25: Alone With Demons

I stepped outside of the house with certain care of my left leg. It was a long story of how the cut ended there, and how it had moved from my arm to my leg. After I called Ida, I wasn’t feeling much better. Yeah, I wasn’t going to kill myself. We both knew that the pact was supposed to guarantee our lives. At least, she believed so. And I knew she believed so. I, however, didn’t want to die, but if she did, there was no way I was going down with her. She thought we were in this together, and she was a good friend of mine who I wanted to be more with, but after my encounter at the cave I wasn’t going to kill myself for anything. Ida was the only one who knew about the cave. 

Another thing, Ida thought the pact would make sure that both of us stayed alive. If I still wanted to kill myself, I would. I knew Ida wouldn’t follow. She wouldn’t kill herself for someone like me. Only for Cliff. I was just her second choice. I was nothing compared to Cliff. I never was.

Two weeks had passed since the call, and Ida had came over about half of those days. Cliff appeared to remain faithful to her, but it was Cliff, and you could never tell. Maybe he was settling down, and maybe he was getting into a relationship. Maybe he was sneaking out with girls. Whatever he was doing, he was good at it. He appeared to be devoted to Ida. Yet if he was lying, he was doing it very convincingly. If he was getting with other girls, then I didn’t have the knowledge of it. 

I heard them together once. I cut my leg, because I had enough trouble hiding the one on my arm from Cliff and Ida. My leg was a spot that was concealed, and nearly perfect for keeping my secret depression. I didn’t want to start bottling things up again, so I cut. Cutting seemed to help relieve my feelings. It was letting out your emotions on yourself. This way, I didn’t have to tell Cliff or Ida what was going on in my mind, they didn’t suspect anything, and I didn’t have to bottle up. 

In the time that they were together, I was alone. I followed Cheyenne’s advice and lived my life. I usually went out and drank alone. Sometimes I worked. I’d go hang out with Juliet somewhere. Juliet said she was getting ignored by Ida. At least she felt that way. She also said that she was skeptical of Cliff. I was skeptical of him myself, even though he was the closest person to me that I’d ever had. I wasn’t exactly on the right foot with Cliff. Ida and Cliff were together half the time, and the other half he was sleeping, eating, or we were trying to patch things up between us. The fight left us both a little sorry for each other. We tried our best get past the fight, but things were still different. Cliff was different. I think he was as shocked by my actions as I was. Maybe he was shocked because he knew I liked Ida, and he knew how much she liked him.  

Maybe things were just slipping between us. Maybe things would never be the same. Maybe I’d have to move back in with my parents. I would have to eventually at the end of the summer, but maybe a separation emotionally from cliff would draw me home faster than I expected. Maybe I’d even be packing within the next month. 

It was the end of June, and the summer air was boiling my skin as I came outside. I almost half expected to sizzle up and disappear into a cloud of smoke. Ida was at her house, and Cliff was somewhere off. Probably at work. 

Work. The boring mundane activity that I had to endure so often. Today was a day off, which seemed to come in handy with my living a little. They usually seemed to be placed in the times when I needed a pick-me-up. Cliff had been out with Ida all night.

Why couldn’t she see how much I wanted her? Or did she see? Now she didn’t have to worry about me killing myself. Maybe that was all she cared about. Maybe she knew how much I cared, but didn’t care herself because it wouldn’t affect her like it would if I died. But then maybe I was being paranoid.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I shouldn’t have cut myself again. Though every time I saw her with him, it made me so upset. I couldn’t stand it. So I cut my thigh. I couldn’t stand that they were together, but I didn’t trust Ida. 

I didn’t trust her emotional stability. I was sure if Cliff broke up with her again, she’d start contemplating suicide. I was sure that she was capable of killing herself. So, the pact meant nothing to me. It was more for her. It made her feel at ease about me, which was what I wanted. I didn’t want her to worry about me. And even if it killed me, she was better off and happier with Cliff. And she was alive. 

Though, it still did kill me inside, and there was nothing I could do about that without ruining something for her. When I called Cheyenne, she cheered me up for a little, and she told me to live again. And she was right. When I went out and lived my life, things were usually temporarily better. Temporarily. Maybe I just had to live all the time. Maybe the trick was to be as psycho as possible. 

The past week I had gone out and actually got into a fight. I would have probably done it sooner if I had not been feeling so bad. The day after the storm and the almost death that no one knew about, I couldn’t even get up out of bed. I tried to sleep as much as possible, because Ida was over all day. Cliff didn’t notice I was in bed all day, because they eventually left, and he came back late at night. 

If I had learned something this whole time, it was that life went on. And it did, no matter how much it killed you. It was like a train, or some form of vehicle: If you fell off, then it didn’t stop and wait for you, it went on ahead. The more that you waited for it to come get you, the further it got away. Maybe that was what happened to me. 

