Page 28 of Be Your Somebody
On top of all that, I can’t shake the thought of someone watching us from my mind. Of course, when I looked up, no one was there. Then, a text message from an unknown number and the back of my neck breaks out in goosebumps.
Unknown: You are nothing but a junkie. Just wait. Your time is coming.
This text could be from anyone. I have burned a lot of bridges in the past. But my gut tells me to keep an eye out. Something about this text feels familiar.
My grandma yells from downstairs that dinner is ready and my stomach responds with an aggressive, rumbling sound. Shit, when was the last time I ate? I head downstairs, prepared to devour whatever is in the fridge.
“Oh, Cas, your grandfather and I are leaving for a few days to stay with some friends. Try not to cause too much trouble now,” my gram says while patting me on my cheek. She tosses me a knowing smirk before walking away. Before my struggles with addictions, they used to go on frequent weekend trips to their friend’s house in Wisconsin. They were so concerned for my well-being that they stopped and it was a burden I carried for a while. After sitting them down one evening after dinner, I told them about said feelings and we ended up as a puddle of tears. It was very cathartic, so I’m glad they’ve taken it upon themselves to start these trips again.
I see that Gram made chicken parmesan for dinner—my favorite. I go to get a drink from the fridge and notice a single bottle of Heineken beer in a six-pack container. Before I came home, my grandparents got rid of all the alcohol from the house. Looks like they missed one. I grab it to throw it out, but when my hand grips the bottle, my mouth goes dry and everything goes dark. It’s like I tripped into a black hole, tossed into another reality.
Goosebumps dust my entire body and a chill slithers down my spine. The room is dark except for the tiny window that lets in a small sliver of light. I walk toward it, hoping it will provide a clue as to where I am. I’m left feeling disappointed when it doesn’t offer any insight. That sliver of the sunshine supplies no comfort within my body, just a strong sense ofunease. I desperately move around the room, looking for an exit, only to come up empty. It’s as if I stumbled across a secret passageway, locked myself in this cold, dank room, and don’t know how to get out.
During my frantic search, my breath comes out as a hiss when I stub my toe on a metal-like object. The pain continues to throb, but my curiosity outweighs the sting. My shaky hands feel for what I’ve run into and come across a soft, stiff-like object. When I push down on it, a loud creaking sound fills the room—a mattress. The material beneath my hand is cold, hard, and thin enough that I feel the springs poking into my skin. I snap my hand back as if the object in question pierced my skin. I hold my breath and listen for something or maybe someone. Time is at a complete standstill in the darkness and I’m unsure how long I’ve been standing there.
I’m about to sit down when I hear muffled voices above me. I strain my ears, trying to decipher what they’re saying. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Something about them feels familiar. My stomach feels like I have drunk spoiled milk while hot lava swirls inside my body. My heart rate beats dangerously fast and my breathing becomes irregular. I don't know where I am or how I got here, but I need to get the hell out. My arms become tingly and I feel like I’m about to pass out.
Present day, Summer of 2023
A soft touch on my shoulder jolts me back into reality. My ears are ringing and I hear the faint sound of glass smashing somewhere in the distance. Panic is still bubbling in my throat. I frantically search for the source of the sound, only to notice I’m back in the safety of my kitchen. The feelings I experienced in that dark room still lingered. I let out a shaky breath and see my grandmother looking at me worriedly.
“Cas, what's the matter? You don’t look so good.” Her words shake with concern, her eyes wide with fear.
Bile rises in my throat. I bolt to the bathroom before I empty my stomach’s contents on the kitchen floor. My world feels like I’m hanging upside down on the monkey bars. I can't catch my breath. I rush into the bathroom andstart dry heaving in the toilet. After a while, I lie down, allowing the bathroom tiles' coolness to calm me down. My gram’s concerned voice sounds muffled, as if my body is submerged underwater. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I force words out, but I can only manage a whimper. I hear her retreating footsteps and push myself into a sitting position to check if the sickness has passed. I’m getting ready to push myself off the floor when I hear a knock.
“Cas, honey. I have ginger ale and crackers for you. Can I come in?” I nod my head before realizing she can't see me. I have zero energy to walk toward the door to let her in, so I slither over and twist the knob, swinging the door open. I take the ginger ale first, chugging it down. I’m grateful for the cold carbonation sliding down my throat. I take the crackers from her next and focus on bringing small bites to test my stomach. I eat the rest when I realize I won’t be sick anymore.
