~》I Remember《~

I know I've never been what they call "normal", but I didn't think I was that weird. That crazy. I just lived my life, trying to support three of us living in one dumpy apartment, taking what I could get from a crappy diner job I worked with my friend. If I can even call him my friend.

Joel and I were close for a while, but that was ... years ago. I don't really know what changed, and honestly, I was afraid of asking. But I considered him my friend, because other than Braken, I was the only one he hadn't beaten up in three months. Three months! I think that's a new record.

Anyway, I never really thought I was all that crazy. Sure, I was chronically clumsy and a nervous wreck and I trusted people too easily, but come on. I'm not crazy.

Am I?

The first time I actually thought about this was the time I was waiting tables and this little kid looked at me and asked, "Are you a vampire?"

I kind of recoiled, surprised, and the parents apologized. "Oh, it's fine," I said quickly. "What makes you think that?" I asked as a joke, but I got a different answer.

"Well ... you're really white," the kid said.

My heart started thumping, my hands started sweating, and I began to shake a little. I held up my hand in front of my face, comparing my skin tone to theirs. I was pale.

"And why are you covered in bandaids?"

"I - I fell." I rubbed my arm nervously and put on a smile. "It was just an accident." In truth, it was a lot of accidents. It's embarrassing how many times I've cut myself in the sharp corner of the counter at the apartment.

"Do you turn into a bat at night?" the kid asked. "Does sun hurt you?"

"No," I answered. I tried to answer. Instead, I just made a sort of gargling sound in the back of my throat and backed up.

"We're really sorry about that," the mother apologized as the father told the kid to shut his mouth. "He's not quite used to ... this."

Used to what? What about me was so different than the rest of the world?

"Can I take your order?" I tried to ask, but again, I just made a strange noise as if in pain.

Another waitress walked past and noticed my struggle. She gave her table their drinks and tapped my shoulder. "Hey, Leo. You're not looking too good. Go sit down for a few minutes. I'll take this one."

I nodded a little, my eyes wide and my pale face turning pink in embarrassment. I fumbled to hand her my notepad, though she already had one, and then quickly walked myself to the back room, where I practically tripped up a wall and banged my arm hard on the counter. I flopped down in a chair and rested my face in my hands. What was wrong with me? The innocent kid wasn't even close to guessing what was really going on.

"Joel, am I weird?" I asked as soon as I got home. I headed straight for the bandages while I waited for my answer, as I'd fallen on the walk home.

He glanced up from the paper he was reading and snorted.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Completely insane," he muttered.

Someone poked my arm three times and I jumped away with a shriek. "Oh, hi, Braken. How are you feeling today?"

The other didn't answer. He just handed me an envelope and sighed. He looked awful. His exhausted eyes were haunted, like he'd seen things no guy his age - or anyone, for that matter - should see. He drooped over as he walked - staggered is a better word - and slumped over onto the counter, grabbing for the basket of medication. I watched him silently, wondering which one he was going to take today.

I turned my attention to the envelope he gave me and sighed. Another bill, this one from his therapist we went to see every month or so. He hated seeing her, but he usually followed fairly willingly, and I'm grateful for that. We got in a fight once over it, ending with a couple smashed dishes and almost half a box of bandaids gone. I think that week was particularly bad.

Why did she have to be so expensive? It's not like we could help it. It's not our fault he was that way. It wasn't his fault, either, but definitely not mine. I was the one paying for it, anyway.

"Joel, could you maybe help me pay for this?" I asked.

"What is it?" he grumbled.

"It's Braken's medical stuff."

"No. He's your kid."

"He's not my kid, he's our friend." I took a deep breath, slapped my bandaid on, and marched up to him. "And you won't help me do anything. All you do is go out and get drunk. It's time you pulled your own weight."

"I do help you."

"Yeah? With what? You're just a violent alcoholic who gets into bar fights on Thursday nights."