Though life went on. Cliff went back to his normal schedule, besides sleeping with other girls (at least openly). Ida went on. We started talking a little, and I beared through the pain so she wouldn’t suspect that it was present. Juliet went on. Her and Ida talked a lot less, just as Cliff and I did, but she got through. 

They all made it through, because if they didn’t, it would be a hell of a run back to the train. Or back to life. I think the near death gave me a huge boost forward. I was at least on the train. Maybe in the back, but I was on it. Cliff and Ida acted as if they were sitting first-class. Maybe they were. Maybe Cliff was really happy with her, but I was still skeptical. 

Either way, I stretched out my ankle as I walked forward down the street. It was still a little sore from tripping. For a while, it was swelled. That had gone down, and so did the limp. I tried my best to hide it from Cliff, because he didn’t know the severity of my night out. I actually managed to successfully lie toward him. Or it seemed that way, because he let me off the hook.

I walked as naturally as I could down the street, but it still didn’t come easy. The sun shone brightly through the few numbered clouds. The air was warming, and put me in a slightly better mood, though I was still depressed. At least I wasn’t going to kill myself. 

What could I do today? I could get drunk. That was always fun in a state of depression. I could go sneak in somewhere, but it was daylight, and nothing interesting went on in daylight, especially in Shoreville. I decided to get drunk. The shack was a good place to start. I’d probably end up at the beach. 

I slowly tracked my way up main street, and cut along the trees to the park, where the faint trail led back. My stomach grumbled curiously as I walked. I started at a light jog through the woods, that turned into a run, then a full out sprint. I felt like the harder I went, the faster the fat would just fall off of my stomach. It was easier to run without hair, and much more enjoyable. 

I reached the shed quickly, and sweat dripped lightly down my back. I had leaned how to take out my anger in many different ways, and as many as possible. That way, I could get most of it out. I kicked the shed door open with just my big toe, and it cracked a little on impact, but the door swung open. I punched it closed.

As long as I got rid of it in multiple small ways, it could be unnoticeable, and I wouldn’t have to do anything drastic. Cutting, punching, kicking, and screaming into a pillow were all excellent ways of getting it out.

I screamed, knowing the woods would shelter my anger, and only stopped when I needed air. My depression was progressing. I could feel it. It was slowly transforming into an anger. It had with Ida on the beach. It had out at the rocks. It had with Cliff. Now, I was screaming and kicking at everything.

The bottles lined up in the corner were just as they usually were: moldy and full of dust. I reached up for one and brushed it off lightly. Then I grabbed another. Another. Another. I had to haul them off in my shirt as I made my way through to the cliff. 

The shed was becoming a choice spot for me to obtain liquor. Cliff would notice if I was running off with his all the time. Plus, Bryan hadn’t been at the shed in weeks, as far as I could see. Actually, I hadn’t heard Cliff talk about him in weeks. But maybe I just wasn’t with Cliff like I used to be. 

As I set them all down, one almost came tumbling over the edge, and I caught it just in time to save it’s precious content. I looked around to make sure I was completely sealed off by trees from the trail. Though people rarely came out here, there were a few, and I didn’t want to get caught. 

I popped one of the bottles open and took a long swig. The numbness rushed down my throat and out to my fingertips. It was a warming numbness. I smiled a little, not in happiness, but finally at ease. Birds flocked around the shore below, and the waves crashed against the rocks. Everything had a calming feel to it. The noise was something that most people needed to buy a stress relieving CD to listen to. 

Suddenly, I thought back. I thought way back when I was a little child. What happened? At what point did everything get so fucked up? At what point did I decided to stop loving my parents so much that I could never leave there side? At what point did I start crying myself to sleep? When did I realize that sitting inside and being a depressed f**k was a better idea than going out with friends? Living life? I knew I knew the answer to it all. It was when my brother died. I never actually cried for him, but that was when everything started to get out of control. That was where everything seemed to fall apart. I felt like I had matured faster than the other kids in my grade, even the ones who had lost someone themselves. Why? Because I could. Because I could justify special treatment for a tragedy. Because I could sit there and get free hugs and sympathy from people. But mostly because I felt like I was alone. That was the first time I ever remember being utterly alone; at his funeral. I felt like no one could feel the way I felt. I had a burden on my shoulders, one that my parents constantly tried to get me to talk about. 

I sat in my room all day, and so they became worried. They tried to take me to a counselor. That didn’t last, because they never had the money. And it only made me sad to see that they were trying to help me. I started to despise being by them, just because I hated to see them upset.

And yet there were other questions that were in need of answers.

At what point did I stop, because I had run out of tears? When did I decide to move in with Cliff? When did I become so addicted to depressiveness? Depressive situations? Since when was I a magnet for bad situations?

Oh, yeah. I remembered what happened. I grew up. I became an adult.

