Page 13 of Come Out, Come Out

“Damn. But maybe it’s for the best?”

“Maybe,” I lie to both of us.

“Well, you can stay here for as long as you need. You can sleep in the office.” She gestures to the room down the hall.

“I don’t want to put you out. I shouldn’t have even bothered you with this. I’m sorry. I haven’t seen you in months, and this is how I show up . . .” I run a hand through my hair, embarrassed by what an ass I must seem like.

“And I haven’t reached out much either; it’s okay. But I mean it. Take a few days, get some rest, then see how you feel. You’re not putting us out. Cara is on a work trip, anyways. It’ll be nice to have the company, really.”

Finally, the tension leaves my shoulders. “Okay. Thank you.”

November 3rd, 2020 – Two Days Later

Now that I’ve caught up on sleep and had a few days to process in the comfort of Ava’s distinctlynot-hauntedhome, I’ve decided this ghost really has some motherfucking audacity.Are they paying rent? I think the fuck not.The house is the first safe space I’ve had of my own; it’s become my sanctuary of solitude that I never had growing up. I won’t have it taken from me.

I have coffee and breakfast with Ava—all the while stewing in my mounting frustration—and thank her for her hospitality. It’s time for me to go home.

I’m on anger-driven autopilot the entire drive back. My brain its own haunted house. I’m not letting some dead asshole dictate how I live my life. I know I’ve made the right decision when I pull up to the house and feel a sense of peace. Sure, there might be an undercurrent of fear, but it’s not enough to deter me.

With determination, I turn the key in the front door and push it open with my foot as I pick Binx’s carrier back up and walk inside. Everything looks just as I’d left it. I don’t know what I expected, honestly—pictures knocked off the walls, broken glass, upturned furniture, maybe?

Breathing in deeply, I set Binx down and walk deeper into the house. The door is left open, just in case.

“Where are you, you invisible prick?” I clench my jaw and hands at my side. Nothing happens. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. So, either you leave me the hell alone or I’m bringing someone in here to get rid of your ass.”

A few minutes pass and it’s just me here making a fool of myself. When no booming voices tell me to get out and nothing goes bump, I take another deep breath and decide to settle back in. If it’s not going to make itself known, then I’m going to go about my life. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t suspected it’s been here the whole time. What happened on Halloween was scary as hell, but as I replay the events back in my mind, I reaffirm that it hadn’t done anything to me. It threwtheirstuff out, it reacted tothem. Maybe it wasn’t a fan of having strangers in its house. As an introvert, I can relate to that.

Like clockwork, my mind reminds me of the stranger who’d barged through my door almost eight months ago. My eyes flit to the staircase and vivid memories of the blurry stairs looming in front of me as I held on for dear life come back to me.

“Don’t let go; we wouldn’t want you to snap that pretty neck.”The gritted words ghost across my mind and send tingles straight to my pussy. What’s wrong with me that I’m turned on when I should be scared out of my mind and loading my shit into a moving truck. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

I walk upstairs—ignoring the memories of getting gloriously fucked from behind a few inches from where I’m standing now—and reclaim my bedroom. It’s going to take time to become at ease with the idea of residing with a ghost that’s now made it very known that it’s here with me. I walk to my bedside table and pull out a joint I thankfully had the forethought to roll and save. With a flick of the lighter, the paper begins to burn and I inhale deeply. Immediately, tension drains from places I hadn’t even realized I was holding it.

Skye

November 10th, 2020- One Week Later

Even though I told myself over and over that the ghost hadn’t tried to harmme, the palpable hostility in the air that night did terrify me. However since I’ve been back, there haven’t been any disturbances. A week later, I’m finally at a point where I feel like this is my home again. I actually slept through the night for the last couple days. I blare my music, put up glowing Christmas lights while naked without a care—yes, in November—and sip on a pumpkin cider.

