Triskaidekaphobia (It's Behind You)

5

"I'm here, you know I am. You can't stop me..."

"Stop it," I hiss to myself, hating the sickly feeling the voices give me. Ever since my mom mentioned them to me, it's like she's invited them back into my life. Either that or I'm on the cusp of yet another mental breakdown. I haven't quite figured that part out yet. One thing that's for sure is ignoring them isn't helping. "Just shut up already."

"I'm still here, I'm coming to get you."

"What did you say?" Cecilia demands with her hands defiantly on her hips. "Did you just tell me to shut up, Farrah? I'm not even talking. You are honestly such a bitch."

Heat flames my cheeks as I realize that I've been caught out again. Talking to myself like a crazy person wouldn't go down well in any job, but in this fast food joint where tensions are already fraught on a daily basis, it sucks even more. I must be the most hated person here.

"No, I..."

"Bitch, what a bitch."

"Oh whatever, Farrah. If I gave a shit about you, I might actually care."

"Kill, kill, kill."

With that she stalks from the stock room, leaving me alone with my insane brain. The voices are getting worse every day, louder and more insistent, however much I try to ignore them or tell myself they aren't real. Sometimes they don't say much, sometimes the thoughts are really dark. I haven't told anyone about them because I'm so afraid of upsetting my mom, she's been a shell of her former self since the day we had that talk, tiptoeing on eggshells around me, and I don't want to freak her out even more. Especially since I'm sure I'm somehow doing this to myself.

"Die, die, die."

I think there's even more to that harrowing story that mom told me about my thirteenth birthday, but I cannot ask right now. The memories are fuzzy and I don't like thinking about it too much because all of this gets worse, but I feel like there's something else that still needs to be unlocked. Still, I'm not quite ready for it.

"Kill Cecilia," the voice taunts. "Pick up that knife and stab it into her throat. Twist it around and watch as the blood splatters everywhere, covering your skin with a delicious, metallic coolness. The life will ebb out of her slowly, agonizingly, and it'll give you a sick, twisted pleasure to watch..."

"Argh!" I scream out, dropping the sharp kitchen knife to the ground with a clutter. I didn't even know I picked it up. I'm being seduced more and more all the time, I can feel my body caving to the will of the voices, and that was a step too far.

Maybe next time I won't be able to stop myself and I actually will murder someone, all because I'm too worried about my mom to seek help. Well, it cannot go on like that anymore, I need to go somewhere to get someone to restrain and look after me.

"A nut house!" the voice screams. "A mental institution...oh yeah, they'll take real good care of you there."

I don't want to admit it, and especially not to the voice while it's being so sarcastic, but that's actually what I might need to do. My phobia has manifested into something unmanageable now and I need the help of people who really know what they're doing.

I take off my apron and drop it to the ground, not even thinking about where it might land. It's part of my old life now, something I'm about to leave behind. It's time for me to finally become a brand new me.