Page 17 of Corrupted Torment

Laughter pours from me as nonsensical words drift round my mind. I give into the maddening chaos of my head. I curl into myself and hope it can’t be worse than this, already knowing it’s only just the beginning.

* * *

I startle awake as the door slams shut. I watch as a figure looms towards me, shading me briefly from the brightness of the room. It’s our Doctor. He’s dressed from head to toe in white as he steps closer to me, a medical mask covering his face.

I don’t know if he’s real or one of the many apparitions my mind conjures. He doesn’t speak. I’ve heard nothing but my own voice for—well, I don’t know how long. His blue eyes spark a malice I know too well, and a swell of fear rushes through me.

I watch him wearily, a looming white ghost advancing on me. My heart pounds, and I slowly blink my eyes closed and open again. I want this dream to vanish, to go back into the abyss of my mind, but he keeps moving closer.

The unsuspected prick of the needle brings focus to my arm as crystal clear liquid is pushed into my body. An odd sense of déjà vu takes over my mind momentarily. Before I can question the doctor, he’s vanished. It’s more likely he was never there at all.

A cool wave of tranquillity hits me. It’s so rare, I let myself sink into it.

Sink, sink, sink.Right down into the floor below.

* * *

He is deep within me, a prowling presence I know wasn’t there before. Unless I truly have cracked. Broken, like they wanted. Snapped into two pieces of the same person. All I know is that my beast inside is waiting to be released from his cage.

We can’t stand the white surrounding us any longer. Hell, even the food is nothing but white rice and water. We want to rip these clothes from our body and lay them to shreds.

My fist slams into the door of this enclosure, refusing to remain imprisoned any longer. I punch again and again until my knuckles bleed. I smear the decadent red across the walls of my chamber, laughing as my beast howls inside with pride.

Before I can raise my bare foot to start my next assault. The door opens. I don’t know who opens it, and I don't care. I smell the fresh air on the breeze and see sunlight filter through the end of the corridor.

With freedom in my sight, I run.

CHAPTER7

SOLOMON

Age Sixteen

I thought I’d gotten out of the shit, but it turns out the only way I can run is into more trouble. Taking the overnight train had meant to be my salvation, my way out from a lifetime of hurt and abandonment. Away from a dad who doesn’t give a damn and a mum who is checked out. I know it isn’t their fault, not really.

PTSD is hell, especially for those without any help.

Both my parents served in the military before I was born. They met on assignment abroad; I don’t know where exactly. They don’t talk to me about it, about anything really. I’m pretty convinced whatever happened when they were serving was bad though. Horrendous enough that it had damaged them beyond repair. Enough that they weren’t suited for parenthood. It wasn’t like I was planned anyway.

A mistake.

When I was younger, there had been times when things had been good. Where we could be a normal, happy family. As I got older, those times became fewer and further between. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen them happy. In my parents' more manic episodes, they forgot they even had a kid.

I don’t think they’ll even notice I’m gone.

My mum would be too strung out on whichever medication or recreational drug she can get her hands on. My dad would stare angrily at the walls as if they were the reason for all his troubles with a beer in hand. Each zoned out of reality in their own ways. Forever leaving me behind.

Even when I was young, they left me for days, learning to fend for myself between each episode. Stuck inside our two-bedroom apartment, rummaging through the food I could prepare to eat. Keeping as quiet as possible to not disturb my parents in one of their moods.

When I was tall enough to unlock the highest bolt across the front door to our dingy flat, I was free to venture out by myself. By then, my abrasive attitude and odd characteristics had already formed. By missing so much school, I didn’t learn how to socialise with the other kids. Didn’t know what the social norms were. I was the weird one, the angry one, the bad one. I couldn’t help but pick up these problematic behaviours from my parents.

Since I can remember, both are prone to waking up in the night screaming. The nightmares are so intense they fight out, kicking and punching anyone who dares to go near them. I learned the hard way it was better to leave them to sleep than to try and wake them.

As much as I hate my parents, I love them too. I don’t blame them for the things they did or didn’t do. Deep down, I know it’s not their fault. Even so, for years now, all my thoughts have focused on leaving the toxic environment I lived in.

Self-reliant in ways most teenagers my age wouldn’t understand; I knew I had to leave. Any money I earned got saved up, preparing me for my new life. I know I am independent and resourceful. I have grown up too fast, but I am going to be free from that place. Last night, I thought I was finally going to leave. I had my ticket; I was on the train. I was gone.

I don’t remember closing my eyes.

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