Short Story - Not Of Sound Mind

Not Of Sound Mind

by Maria Viktoria

We are bestfriends. We have known each other for almost a decade. I know that she has birthmark on her right breast and she knows that I have scars on my left wrist. I know that at sixteen she's virgin no more by choice and she knows that on my fifteenth birthday, I was raped. I know that her mother's working as an entertainer in a club and she knows that my father had been her mother's costumer for almost a week. We know that we're both suffering from depression and maybe that's the reason why we fit together in a perfect manner.

I know every single pore and mole in her body just like she knows mine. We know each other so well, that's the not-so-obvious statement of the year. Even if we have a lot of differences and few similarities, we still click, maybe because we're both pyschiatric survivors.

We're so close with each other's heart and open with each other's thoughts, and sometimes that scares me the most. 

I admit, I am scared. I think it was because of pretty little things happening inside my head: the dark pessimistic, and depressing hallucinations. But whatever my hallucinations tell me, I am sure to the core that my fears will neither bend nor break our relationship...or so I think.

"Congratulations, Shiela!"

Saving the edited preface of our already finished collaboration novel, I  roll my eyes at Lovelle who is standing beside me. Her brown eyes are twinkling with excitement and I know, they mirror mine.

She sits on my bed with crossed arms and  asks, "So the book is finished...what are we gonna do now?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe, kill each other? That would be fun," I answer as soon as I've removed my spectacles. I put them infront of my vanity mirror after checking myself as if I will magically transform from too pale blonde to a  vibrant brunette.

"Sure, whip me to death using that stingray tail." She pouts her pouty red lips towards the direction of the wall beside my room's door: on where one of the evidences of my father's obsessions to shape-shifting monsters is hanging.

I shake my head and walk towards her. "Later, baby." I wink. She laughs. Poking her already exposed fair chest in her see-through oversized shirt, I giggle. "If you'll spend the night here in my house, better wear decent clothes, mentally-challenged lady."

She smirks and stands up, "Oh, I forgot that you're too pure to see a woman's breast." 

Ignoring her sarcastic remark, I let her go to the bathroom and change. With a sigh, I stretch my thin arms and numb fingers. And that's when the sound of an incoming e-mail pops. I bite my cracked lips and walk towards my personal computer. My heart skips a beat when I see what's the e-mail is all about. It is from my editor of the publishing house Lovelle and I belonged to. The message is composed of three words but the meaning is clear.

Choose now, Shiela.

I shake my head. This is what I'm dreading for. I'm bad at chosing. I always make poor decision and the fact that my editor is making me choose between my debut novel and my bestfriend is not helping. In instant, my head spins with turmoil that I want to choke everything I ate at lunch a while ago.

I want to have a breakthrough in writing but I don't want to break ten years of friendship. I somehow want to be known but if I choose it, Lovelle will be mad and we will be back at square one--strangers finding solace on the darkest side of themselves.

"The publishing house do not accept collaboration novel, Shiela, you know that. It's either your name or Lovelle's name on the cover or no name at all."

While we're enjoying the bittersweet aroma of coffee, those are the exact words that my editor told me. I have done nothing but stare at her with numerous hows in my mind. How can I tell Lovelle that the novel we wrote for three months will be publish without her name or mine? How can I ask her to just give me the spotlight? How will she react if she'll know that I have almost sixty percent chance of agreeing? How will she know? How?

I bite my thumb's fingernail. Lovelle will understand. She may get mad but it will pass...right? We're best of friends. We will always have each other's back. She will support me.

Sighing, I type my reply, press send, and shut down my computer. I walk over to my bed again and stare straightly at my study table where books are scattered in the most normal way (for me, at least) possible. But then, the one-thousand pages World History 101 move. With my eyes open wide, I shriek.

In only three seconds, a naked Lovelle is already in front of me. "What's wrong?" 

My left hand trembles as I point the direction of the book. It's not moving now but I swear, I just see it blinked!