Before I could say anything else, Joel practically vaulted over the table and tackled me. I shrieked as he collided with me and then shrieked again as we hit the floor hard. But before he could land any blows, we both heard a massive thump and looked over. Braken was crumpled on the floor. His shoulders rising and falling slightly was the only indicator he was still alive.

I shoved Joel off of me and scrambled over to him. I rolled him onto his back, but I didn't know what I was looking for, so I panicked.

"He's fine," Joel muttered. "He hasn't slept in four days."

"You sure he didn't take something to knock himself out?"

"Yeah. Just get him off of the floor and he'll wake up eventually."

I gently picked Braken up off of the floor and struggled to carry him to the bedroom. Even though he rarely ate and weighed almost nothing, I was a wimp and had a hard time getting him over. At last, I dumped him on my bed and sat down next to him, tucking him under the blankets with a sigh. I wanted to help him, but I didn't know what to do. No one did. They didn't know how it was possible to have so many things wrong with one person. Pick a mental illness and he probably had some form of it. The only thing he didn't have is ADHD. He had depression and terrible anxiety, dyslexia, diagnosed OCD, a form of Tourette's syndrome, he was anorexic, and sometimes he'd have hallucinations that made me think he had some form of schizophrenia, and every once in a while, he'd drastically flip personalities for a day or two and not remember anything, giving him that split personality one, too. Five months ago, he almost killed someone with one of his terrifying personalities and was at a psychiatric hospital for a couple weeks.

I sighed again and let my eyes wander, landing on the green scarf on the dresser. It was his mom's from years and years ago. He never talked about his family or life before he came to live with us, and I think it was because he didn't know. He didn't know anything about his family. The only thing he had left was that scarf. He wore it for a while, but one day, he'd put it on and had a panic attack - and probably a hallucination to go with it - about how it was going to strangle him, and had nearly killed himself trying to get it off. Since then, he hadn't even touched it.

"Sleep well," I murmured, brushing his hair away from his eyes to look at his face. He could've been a fairly attractive guy, if he took the time to take care of himself. His life was pretty messed up, but he could've picked himself up and worked through it. I could've helped him. But instead, he let himself fall beyond my reach. There was nothing I could do for him, not if he didn't want to be helped.

"Joel?" I asked as I walked out of the bedroom. "Aren't you worried about him?"

"No." He didn't look at me from the table.

"You're not concerned in the least? Do you know what kind of crap he's been through?"

"Do you?" he countered, and I dropped my eyes to the floor. It was true. Neither of us knew.

I didn't sleep that night. It probably didn't help that I was left to the mercy of the beat up old couch in our living room/kitchen, as Braken was still passed out on my bed, and there was no way I would share with Joel. We only had two beds, because Braken never slept, except when he passed out like he did that day, and we didn't have room, anyway. I laid on the couch, the blanket tangled around my legs, and stared at the ceiling.

"One day," I said to myself, "I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to go to college, get a good job, and settle down in a nice place with a nice girl, far away from this city. And no one's going to stop me."

...

I must've fallen asleep early that morning, because I woke up suddenly to Joel swearing loudly and yelling, "Braken! Did you do this?"

I rolled off of the couch and stumbled to the table, shirtless and still blinking sleep out of my eyes. At first, I thought the things on the table were little bugs, but no - they were Cheerios. The entire box was emptied on the table, but it wasn't in a pile. Each Cheerio was laid out perfectly in straight rows and columns, from the most perfect to the little burnt halves.

Honestly, it was quite impressive.

"Wow," I said.

"Where is he?" Joel growled.

"Maybe we should buy him some rainbow nerds candy. That would keep him occupied," I suggested as I pulled on my shirt, wandering to the front door to go and see if the mail came. Well, that's what I told myself I was doing. I was actually trying to escape Joel's anger. He got mad over everything.

I opened the door and Braken spun around with a frightened gasp. I almost tripped over him, as he was sitting down in front of the door, but I managed to avoid him and land spread-eagle on the floor.

"Work?" Braken said in the quietest, most fragile and timid voice you'll ever hear. I hadn't heard him speak in a few weeks.

