White Ink (pt.3)

White Ink (pt.3)

My parents are out of town this weekend and all of next week. They won’t be back until next Saturday, so Josh is staying with me. It’s not for the reasons you may think. As Scot so delicately put it, “Remember safe sex, kiddies.” I really don’t think Josh was playing when he punched him for that, even if I was.
But there is a valid reason as to why Josh is staying with me for the week. He knows how afraid I am of being left alone. I know that sounds ridiculous, seeing as how I’m sixteen and a junior in high school. But you don’t know all of it.
I’ve been told many times that I’m a little less than sane. Not by my friends, mind you. These were psychologists and psychiatrists. They all say rapid cycling bipolar disorder. I think they’ve put me on every drug and drug cocktail known to man. I don’t take any of the pills anymore, though. I hate them, because when you’re on that stuff you don’t feel anything. Nothing at all. Not to mention that none of it helped anyway. That was probably because I didn’t tell them everything.
If they thought my moods made me crazy, then they would have a field day with the things I see. The thing is, I know I’m not crazy. I’m really not. It’s just, I see things. I don’t know if they’re really there or not. No one else seems to see them. I do, though, and they scare me. Josh knows about that. Scot has some idea, but Josh is the only one who really knows. That’s why he’s staying with me this week.

“What’s wrong, Mikey?” Josh calls from the living room as I turn the water on. He’s paused the movie we were watching to listen for my reply.
“Nothing,” I call back.
“Bull,” he says in that tone that tells me I’m in trouble for lying. “That’s the fifth time you’ve gone to wash your hands in the last hour.”
That’s one of my nervous habits. If I’m scared I wash my hands obsessively. I don’t really know why, I don’t even know when I started doing that, but Josh knows that means I’m stressed.
I turn the water off and head back to the living room, plopping down next to him on the couch. “Honestly, it’s nothing.”
Josh puts an arm around my waist and pulls me close so he can kiss my forehead. “You’re lying. You know you can’t lie to me. Did you see something?”
I shake my head. I hadn’t, really. It was just a feeling of being watched. I thought I’d heard a footstep and seen a flash of something dark move behind the tv, but it’s late and I’m tired and I don’t want to bother Josh with my paranoia.
“Mikey,” he says, his tone warning.
I try to get up – I want to wash my hands again – but he holds me in place. A gentle hand presses my head to his shoulder and he just holds me there. That’s when I realize I’m shaking.
“It’s alright,” he says gently. “Don’t worry. You’re ok. And I don’t think you’re crazy.”
He knows that will be the next thing I say. Instead I just stare at the wall.
“Come on,” Josh says quietly, turning off the tv. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
I nod and follow him to my bed room. I’ve already told him he can sleep in here, even though he offered to sleep in the extra bedroom so that he wouldn’t be intruding. I told him he’s not intruding, that I want him close. I feel myself blush as he strips to change into his pyjamas. He has absolutely no inhibitions. I think it comes from running cross country. Me on the other hand, I never wear less than a t-shirt and long pants. Actually, I always wear long-sleeved shirts to school. I cover up as much as possible.
Josh sighs when he turns around and sees what I’m wearing. He knows when I’m at home I usually just put on a t-shirt and don’t worry about covering up my arms. The shirt I have on now, however, is long sleeved and so big on me that even my fingertips are covered. Yet another sign of how nervous I am right now.
“Come here,” he says gently, leading me across the room and sitting me on the edge of the bed. He tugs at my shirt and I protest, but he shushes me. Finally I give in and let him pull it off.
He doesn’t speak for several minutes, but he doesn’t need to. Gentle fingers trace the angry red marks that mar my pale skin. I wince as he touches one that still hasn’t healed over and he withdraws his hand. Finally he looks me in the eye.
“It’s not as bad as you think it is,” he says quietly. “Mikey… I don’t understand. I want to, but…” His hand finds its way back to the newest cluster of cuts. “You scare me sometimes, you know that?”
“Sorry,” I mumble, looking at the floor. I feel way too exposed right now. Josh may not care about being half naked in front of another person, but I do.
All my apology does is earn me another sigh from Josh. “Come on. To bed with you.”
I obey without comment, curling up next to him with my head on his chest, though I’m still pissed that he wouldn’t give me my shirt back. But what bothers me even more was that persistent feeling of being watched. I know I just saw something move. There was something there. It took about two steps and vanished. It just showed up in the middle of the room. I don’t think it was human. I don’t mention this to Josh.
It takes Josh all of ten minutes to fall asleep and while the rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his heartbeat are comforting I still feel my skin craw at the feeling of eyes on me. Whatever it was isn’t really gone. It’s still watching me. This is going to be a long night.