Demons in my mind
How did I be
My worst enemy?
Why can't I leave?
~•~

Trigger warning: scenes with violence and self harm

Leo

Join a fraternity or sorority.

The crinkles at the corners of the flattened out piece of paper in my hands stare back at me with a frown. I look away.

Why do I have to do it?

I don't want to do it.

But I have to.

I have to because it's the one thing that gives me a sense of control.

You know another reason you have to do it is because your dad always wanted you to join one.

My jaw clenches at the fact that it's true.

"Shut up stupid voice in my head that's so much more reasonable than me!" I cry and fold up the paper hastily, tucking it into the small black journal on my bed side table.

It's right. So I have to do it.

I wonder how it'll be, I think, as I get up and stroll to my reading table to get my phone and a bottle of water sitting there. I've heard stories, seen a few frat boys some people have pointed out for me and I don't know, I don't feel like I fit into that mould.

I twirl my phone on my finger, deep in thought, before unlocking it with a single touch of my index finger.

Me: today were supposed to join a fraternity or a sorority
Rhea: Ughh LEOO
Me: lol I was just about to say you guys don't have to do it
Ivy: thank goodness
Asher: wasn't gonna anyway
Me: we know ash
Jade: so we're just gonna skip
Me: I'll do it on behalf of y'all
Ivy: aww so selfless
Me: you could say that. I also consider it a personal mission
Rhea: lol okay boy
Me: *smiley face emoji*

I shut off my phone and slip it into my back pocket, grabbing my bottle and heading towards the door.

Join a frat it may or may not help your career...dad said.

I let out a breath as I turn the handle to my door and step out, tugging on my letterman jacket.

***
"No cap?" I ask, staring at my teammate, Henry.

He shakes his head sadly. "I've heard real crazy stuff goes down. No capping man. You wanna join?"

I shudder, adjusting myself on the bench we're sitting on.

"Yeah..." I manage, knowing exactly how I look and sound as I utter the words.

His brows rise as he stares at me. "For real?"

I give him a curt nod and take a sip from the water bottle angling from my fingers.

"Dude," he starts with a whisper, shifting closer to me on the bench. My brows rise and I glance subtly at him, eyeing the tiny space between us. "I've heard some real crazy shit that happens there. You know Lorenzo, he's one of the frat boys. The initiation process was bloody...well not literally...I mean it might've been..."

My eyes widen at his uncertainty.

"What happened? How was it?" I ask, feeling my body beginning to tense up as I stare at him pointedly, urging him with my eyes to go on.

"It's just...I can't say it," he admits. "I'm not supposed to. But I do have the contact of one of the frat boys if you're looking for something like that... although I really do not advise for you to-"

"Give me the number," I say, my jaw hardening in resolve.

Henry spares me one last glance before sending it to me.

***
It happened so fast.

I chatted for a couple minutes with the contact of the person Henry sent and the person interrogated me a bit before asking to meet up in one of the abandoned halls in the engineering building.

Shaking off the anxiety coming over me, I head straight to the place.

"Open up your palm," Steven asks, staring at me straight in the eye, an evil smirk forming on his face.

My jaw clenches and I ball my hands into fists at the sight of him.

He was the guy? Fuck.

"Why?" I ask, trying my best to steady my voice as about six other rough looking guys stare down at me. I just want to run away.

He gestures to the guy on his left and he takes out a small but sharp penknife out of a small fanny pack hanging off his waist, handing it over to Steven who begins to play with it on his fingers gingerly.

I look back and forth between the rest of the guys wearily, taking a cautious step back.

"Don't fret, it's just a simple activity everyone has to do when they want to join us."

The guy who handed him the knife proceeds to take out a small bottle of what I can recognise to be vodka, handing it over to Steven.

"I cut your palm, we cut ours, and mix the blood with this." The transparent liquid sloshes as he shakes the bottle.

My eyes widen, heart thudding against my ribcage as I look back and forth between the members who are staring at me as so damn calmly.

I should get out of here.

I try to take a few steps back and then dash out of the small, dingy room but they all notice what I want to do and before I know it, five of them have seized me by the arm, their strong fingers digging into my biceps. I struggle and kick but they're too strong...and too much.

"You can't force me to do that!" I get out through gritted teeth but Steven only chuckles as he takes steps towards me.

They force my hand open and in a single movement, Steven swipes the knife against my open palm and I let out a sharp hiss at the sting of the blade.
I feel my blood drip down my palm and tears sting at the corners of my eyes.

"You can't know about this and expect us to let you go, Leo," he says, cutting open his own palm like it's the most normal thing in the world, screwing open the bottle of vodka in his hands and letting his blood drip into it. Two other guys do the same and my arm is forced to go up and I watch as my blood drops into the bottle which is already stained with their blood, forming an ugly, faded, dark red colour swirling within the bottle.

