My dearest Miguel.

  It's a cold night, like all the others, the rain is falling heavily outside, the wind blowing furiously against the window, I'm shrinking and trembling on my bed, it's cold, I never liked storms, and I'll speak honestly, i'm afraid of them since always. But in the middle of all this noise, I can still hear his voice... soft and steady, calling me, like he is standing just by my bed's side.

''Chara...don't worry, it's not as bad as it seems,

I'm always by side''

 But when I reach out, my hand finds nothing but cold sheets, and I remember�"he’s gone. He’s been gone for years.

-------------------------

    My eyes open up slowly when I wake up, at 7am, like every morning, they are heavy, too heavy, too tired, but I need to get up. I sit up in my bed, that creaked under my weight and look through the window next to me- a bright day, the sun was shining and the birds were chirping, which was terrible. I hate Sunday mornings. I stand up from my spot, my feet hitting the hard, wooden floor beneath me, and I don't bother putting the shoes on, even though they'll eventually make me do it.

     

   On the other side of the room, there’s a second bed, empty and neatly made. I guess I got lucky not to have a “roommate”�"the only room with just one person. Near that other bed, there’s a mirror, covered by some kind of material to prevent us from breaking it. I stare at the reflection looking back at me from the other side of the mirror for a while. I lift my shirt slightly, just enough to see the scars below my chest. It’s strange�"when I got these scars, I thought I had made a breakthrough that would make my life better for the next few years, but it didn’t last that long. 

I don’t linger here any longer. I try to rub the exhaustion from my eyes, without success, and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I wander slowly through the hallways, surrounded by many doors, each one leading to other patients, to other problems. People pass me by, the same ones I see every day. Some murmur greetings; others throw out annoying, overly cheerful “good mornings.” I don’t respond�"I never respond. It’s been two days since the last time I said anything, though they’ve tried to make me talk during therapy or other activities.

  

As I reach the first floor, I walk to the Reception- I like to call it that- that's not the name though, just search it up, lazy a*s. There is a metal tray on the desk, with small plastic cups in order with names written on them with a black marker, each one has especific meds each patient has to take, I reach for my cup: 

 Chara Thornvalle.

 I grab the pills, fill the cup with water and swallow them.

   Funny, these pills are supposed to help me while I live my life. But I feel more dead than ever.

     Most of them I don't even know how to write down the names, or how to repeat them out loud, but well, i'm not the doctor here, right? The only med I remember i'm taking it's some kind of painkiller, due to the stupid wound I have in my jaw- here, they take away ANYTHING you could use to hurt yourself or others, seriously, anything- We have a table tennis here, they took the net out of it after one of the patients tried to choke himself with it. And I was bored, so, I could only use myself to hurt me. right? One night, I started biting my own lips, and scratch there, I was legitimaly curious to see how long it would take to open the skin without any sharp object. But they eventually got me, and took care of my wound. Now I have a bandage covering half of my mouth. Damn it.

   

    A couple of hours later, I'm sitted on one of those cheap plastic chairs, the ones that squeak if you breath wrong, on a circle outside the clinic with other troubled and sick people like me, some worse, some better, some are here because of the same reasons as me, some for others...

I have to be honest, I'm not hearing to what the others are saying, I'm just looking at the woman seating on the spot across me, she has dark hair and light blue eyes, her skin is pale, and she is staring right blankly at the horizon.

Like she was seeing something no one else could, because she probably was.

"...Chara..."

 And now my therapist, Dr Petersen, is standing on the grass near me, calling my name gently with a smile. Time for my session. I stand up and follow the path to her office. The walls are white, there are a few paitings here and there, she sits down on a chair, I go on my usual spot across her.

''How was your night, Chara? Were you able to sleep?''

I don't answer, I just nod faintly.

''Okay, you don't have to speak if you don't want to.

  Did you have any nightmares that you would like to share? Or any hallucinations we should be concerned?''

''...no'' I mutter quietly, my voice is terribly hoarse from lack of use. ''At least that's what he tells me'' I add, on a sarcastic humor, my good german doctor is used to it at this point.

  The doctor's face is slightly surprised, probably because she din't expect me to actually answer her question, it's been quite some time since I spoke to her, or to anyone. But she shakes off the shock and smiles to me again. 

''That's what he said? I suppose you're talking about Miguel?'' She asks me on a curious tone.

"I was just joking, geez...you docs really have no sense of humor! Makes sense, with the food here that tastes like cardboard. They must affect your personality.''

