even though I didn’t really care. I wondered if the hospital was even open; Bree had said there were a lot of internal problems at that specific facility. I wondered if her University knew where she was. I wondered if Bree liked where she was now, but I knew that was a dangerous thought and I chose not to linger on it.

“I’m sorry I fucked up your life,” I murmured to the wall, imagining that Bree could hear me. Maybe if I never initially admitted my feelings to her, she would still be alive. Maybe if I had just let her be my therapist, and my therapist only, I would be healthier now.

“Vic, this is Bree Lewis. Remember when I told you about her?” she said.

I nodded, remembering. I stared at her carefully, hoping that I didn’t look too obvious. She had medium length brown hair, hazel eyes, and an anxious smile. “Hi, Bree Lewis,” I said quietly.

“Hi, Vic, you can call me Bree,” she said. She looked a little nervous—I wondered what they had told her before she came in here. Probably that I was a mute-freak. They didn’t have much to tell about me, anyway, and the little they could wasn’t that appealing.

“Hi, Bree,” I said shyly.

“Vic, how do you feel about Bree talking with you?” Dr. Crowly asked. I rolled my eyes, sick of people asking about how I felt.

I clenched my fists. I still hated being asked how I felt. I wanted to be left alone. I just wanted to live normally, without people constantly monitoring me. This whole “being sick” thing was getting old, fast. The way they almost robotically asked me things was tiring itself. I was a burden to everyone whether they’d admit it or not. I didn’t want to be the center of attention any more; I wanted to be a little more invisible.

“I have to get going for the night, alright?” she spoke up again, and I didn’t particularly enjoy the way her face contorted in worry at the thought of having to leave—that was probably a bad thing for the sake of her career. I had plenty of sanity and common sense, so I knew that it wouldn’t be good if she cared about me too much. I also didn’t like the way she seemed to be asking permission, as if it would personally hurt my feelings if she left. It sucked, but I wasn’t a baby. Everyone treated me like a god damned baby.

“Okay,” I said quietly. This was the worst part of my days here at Resnick. When Bree has to go home. Clearly, I was attached to her. I wasn’t about to deny that fact to myself, but I would never admit it out loud.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, and I nodded, unable to control my sad demeanor. I slid out of bed quickly and walked up to her, giving her a hug and hoping that didn’t cross any boundaries. I mean, we’ve technically hugged and touched a lot, but that was only as a form of comfort and control when I had bad days. She chuckled lightly, patting my back gently. “Bye, Vic,” she said with one last smile, and then she left.

I sighed, not really knowing what to do with myself now that I had no one to talk to. Bree’s job was interesting—she was like a traveling therapist. We didn’t meet in an office or one specific place; we kind of just did whatever we wanted. I wondered, again, if that was even allowed. But because of the nature of her job, she felt more like a friend than a doctor, which explained why I felt so lonely, now. I didn’t have her to talk to, nor did I have Mike. It was just me, four walls, some shitty furniture, and a notebook.

I rolled over to my bedside table and took out my notebook. It was still full of things I’ve written from being in the institution. I flipped through the pages, skimming past a lot that I knew would be triggering.

I smiled as I found an old song I wrote. The tune was still etched in my head. I paused, looking up at the door as if making eye contact with the direction of where everyone else was would make my hearing better.

I didn’t hear anyone, though. Maybe they were letting me be alone. I couldn’t decide if that made me satisfied or sad.

I shrugged, looking back down at the notebook. I didn’t want them to hear me, so I sang in a whispery tone to myself. “Don’t… react… when I tell you…. And don’t... react… when I tell you that bright lights mean nothing to you… ‘cause no one would know, the sound of a ghost… and I might be something to you… beyond beautiful is the sound of a ghost….” I smiled, happy that I remembered every little voice fluctuation that I came up with. I continued singing, setting the book aside and grabbing a pen because I hadn’t written this down, yet.

“Can we lose our minds, and call it love, for the last time? My darling never rests, until the darker gets… the best of all we had… can the cold carry on?” I scribbled the words and set the book aside again, a wave of tiredness flowing through me—again. I glanced at the clock. It was almost mid night already…

Time really flew fast in this place.

I closed my notebook and set it down on the table, and then I got comfortable for bed. I curled up in my usual position; my body beginning to shake as sleep started to suffocate me. I really tried my hardest to be calm, but I always felt so vulnerable at night—as if my internal demons assumed a physical form and relentlessly haunted me throughout the night. Sometimes that would happen, too. They all varied in size, but they were all black with horrible, malicious faces. The place where eyes would normally go was vacant, leaving a dark, terrifyingly eternal empty space. And the mouth took up the entire bottom half of the face as it stretched into a huge, evil smile, baring all of the sharp teeth. As I slept, I could practically feel their lanky fingers tangling in my hair or wrapping around my neck. As I tried to dream about happy things, darkness would sweep over me, and they would whisper terrible thoughts in my ears.

I shook my head of the thoughts and memories from the hospital, when everything was impossibly a lot worse.

I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the wall.

Notes