Page 92 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
I look the guys up and down. Five of them, and one of me. They could kill me if they wanted to.
I think about all the saints who were stoned or beaten to death. It’s a noble way to go. A godly departure from this world.
I smile, and rush toward them.
32
When Even Death Won’t Kill Your Vibe
Mania
I don’t even try going for a punch this time, I just full-on tackle Nick. As soon as we thud against the ground, I’m yanked back by my arms and dragged away from him. It takes four of them to pin me down, one for each arm and leg, and then Nick starts kicking me over and over.
I shut my eyes, waiting for him to kick me in just the right spot in my head and take me out, but he keeps his fists and feet on my stomach for the most part. I find myself gasping for air as the wind gets knocked out of me again and again.
“What’s the matter? Can’t breathe?” Nick asks as he raises his foot and brings it crashing down against my sternum.
“Fuck!” I wheeze, unable to hold back the outburst. “I’m... breathing just... fine ... ,” I taunt through coughs.
Nick motions his friends toward the lake. “How ’bout now?” he asks, and before I know it, I’m being dragged to the edge of the water. Two of them pull my arms behind my back, and Nick grabs the back of my neck firmly before shoving my head under.
I gasp at the shock of the water engulfing my face, filling my lungs. On instinct, I cough and try to inhale violently under the surface. My body convulses with each cough, lungs desperate for air and mind desperate for release. No matter how bad I want this, my body fights it, thrashing and struggling hard against the hands holding me down.
But it doesn’t matter. Combined, they’re all much stronger than I am, especially when I have no air in my lungs. Finally the edges of my blurry vision go dark and my lungs stop fighting to breathe.
Just when I’m about to give in to the pull of the darkness, the hands clumsily pull me out and throw me on the dry ground.
The coughing and hacking come back, and water spurts out of my mouth in waves. My vision is still spotty from almost succumbing to it, so it takes awhile for me to realize what’s going on.
When my lungs are finally emptied of water, I look up to see Jamal and Avery standing in front of all five guys. I guess that explains why Avery ran off before. Jamal is talking to them with his hands up.
“Look, if you leave him alone now, I won’t call the cops,” he says calmly.
I’m anything but calm. If any of them puts a fucking finger on Jamal, I’ll kill them. I see red as I push myself off the ground and rush forward, swinging at whoever’s closest in the back of the head.
Then all hell breaks loose. Through the commotion, all I can see are fists flying. I can’t even tell whose they are anymore. My vision goes white when someone punches my nose, stomach, chin, nose again. But the fists don’t stop flying. Mine, I decide. Theymake contact more than they should be able to with how weak I am right now.
I can’t see Jamal or Avery through the chaos. All I can see are fists and flashes of white.
Then something hard hits me in the back of my head, and white turns to black as I finally crumple to the ground.
33
When It All Catches Up to You
Guilt
“Cesar! Cesar, wake up! No, no, no, no, wake up!” Jamal’s voice sounds distant and out of focus, but the five sets of running footsteps sound even farther away until they’re gone. I don’t know how long it is before Jamal’s calls feels closer and closer, like I’m slowly coming out of a dream.
I groan, and shut my eyes harder than they already were, as if that will make the pounding in the back of my head go away.
“Cesar, can you hear me?” he asks, and it’s weird hearing his voice sound so uncalm. “Look at me, Cesar.”
“Mmm,” I grumble as I finally open my eyes to see Jamal’s and Avery’s concerned forms hovering over me.
“I’m calling 911,” Avery says.
“No, I’m fine,” I say.
