~No*One*Is*Alone~ [East]

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A U D I T O R Y H A L L U C I N A T I O N S / V I S U A L H A L L U C I N A T I O N S

I take a deep breath, the stink of sweat and blood searing through my senses. Believe it or not, I had missed that smell. The smell of hard work, of determination, and of this restless need to improve. I had not been to the training center in a year, and nothing had really changed about the place. Maybe it has changed, and you are just too stupid to notice. Why are you here? They will get you. I clench and unclench my fists, looking around at the stations. I don’t know why I bother; I know exactly where I want to go: the sparring station.

I cross the floor in a few long strides and drop my duffel bag at the edge of the sparring mat. I quickly strip of my sweatshirt, leaving me in only a black wife beater. I spend some time stretching and limbering up, before I approach Richard, the instructor, to be teamed up with someone. Richard appraises me coldly, his eyes lingering on my arms and stomach, checking to see if I let myself go, I suppose. You are a wimp, a fat loser. He hates you; he is disgusted by how weak you are. Look at him stare at you, with those black eyes, like he wants snap your puny little neck for being so weak. I stare doggedly at him, not letting the big man intimidate me. He grunts, giving a small nod of his head, seemingly pleased with my fitness. I try not to smirk; I should not have been worried. I did pushups and sit-ups obsessively while I was locked up in my room at the mental hospital. Like it did you any good, weakling.

“You’re with Scod.” Richard says abruptly. So, he isn’t going to say anything about my year long absence? My parents probably said something to him. I try not to let the displeasure show on my face. Robert Scod is my age, but he is at least a full head taller than me, and on top of that, he has the build of a bull; not a very good pairing with my wiry frame. Of course, I would probably come across worse in the arena, but this is my first day back. Richard is testing me, the asshole.

Scod raises from where he was sitting, a dark grin on his face. He is looking forward to beating the shit out of me, I can tell by the malicious glint in his eyes. I meet his expression with an evil one of my own, but he doesn’t falter. Scod and I had been friends at one point, what had happened? You became a diseased freak. Oh right. I take my place at the center of the ring, and Scod takes his across from me. I ease into my fighting stance, bouncing back and forth on my toes, ready to kick out with either leg if he attacks. Scod just grins darkly at me, and raises his fists. “Free for all.” I hear Richard call just as I’m about to feint a kick. I stumble and turn my head to give him a surprised look. He doesn’t acknowledge my surprise, just gives me a grim stare. He was basically giving Scod a free pass at beating the shit out of me. He wasn’t testing me, he was punishing me. But Richard is forgetting one thing, size does not equal skill. Scod relies way too much on his size, making his technique crappy. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Your technique is terrible too! You’re weak, a loser. He will kill you!

I feel a heavy blow on the side of my face, and I’m sent flying backward. I land on my ass with a dull thud; my right eye throbbing like it’s going to burst out of my socket. “Fuck.” I hiss and scramble to my feet, immediately shifting my weight to a defensive stance. My eyes find Scod’s sneering face, but the light is wrong, off. The world shimmers around him and I see long, twisted horns protruding from his temples. His nose is no longer a nose, but a long muzzle with nasty yellow fangs. Lank greasy hair hangs down over his pee color eyes. His muscles are bulging grotesquely and I have to wonder how the hell I’m going to dodge those horns.

He – it – comes after me and I skirt away. He is surprised by my speed, and tries to check his direction, but his forward momentum is too much for him to turn to me, leaving his side and back wide open. I snap my leg up and land a heavy push kick on his side, digging my heel in deep. I pull my leg back, and shift my grounded foot, turning my body, and I lash out with a roundhouse kick, hitting him across the stomach with my foot and shin. With surprising speed, he wraps his arms around me leg, twisting it and sending me to the ground. I land hard on my shoulder, and roll away from his stamping hooves. He is too quick for me however, and one catches me in the nose. Blood spews from my nose, spilling over my chin, and painting the mat red. I look down and the drops of blood start to boil and turn into a pile of squirming red larvae. I hiss in disgust and launch myself to my feet, throwing an arm back, hitting the monster in the throat with my elbow. It chokes, and I’m able to put some distance between us, giving me time to breathe.