I gag and Steven smiles up at me. "Same thing happened to me and oh how I love that I get to do this to you. Luckily the actual leader isn't here or it'll have been worse. We're going to take it easy on you."

The guys holding me let me go but they all position themselves at the door. I look back at Steven who's shaking the bottle vigorously, still smiling at me as I hold my wrist with gritted teeth, trying to not focus on the throbbing pain in my hand.

"Next time you don't talk to me like I'm an animal."

They make me down the entire bottle and even though I throw up into the bottle several times, they make sure I finish the entire thing.

"That's all..." Steven says as I throw the bottle to the ground, watching it wearily as it rolls off into a dark corner. "For now. Just a little ritual to get you started. Welcome to the-"

He's not able to finish his sentence because a beat after, I feel a rumble in my stomach, and almost immediately after, the contents in there move up and spurt out of my mouth unto the floor in the middle of us.

"Gross dude," one of them says, staring at me disgustedly as I crouch, hands on my thighs, heaving. My stomach clenches again and I wretch but nothing comes out. My head is spinning.

"Why the fuck..." Steven begins and then his face hardens.

Before I can blink, I find myself on the floor, my head hitting the ground hard. I shut my eyes and try to steady the spinning in my head but before I can do that, I feel the soles of someone's hard boots connecting with my abdomen and I let out a cry of pain.

After a few more kicks to my sides and more curse words thrown at me, they step away, leaving me there curled up into a ball, sobbing quietly.
The world is spinning, my stomach churns, my head is pounding and my sides ache.

I can't fucking do this.

"You're not supposed to throw it up you idiot," one of them hisses at me. I hear their footsteps as they head towards the door but the sounds suddenly stop and they head back to me. My body tenses as one of them crouches to my level and whispers.

"If you tell anyone about this... you'll really regret it."

With that they all leave.

A lone tear traces a path down the side of my face as I lay there, sobbing, still curled up, recovering from everything that just went down in the past few minutes. I let out a shuddering breath.

This is all his fault. He keeps hurting me, whether he's here or not.

◑ ⁠◑⁠ ◑

Rhea

My chest heaves as I let out another hacking cough. There's a dull ache at the right side which feels stabbing at intervals and each time I cough, I feel the slight sting.

I've been coughing for about two minutes straight without a break and I'm finding it hard to breathe now. I roll off my bed to the floor, clutching my chest, and now my coughs are coming out in wheezes.

Hot tears sting my eyes and roll down the sides of my face once I realise the coughing is over, moments later, and I recline against my bed, taking in deep breaths.

My hands reach out for my phone and my fingers locate the messaging app immediately, moving upwards to Asher's name.

Me: hey
Asher: hi
Me: I need help
Asher: with what
Me: I think imma go to the hospital today
Asher: oh why
Oh my God it's happening again?
Like it's getting worse?
Me: yeah we decided that we'd go to check it out right
Asher: we?
I mean yeah, sure. What time are you free?
Me: two pm today. You sure you're okay with going
Asher: ofc just gotta do some things first
Me: tysm I'll meet you outside school by two
Asher: yeah

***

My dad was a nurse so growing up, I was used to the medical environment. Whenever someone says they hate hospitals, he'll tell me not to listen to them, that hospitals were a place where people got healed, got better, got help, so I always saw it in a good way. I always associate hospitals with happiness and positivity.

Until today.

Do people who have anxiety disorders go through this like...all the time?

That must be fucking hard.

I run my hands along the length of my ripped jeans, the sweat from my palms wetting the material slightly.

Is it just the lighting or is the world closing in around me?

Asher turns to face me. "Hey it'll be fine, okay?"

"How are you so sure about that?" I say, shutting my eyes tightly as I place my palm over it.

"Deep breaths," he says quietly and I obey. It helps, somewhat, but the anxiety goes from sixty percent back to a hundred in a few seconds once I'm called to the doctor's office.

The nurse calls out my name and I stand up, trying to put on a brave face like I've learnt to do overtime, smooth out my clothes, take a steadying glance at Asher, who is watching me with concern, and follow the nurse.

The doctor's office is warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable chairs. Dr. Smith sits behind her desk, her eyes fixed on me squarely like it's something she's so used to.

"Rhea, can you tell me about your medical history? Have you had any previous illnesses or surgeries?" she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.

I shake my head. "No, nothing like that. Just the usual colds and flu."

She jots something down. "And what about your family history? Has anyone in your family had cancer?"

My heart thuds in my chest and I hesitate for a moment before responding. "My grandmother had breast cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that. And what about lung cancer or any other respiratory diseases?"

"No, I don't think so."

Her expression turns even more serious, if that's possible, and I'm finding it hard to make eye contact. "And what about your lifestyle habits? Do you smoke or use tobacco products?"

