uncontrollable (completed)

not crazy

There were lots of things I wanted to do right now. I wanted to fling my phone across the room, throw it out the apartment window and pretend that if I couldn't see the text anymore, it wouldn't exist. But it did, so a part of me wanted to run, run, run, because they weren't supposed to find me after what happened. I was supposed to live in peace, in normal. Or, at least, as close to normal I can get with the nightmares.

I also wanted to call Phil. Phil was one of the few people who knew me before, and still put up with me after. My mother was english, and my father was American, so before, when I still lived in America, we visited the United Kingdom quite frequently. My mother's best friend as a child was Phil's mother, so they always met up when we were in the UK. That left Phil and I mostly alone, with no one but each other.

Despite our age difference, and the fact we got off to a bad start (I bit him because he wouldn't give me my toy back) we became fast friends. That happens when there's no one else to play with in a one mile radius, as far away from the house as we were allowed to go. As we grew up, we grew closer, and began to look forwards to the visits. Now that I've moved to London, I get to see him some, but he's always travelling to some convention or doing a magazine interview. That came with fame, I guess, and I was supposed to stay as far out of the spotlight as possible.

Phil knew everything that had happened,and he was part of the reason I was sent to the UK. The judges and lawyers and FBI agents wanted me sent somewhere familiar, with someone I'd known since I was kid close by. London fit both descriptions perfectly, Phil was there, and I trusted him. It also helped that I'd visited London enough to know my way around. I was supposed to move in with him. That was, until they looked into his job. Being a YouTuber wasn't the most inconspicuous job in the world, so living with Phil was crossed out.

I ended up in a shoebox of an apartment, with enough money to keep me afloat for a long, long while. At first, I didn't work at all. I just stayed in my flat, trying my best to make it feel like home. But soon enough, I would be falling asleep out of boredom, and waking up to panic attacks that left me shaking for hours afterwards. So I got a job, something to do, something to keep me busy. The job helped, along with the fact that it was relatively easy to blend in when you lived in a city. So that's how my life was, for a year and a half, normal. Boring even, so boring and normal that I took the risk and moved in with Eliza.

And now, I had a text on my cellphone that was anything but normal, and it chilled me to the bone. I abruptly excused myself from the table, and returned to my room, much to Eliza's confusion. I was going to call Phil, I was going to talk to him and see what he thought. That was the rational part of me. The other part was screaming, still screaming to run as far as I could even though I was caged like an exotic bird. Caged because where else was I going to go? How could I escape again? I was caged because if they could follow me after death, they could follow me anywhere. So I stuck to my other option. I called Phil.

"Mara?" I heard Phil's voice, sleepy and a little annoyed on the other end of the line. "What's up?" He added, yawning loudly.

I swallowed. My throat felt tight and dry as a dessert, like someone had poured sand down it and the grains had stuck to the sides. "I got a text, Phil." I breathed out, trying not to panic as I clutched my bedsheets, trying to hang onto something, some semblance of reality. "I-I think they found me."

"What?!" He didn't sound sleepy anymore, he sounded worried, and I heard the rustle of bed sheets on his end, most likely trying to get up. "How?" He asked this time, and I bit my lip, so hard that I thought I might draw blood. I hoped I might draw blood, because maybe that would distract me from the situation. But that would lead to a lecture from Phil, or anyone who noticed my split lip; so I answered his question instead.

"I don't know."

"What did it say?" He pressed, obviously trying to get dressed and come see me. I could hear the background shuffling of him trying to put on shoes, and the indecipherable timbre of another voice, deep and rich. The roommate I'd never met.

"it said come back." I paused, breathing in and out, trying not to fall into another panic attack as I felt the tears stinging my eyes. "You need to take your mind off this place"

"Bullshit." Phil cursed, and I knew he must've been really upset, because he tried not to swear too much. "That's a load of bullshit." I heard the rattling of keys, and a door slam. "I'm coming over." He decided

"Okay." it was all I could manage.

"I'll see you soon." He said, softly, reassuringly, like he could fix it. And then the line went dead. I was glad I didn't have to choke out some pitiful goodbye, but I had other things to worry about. I didn't know if I'd be able to compose myself before Phil got here, considering he only lived a few blocks away, but I had to try.

For the second time this morning, I stood in front of the small mirror, and splashed cold water over my eyes. I looked up into the mirror again, into the reflection of the girl I was. My face was pallid and gaunt, my eyes too bright for the dullness of my skin and the circles beneath them. I really did look bad, my uncut black hair hanging limp and lackluster.

Again, for the second time this morning, I stared straight at my reflection.

"I'm not crazy." I whispered, and hoped it wasn't a lie. But the girl in the mirror winked back at me.