Page 2 of Eternal

He reminds me of a hooked claw in the night, circling for prey.

A predator.

His phone pings loud enough that it echoes through the empty courtyard. It slices through the silence of the night, and I jump.

Still, he doesn’t see me as he pulls it out of his pocket to read the message. The phone’s light makes sharper lines of his features, and the glow is enough for me to make out a small smile ticking up in the corner of his mouth.

I’m tempted to turn up my music and walk away. It’s wrong to watch people like this.

But what isright?

I thought I knew, but with every year, it gets more convoluted.

Real and imaginary start to blur, and when my mind is left to its own devices, it starts filling in the blanks—which is easier than letting it sit in silence.

So I don’t move.

I watch.

I wait to see what he’ll do. Using him like my own personal movie. Finding a sole point to focus on when the pills make it sodifficult.

My pills.

I glance at my phone, realizing I’m an hour overdue for my next dose. That might be why the stars are so loud in the sky tonight. So bright I wonder how no one else hears them screaming over the music in my ears, begging me to join them.

I reach into my bag and pull out the pill bottle, reading the warning in bold font on the front.

DON’T MIX WITH ALCOHOL

A better warning would be to not mix them withlife, when all they do is make my mind swim in circles. I can’t decide what’s worse: having the clarity to see I no longer want to be here or the pill-induced haze that strings my mind up in purgatory.

Every day, it’s a decision I weigh.

Every day, Ialmostlet the voices in my head talk me out of this.

Today, sanity won.

People underestimate what it actually means to beinsane.

They throw words around likebipolarandcrazylike it’s a joke to lose your mind. They use it to rationalize their bad behavior or to excuse someone for being erratic. Or worse, they use it to praise themselves for making it through a bad day.

Because they got through it.

They. Got. Through. It.

If only it were that simple.

Shaking my head, I pop off the cap on the pill bottle and swallow one. It scrapes my throat on the way down, so I guess I’m still alive.

I told Dr. Parish this new medication makes my insides hurt and the world fuzzy, but he swears I just need to give it time.

Time.

As if that will help us figure out if I’m getting better or worse. Half the time, I want to just throw in the towel and let them lock me up. At least in Montgomery Psychiatric Ward, no one expects me to pretend that I’m okay.

I’m nineteen now, so technically, I can make my own decisions. I can go against my father’s directives and stop my treatments. Maybe if I sit with my madness for long enough, I’ll finally know if I can survive it without all the interventions.

Tucking the pill bottle back in my purse, I refocus my attention on the man in the courtyard. He’s leaning against the Social Sciences Building, dragging one hand through his hair while the other types something into his phone.

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