"Nah, I have the one to closing shift today."

"So long?" he mumbled, brushing his hand through his thick hair.

"Yeah. That's okay, though. More money for us." I tried to be as cheerful as I could, flashing him a grin, but I knew the money wouldn't be used for leisure. It'd be used to pay for his therapist, and we both knew it. I always took long shifts, hoping one day I'd earn enough to get into the college near here. With all these medical bills, that was next to impossible, at least without Joel's help. He wasn't willing to help. It made me wonder what he did with his paychecks, other than go out to bars and clubs on Thursdays. He didn't get paid as much as I did, as he didn't work as often, but he'd have to come home pretty wasted to blow it all in one night.

Braken sighed as he shuffled back into the apartment and slumped at the table, adjusting one of the Cheerios on the table top.

"Get your stupid cereal art off of my table," Joel ordered, slamming his hand down.

Braken flinched and ducked his head, keeping his eyes glued to one piece that had moved out of place. I watched his shoulders tense up as he stared at it, fighting the urge to put it back in place. He started to shake and sweat, and finally, he let out a yell of frustration and swiped his hand across the table, scattering the Cheerios across the room.

I twitched backward at his outburst, and then dropped to the floor to pick them up. Braken knelt down next to me and swatted my hand away. He took the Cheerios I had already cleaned up out of the box and threw them across the floor before picking them each up, one by one. I knew it was one of his compulsions, so I stood up and let him do his thing.

Joel snagged a toast and marched out the door, off to his morning shift. He would work until one, and then I would essentially take over, though that was a coincidence. Today was a good day, because someone would be home with Braken at all times, just in case something went wrong.

After Braken finished cleaning the Cheerios off of the floor, he sat at the table and pretty much stared at me while I ate a banana and sorted through the mail and the various bills we - I had to pay. "Your appointment's tomorrow at ten," I told him.

He didn't answer.

Sorting through the massive amounts of money I had to pay began to make me anxious, so I took a break and turned on the TV. Nothing good was on, so I turned to the radio and sang a bit. While I was dancing around the kitchen, I noticed a note on the counter. It was a shopping list, one I'd forgotten about. "Hey, Braken, do you want to go to the store with me? I have a few things to pick up."

He sighed once again and nodded. I knew he didn't want to, but his therapist told him that fresh air was good for his health, and I think that's the only reason why he agreed.

I followed him into the bedroom and then realized he was changing his clothes, so I turned away. Personally, I didn't care if either of them saw me getting dressed, because we're all guys, but for some reason, Braken was really uncomfortable with even taking his shirt off in front of us.

Once he was finished, we walked outside and down the street to the convenience store. Braken had to close the door to the apartment three times to make sure it locked. He always did that. It was another one of his OCD things. He had to do everything in threes, and it got in the way of routine a lot.

I tried to strike up a conversation, because I loved to talk, but he didn't say anything. He almost screamed at me to shut up, but he mumbled under his breath instead. So I shut up.

We got to the store and I realized I'd forgotten my shopping list. I started to laugh and headed right to the bandaids to pick up a box. Braken shuffled along behind me as I ran to the bananas to get some more, as I'd been running low. Joel thought I was going to die of banana overdose, but I actually looked it up and the internet said that I'd have to eat four hundred of them at the same time, which would be pretty hard. He was still convinced I could do it.

"Okay, come on, let's check out," I said, dragging Braken to the cash register. I looked up and immediately recognized the cashier. "Hey, Anna!"

"Oh, hey Leo," she said politely. She was the girl I dated for a while, a little more than three years ago. Turns out, she was Joel's ex girlfriend, so that didn't really work out.

"How are you?" I asked, excited to see her again.

She looked as if she wished I had gone to any other register. She glanced at my obscure amount of bananas and bandages up and down my arms and put on a smile. "I'm doing good. How about you?"

"I'm great! Mostly." I laugh a little, pulling my card out of my wallet. "How's your family doing? Haven't seen them in a while."