The refreshed energy I’ve been making the most of doesn’t last long, though. Like a spiderweb, the threads of anxiety and depression have rebuilt themselves in my mind despite the interruption to their regularly scheduled programming. Even though my family has thankfully become even more distant since they scattered across the country, it doesn’t stop the creep of holiday pressure and guilt that comes along this time of year. Restlessness slithers under my skin and I want to tear it out with my bare hands. Instead, I run a bath, turning the knob as far to the left as it can go. I want it to be unbearably hot; the sting will be a welcome distraction. I drop eucalyptus and mint bath salts in. As the water rises so does the refreshing scent of the essential oils that release into the air. The hold of the sticky web of my mental illness loosens just enough for it to be manageable.

I hate when it feels like one small thought latches onto another and then another until all the worst parts of my brain are interconnected and everything else gets caught and devoured by my inner demons. I just want to be blissfully unaware of my own misery for a bit, is that too much to ask? I think not. Returning to my room, I grab the vial of coke along with my credit card and a straw I’d cut in half, then set it on the bathroom counter. I’m so glad I re-upped while I was at Ava’s, I’d been out for the last few weeks. Centering myself, I focus on cutting two small lines with slightly shaking hands. I fit the straw to my nostril as I lean down, keeping my eyes on the marbled countertop, and inhale deeply. As I’m brushing my teeth, a rush passes through me like a shock to my brain of sudden relief—my very own pesticide, the thick webs of depression release their grip. I sigh contentedly and shrug out of my clothes. Finally, a moment for joy, artificial as it may be. I lean forward until I’m inches from the mirror, transfixed by the blown pupils that sit beneath my shaggy bangs and the curve of my lips I’m not used to seeing.

There I am. All better.I tell myself the pretty lie without so much as blinking.

Heat travels up my legs and roots me in the moment as I slide into the tub. Water sloshes around the edges, more than I’d like and spills over to soak my bathmat and the tile. A reminder of how fragile my current state is. It taunts me.The mess will still be there to clean up, even if you numb yourself enough to ignore it.

I know that, I do. I know that the drugs can’t be my safety net forever. They keep me just numb enough to make this existence bearable. But I know there will come a time when I’ll have to make a choice: give myself over to their control completely, or face the real world. I’m not sure which is worse.

With that cheerful thought, I realize I left the rest of my coke out of reach. I’ll need more than the one line if I hope to effectively escape my reality. I weigh the pros and cons of standing up and dealing with the discomfort of the biting chill that’s seeped through the house on this autumn night. I’m wavering, but then my eye catches the razor sitting at the other end of the tub. It’ll take the edge off just fine. I grab it and disconnect the blade from the handle. It’s no straight razor but it’s sharp.

I’m not trying to do any real damage, I just want a little release, that’s all. I bring it to the side of my wrist, metal kissing the heated skin and sigh, as I drag its teeth against me. I repeat the motion a few times until I feel that satisfaction course through me at the sight of those tiny lines of red and puckered flesh.

Satiated, I dip my head back and enjoy the sensation of disappearing beneath the water. The first pricks of discomfort tease me as the heat permeates the sensitive skin on my face. I force myself to endure it for a few seconds, but when I try to lift my head, I’m unable to. My eyes snap open and immediately the heat is too much, but I can’t afford to close them. Eyes burning, I frantically scan the surface above me. There’s nothing. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, but my instincts take over. I clutch the sides of the tub and push myself forward with all my strength. I remain submerged. I kick my legs violently. Still, I remain submerged.

My muscles are rigid, my lungs are clenching, and my heart is about to burst from its cage in my chest. I continue to kick, and push, and struggle. Yet, I remain submerged. Panic overrides survival and my lips part on a scream. Bitter, minty bath water rushes into the open cavity, choking me until my cries are nothing but a dull drum. My body puts up a struggle, but my mind is ready to take a break as consciousness slips into the background and I’m just flailing limbs, tense muscles, and searching eyes. A few more seconds pass and I’m none of those things. I’m nothing. I’m disappearing. I don’t fear whatever’s happening anymore. Is this the peace I’ve been looking for?

I finally submit to what this is. I’m so tired, I deserve some rest. Warmth surrounds me and I fade into darkness.This is nice.

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