''Oh, I realised that, Chara, but I know you're not really joking about ''him'', are you?''

 I don't answer that question.

Dr Petersen writes something down in her notepad, then looks up at me again. but i'm not looking at her, i'm looking at the shadow behind her.

''Alright...How it's your wound?

"I don't get why y'all got so worried over it, I was just bleeding'' I reply a bit frustrated.

"Does it still hurt?'' She asks me.

''It's fine, I don't mind the pain" I add, rolling my eyes.

''Chara, do you realise that the place you hurt yourself it's the same place you shot Miguel?''

''...

What?''

  The room is turning darker.

  The shadows are chaining my neck and wrists.

  My hands are starting to shake, and I feel my chest tighten..

  I can't breath.

''Do you want to punish yourself for what you've done to him?

Chara?''

   Who's in front of me is not Dr Petersen anymore. It's Miguel, his dark skin is now completely pale, like a ghost. His face is open, I can see his raw jaw flesh, blood is pouring down on the floor. And tears are dripping from his cheeks.

''C-Chara, why did you do this to me..? I thought it would be me and you, forever!

But that's okay, it'll be us, forever...

I won't let you go.

The guilt in you it's going to eat you alive...

 And all the others around you...

Chara.

Chara wake up''

-------------------------------------------------------------

  My eyes open wide, I'm panting, breathing heavily, I whimper loudly and my body is shaking violently, I'm looking around, I fell asleep on my spot at the colective therapy, it was just a nightmare. There are nurses around me, trying to calm me down.

"Miguel..I want to see him..''

"You are okay, Chara, you're with us, it was just a nightmare, it's sunday, 2pm, you're in the outside area.''

''I need to see him..''

I mutter these words over and over. ''Let me see him'', but they made no sense to anyone but me. Well, just another regular day I guess. I start getting angry. I struggle against the nurse's grip and make an attempt to punch the ones near me.

"LET ME SEE HIM!!"

  I feel a sting in my arm, and my eyes start feeling heavy, my struggles weaken and I start falling down..

 I wake up again after a few minutes.

  I'm laying down on my doctor's office couch, looking at the ceilling, I raise my hand to my eyes and rub them tiredly.

"You were sedated, Chara, you were turning violent against the ones trying to assist you...these mood swings are becoming more frequent. Do you want to share what you've experienced earlier?'' Dr Petersen asks calmly to me.

''...no.'' I answer dryly.

"Oh, alright then, it's important for us to explore these moments of crysis you have, but if you don't feel prepared for that yet, we can wait longer to talk about it. I just need you to understand, that it will be hard to end it without discussing about it.''

''Yeah, yeah, wathever you say...'' I mutter under my breath. We'd probably have the same conversation of always, about my feelings, about my sickness, my addictions-

"Well, we still have 56 minutes of session left,

Do you want to spend it in silence?" She said firmly, clearly expecting an especific response.

"Seems pretty appealing"

One hour later, I leave the therapist's office with the same lame face I was before.

I eat.

I walk outside.

I stare at the wall.

I go to sleep. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

     

     It's rainning.

     Or not, it's hard to tell.

     I'm seeing noises, hearing smells.

     I'm with a voice in my ear telling me to shoot.

     I have three little ghosts in front of me crying.

   

     "Please...stop! You're scaring us!"

     Their voices are red and foggy, I can't see their tones very well.

     The gun is cold against my hand, a smirk creeps up my face.

     Another thing stops in front of me, it's colorfull, it's voice is quiet, 

     Like it is trying to calm a threatened animal.

     "Chara...drop the gun, you're safe"

     "YOU'RE LYING!" I scream at the shadow growing in front of me, 

       It's hand is reaching for me, long, thin fingers come closer and closer to my eyes...

       And I shoot.

BANG!!

      ...

     Why is everyone crying?

     I killed the monster, right?

     ....

     r i g h t?

     ....

     n o   C h a r a ,  y o u   s h o t   t h e  w r o n g  M o n s t e r .

    "What..?"

     I blink a few times and look down at my feet.

     Miguel is laying there, motionless. 

    

      His warm and sweet eyes are dark.

     I kneel down and when I take his hand, it doesn't hold mine back, his comforting skin in freezing cold.

     His mouth, where there was always a gentle smile for me, now has a hole,

     Blood is coming out of his wound.

    "...Miguel...but..but you have to save me, you can't leave yet...You're going to guide me out of my hell, right?

     RIGHT? 

     MIGUEL?!!