"Leo ... look," she said softly, putting my groceries in a couple of bags. "I thought I made this perfectly clear the day we broke up, but ..."

Braken poked my arm three times and gave me a sympathetic look, one that said he was going to give us a little space. I almost wanted him to come back.

"We're not ... I don't want us ..." Anna sighed. "I can't be with you anymore."

"Well, yeah, I mean, after Joel ... uh ..." I felt my anxiety skyrocketing, making me awkwardly shift my weight every two seconds and rub my arms. "But we're still friends, right?"

"About that ... I'm sorry, Leo."

"We're not ... not ...?" My heart ached as she spoke. Sure, I knew it wouldn't have worked as a dating relationship, but I was sure that we'd be friends. I suppose this is what I meant when I said I trusted people too easily.

"I'm sorry," Anna repeated, giving me a helpless look.

So she saw something in me that prevented all contact, just like the kid at the diner. Just like everyone else. They didn't feel bad because they wished it could be different. They just pitied me. Poor guy. If only he wasn't so weird.

"Oh," I said softly, another strange noise coming out of my mouth. I took my groceries and kept my head down as I forced myself to walk out without looking back. I overheard something as I walked - Anna talking to another employee.

"I almost feel bad, but at the same time ... he's just weird. A little ... crazy, if you know what I mean."

I knew exactly what she meant, but at the same time, I had no idea.

Braken gently took the bags from me and led me home. I followed him like a lost puppy, a lost cause. I hadn't planned that encounter, and even if I had, I was so sure she'd stay my friend. "What are you, insane?" I shouted to myself.

"Probably," some guy snickered as we passed each other.

"See?" I yelled, flinging my hand out toward him. "See? You all think I'm crazy! I'm just trying to survive, like the rest of you! I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for a selfish alcoholic roommate or a kid to show up at our doorstep with every mental illness on the freaking planet!"

Braken flinched and I immediately felt bad. I wanted to hurt something. I wanted to throw something at someone's face. I just wanted to curl up and cry. We were walking down a back road when I picked up a rock and hurled it as hard as I could into an alley, only feeling more angry afterward.

The rock flew back at me and slammed into my face, ripping open yet another cut to add to my collection. "What in the -"

Another one flew out of the alley and I ducked just in time, feeling the rock whoosh over my head like an arrow. I'm sure it could've killed me if it hit right.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

Braken backed up behind me, shaking like a leaf. I heard him snap his fingers, over and over, one of his ticks, and then he dropped the bags on the gound.

"It's the drug kid," someone taunted from the shadows. The alley wasn't very dark, but it still felt ominous. "Look at him - had any visions recently? How's your imaginary friend?"

"Come on," I murmured, gently taking Braken's hand and picking up the bags. Even though I was pretty sure the words were meant for him, I felt as though the guy in the alley was talking to me, too. Braken followed me away from the alley, though it was more like two lost kids wandering through the city.

We finished walking home in silence, and I thought about how there was so little we actually knew about Braken. I hadn't been exaggerating when I said that he literally showed up at our doorstep. No notice, just a kid in tattered clothes begging for a place to stay. I didn't even know how old he was. He never gave us a last name, or anything other than the nickname Braken and that he was, in fact, male.

I don't know why we took him, but I didn't regret a thing.

We got home and I realized that it was almost time for my one o'clock shift. I put all the things away and changed into my uniform, double checking in the mirror to make sure I didn't look too crazy.

I walked myself to work and began my shift, and fifteen minutes in, I heard Joel yelling. I couldn't tell what he was freaking out about, but I heard him scream, "THEN I QUIT." I completely froze up as he marched past me, staring me right in the eye. "You heard me right, Leo. I quit."

If he quit, that would leave me working by myself to support myself and two other guys at this diner job as a waiter. I couldn't do that. He couldn't do that. We'd lose the apartment. I couldn't pay for it by myself. "B-but you can't -" I stammered.

"Can't what?" another waiter asked.

