by E K Bennett
There's a sharpie on my pillow.
I uncap it and stand on my bed. Instead of writing on my hand of my arm, I draw a tree on the window. Maybe, me being the little shit that i am, my parents will get billed extra for me vandalizing. I draw a lake and a sunset and house and a little girl.
And I stare at it for a long time, gears clicking in my brain. I drop the sharpie and fall on the bed.
"She's everywhere," I moan.
Lotty's giggle resonates in my mind.
23. She Talks
"Do you want me to cut your hair?" a nurse pops her head into my open doorway after dinner.
"I guess," I sigh, not caring about my less than average hair. I've had my stitches out for a while now, but I haven't even thought about doing anything with the mess that is my hair.
Her face lights up and she runs out of the room, soon returning with a pair of shiny scissors.
I laugh dryly. "I didn't know those things even existed in this hell hole."
Surprisingly, she laughs too. Most of the nurses here would either deepen their permanent scowls or laugh nervously at any sign of emotion from a patient. This particular nurse looks to be in her late twenties, which is a big leap from the rest of the grumpy middle aged women baby-sitting us.
She closes my door and sits on my bed behind me, combing out my maimed hair. "I'm thinking of giving you a nice bob. It'll look good with your face shape, and you have great cheekbones."
I nod, not really caring what it looks like as long as it's better than right now.
She cuts in silence for a while, then says, "I used to be in beauty school. I loved it there, had my whole future planned out."
I wonder if she tells all the patients her life story. I really don't mind, though, since this girl is the first person to have a decent conversation with me that doesn't care why I'm locked up here. She doesn't want to fix my cutting problems (as nonexistent as they are...), she just wants to fix my hair. It's refreshing.
"I dropped out in my second semester," she continues, and I can't help thinking about the song from Grease, "Beauty School Drop-Out".
"Why?" I ask softly, keeping my head still.
She stops cutting for a second, staring out past my shoulder. That one word hangs in the air like smoke in a kitchen. Why?
Why am I here? I stare silently at the demonic Lotty drawings that multiply on my wall with each day. I feel like she's going to come out of the pictures, maybe find a way to manifest without a mirror. I can't stop thinking back to October, when Lotty was just a harmless enigma that I wanted to explore and secretly even befriend. Back before she ruined everything in my life.
Except maybe Josh. She hasn't ruined Josh yet.
But I haven't seen a familiar face in weeks, other than that murderous nine year olds printed on my walls with a fat, black sharpie. My parents call, but I won't talk to them. I won't come out of my room when they visit.
Sam arranged to visit with the guys next weekend, and Adam called me once so far because the work load at school is always really bad after winter break, and I'm only supposed to talk on the phone twice a week. I've never felt more insane in my life. Lotty is no longer a puzzle, she's a deep black hole that I'm standing on the edge of. I thought I knew what she was, maybe I could help her, but I was so wrong. I'm the one who needs help.
"My sister committed suicide," the nurse says quietly. I completely forgot she was even in the same room until she spoke those words. Lotty does that to a person, specifically me. She makes me forget I'm still alive.
"I'm sorry," is all I can say. Pathetic.
"Not your fault," she says a little more cheerfully. But sadness still saturates her words. "It was a shock. She had just gotten over her depression. In fact, she seemed even more upbeat that last month I saw her than she had in years. I guess that's a sign of suicidal thoughts. Glad i learned that after she died... Anyway, I couldn't handle school anymore. So I came here. I guess I just wanted to help people. And I'm not gonna lie, being around people with lives so much worse than mine kind of helped take away the pain."
"Wow," I say. Again with my outstanding social skills.
"Yeah. Do you have any siblings?"
"I have an older sister. She's pregnant," I say sadly. "Her baby's actually due really soon. I probably won't even get to go see her."
"I'm sure you'll get out of here soon enough." Oh, optimism. I could use some right about now.
"We fight a lot. I'm sure she doesn't even remember I exist."
"Oh trust me," the nurse says, turning my head to get a better angle of the hair she's cutting, "she hasn't forgotten you. I never got along with my little sis. In fact, she probably thought I hated her. I got the same vibe from her. But after she died I realized how much I really cared about her. This is so cliché, but you really don't realize what you have until it's gone. After she died, I couldn't concentrate on anything. It was like I had this lifeline with her that had been broken, and a piece of me was missing. I couldn't do simple things like brushing my hair, and I certainly couldn't cut or style it. Her death almost paralyzed me, if that makes any sense."
"Oh, well I'm positive there's nothing like that going on in my family. We all pretty much have grown to hate each other," I sigh.
She just shrugs and keeps snipping away at my maimed hair. Who was this girl anyway? I haven't met someone this open in my life. And I mean genuinely open, unlike the therapists and councilors here who make it seem like telling their "tragic" stories will get us to open up.