I hear Lovelle's sigh. "No, Shiela. The book isn't moving. Breath, okay? In, out. Breath."

I can hear her but my lungs is on full panic-mode that it forget how to supply air all over my body. 

"Shiela, look at me. What you're seeing is not real. They're just part of your hallucinations. They may be look like they're real but no. Look at me-- everything's fine, the book is just there, lying like how a book should be, not moving, no. Calm down, please." 

Her request is clear in my ear but blurry in my head. Still looking at the book that is now glaring like it knows about the agreement between my editor and me, my decision, and all, I pull my hair. The pain is there but so the book's glare. And my nose is blocked, my mind's unclear, my eyes are wary, and I feel like someone--something's pulling me down, deep into oblivion, telling me not to fight the urge to close my eyes. And damn myself for I am weak-- I let it win.

Everything's at peace, my mind, my soul, but not my surroundings. Closing the book I am currently reading, I bite my lip to stop myself from screaming murder.

"If you don't want to be disturbed, do not read books inside theme parks."

I lift my right eyebrows while looking at the girl wearing crop-topped shirt and high-waist shorts.  She's chewing something, a gum perhaps. Instead of giving her my precious attention, I stand up. She snatches the book from my hold and that's when I lost my beloved patience.

"What do you want?"

"I saw you. I saw you consulting a psychiatrist. I saw you inside that fucked-up building."

"What now? What do you want?"

"You have delirium, or that's what the old hag they call doctor told you. You're hallucinating. Maybe because you're father told you so much stories about shape-shifting monsters before and how your mother's one of them. Or maybe not. But still, you're lunatic--"

"What--"

"And I am too. I was there. My mother brought me there because I'm stealing not-so-important shits. Maybe I'm insane and we're on the same boat. So...can I be your friend?"

I gasp. I've never met a person so straightforward before and meeting this kind of girl now makes all the hair on my body spike up. "What...do you really want?"

She grins: an innocent toothy grin, with her eyes twinkling and her lips shivering because of the cold winter air. "Your liver, your heart. Or your breakthrough novel, a credit perhaps?" And her teeth change from bright white ones to brown decaying canines. I take a step back, and run.

I wake up with darkness surrounding me. It's suffocating but I wait for my eyes to adjust on the dark. My mind still hazy, I get up and stand. I balance myself using my shaky knees. I can breath now. Everything's fine...but then, I saw something on the door. Something with red eyes, long hair, and claws. Something that smell like decaying flesh and blood. Something that stinks real hard. Something like shape-shifting monsters. And that something is now walking or floating towards me. 

I step back, my eyes searching for something I can use to defend myself. When the monster tried to reach me, my hands hit something hard, firm--the World History 101. Not bothering to think, I hit the monster.

One. Two. Three. Three hits until she's not reaching me anymore. I go for the door and the stingray tail is now hanging there, blocking my way. My heart is not pounding, unexplainable, but I am calm. It's like I'm flying towards a solemn place, embracing the placid solitude. But tears are rolling on my cheeks, silent tears, killer tears.

I pull the tail out and just to make sure, I go back to the flesh-eating animal. I whip her. Trice the number of hits, trice hard.

And then I got tired, my heart comes to life, air envelopes my whole system, so I stop, I breath. In. Out.

Lights flood inside my room. "What's happening, Shiela? Lovelle's screaming. What are you--oh, God!" It's my father's voice.

I focus my sight in front of me, and there I see blood, blood, blood, and a lifeless Lovelle lying on the floor.

My father cups my cheeks. "What have you done?"

What have I done? I don't know. Why's Lovelle lying there? Does the flesh-eater killed her? Eat her liver and left her here? What happened? What am I doing here?

"`Pa..." Tears continue to leak from my eyes. I sob. I laugh. 

Who am I? Who's Lovelle?

Oh.

Right. We were bestfriends. We have known each other for almost a decade. She's suffering from kleptomania and I am suffering from delirium. She's the one who understands me the most. And I kill her.

Source: Maria Viktoria Follow Her @MariaViktoria