"He can't quit!" I exclaimed throwing my arms out.

The other guy looked at me weird for a second and then tried to casually walk off. I was confused, but I didn't say anything. I walked Joel over to the back, away from everyone, and looked at him, standing up as tall as I could. "Joel, you can't quit. I can't support us on my own. Maybe until you get another job, but ... where are you going to go?"

"I'll find something. You can't stop me," Joel said, trying to push around me.

"Please, stay until you find another one," I begged, grabbing his arm.

"Leo, let go of me. My shift's over, anyway. No matter what you want, I get to go home."

He gave me a massive shove and I tripped backward, crashing into the counter and knocking a glass onto the floor. It shattered on the tile with a crash that echoed through my head as if in slow motion, fading to silence as he walked away.

"Hey, Leo. What's wrong?" my manager asked, seeing my obvious distress.

"What's wrong?" I nearly screamed. "What's wrong? He just quit and now I'm going to lose everything!"

"Maybe you should go home," he said cautiously. "I'll call in someone -"

"No!" I shrieked, and then dropped my voice. "N-no. I need to work. I need this job. I'll be fine."

He looked unconvinced, but he let me continue working. I picked up the broken glass, cutting my fingers a lot and gaining four new bandaids. I felt horrible, as I caught myself glaring at the guests and speaking harder than I should have, and I apologized way too many times.

The day passed slower than it ever had before. Sure, I had a pretty crappy job, but I usually enjoyed working, because I love talking and helping people. But that day was the slowest day I've ever worked. Finally, after those long hours, closing came, and after locking up, I stormed back to the apartment, furious.

I practically kicked down the door and yelled, "JOEL?!"

It was dark, and all the lights were turned off, so I could barely see anything. I slammed the door shut and then remembered that it was Thursday. He was off at some bar getting drunk again, which would leave me to clean up his mess and make sure he came back alright.

"Braken?" I asked quietly. "You in here?"

And then I heard the most blood-curdling scream I had ever heard.

I screamed, too, and fell over on top of the table, knocking over one of the chairs. My eyes searched wildly for Braken, knowing that he was in the kitchen now, and I finally found him pressed up against the wall, practically in plain sight. I wondered briefly why I hadn't seen him before.

I quickly scrambled over to him, sliding on my knees next to him and gently touching his shoulder. "Braken, what's wrong?"

He jerked away from my touch and started to cry, loud, childish sobs that broke my heart to hear. "They want me," he wailed. "Kill you, kill you. STOP IT!"

I twitched backward, but he wasn't talking to me. He was screaming at something from his own imagination. He was hallucinating.

"Hey, Braken, it's me, Leo. It's okay. I'm here," I gently reassured him.

"Stop it!" he cried. He lashed out, his heel sinking into my gut, and I yelped and backed up. Though this happened at least once a month, I still hadn't figured out how to help him. I didn't know what to do. He was screaming nonsense, always using the pronoun they.

They were coming to take me away. They were going to hurt him again. They were trying to kill us.

I spent the night by his side, and at about two in the morning, the door slammed open again and Joel staggered in. He shut the door, collapsed against the counter, and threw up. I couldn't take care of a drunk and a schizophrenic at the same time, so I ignored him, until he grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me backwards to face him.

"What're you doin'?" he hissed, the words heavily slurred together.

"I'm helping Braken -"

He threw me back against the table and I hit with a sickening thump, my head cracking against the side. I think I even blacked out for a second. Even when he was drunk, Joel was strong. He pinned me down, breathing hard, his eyes hard and unfocused, and suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I was being ripped to pieces, like Life was cutting my hand off just as I touched relief. I was falling apart. The wall I'd carefully built for years was crumbling before my eyes. I couldn't take it anymore.

I broke down and started to cry.

...

I woke up the next morning crumpled against the kitchen wall. I heard my alarm going off in the other room and tried to climb to my feet, the memories of the previous night returning, but as soon as I rested my weight on my left foot, pain lit up through my ankle and I staggered. I rubbed my face and winced, dried blood flaking from my fingers. I had four scratches across my cheek - fingernail scratches, and I was one hundred percent positive who they were from.