"How come you needed stitches here?" the nurse asks.
"Actually, my sister and i got in a fight and she threw a pillow at me. But I ducked and it hit my bookshelf, causing a shit ton of stuff to land on me. No big deal." The standard story. I can't tell her the truth; they'd never let me out of here.
"What's your name?" I ask suddenly. I just feel weird having such an intimate conversation with a total stranger.
"Samantha," she replies.
My heart sinks. "That's my best friend's name. I haven't seen her since the night I got admitted here."
She frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You should have her visit. What's not to love about these obscenely bland walls, tasteless modern art, and grueling therapy sessions?"
We both laugh and she asks me more about my life at home. I tell her about Sam and Adam, my awkward crush on Josh, how he transferred to my school, my love for drawing, my parent's divorce. After about two hours, I feel like I've relieved more stress now than I have during any of my mental health "healing sessions".
I've totally forgotten about my hair when Samantha gets up and produces a small hand mirror from her little smock. "You wanna see your new hair?"
I nod eagerly, in an extremely good mood. She hands me the mirror and I admire my short hair. She was right, it makes my cheekbones look really high.
"I love it," I smile for the first time in a while. "I think I'm gonna call Sam tonight and brag."
I can feel the excitement building up in the pit of my stomach. Who knew a haircut could make a person so happy? I wonder if Josh would think it's cute. But I dont think it's just the haircut making me so happy. Samantha has completely lifted at least half the weight of my shoulders.
Then I lift up the mirror again to admire my hair, and find myself gazing into the eyes of a nine year old killer. Black eyes, blood dripping from her hairline, and her locks hair like snakes, Lotty laughs coldly at me from the mirror.
I scream loudly and throw it across the room, sinking to the floor and sobbing.
24. She's Two People
After Samantha freaked out (apparently she doesn’t do well with breakdowns) and went to get another nurse to calm me down, they went ahead and called my parents. They want us to meet up so we can discuss putting me on medication, but I know what that will do to me. And I don’t want it.
I’m still sitting against the wall, knees to my chest and my breathing shallow, when Samantha comes back to tell me about this. There’s an almost scared look in her ey
es, like I might grab a knife and start cutting myself at any moment.
“I don’t want meds. I don’t need them,” I growl. “I’m not crazy, we don’t need to bring them into this.”
I’m talking about my parents now. My relationship with my mother is completely severed, there’s nothing I can do to change that. I always thought she cared enough about me, the way she made sure I did well in school, how she let me stay home when I wasn’t feeling well. She went to art shows. She bought me iTunes giftcards and art supplies. Motherly shit like that. But I know this is all her idea. She really does think I’ve gone insane.
I need to forgive my dad, though. Something in my head, whether it be that I really do care about him or I just need someone to forgive, tells me that he’s just going along with another one of my mother’s plans, just like when they were married. I almost sympathize for him seeing as that’s probably the reason they split up, and now he’s being sucked back into her controlling life. But I’m still here, in this damned rehab center-slash-mental-hospital, and I hate them both. The hate for my father, though, and his woodsy house that’s been more home to me than my actual one has ever been, the one that I want so badly to go back to, isn’t quite as vicious.
I put my head down and fix my gaze on the floor. Samantha sits next to me cautiously, “Maybe it’ll help you,” she whispers, like if she talks too loud I’ll start crying again. Even her words are afraid of me. I realize that right now I’m like a ticking time bomb, and all the nurses are afraid of me. Which is retarded because I’m nothing more than a lazy teenager with an average GPA and a ghost over my shoulder that only I can see, apparently.
“Am I really that scary? Does everyone really believe that I have some sort of brain dysfunction and can’t handle sharp objects?”
She doesn’t say anything, just puts her hand over mine and lets the time go by until I have to go to bed. Time drags on; my mind won’t shut off. Lotty is following me, and she’s followed me to the hospital. She wants my body so she can live again, that much has become sickeningly clear. But what am I supposed to do? Let her possess me on and off until she completely takes my body? Should I have an exorcism? That seems too drastic. But is it really? I mean, look around. I’m in a fucking mental hospital for God’s sake. What am I supposed to do if she does take my body? It’s not like I can control it. I don’t even know what’s going on while I’m being possessed (I shudder at the thought of that) until I wake up with words etched into my skin. This kid…ghost…demon…whatever the hell she is, is creative, I’ll give her that. But she’s dangerous. And would my friends even realize that I’ve been taken over by a demonic nine-year-old’s ghost? What would she even do? Would she start killing people just like she did when she was alive?