I'm short of words for a moment, looking down at my wrung hands. "Yes, I do smoke."

Her eyes widen slightly, but her tone remains neutral. "Okay, that's helpful to know. We'll take that into consideration when evaluating your test results."

We walk down a sterile hallway lined with rooms, the scent of disinfectant and medication hanging heavy in the air. The nurse leads me to a room with a large CT scanner, its circular mouth gaping open like a hungry beast.

I lie down on the table, trying to relax as the technician explains the procedure. The cold table beneath me seems to seep into my bones as I am slid into the scanner's tunnel. The machine whirs to life, its rhythmic beeps and whirs. I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing.

Next comes the PET scan. The nurse injects the tracer into my vein, and I wince as the needle pricks my skin. The liquid feels cold as it courses through my body. I lie still, trying to calm my racing heart.

After the tests, I'm given a hospital gown to wear. I feel vulnerable and exposed as I walk to the waiting room, the gown's ties fluttering behind me. Asher looks up from his phone, his brows furrowed.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, standing up to greet me. I nod, trying to smile, but my eyes betray me, welling up with tears as I walk over to him.

The waiting room is a generic space, filled with rows of chairs and the muted sounds of other patients and their families. It feels like a nightmare. The wait is torturous.

Finally, the nurse calls my name again, and I stand up, my heart heavy and my chest tight. I follow her back to the doctor's office, Asher by my side.

Dr Smith's expression is stoic as she speaks to me, not losing eye contact for a second. "Rhea, the tests have confirmed that you have lung cancer."

There's a brief moment of silence.

"What...?"

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me breathless and confused.

"I'm really sorry..."

The rest of the things she says are empty and hollow and I can't even recall most of them because at that moment my head is spinning, I've zoned out of reality and all I want to do is break down in the middle of her office. I don't, I can't. I have to be strong.

The car ride back is silent mostly because I'm too focused in my head trying to figure out if this is real or not. After we get back to uni and step out of the car, on our way back to our dorms, Asher wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"It's going to be okay, Rhea," he whispers. I want to believe him, try to reason with him and understand him, take his reassurance with a smile but I just can't.

I spin around, my eyes blazing with anger and shrug his arm off my shoulders. "It's going to be okay? Really ? That's what you think? I'm going to die, Asher. I'm going to die soon, and this is just a minor inconvenience to you? You're okay with that, aren't you? You're okay with me dying?" My voice rises and I'm almost screaming. I can feel the tears streaming down my face.

Oh no.

Asher takes a step backwards, his brows rising, his hands stretching out a bit in front of him. "No, that's not what I meant-"

But I'm not listening. I turn my back on him and run, my feet pounding the floor as I do. I run and run and I run all the way to my dorm, my tears spreading out on my cheeks as I plough through the wind. Once I get into the empty room, I slam the door shut behind me, the sound echoing through the silence. I collapse onto my bed, my chest heaving, racking with sobs. I turn around slowly and wrap my arms around my shin, deciding to lay there, crying and sulking forever and that's when I see the lighter...

I hold it tightly around my fingers after I take it off the side table cautiously, confused at the sudden urge to grab it. My heart thuds in my chest and I sit up, reaching up to wipe the tears falling down my face.

My thumb flicks the edge of the lighter and a short flame shoots upwards. I stare at it from between my eyes which suddenly drift downwards to the crook of my arm, behind my elbow.

I stare back at the lighter in my hand, the tiny flame dancing in the air and then back at my arm. I swallow and try to get it off my mind but for some reason I can't. It's too much, the pain, the fear, the trauma. And for some reason I feel like doing it will help, distract me.

It doesn't make sense, why would I want to hurt myself more?

I feel the sharp burn when the tip of the flame touches the inside of my arm and I grit my teeth as I keep it on here, feeling the intense, blinding pain that makes me want to go mad.

I turn it off and throw it to the ground beside me, looking back at my burnt arm. I look away immediately, more tears falling down my face in fat drops. I let out a breath of air, my chest feeling a bit lighter all of a sudden. I have the sudden urge to do it again.

No no no.

◑ ⁠◑⁠ ◑

Asher

Snowflakes fall from the sky. A gentle, magical distraction from the thoughts that are swirling on my mind. Rhea's diagnosis clouds my brain and it seems like it's like the only thing I can think about; life is so fragile.

The thought of losing her is crazy, and I'm trying not to think about it. I'm grateful for the snow. I love the way the flakes fall from the sky, floating down like tiny ballerinas. They're so dainty and pretty and seeing them always makes me think of Christmas. I love Christmas; the lights, the presents, the warmth of the season, and the festive mood.

But I have mixed feelings about it. The part I dislike is the family gatherings, because they always come with the really annoying questions and all the judging that I'm really tired of. They're always on to me.