"J-Joel?" I called softly. He didn't answer. "Braken?"

"Hi, Leo," he mumbled from the couch.

"Where's Joel?"

"Asleep."

"Are you okay?"

He just nodded.

I took a step, holding onto the wall for support. Each step lit a fire of agony in my ankle and I could only take a few. "I think you're going to have to go to your appointment by yourself."

"No!" he snapped, sounding more ordering than I'd ever heard him.

"Okay, I'll come, I just ..." I took another step and gasped in pain. Everything hurt. "I'll be fine. I'll be fine," I muttered to myself. "Can I have a few painkillers?"

He went to the medicine basket and pulled out multiple pill bottles. He poured four ibuprofen pills into his hand and one of his antidepressants and gave them to me.

"I don't need this," I told him, but he insisted, so I gulped all five of them down and sighed. I itched my face a little, accidentally making my scratches bleed again, so I tried to cover it up with another bandaid.

It was almost nine thirty, and it took us nearly a half hour to walk to the therapist, meaning we'd have to leave soon. I hopped over to the bedroom, hoping to change quickly before Joel woke up. I put on my purple shirt and kept my black pants on, and then somehow made it to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I still had that nervous, fluttery feeling in my gut, leaving me feeling flustered, even though I had just woken up. I splashed some cold water on my face and then deemed myself ready to go.

"Ready?" I asked Braken, and he nodded silently.

Together, we shuffled out the door, closing it three times, and then down the street towards the doctor's office. It took us longer to get there than normal, making us late, and as soon as we walked in, the assistant led us into the office.

"Hello, Leo," the therapist said. I liked her a lot, as she was nicer than most people we talked to about our problems. "How are you? What happened?"

"Oh, this?" I brushed my fingers over the scratches and chuckled half-heartedly. "Just an accident."

"Really?" she said carefully. "How's Braken doing?"

I glanced at him, but he didn't respond, as usual. I nudged him a little and he mumbled, "Fine," under his breath.

"He says he's doing fine," I told her. "You know, I wish he would speak up." I meant it as a joke, but the look she gave me made me nervous. "Is everything okay?"

"I think it's time I told you this. There's something going on that I don't think you quite understand. There's something about you, Leo, that you don't realize."

Me? I thought we were there for Braken. I glanced at him, but he didn't look up from staring at the floor.

"Um ... like?" I asked.

"Who gave you those scratches?"

"My friend Joel. It was an accident." I wasn't sure if doing it on purpose as a drunk really counted as an accident, but I didn't want her to worry about me. We were there for Braken.

"Joel? Tell me about him."

"Um, okay ... he's British, he's ... twenty three, and on Thursday nights, he goes out and gets drunk. He used to be really nice. Now I guess we're just ... mutual. He works at the diner, too, but his paychecks vanish. He blows them all, which is kind of impressive in a really frustrating and stressful way."

"What's his last name?" she asked, almost suspiciously.

"Hunt. Joel Hunt."

"Okay. Thanks for telling me. I'll be right back, so wait here." She smiled, but it was almost sad.

"Alright." I returned the smile, the nervous feeling growing steadily worse. I glanced at Braken and asked, "Don't we usually talk about you? That's what I'm paying for, anyway. I'm fine. I mean, I'm a little stressed ... a lot stressed, but that's okay. You're the one who needs help."

He just shrugged and offered no other response.

The therapist came back about twenty minutes later and sat down solemnly. "Leo, your friend ... Joel ... He doesn't exist."

"What?" I tried to laugh, but it didn't quite come out. "'Course he does. Who else would've done this?"

"Yourself. The money he makes disappears because it isn't there."

"So you're telling me that my friend Joel Hunt who's lived with me for three years doesn't exist?" I demanded, getting angry. "I can see him. I can touch him. And I've known him for longer than that. I've known him since I was fourteen."

