Chapter 10: Fault

Emily realizes something about her life.

Emily.

 
 

I later learn

 

that the thought of anybody I love
not being able to stay alive, will

become a reality. But there is a
little bit of road to go before we

arrive at that tragic destination.
This hospital is just a pitstop,

a little detour on the way to my
fate. The speed bumps along the

way have contained painful memories
and broken promises inflicted and

driven by others. We all have to
direct our blame somewhere, right?

 

No one wants to be responsible for
 their actions, especially if they’re


frowned upon. So I blame it all
on her. But this is blame's true

home in this situation. This mental
 stress I am enduring, a suffocating

case of ptsd, triggering two voices in
this seemingly hollow head on the


shoulders of a tortured host.
 Previously the space was occupied

by it’s true owner, Emily Greene. Me.
I don't even know who me is anymore.

All that's left is this empty shell.
The brain is not meant to be shared

by two spirits. While I don’t even know
 how to control over 50% of my brain, anon does.

 

She is the creator of anon, she
designed it from the depths of

all my greatest fears, allowing
 it to unleash it’s wrath and ruin me.

I desperately miss my world before
 all the life altering complications.

Desperately miss my world with him.
 Things may not have been perfect

at the time, but they were definitely better
 than they had become after the incident.

 The incident that ended my true loves life.

 

 

Once the word was out,

 

my world had suddenly turned into one big blur.

                      People rushing toward me all at once, inquiring, imposing

       I’d never had so many fingers pointed in my face all at once.

                               How did you handle the guilt when he couldn’t? How did you

hide the body? Why didn’t you turn each other in?

                        I never knew how to answer, never had the words that would

        make everything okay. I knew there were no words to take back

                                 what we had done, the hurt we had caused so many people.

But no one could point fingers at her because she

                         never directly killed anyone. I could see though, the messy

         crimson mess of blood covered her hands, the spilled life of her

                                   brother. Her immature, ignorant actions caused panic, the end

of one life, the guilt and pain leading to the end

                          of another. Not even a few months following I slowly began

         to literally go insane. I was no longer alone upstairs. No thought

                                    would go through without anon’s hands weaving through and

forcing it’s own words in. No thought was processed

                          without being edited by my new companion. At first, I had been

         able to cope, able to keep it to myself, but only because I accepted

         anon’s presence as though it were invited. Anon’s contributions to my own ideas began to become a

                           nuisance. The words were hostile and full of vehement. I tried to escape

            it’s loathing grope, flee away from its influence of insanity. Then it

                           taught itself to fight back. I’d see flashes, pictures, always violent.

Blood, massacre, guns, knives. Little captions would

                         drift in and out as though I were watching a preview for a horror film.

       He fished into my memory for scarring child memories, moments of true

                 vulnerability. It slowly became clear to me, the scariest place I’d ever been

 

 

was inside my own head.

 


 

The memory was barely palpable,

 

the night was still so profound.
Almost every night for a year I
would be haunted by these dreams.
                                                                                              The

only way I could have a peaceful
sleep was under the heavy
influence of sleeping pills. My                         

    night

would be undisturbed by the
reoccurring visions of blood                      
                                                                                               that

had seared themselves into                               

     my

brain. I had been riding my bike home
from my friends. I was avoiding the task
of packing for college because Tyler
and I wouldn’t be attending the same
school. It was a warm July night,
calming weather, except for the fact that
I was still shaky from the accident
in the community center, surprised
we had kept it a secret for so long.
Others had noticed the
man was missing, he had a                            

    life,

a family. We were just luckily
skilled at cleaning up the evidence,
several re-runs of CSI really did come
in handy. Even though we all knew he just      

              fell            

none of us were ready to step forward and
claim responsibility. Tyler had always told
me how he couldn’t deal with it, how he
needed to tell someone before all the guilt
upon his shoulders crushed him to pieces.
He did it, the weight was off his shoulders,
the guilt lifted. But not before he ripped
 my heart out of my chest and  
                                                                                              apart.