I actually gasp out loud, unable to take any more of the questions bouncing off the walls of my mind. I can’t stay in this room anymore, with the portraits of a deceased killer staring at me from all directions. I swing my legs off the bed and put on my glasses. I need to call Sam, and although I don’t know how I’m going to do that (hack into the front desk and see if I can use the phone without security noticing, perhaps?) I don’t know, but I head into the hallway and I wander through the halls aimlessly, looking to find the reception area. This place looks like a labyrinth in the dark, and I start to wish I brought my iPod with me to maybe relieve some tension. Oh wait, my parents didn’t include that in my “essentials” that they packed for me. Well guess what, bitches? My iPod is an essential.
I start turning a corner and my eyes catch something behind me. Whipping around, I raise my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming at the short girl in front of me with dark hair, a scarred up ankle, and startled eyes.
“Jesus CHRIST!” I whisper. “You scared the living shit outta me!”
Lissi bites her lip, which surprises me because earlier she was so confident (and annoying as fuck). She looks so insecure and a little frightened. “I’m sorry,” she whispers back.
“Were you following me?” I ask and pull her off to the side of the hall and out of direct sight, even if it is one in the morning.
She nods slowly and follows. She doesn’t explain, so I go ahead to ask her why.
“I see them, too,” she says. I raise an eyebrow.
“See them?”
She just nods and twirls her flat hair between two fingers. “The ghosts,” she whispers.
For a second my expression is surprised and a little shocked, and I’m about to question her when I remember the events from earlier today. Something in me snaps and I start to turn around to walk in the other direction.
“Just go away,” I snarl. If I tell her anything, she’s just going to run off to her little friends and gossip about my sorry ass. Well, not today.
“I’m serious!” she says a little more urgently, following me with a quickened pace.
“Yeah, and I’m serious when I say get the hell away from me.”
“Please don’t be afraid of her,” she pleads.
I stop in my tracks. How does she know so much about Lotty? Does she really see her too? I thought it was just me…
“Listen,” I start, “I honestly have no clue as to how you know so much about me, but I don’t think you even come close to understanding anything about what’s going on in my life right now. I can’t just ignore her, she’s already tried to hurt me twice. And she’s sure as hell succeeded so far. So unless you know any exorcists I can call up, get out of my face.”
She takes a step back. “Exorcists? I know she can be mean and petty, but you can’t get rid of her. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’m really sorry for this afternoon, I don’t really have control over when she comes out.”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “This afternoon? Is this some twisted mental-hospital way of apologizing for sticking your nose in everybody’s asses then laughing about it with your friends? Because I don’t accept.”
She tilts her head and looks almost amused. “Those aren’t my friends. They’re Lissi’s friends.”
I rub my forehead, still at a loss. “Aren’t you Lissi?” I figure I must have mixed her up with one of her clones. Maybe this was Bridget, or Amy. I glance at her ankle. Nope, that’s definitely Lissi.
She nods to herself. “No, I’m Natalie. Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
I don’t have time for this. “What, do you have multiple personality disorder or something?”
She stares off into the hallway behind me and nods, embarrassed.
“Well, shit,” I say. “I didn’t know.”
“Lissi’s a bitch,” she sighs.
“I’ve noticed.”
“But I’m serious,” she says, and we start walking again. “I see ghosts. I’m not trying to get dirt on you or anything, that’s Lissi who actually cares what other people do, as if that’ll make her less of a freak.”
I laugh dryly. “How do you even know I have a ghost following me?”
Her expression goes serious and she looks over her shoulder. “Because none of the other ghosts will go near you. She’s like what, six?”
“Nine,” I say automatically, the dark hallway around me seems more menacing with the mentioning of her. “How many other ghosts are there here?”
“It depends. Sometimes they just pass through; they know I can see them, but I can never really understand them so they usually just leave. But your ghost is scary. I only saw her once, and I nearly peed myself when I did. She’s not just scary looking, she’s got this…funk.”
I laugh at her choice of words, but know what she’s talking about.
“That chill in the air around her,” she continues, “And how she makes everything around her seem lifeless. She takes all the attention, and it’s creepy. I get the feeling she could get you to do whatever she wanted with the snap of her little fingers.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I say, thinking of all that she’s made me draw. She wants me to know who she was, and who she is. “So, um, do you know where th
e reception desk is?”
“Need to make a phone call?” she asks mischievously, which tells me that I’m not the only one to have tried this.
I nod, and she leads me there. Smiling, I pick up the phone, automatically dialing Sam’s number.
She picks up on the fifth ring. “Lydia?” she says groggily with a small tinge of excitement in her voice. The last conversation we had was about ten minutes long.
“Hey, Sam,” I smile into the phone, hoping she knows that hearing her voice has just made my night. I’ve almost forgotten what my old life felt like, and I’ve only been here for three weeks.
“What are you doing up?”
“I can’t stop thinking about Lotty,” I tell her quietly. I recount all of my clouded thoughts about possession to her and how I really want to talk to her in person but we can’t meet until our scheduled time this weekend and it’s killing me.
