I blink, look down at the bottle of whiskey I've been holding. How long has it been in my hand?
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
I put it down and leave without looking back.
Luckily, Daddy's in his office. I don't want him to see me like this. I'm supposed to be his sweet boy. Not this hollow thing with no soul, no heart, no light, nothing.
The darkness presses tight around me, but it feels familiar, like a parasite that's always lived inside me. How else could it appear so suddenly if it weren't already mine?
Shattered mind, shattered glass, let's play on the playground.
I sing the words in my mind. They come out of nowhere, and I smirk to myself as I drive back home. But the smirk slips from my lips quickly.
I roll my eyes several times, just because. Maybe the movement is a physical manifestation of the craziness I feel inside.
Crazy, crazy, little grizzly.
One childlike voice.
Choke me on my blood. Little. Do it.
One mean adult voice.
I've always wondered why we hear voices in our heads? Surely everyone does and then pretends they don't. Hypocrites. They point at people like me and call us crazy.
Pathetic.
Who's pathetic now?
Yes, yes. I know.
A moment ago, I was happy. Now it feels like I'm weighted down by the whole damn world. I can feel the darkness pulsing under my skin, in my veins. It's like black tar.
I swirl my neck, imagining how the blackness moves along with my movements.
At a stoplight, I catch my reflection. A stranger with my eyes stares back. The void of hollowness wears my skin.
The man staring back at me is someone I've seen before, but never got to know on a deeper level. Because how do you even befriend the darkest voids of them all that suck the life out of anything?
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
But somewhere inside, a small part of me knows exactly what I have to do. It's carved into me like scripture. It's engraved in my mind, in my bones, in my marrow. So fucking deeply so I never forget in times like this.
This moment is a battle between the darkness and me. Though, can I really call it that if the darkness is in fact me? It has my eyes, it wears my skin, and it controls the beats of my heart.
Either way, I don't like this hollowness, this heaviness, oppression, and the way it consumes all that it usually makes meme. Even the other dark parts of me seem to hide in the corner when this black tar spreads through my veins and mind.
I need to exorcise it.
One step at a time.
Play. Dance. Laugh.
We will, but not right now. First, we need to take care of what's inside.
When I get home, I hurry to my bed. Carefully, I pick up Mr. BoBunny and shove him in one of the drawers. He doesn't need to see what's about to happen, and I can't bear it if he does.
I don't even bother undressing. If anything, the clothes on my skin feel like the last bit of armor against this darkness inside me. It doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel.