"There was a report," she said quietly, "of a twenty year old man named Joel Hunt killed in a car accident late Thursday night by a drunk driver."

"Yeah, I remember the crash, but he was alive. He came home the next night." I didn't know what to say or do to make her believe me. Of course he existed. He had to. I stood up and jabbed my finger at her in accusation. "You're playing some kind of sick joke on me. I know it." My voice was hard, but I felt tears in my eyes. I was absolutely terrified. I quickly turned to Braken, hoping he'd back me up, but he didn't say anything. "Come on, Braken. Joel's real. You saw him, too."

He nodded silently and kept his head ducked.

"See?" I said, my voice cracking and filled with a crazy sense of pride. "I'm not crazy. Braken sees him, too."

"Yes, well, I have something else to tell you." The therapist sighed and shifted in her chair.

"What, you're going to tell me he doesn't exist, either?"

"Actually, yes."

My jaw dropped and my heart nearly stopped. I froze, unable to speak, and then finally found my voice enough to whisper, "But he's right here."

"I'm sorry, Leo. You always come here alone. You tell me about Braken's condition, but it's you I've been treating." She pulled out her phone and asked, "May I take a picture? Maybe that will prove it to you." I just nodded mindlessly, my emotions running out of control. I didn't know how to feel. She took a quick picture of me and Braken and I wandered over to see it. What I saw nearly destroyed me right then and there.

It was a picture of two empty chairs and one very pale guy in a purple shirt, with multicolored bandaids up and down his arms and four fingernail scratches across his face, his eyes wild with disbelief.

There was no one else in the picture.

I looked up at Braken to see if he moved, as he always hated pictures, but he was still sitting in his chair. Now, he was looking at me, meeting my eyes for the first time in months. I looked back at the picture and back at him, until the tears blurred my vision and I could barely see him at all. I slowly wandered toward him, reaching my hand out, and touched his shoulder. He didn't flinch this time, and he felt as tangible as ever. "B-Braken?" I whispered. "Are you ...?"

"Dead?" he answered in his fragile voice. "Yes, Leo. But I'm alive to you, aren't I?"

"No." I took a step back, my hands and knees shaking like an earthquake. "No, that's not good enough. You have to be alive for everyone. I can't ... do this ..." I was crying then, but I hardly noticed. I whirled on the therapist. "Why am I like this?" I demanded.

"We don't know," she said. "It seems like a form of schizophrenia or psychosis, but these aren't normal hallucinations. How many doctors did you get medication from for ... for Braken?"

"Four, I think ... antidepressants, something for his hallucinations, I think an OCD thing ... I don't remember. He keeps them in a box by the sink."

"Does he take them all at once?"

"Yeah, usually."

"I think you're the one who takes them all, and all the different medications reacting with each other are causing this."

"But they're real! I swear they are. I talk to them every day and take them places and ..."

"Leo, listen to me -"

"You're wrong!" I practically screamed, the tears stinging the scratches on my face. "You have to be!"

I turned and ran from her office, startling the lady at the desk, and burst through the door. I took off down the street, the pain in my ankle making me stagger. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not.

I finally reached home and fell through the door. "Joel!" I cried, curling up on the floor.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Are you real, or are you just a figment of my imagination?"

"What are you talking about?"

I climbed to my feet, hopping on one foot to keep my weight off of my sprained ankle. "Please, come here."

"What do you want?" he demanded, shuffling into the kitchen.

"Are you real?"

"What kind of question -"

"Just answer it!" I screamed.

He recoiled in surprise and frowned. "Well, yeah, I'm real. To you."

"No, no, no, that's not good enough!" I took a step and staggered, and he backed up, away from me. I dragged myself to the medicine basket and found Braken's schizophrenia medication, pouring three or four pills into my hand.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Joel asked suspiciously.

"Do you have a better one?" I snapped, filling my glass with water and gulping them down.