"Why are you so shy?" they'll ask. "Stop being so shy, step out of your shell." It annoys me so much how they don't understand the difference between introversion and shyness.

I'm not shy; I can walk up to anyone and hold a conversation. I'm good with people when and if I choose to be. But being around them drains me, like a battery slowly dying. Every interaction chips away at my energy, leaving me hollow. They'll keep telling me to be more extroverted, to be more outspoken, but no one gets it.

Being introverted isn't something to cure; it's who I am. I'm proud of it. Why do they make it seem like being extroverted is better? Like silence is a weakness, not a strength. I wish they'd understand that sometimes, but I guess they don't. Everybody doesn't have to understand.

I'm suddenly reminded of last Christmas dinner. It wasn't exactly on Christmas Day, but a few days before or after. Simon and Lily came over, and the tension in the air was palpable, I felt like I could cut it with a knife. It was still raw from what had happened between us.

My parents didn't know about it, but they knew Lily and I were together, or at least they felt that we were. We weren't. We'd been together for two years, and they loved her like family. Simon, since he's been friends with me for so long, was also like family to them.

My parents had always warned me about Simon, telling me he was a bad influence. I'd defend him, saying he wasn't that bad, but deep down, I knew they were right. I just never wanted to believe it. Now, with what had happened, I could see that they had been right all along.

The dinner was excruciating, one of the worst I'd ever had. At times, I felt like crying, but I held it in, thinking about the alone time I'd have after dinner, locked away in my room.

Halfway through, my mom starts to ask Lily about school, her voice overly cheerful.

"It's good as usual Jenna," she replies with that soft, mesmerizing voice of hers that I fell in love with.

"And you and my son," my mom goes on in a teasing tone that makes me want to actually throw up. "you guys seem sooo in love."

We make eye contact for a split second before she looks away and gives me mom a dazzling smile that convinces just her and my dad.

"Everything's been good. I love your son, he's such an amazing guy."

Her words feel like a knife to my heart. She didn't love me; she never did.

I glance at Simon, who's not giving anyone eye contact and for the first time in our entire friendship, I start to look at him in a different way.

Simon sold drugs. I don't know if that's surprising considering he was clearly the typical bad boy. My parents never knew, no one besides me and the people he sold to of course. I never saw it as a bad thing to be honest. Simon had always been there for me, he had never done any harm to me, always keeping me safe rather. He was the closest person to me so I could never see him as bad.

Until I caught him sleeping with my girlfriend of course. We didn't speak for a week after that, mostly because he kept avoiding me, but luckily I ran into him in the hallways one day.

His back slams against the lockers positioned at the right with a force that causes it to rattle. My hand grips the collar of his shirt tightly as I stare at him hard. The few people around us stop to watch but don't care.

"What the fuck is up with you?" I grit out, my chest heaving. He stares at me back with a faint smirk that I want to punch off his face.

"What do you mean?" he asks so calmly that it aggravates me even more.

"Why the fuck... would you sleep with my girlfriend and then just... just act like nothing happened, like everything is fine."

"Chill, it's not that big of a deal. I didn't mean it, she didn't mean it, it was stupid and it was an accident." He pushes my hand off himself and dusts his shirt, standing up straight.

My hands ball up into fists and my jaw ticks. "An accident. W-what am I, five?"

"Ash, come on," he starts but I cut him off.

"No, no no don't tell me to come on. I'm pissed at you, I'm so fucking betrayed. My girlfriend of two years?! You know how much I love..." my voice breaks. "how much I loved her. You did, you do but you still went ahead and...I don't get it..."

"Hey, look I'm sorry-"

"I don't need it!" I cry, taking a step back from him. "I don't need your sorry, just..."

I shake my head at him, my eyes piercing into his and I can't even say anything else because I don't know what to say.

***

"What the fuck?" I say, confusion heavy in my voice as Simon throws the backpack in his hands to me.

It's a few weeks later and the three of us decided that we'd all come together to apologise and see what we can make of the friendship we had. It was going well so far, they both apologised, I forgave them a bit and we were actually getting along and talking like everything was fine, or at least was going to be.

Until I started to notice Simon looking behind him every now and then like some one was after him. I wanted to ask but I never got the chance to because it all happened so fast.

The police cars arrived a few seconds too late. Simon and Lily had already ran away. I was utterly confused when the police searched through the bag, handcuffed me and took me in their car.

I spent some time in jail before we were able to clear up that I had nothing to do with the drugs. Long story short, they found Simon and Lily eventually and discovered Simon's business, taking him in and releasing me as a result.

The short time I spent locked up was the scariest time of my life. I went through everything that happened over and over again and I still couldn't get it. I was still confused.

They framed me? Did they know the police was coming? Why was Lily apart of this? What did I ever do to them?