Chapter 19 – Chloe’s P.O.V.

            “Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.” -Markus Zusak

            Reading “The Book Thief”, that quote has stuck in my brain like no other. It couldn’t be truer. Half the people in this world don’t understand the abuse some beings have to absorb on a day-to-day basis. Whether it’s not being heard, being called insane, or physically being tortured. I’ve been through all three of these, so I know the pain. I don’t wish it on anyone else; I just want someone to understand.

            My eyes ran over each page faster than I could’ve imagined. “The Book Thief” captivated me from the first page and held on ever since. I’m nearly finished with it, but it’s only the next day after going to the library. Yesterday was astonishing to see so many books, and reading them now seems like a blessing. I can’t put it down.

            Harry is upstairs showering, I believe. He was talking about going out to grab lunch. I didn’t quite hear him, honestly. I kept my eyes locked on the book as he spoke, but I did manage to take in that deep voice of his. Harry is only on the fourth or so chapter on his book, but he hasn’t been reading nonstop like me. I hardly slept last night because I stayed up late reading. I only have ten pages left.

            The doorbell rang, making me glance up at it from my laying position on the couch. It rang again, then again. Sighing, I doggy-eared the page I was on, closing the book and setting it on the coffee table. Harry didn’t have a peephole on his apartment door (which I thought was very idiotic and thoughtless), so I swung the door open on the fifth violent ring. My heart sank to my feet.

            My father stood there, two bulky staff members from the rehab center standing firmly behind him.

Harry’s P.O.V.

            After telling Chloe I was going to shower, I actually did take one. But she was so engrossed with her reading, I didn’t want to disturb her just yet. Actually, I wanted to read a little myself, just not a physical book.

            Opening my laptop after getting dressed, I sat at my desk and typed in “schizophrenia” in the Google search bar. I wanted to understand Chloe if I wanted to help her, so that’s why I’m taking the time to do a little research. She needs someone to be there for her, and I want to be that person. I just need to learn the best ways to help her manipulate the voices inside her head she supposes she’s hearing. I need to learn how to help her know that she’s in charge of her own body and mind.

            The first thing to appear was the definition.

schiz•o•phre•ni•a

Noun

1. A long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation.

            The only part of this I can relate to Chloe is the breakdown and fault perception. I don’t consider harming herself “inappropriate,” but I do find it unnecessary. Then again, we am I to judge when I’m not the one being put through the difficult situation she’s stuck in? I don’t have a right in judging her when I have no idea how it feels.

“People with the disorder may hear voices other people don't hear. They may believe other people are reading their minds, controlling their thoughts, or plotting to harm them. This can terrify people with the illness and make them withdrawn or extremely agitated.

People with schizophrenia may not make sense when they talk. They may sit for hours without moving or talking. Sometimes people with schizophrenia seem perfectly fine until they talk about what they are really thinking.”

            Frowning at the article, it made sense now why Chloe hardly spoke. She was scared to. Scared to proving her title of insanity by speaking. She didn’t want to sound indifferent; she was petrified. It made my heart squeeze for her, it truly did. Chloe is too beautiful, too pure to go through something this awful. Although the article says only one-percent of Americans suffer from this illness, how come Chloe is put in that small percentage? She doesn’t deserve it.

            Before I could read any further, there was a shriek from downstairs. Closing my laptop, I shot up from the desk chair and ran to the door, throwing it open. It’s a scream I’ve never heard, but it’s feminine. Chloe is the only female in this house.

            “Chloe? Are you all—?”

            I cut myself off abruptly after trotting down the stairs, coming face-to-face with a sight I never thought I’d see. Chloe’s father—abusive father—was standing in my doorway. Two large men had Chloe by either on, their tight grip visible on the way she winced with their every move. She looked at me with pleading eyes. That’s when the anger settled in.

            “What the hell is going on here?” I asked.

            Chloe’s father—Mike, I believe is his name—turned to me. “Harry, you’ve been holding my daughter hostage when she should still be in rehab. Elizabeth came home the other night telling me how you were molesting, abusing, and physically hurting her.”

            My jaw literally dropped to the floor.

            “That’s not true!” Chloe yelled, but instantly closed her mouth as if she did something wrong. Her fear to speak in public, I now knew.

            “I’ve never laid a hand on Chloe,” I told him, my voice quiet as I looked over at the beautiful girl. “Chloe came home nearly two months ago.”

            “I was never informed of her return,” Mike said, trying to sound sophisticated, but you could see in the way his body swayed that he was either hung over or intoxicated.

            “You were passed out drunk on the couch,” I hissed. “Let her go.”

            The guards ignored me, only tightening their grip as Chloe shrieked. As if this was some crime scene, two other guards entered my apartment and made their way to stand in front of me. I was beyond pissed.

            “Sir, Chloe Williams has been readmitted to Brookline Psychiatric Hospital. You have no say in this, as it’s her father’s decision,” one guard explained to me.

            “Bullshit,” I told him, trying to look around at Chloe. “You can’t take her back somewhere she doesn’t deserve to be.”

            “She’s insane, Harry. Get over yourself,” Mike spat.

            Chloe was squirming in the guards’ grasps as they began dragging her out the door. “No!” I yelled as I tried to barge through them. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

            Chloe not liking cursing didn’t bother me at the moment. I was pissed beyond belief. They can’t take her away from me. Not now. Not ever.

            The two guards in front of me blocked me from getting to her. I tried to jump between them, but they both caught me by the shoulders and drug me back. I heard Chloe call for me, her voice weak and hoarse. I knew she was crying, but that only made me more desperate to get to her. To save her.

            “Chloe!” Fighting the guards was useless, but I did it anyway. Before I could throw punches, they pinned my arms behind my back as I watched Chloe get hauled towards the elevator. Mike turned to me, a sinister smile on his lips.

            “Elizabeth should be over soon to move back in,” he told me.

            My throat clogged with emotions as I shook my head furiously. “I don’t want her!” I yelled, but then my voice dropped to a whisper as I said, “I want Chloe.”

       But it was too late; Mike, the two guards, and Chloe were already gone.

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A/N: Short chapter, sorry c; BUT OMG, DRAMA, RIGHT? xD I'm sorry, I just love cliffhangers and drama ;P Next update should be tomorrow/Friday <3

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