When we’re kids, all we want to do is grow up. We can’t wait to drive cars, and have a wife, a family, a home, be in highschool. Then, we get there, and we looked back, and wonder what the hell happened. At what point did everything get so fucked up at? Why did all these sweet little girls in piggy tails turn into s***s and cheaters? When did all these guys turn to stoners and d*********s? When did all of these teenage girls get pregnant? Why is there so much hate in the world? What happened? 

We look back, and suddenly we wish we were kids again. We wish things didn’t get so fucked up. When we were kids, we were oblivious to the people living in boxes. We didn’t know people on the streets were suffering. We didn’t know about all the fucked up celebrities with their scandals and sex tapes. We didn’t know about racism, or sexism, or homophobia. Now, it was here. Everything was. We didn’t know what a bad situation was, because we had never been in trouble with the police back then. We had never been pregnant before. 

We had never been trapped in a cave on the cliff. We had never cut ourselves. 

Here we were. All grown up. Driving was a b***h. Parents were a b***h. Life was a b***h. Nothing was right, and it was all just fucked up. Why couldn’t I still be a kid? Why couldn’t my brother still be alive? Why couldn’t the world just be a better place?

Why did we have to see cancer? Or those people standing outside the supermarket, trying to raise money while parents who clearly have some to spare just pass by? They pass by like the money-raisers don’t even exist, with their big sunglasses and expensive purses. Children in other countries- and even in America, for that matter- were starving, and these people did nothing to help. It was sick.

Here I was in this whole mess. To top off all of the world problems, there were individual problems as well. There wasn’t just a single person to be made fun of for being gay. Not a just a singular kid who was going to die from cancer. Though, they were individual problems. Not just a single kid starving. Not just a single “Cheyenne.”

I knew there was more than just a single “me,” yet I couldn’t feel more alone. I knew people were going through things like I was, yet I felt like this was a first. I felt like no one knew how I felt. Mainly because there was no one to talk to. There were walls to punch and beers to drink and skin to cut, but there wasn’t a soul I could talk to. I also felt alone because the two people I cared the most about abandoned me for each other. Cliff and I still barely spoke, though we tried. Ida and I...

Some guy came running past, and dropped his water bottle on me. Dick. Water splashed across my burning skin, and sent shivers down my entire body. 

“H-he-e-ey!”

I tried to stand, but the woods were spinning around me. I was afraid that I would fall back onto the flat rocks below the cliff. His face came into view through the blur of trees. It was unrecognizable. 

“Who-who you-o-o-o... are?”

“What? Dude, I’m sorry.”

“NO! You’re not! A*****e!”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were there, and my water had s**t in it. I’m sorry! I just meant for the water to get out! I didn’t know.”

I chucked a bottle blindly in his direction. It smashed somewhere off in the distance. 

“Woah! Calm down now.”

I chucked another. This one was closer. I bent down to pick up another, when suddenly the earth decided to veer sharply to the left, and I was thrown to the right. 

“Hey! Let me help you!”

“Gi off o’ me-e-e!”

I tried to punch him, but only got air. Suddenly, I was kicking and screaming like mad on the ground. It took a while of him trying to calm me down that I finally made contact. 

“OK, you drunk f**k!”

I felt the bone-on-bone contact of his hand and my right cheek. My head, which he had propped up with his other hand, slammed into the hard ground.

“GAHHH!” I screamed, and blindly kicked.

Contact.

He punched me in the jaw, and I was bleeding.

“F*****g drunk.”

He walked away, and his footsteps echoed off the dirt trail like in a far off hallway. Everything had this tone to it.

Suddenly, things were going red. It was like the blood was fogging up behind my eyes, leaving everything with a red tint. Then, they turned dark red, like blood. Finally, black.

Everything was fucked. Everyone was fucked. The world problems. The drunk a*****e picking fights with passerby’s. The beer- because it was a cause of so much death in the world, yet I still drank it every time I could. Everything was fucked. It was shattered. This, exactly, is where my disgrace of my race came from. My species. Humans. They were no better than savage animals, just smarter. Just as mean. Just as cruel. Just as much hate and unforgiving as the depths of hell. 

It was like earth was hell, and we all knew it. We all knew we were fucked. And we all had a little bit of devil in us. A little silent evil. Everyone. Some tried to hide it. Others made it manifest. Some cut themselves, because of what the silent evil had done to them. It sent them into the shadows. Down where you could see everyone’s shadows. Where you could see everyone’s demons.  

My demons were rising. I could feel them. I had heard people when they said that someone had some “demons” in them. Now I knew what the demon was. I felt like I had the devil. It was nearly unbearable. Though, who could I tell? Not Cliff. Not Ida. Not Juliet. I could tell the cheap bottles of beer, vodka, or whisky. I could tell my legs and the pieces of broken glass and razor blades. I could tell a wall. A desk. A chair. Other than that, I was alone. 

Right now, I was alone. I was alone in the woods. Bleeding from my face. Watching my vision black out, and then the earth fell from beneath me, and I was enveloped in oblivion.