     MIGUEL I'M SO SORRY-

---------------------------------------------------------

   I wake up as usual, covered up in sweat, my body is trembling, and I grab a pillow to hug it tight, close to my chest. I try to control my breathing.

   Breath in...breath out...

    In...out...

   I look at the clock hanging  on the wall across my bed, it's 7am, time to get up. I rub my eyes and sit up on my spot, and I put the blankets aside.

"...Chara..."

   I decide to ignore the whisper in my ear as I stand up from my bed, feeling more tired then when I laid down on it, my gaze goes to outside the window. Locked. Securely so no one could jump from it, or push another person through it. Who knows? It's too many possibilities. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, patients are screaming, nurses running. Well, not exactly, It made a good rhyme though. It's a monday morning, I remember when he used to show up and knock on my window to wake me up, so we'd walk together to school...

 "Chara! Heheheh, come on, get up! Or we'll be late, lazy a*s!"

   

  I rub my eyes again (the doctor's are concerned for my corneas' health), scratch my badly shaven chin, and I grab something from my drawer- Well! As surprising as it looks, i'm a reader, of classics, especially. I start reading the "HIPAA of the psychatrist and rehabilitation clinic of Westernbrook Vales" as I leave my room and shut the door behind me, walking down the hallway. This one I'm reading it's good. (I read it a thousand times already, not exactly, only 947.5 times, .5 times, you ask? yeah, I read it only by half once.) The wooden floor creaks under each footstep I give to cross the place, but, i'm not a woodworker, but MAYBE - just maybe, folks- they should change this f*****g a*s floor of this s****y clinic, JUST MAYBE!!!! 

   Again, I go to the ''reception'' to get my daily dosage of meds.

   I grab the cup with my name, fill it up with water.

   And swallow.

...

  If this was a videogame, it would probably show up "your HP level is full again!" or somethin' like that.

 After that, I also get the plate with my breakfast, cardboard (The most important cardboard of the day!)...and I don't remember what happend?

What?

Where am I?

   I was eating breakfast right now, and suddenly, i'm at the clinic's room of visitors...what happend on the past minutes? Or hours...? 

    Anyway, The patients have some time alone at the clinic when they first arrive, but after that, they are adviced to have company: from friends, family, spouses etc... And here goes a riddle: Why did the old Chara never had visits from his friends or family? Because they're dead!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH

Sorry, this was a bit awkward, guess I'll just...yeah.

   I remember these "amnesia" episodes, as if timeskips would happend in between things and I woudn't even remember, as something dr Petersen called "dissociating", I think, it happends...randomly to me, and oftenly, but not as much as on the past. There were some moments I had episodes, like a few years ago especially, in my childhood and on my 30's. One of the worse I can recall, I had to tell Miguel something important, I had messed up, big, that time...

   

   It was...rainy that morning, I din't have any sleep that night, torturing myself with what I was going to tell Miguel, how I was going to tell him, if he was going to take it well, if he would start to hate me, if I'd lose his friendship, or if he'd kick me out, or if I'd lose his love and trust---

   Then, at 7am, I heard Miguel getting up from bed and doing his everyday routine: changing into his clothes (What he weared every single morning- green sweater and black baggypants), brushing his teeth in the bathroom, then walking through the hallway on his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. 

   "Okay, Chara, you can do this" I said to myself, trying to get some reassurance even though I din't feel any better. I stood up from my bed, my bare feet getting colder from stepping on the wooden floor, I din't bother putting a shirt on as I walked out of my room, It would make the wounds I had on my torso, arms and neck worse anyway. I was going to the kitchen's direction,

When I started feeling lightheaded.

My sight was getting foggy, I felt the colors around me change..it was..undescribable.

I tried to shake it off and finally reached the kitchen's door, where the scent of coffee and scrambled eggs were starting to spread. The man in front of me, Miguel, had a warm smile.

"Good morning, Chara! How are y--" His eyes dropped to my injured limbs, and a cloud of concern covers his face. "Oh my goodness, what happend to you?! Are you hurting? Are you okay?!"

"...uh..? Yeah, I'm..f-fine..." My voice was slurred and distant. "I..got t..to tell you somet-thing..."

Everything around me seems to change, shapes, colors, sounds,

why was I watching myself from outside my body?

I can't remember much more than that. I really don't, just the begin of it and...

Nothing else.

...

   I'm just so tired... I want to go back to sleep. but no, I have to follow the routine because it's "important for my health". Who is on my body, they or me? I know what's the best for my health, damn it!

Author's Note

please leave your opinion.