Black bedroom

It sucks being alone; even in a room full of people, everything is so barren, devoid of any real significance. My mom and dad force me to visit a psychologist for counseling. They say it can help me become more independent. I think they're just tired of me moping around, my head hanging low as I rush towards my bedroom. Unfortunately for them, I was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder and severe depression two years ago. Now, when all I want to do is remain in the one place I feel even the slightest sense of tranquility, they choose to take my "conditions" seriously.

Before now, they could care less about my constant pleading for attention. Hell, they themselves need some sort of diagnosis. My father is all about himself; he would easily be diagnosed as a narcissist. My mother, though she did attempt to comfort me during multiple fits in the past, she only did so because I am her "property." You can call her a classic sociopath. Funny how that all works out, huh?

The only time I ever feel a tinge of contentment is when I'm with my two friends. My closest friend, Jessie, encourages me to go to therapy, though when I do, I feel even more miserable. She says it's the best way to overcome my demons. She has always been the optimist. Lucille, on the other hand, thinks it's best if I confront my battles externally. She feels a therapist is only there for the paycheck at the end of the week, diminishing the validity of his caring claims. I can't help but agree.

Dr. Morrison has two kids, a loving wife, and a pack of smiling Siberian huskies. He couldn't relate to me. Even on his bad day, he did not know the emptiness that wrapped around me like a straight-jacket, suffocating me as it prevents me from experiencing the only thing I've ever wanted in life: happiness. No matter how many books he's read or how much money he has piled up in student loans, he will never know my struggle. Therefore, any words that escaped his lips, as he stared at me with solicitous eyes he was taught to display, were devoid of realism.

So, I decided to skip my therapy session tonight. Instead, I remained in my empty room within my barren house. My parents were at work, as usual, so I invited Jessie and Lucille over. A girl's night was absolutely necessary.

"Why didn't you go to your therapy session?" Jessie asked, standing to my right as I began sifting through my bathroom drawer.

"Do you always have to be a Debbie Downer, Jessie," Lucille said, crossing her arms.

No matter what the topic were to be, Jessie and Lucille would find a way to bicker. It's a wonder they last through our frequent sleepovers.

"I just don't want you to make any rash decisions, Elizabeth. There's plenty of options out there, you just have to give them a try," Jessie said, patting my back.

I stared up into Jessie's beautiful, hazel eyes before grabbing ahold of my bottle of antidepressants.

"If you ask me, they are all flukes," Lucille said, following me out of the bathroom.

I crawled onto bed, watching as each took their places at my side.

"Don't listen to her. She's always been rash," Jessie said, glancing at Lucille, who glared back at her.

I twisted off the cap of my prescription and grabbed for the prepped water on the nightstand.

"I'm so tired," I said, allowing a few tablets to roll out onto the palm of my hand.

"We are all tired at some point, Elizabeth, but we learn to power through the hard times," Jessie said, powerfully.

I glanced in her direction, smiling weakly.

"Sometimes life is too much, Elizabeth. Who wants to walk around in their own personal hell? No one," Lucille said, gripping my shoulder.

Her grip was strong, much stronger than it had been previously.

"Your journey will only make you stronger. Though you do not reap its benefits now, that doesn't mean you won't in the future. You can be like Dr. Morrison. You can have your own family and live a good life. Don't you want that?" Jessie said, caressing my right shoulder.

I nodded, imagining a life of sheer bliss as I stared off into the distance. Lucille grabbed my chin, pulling my face towards hers. I gazed into her dark irises as she burned into mine.

"You'll never be like Dr. Morrison; let's face it. You may both come from wealth, but he was afforded other luxuries outside of tangible things. He was loved. His parents loved him. Your mom and dad... they could care less about you. Remember the look on their faces as they dragged you to that psychologist of yours? Of course you do. They were relieved, Elizabeth. They were happy someone else could cradle the burden you are to them," Lucille said, her once calm expression becoming a scowl.

Tears streamed down each side of my face as I recollected on that day. My parents seemed so happy, flaunting a well groomed smile as they shook hands with the man appointed as my mental babysitter. Lucille was right... they were relieved they didn't have to do it themselves.

"The devil's objective is to convince you that you are weak, Elizabeth. You aren't weak. You are strong, and you can make it through this with my help. Just believe in me," Jessie said, brushing her soft hand against my cheek.

I wanted so badly to abide by what was right; I wanted so badly to imagine a life far from the pain and loneliness I felt consistently, but I couldn't. Those visions of a life of serenity were too far from reach, dangling before my eyes as a piece of cheese before a starving rat. I couldn't allow myself to be coaxed out of the only peace I would ever receive in life... So I lifted my hand towards my mouth, staring down at the countless pills atop the palm of my hand as I did so.

"Please, don't do this," Jessie said, watching helplessly.

"Release yourself," Lucille said, overcasting Jessie's sweet words.

The pills fell into my mouth and began to dissolve on the tip of my tongue. Though the bitter taste was repulsive, in a way, it provided comfort. Naturally, I pressed the glass of water to my lips and allowed it to wash down the pills. Once I knew the deed was done and the decision locked in, I fell back in my bed and watched as darkness clustered around me. It was a mist of blackness, a smoky fog of sorts. As it intensified, wrapping around my body as I laid still, I glanced to my right at Jessie. A dim light radiated off of her as she slowly drifted away from me. Though the sadness within her eyes made my own sadness peak, her dying light brought forth the final option of salvation: my cellphone.

Once she vanished from view, her light a mere glint in the black fog, Lucille crawled onto my bed. Her face had completely morphed. She no longer was the captivating raven haired beauty she once was. No, she was much different. Embers burned atop her head, the brown of her eyes transformed to the blackest of blacks. The grin on her chiseled face widened as she mounted me.

"You are weak," she mumbled in a deepened voice, blowing the smoky ash from her breath directly into my face.

Slowly, as my vision began to blur, shadowy figures swarmed within my room, laughing in the most bone- chilling fashion.

"You're coming home. Where you belong," Lucille said, as her face inched towards mine.

As my legs numbed and my heart began to pound violently from my chest, I watched on as the shadowy figures gathered around my body, creating walls around me. With the remainder of my strength, I reached for my phone, clutching it within my hands. Lucille's face remained a centimeter away from mine, a diabolical grin stretching over it as foam began to seep from my mouth.

"Welcome home."

Written by GreyOwl
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