White Ink (pt.5)

White Ink (pt.5)

Saturday night is uneventful. We come back from our walk and finish our homework. Then we attempt to cook dinner before watching Dead Poet Society for the gazillionth time. It’s my favourite. After the movie ends I make Josh do this thing with me. It’s this thing I read about for couples to do and I thought it would be fun. Basically it’s a whole bunch of really odd questions which both people have to answer truthfully. By this time I think Josh is going to implode. So we watch Blazing Saddles and then spend far too much time acting out bits of the movie with Josh as Sheriff Bart and me as Jim the Waco Kid.
By that time it’s nearly midnight. And of course Josh, being Josh, has a brilliant idea. So he gets a flashlight, turns off all the lights, and takes me back in the spare bedroom. That room is mostly storage, but there’s a lot of empty space. We sit on the floor and Josh puts the flashlight on the floor between us pointing up so that it creates a circle of light on the ceiling. Then he starts telling ghost stories.
I don’t mind scary movies and I love reading horror stories, but I don’t like ghost stories. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just that they seem more real because they’re not out of a book or a script. Josh knows this and I have a feeling this is payback for the question game earlier.
“So they all head down to this cabin for the weekend. Seems perfect,” Josh is saying. “But they don’t –”
Then I spot it. I yelp and scramble backwards, pulling Josh with me.
“What was that?” he teases. “I didn’t even get to the scary part.”
I, however, am pointing over his shoulder into the darkness. Josh just sighs and picks up the flashlight, pointing it in the direction I indicate. When the light hits the creature it seems to vanish.
“There’s nothing there,” Josh says. “You’re really jumpy. How did you get through the Exorcist when I had to pause the stupid thing halfway through?”
“There was something there,” I hiss.
Josh frowns. “The dog again?”
I nod and he sighs. He takes the flashlight in hand and gets up, pulling me with him. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Wanna do something else?”
I nod, eyeing the spot where the creature was. Josh takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen where he sits me down at the table and proceeds to rummage through every cabinet before finding all the things he’s looking for. It doesn’t take me long to realize what he’s doing. He’s making cocoa. Not like hot chocolate out of a packet. Josh knows how to make real hot cocoa, from scratch. If you’ve never had real cocoa, you should sometimes. Josh’s is the best I’ve ever had.
“How have you been lately?” Josh asks, looking up from what he’s doing. “I mean, really. Answer honestly. Please.”
I sigh and look at the floor. This doesn’t last long, however, as Josh puts two fingers under my chin and raises my gaze. I settle for looking off to the side. I can never look at him when he asks questions like that.
“I’m slipping,” I reply finally.
Josh frowns. “Are you taking you meds?”
I shake my head and push his hand away. “You know I don’t. Besides, they don’t help.”
“Maybe you should tell them about the things you see,” he says, turning back to the stove.
“And have them tell me I’m crazy?” I argue.
Josh bows his head. “Maybe not. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
He looks over his shoulder to see me nod. “There are more of them. Sometimes…”
Josh opens the cabinet over the stove and gets out two mugs. He fills them and sits down next to me at the table, handing me the mug with the puppy on it. That one’s mine and he knows that’s the one I always use because my cousin gave it to me. I think he could probably just move in here and no one would notice the difference.
“Sometimes…” he prompts.
Josh takes one of my hands and I finally keep talking. “Sometimes I dream. I see the same things I see when I’m awake. I don’t know. I don’t even know what they are. The only one that’s really clear is that dog. Sometimes…. Sometimes I hear things too.”
“Like voices?” Josh asks.
I shake my head. “Sometimes voices, but usually other things. Breathing, footsteps. Sometimes I hear something growling. Sometimes I hear this whispering that I can’t make out. I don’t know what it is.”
Josh just looks at me. Neither of us speaks. I feel tears in my eyes but I don’t let them fall. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. My mother looks at me that way when I do something strange. I’ve had councillors look at me that way. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.
“You think I’m crazy,” I whisper, eyes focused on the tiles.
“No,” Josh says firmly. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“I am crazy,” I say softly. My voice crack and one tear hits the tile next to my foot.
Josh puts his mug down and lets go of my hand. I ignore him as he stands up. At least, I ignore him until he picks me up. Then I try to wriggle away. I don’t want to be near him right now. But he sits down in my chair with me on his lap and just holds me.
“Don’t say that, Mikey,” he says.
“But I am,” I protest.
“No,” Josh says, tightening his grip protectively. “Don’t say that. You aren’t. I know you’re not. You know you’re not. You’ve just hit a rough spot. It’ll be alright.”
I don’t say anything. I just cry. I cry because I can see myself falling apart. I cry because I don’t want to put Josh through this. I cry because I hate this whole situation. Mostly, though, I cry because there’s nothing else I can do. I can’t make this go away, I can’t make myself better, and I know I can’t make Josh not care, though I think it might be easier sometimes if he didn’t.

I must have cried myself to sleep. I must have slept really soundly too, because somehow I got to bed and I know I didn’t get there on my own. I feel rested, but I also feel groggy. Usually I’m pretty clear headed when I wake up, but for some reason I’m not today. I hear water running and I know that Josh is in the shower, so I get up and go to the kitchen to find something for breakfast.
But my search for food comes to an abrupt halt when I see what’s sitting on the countertop. It’s pushed to the wall and partially hidden, but I can still see it. It’s a pill bottle. One of my old prescriptions. It’s a sedative to help with my insomnia. My heart races at the sight of it and I feel my throat go dry. I’m really hoping Josh didn’t do what I think he did.
I’m still standing there staring when Josh comes into the room. He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my neck, the water from his hair cold against my skin. When I don’t react he realizes something’s wrong. When he sees what I’m staring at I feel him stiffen. He did.
“Josh,” I say quietly.
Josh tightens his grip on me. “I was trying to help.”
“Josh,” I say again. I honestly can’t think of anything else to say at this point.
“Mikey, look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I was trying to help.”
“Why?” I ask finally.
“I thought maybe if you could sleep, maybe it would help,” he said. “It was only one. The label said you took two. I only gave you one, because I didn’t want anything bad to happen. Honest. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought…”
I sigh and remove his arms from my waist. “I’m taking a shower.”
He doesn’t say anything as I wander distractedly down the hall. I’m not mad. I should be, but I’m not. Just disappointed. I don’t know if I should believe him when he says I’m not crazy. I see his point about getting some sleep. In the past week I’ve only slept about six hours aside from last night. I guess it’s pretty bad. Still, I wish he’d’ve talked to me. I’d have told him no, but at least he’d have asked.
I turn the water on as hot as it’ll go and just stand there. All the scars. Sometimes I wonder. I don’t really know what good that does though. All I ever realize is that I’m not certain about anything anymore.