"Leo, calm down -"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" I stumbled back, pointing my finger at him as if that would keep him away. "You're not even real! You have no idea what's going on!" My hand bumped against his cold pocket knife, and my fingers curled tightly around it.

"Leo, put the knife down," Joel ordered.

Something was happening to me, but I didn't know what it was, and it scared me. My entire world was falling apart around me, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I didn't know how to handle myself.

I really was crazy. Not only that, but I was absolutely and completely insane. My entire body was shaking, my heart was pounding, but worst of all, my mind was telling me to kill him. Kill the one who betrayed me. Kill the one who destroyed my life. And I was all too willing.

I charged him with a scream of fury, but before I made it, he opened the door and pushed me right outside. I tripped over myself, the knife cutting my arm, and then quickly scrambled up and spun around, but he slammed the door shut again and I crashed into it.

"Open this door!" I hollered, my voice cracking again.

"Nope."

"Joel, let me in!"

"Go find Braken, and then we'll talk."

"You can't kick me out of my own apartment! It doesn't work like that!"

"You can't scream at an imaginary person to let you in. It doesn't work like that. Go find Braken."

Oh, I'd find Braken alright. Then I'd see who was real and who wasn't.

I stormed down the street, my fingers tight around my knife, and headed straight for the therapist again. I glanced around and saw someone cautiously pulling out their phone, probably to call the police, but I ignored them.

About half way there, I found him. He was standing by a lamp post, watching me as I approached him. "Alright, Braken," I snapped. "Where did you come from?"

"Boston," he said.

"Don't lie to me." How was I supposed to tell if he was telling the truth? Boston was all the way across the continent, in another county.

He shrugged and didn't answer.

"I mean, if you're really imaginary, where did you come from?"

"In there." He pointed behind me and I turned to look. It was a dark alley way, empty except for a few piles of garbage. "February seventeenth," he said, "four years ago, I was kidnapped and killed, right in there."

I could hear sirens in the distance, no doubt coming for me. I ignored them and carefully limped into the alley.

Braken followed, and pointed to a rust colored stain on the wall, near the floor. "That's my blood." He smiled at me, dark and chilling, and even though it was the first time I'd ever seen him smile, I wished I hadn't. "I've been waiting for someone like you to find me. Then you could take my revenge."

The sirens were very close, and a few police cars pulled up to the curb, evacuating everyone off of the street. "You there!" one of the officers shouted. "Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air."

"Braken, you're going to get me arrested," I whispered, my frantic eyes darting between the officers and the imaginary boy standing next to me.

He smiled again and moved to stand in front of the officer. I could see Joel behind all of them, leaning against the police car almost casually. "I know what you want to do," Braken said, smiling smugly. "So do it. Attack me."

I felt something ... take over, per se, and was filled with pure, white hot rage. This was the boy who destroyed my life. This was the boy who silently watched as I was ripped apart. This was the boy who put on an act and lied to me to get me here, to this point, to take his own revenge. I let out a scream of fury and lunged for him, stabbing my knife into his chest. He just smiled at me and rested his hand on my fist, sliding my knife out of him. It was covered in blood, but Braken wasn't bleeding. He stepped to the side, and I saw who I had really stabbed.

The officer staggered back, dropping his gun and pressing his hands against his chest. The others quickly took action, grabbing my arms and shoulders and wresting the knife out of my hand. I screamed at them, fighting back, as they pinned me against the side of the police car and forced my arms back, snapping a pair of handcuffs around my wrists.

"Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you."

"I hate you, Joel!" I screamed, losing energy and starting to give up. "And I hate you, Braken!"

The officers exchanged a glance, looking back and seeing no one. They managed to get me in the car, and I slumped down, worn out and broken. We started to drive away, and I looked out the window, seeing the two imaginary people I once learned to love. They were standing side by side, and as they saw me starting, they both grinned in unison. Braken waved and Joel gave me a sarcastic salute, and then I realized something.

"They're gone," I whispered, a crazy smile spreading across my face. "They're finally gone."

And I started to laugh, letting the insanity take me.