“Cas, what happened? I came back downstairs and you were just staring into the fridge. I was coming over to yell at you for wasting electricity, but you were ice cold and clammy when I touched you. You jolted out of your skin the minute my hand landed on your shoulder, dropping whatever you were holding.” I try to look at things from her perspective, but only remember that dark, cold room. How did I get there? More importantly,whywasI there?
“Gram, I-I don’t know what's going on.” My head falls into my hands and I focus on trying to steady my heartbeat.
“That's it. Michael and I are staying home. We’ll reschedule our trip.”
I snap my head out of my hands. “No. You will not cancel your trip. You deserve it. I’ll be fine, I promise,” I say, hoping my lack of confidence doesn't give me away.
She stares at me for a minute to see if I’m being honest before letting out a sigh. “Okay, fine, but you need to promise me something. If you have anything like this happen when we’re gone, you’ll call either of us. I don't care what time it is. We’ll come home.” She can be so demanding at times, but I can't help but love her for it.
I stand on shaky legs and practically fall into her outstretched arms, needing to wrap myself in her warmth. “I promise. If it happens again, I’ll call. Now, get out of here and go have some fun.” I kiss her cheek and practically push her out the door. She hesitates and looks backat me, concern etched across her face. “Seriously, go. I’ll be okay.” She pauses for another moment before finally walking out the door.
My eyes are heavy with exhaustion from whatever the hell just happened. I don’t remember much of anything that transpired in the last five minutes, but I somehow managed to crawl into bed. I was hoping for a nice, peaceful sleep, but my mind had an ulterior motive. My sleep is restless. My mind is like one of those flip books, with each page turned to show more details of the dark room.
I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from a vivid nightmare. I peek at the time on my phone through slanted eyes and see it’s 2:00 a.m. My entire bedding is tossed haphazardly onto the floor, and when I bend down to pick them up, they’re entirely damp. I do a quick smell check to see if I'd had an accident, but thankfully, they just reek of sweat. Sleep is out of the question for the rest of the night, so I grab all the sheets and blankets and bring them to the wash.
I’m not sure what's going on or why it’s happening. It all feels so sudden. Why now? Every time I close my eyes, I transport back into that dark room with the soft murmurs of voices. I have no idea where I was or who they were, but something in my gut tells me it's not good.
I feel numb. My body has locked out all happy feelings and thrown away the key. Even my day with Avery doesn’t bring me joy. I’m supposed to have plans with her later this week, but the desire to crawl under my blankets and hide is strong.
I have to wait for the blankets to finish washing, so I do what I can to distract myself. I head upstairs to deep clean my room. I’m engrossed in this unpleasant task when my hand grazes across a familiar, red folder. I flip through it and stumble upon the referrals page. My former therapist listed five mental health professionals in my area who specialize in trauma.Trauma?Why would he put those referrals in here? I don’t have any trauma. I'm fine, everything’s fine. It was just one bad dream. It's not going to happen again.
Little did I know that these nightmares would be happening for the next few weeks. Every time I close my eyes, wishing for sleep to take me, my nightmare demons come knocking instead, wanting to play. The scene mostly stays the same, except for a few new fun little features I didn’t ask for. Despite how many times I’ve entered whatever alternate reality this is, I still can’t find the damndoor.
I pull back from everyone, not wanting to burden anyone with my problems. I have zero energy and have barely showered in the last few weeks. Avery has stopped by the house a few times, but my grandparents told her I’m not up for visitors right now and I’ll call when ready. Shutting her out makes me feel guilty, but my depression has me in a chokehold. She probably thinks I don’t care about her or that I’m brushing her off, and that thought alone makes the guilt intensify.
Another week goes by and things aren't getting any better. I notice my cravings for drugs and alcohol have increased. I hate feeling this way, but I hate myself more for wanting to fall back into old habits. My eyes flicker toward the red folder that sits on my dresser. It’s time for things to change. I grab the folder and head downstairs. My grandparents are drinking coffee in the kitchen. When they notice me standing in the entryway to the kitchen, they give me matching questioning looks.
“I think I need to start talking to someone. My former therapist gave me this before my discharge and it has a list of therapists in there. I didn’t think I would need one, but whatever’s going on with me isn't improving.” I let out a long breath and await their responses.
They glance at each other and my grandfather is the first to speak. “Okay,” is all he says. My grandfather isn't a man of many words, but his “okay” is enough. I looked at the list and settled on someone named Dr. Z. I made the call and set up my first appointment before losing my courage. A sense of pride swells in my chest and I pray that this next step will provide the answers I seek. Now, it’s time to face Avery. I’ve been avoiding her for weeks and need to go over and apologize again. I sigh and head to her place, hoping she won’t slam the door in my face, no matter how much I might deserve it.
