2: Anger

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Chapter Two- Anger

Bipolar Disorder

1. Formerly called manic depression, this is a mental illness that brings severe high and low moods and changes in sleep, energy, thinking, and behavior.

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The man stared at me like I was his porcelain doll. Like my fate was already settled.

Then he vanished.

Vanished. Into thin air. Like I'd never seen him at all.

What would I would tell the 9-1-1 operator? Panic reached inside me and clamped down on my internal organs. Then a deep, gravely voice made its way out of the phone, and into my ears. It was female, but deep and gravely, like she was a smoker.

"Hello? 911? What is your emergency?"

I stared at my old flip phone. I had taken it out before. The phone lit up like a beacon in the night. The operator repeated herself again, clearly.

"911? What is your emergency? Are you there?"

My voice froze in my throat. I shivered like I was drowning in ice. On the horizon, I could see a shadowy figure passing with a dog. My first thought was: it's another psychopath. They're going to hurt me.

"911, what is your emergency..."

"I'm in Spring Park Park," I managed.

My voice was a high squeak. I was having trouble swallowing. Shocks flowed through me, like I should just run away.

"Hello?"

"S-sorry," I stuttered. "A man just attacked me in the bathroom... He bit me. He ran off."

"What is your name?"

"I'm Laurie Cortez. I'm eighteen... I'm not hurt. I just need the police. I need them to find him."

The trees behind me rustled against the wind. I leaned back on the bench, grunting with exertion.

"Stay on the phone with me, Laurie..."

By the time the police came, my sweatpants and tank top were soaked with sweat.

My shoulder was still stained with blood, but I couldn't force myself to get paper towels from inside the bathroom. I closed my eyes.

My longing for coffee was gone. I didn't care about Lord of the Rings sex anymore. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep for ten years.

I didn't know why I didn't move. I could've run away. Let the police figure it out themselves. As a child, I'd run away multiple times. So I didn't know why my feet weren't moving.

Two blue-clad officers bustled up to me. The first man had olive skin and a figure like a teddy bear. The second one was tall and skinny, just like my attacker.

Bile rose to my mouth. I was crying. The first man frowned, like I was a dirty dish. The other man looked at me, biting his lip.

"You're bleeding."

I shrugged, wiping at my eyes. The man made a move, like he was going to the bathroom. His partner pushed him back, over to the side, and began whispering. Though they tried to stay quiet, they failed.

"You can't disrupt a potential crime scene, Michael," the first one whispered.

"But she's bleeding. Shouldn't that supersede everything else...?"

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