Attention || Lashton

Chapter 11

Dedication to Michaelsclifaconda because they're active again and they've been voting and I am eternally grateful xx ~~

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October 9, 2015:

I have come to believe that somebody planted a bug in me. I was sat at home, finally alone, my parents downstairs uncaring about me per usual. I held a sharp knife, knowing that something was in me. The government, the school, maybe something else I wasn't sure.

All I knew was that Luke was the only person ever with me when I needed him. Ever since Monday afternoon when he crawled under that stall with me, we've been closer. He even moved to the front where I was forced to sit and away from Alexander Vaughn. 

Find the bug. An unknown voice shouted at me inside my head, leaving me to wonder why I didn't hear my own voice.

How do you know if it's even in his arm? Another unidentified voice argued with the first.

I begin to worry, glancing down at my arms. I needed to find the bug, they were driving me crazy. I felt it, underneath my skin, and I was itching to get it out. I take the knife and make a long, deep, diagonal cut in my upper arm. I watch as blood pours out but I feel no pain; I felt invincible. There was a possibility that I was. I widen the cut and dab the blood with a cloth in search of the bug that I felt under my skin. It wasn't in the cut and I suddenly felt it closer to my wrist. 

I take the knife again and slice again. The bug was reading my thoughts, knowing what I was doing and what I was thinking. I needed to get it out, it was making me see things. Hear things. Like the blank face outburst, it never happened. Nobody had an recollection of it besides me and Luke; and he wasn't even there. They're listening to me, they're looking out of my eyes. 

I watch the blood come out again as my arm is covered in a cooling down crimson liquid. I still didn't feel anything as I move my fingers around in the deep cut, searching and searching.

I scream out in frustration, no longer feeling the bug. Can they control when I feel it or not? They must because it was gone, like it was never there, and I was left with deep slashes in my arm. I go to the bathroom quietly, pulling out a roll of gauze and medical tape. What if they heal over and they implant it in my arm again?

I think I was safe for the time being as I tape the gauze down so the wrapping wouldn't come undone. I take the bloodied cloth and throw it away in my trashcan, throwing a sweatshirt on uncomfortably. "Ashton, honey, dinner's done." I hear my Mum knock on the door quietly. She was scared of my dad. She always was.

He was a diagnosed schizophrenic, and sometimes skips out on his medication. When he does he becomes violent, believing my Mum is there to hurt him and take him away somewhere. But this happens if he skips a week, and the professionals are called.

But when he was these episodes, my Mum is caught in the cross fire, getting hit and beaten down emotionally. As far as I know, it has been two weeks since he has taken his last dose of medication. The doctors needed to be called soon if this kept happening, and I hoped it didn't. He was sometimes gone for weeks to a couple months at a time while he was being treated.

But Luke was great, always being there. Nobody at the table talks to me anymore, so I sit alone. Walking downstairs, the events of me pulling up my sleeves replay in my head. It wasn't my fault, it was everybody at the table's fault. They told me about cutting, they knew I would do it. For Luke.

I sit down at the table, looking at the breaded chicken and mashed potatoes of the dark blue ceramic plate. I sit down and look across the table to my hyped-up dad and my worn out Mum. I always felt kind of bad for her, having to live with a schizophrenic. 

"I got a B on a math test." I say happily, even though I never paid any attention. It was easy, logarithms were easily comprehensible when you hear the explanations through your haze of watching the hidden camera. 

My Mum smiles and my dad ignores it. "Why does the colour look off? What did you put in my food? Tell me! The colour it looks off, it is lighter than usual. The colour is off. Off is the colour." He repeats, holding is head.

I look at my Mum with a knowing looking, signaling it was time to call the doctors. My Mum always wanted to give him his medication without him being institutionalized. But it was never going to happen. 

My younger siblings looked defeated as well, Harry and Lauren. I only know four pure and innocent people, who try to make things better and never hurt anyone. Harry, Lauren, my Mum, and Luke. My Mum gets up from the table as Harry says, "Daddy, aren't you tired?"

Dad looked at Harry and nodded slowly, the hyped-up appearance fading within seconds. "The colour is off." He shakes his head slowly, obviously fatigued. During manic schizophrenic episodes, Dad has insomnia and will stay hyped for almost three days sometimes without any sleep in his system. 

Whenever somebody reminds him of rest and sleep, his body shuts down in recognition. "Dad you have to eat, the colour is the same. How about you have mine? Nobody would hurt me." I tell him quietly.

Yes they would.

They already do.

I know that.

Shut up.

Ashton the bug is still inside of you.

You need to go and cut it out.

The two unknown voices argue back and forth and they weren't going away. But my Dad nods, passing his plate across the table and I pass him mine. "The colour is okay." He mumbles, taking a bite of the breaded chicken. I knew well that the chicken he handed me had his medication in it, but it didn't change the appearance. That was him being paranoid.

It couldn't hurt me.

It would.

Everybody is trying to hurt you.

You should kill yourself before somebody else does.

The voices were both male, one kind of feminine but with a hint of something else. The other was deeper yet talked faster and more often. It had been a few days now that I hear these voices, and I wasn't sure what they were there for.

I slowly eat my dinner as my Dad does the same before Dr. Hamlin shows up to take him away. He fights it but we all ignore it. We always do.