I wipe the blood from my mouth, and reach a hand up to touch my swelling eye. I look at the beast; it’s holding its throats and making gagging noises. The world shimmers again, and the beast’s muscles start to ripple and spasm. I balk in fear; the shape his is taking no longer is human. Blood surges in my ears, and my instincts take over: kill it before it kills you. With a snarl, I fling myself forward, dropping all pretense of fighting stances and whatnot. The beast is still clutching its neck, breath rattling in its throat. I land a heavy punch in its stomach, and when it bends over in pain, a place a knee in its face. It reels backward, and drops to its knees. In a rush, my training comes back to me, and I shift into a fighting stance. I turn my front foot out, chamber my back leg, and whip it out in another roundhouse kick. The top of my foot connects with the beast’s face, snapping it backward, and sending him tumbling on his back.

I stare down at the unconscious thing, reveling in its defeat and in awe of its ugliness. I close my eyes, blinking away the pain that is slowly seeping into my head and side. When I open them again, it isn’t a beast that’s laying at my feet, it’s Scod. I blink in surprise, taking in his broken, bloody face. I wince, I should have stopped with the punch to the stomach, or at least the knee to the face; the roundhouse kick was uncalled for and I was sure to get my ass chewed out. But, I wasn’t fighting Scod, I was fighting a beast! I hadn’t known! I thought it was real, but apparently I was just hallucinating. How will I be able to explain this for Richard? He will surely punish me for going to far.

I look over at Richard, but there isn’t any anger on his face, just a cold calculating look. He turns his head and yells for the paramedics on stand-by to see to Scod. “Harlow.” He grunts to me. “Nice job.” I blink at the compliment. My surprise must have shown on my face because Richard gives me the ghost of a smile. “It was a free for all.” He says shortly and turns his back on me. Conversation over.

I turn towards my duffel bag, wobbling on my feet a little. I make it there before I slump to the ground and dig threw it until I find a cold compress. I break it up until it turns cold beneath my fingers and gently place it on my swollen face with one hand. With the other I pull out a towel to mop of the blood from my nose, which is still bleeding. Something falls to the ground when I release the towel from my bag, making a clattering noise. I look at the small blue container with wide eyes, my heart thudding in my chest. It’s my medicine. I had forgotten that I even still had some pills left over. I quickly scoop up the container and look at the small handful of pills inside. If I had been taking them, would I have messed Scod up so badly? I didn’t feel bad for beating the shit out of Scod, he is a fucking jerk and deserved it. But what if it happens to someone who doesn’t deserve it? What if I snap on a random person in the street?

I set my jaw and clench my fist around the medicine. If I did take it I start to have muscle spasms and over time I will slowly lose control over my limbs, among other crappy side-effects. I throw the medicine back in my bag with a snort of disgust. I bring the towel to my face, gingerly dabbing my nose. I look up and notice a girl standing nearby. I look back down, but quickly do a double take. Corinne? How long had she been standing there? What had she seen?

Memories from before my disorder flood my brain; memories of my annoyingly upbeat self constantly hitting on her. Every chance I got I told her that she was the girl for me, or that she was an angel sent from heaven; corny shit. I was never serious, or that’s what I told myself. I said I was just chasing her for the challenge, for the experience of not getting every girl I wanted. But that wasn’t really the truth was it? I had genuinely liked her. I cruse my stupidity. I should have just told her how I felt from the beginning, not danced around them with my stupid antics.

I look back down at my bag, ignoring her presence. It’s too late now. There is no way in hell anybody is going to want to even come near me, not now that I have schizophrenia. No one wanted you to begin with, even before you went crazy. You were always a loser. No one loves you. You are alone.

I look up in surprise, my blue eyes widening. Corinne was standing in front of me. She came to me. She has never ever been the one to approach me. I always came up to her with one pick up line or another. And did she just compliment me? The girl, who has never said one nice thing to me, actually praised my fighting skills? Wow. First she makes the first move, and then she offers me some praise. Nice. What does she want from you? She has to want something. She is being too nice. You don’t deserve it, you are a terrible person. Why is she being nice? She is planning something.

“C’mon, we’ll take a lunch break,”

I grin at her, shaking my hair from my eyes. “A lunch break? Me and you? That sounds suspiciously like a date, but it can’t be, because I remember you swearing you would rather die than go out with me.” Old habits die hard. Honestly, that was more of an automatic response; something that the old Goss would have said. My grin collapses, and I drop my head. Why would she want to go have lunch with me anyway? Doesn’t she know that I’m a schizo freak? Hasn’t she heard that I have been locked up in a mental hospital? Wasn’t she scared of me? What if she has, and doesn’t care? What if she knows that I’m still a human being, and I still deserve some compassion?

She mentions fighting me and I have to wince. Scod’s bloody face swims before my eyes and I imagine doing that to Corinne. Scod deserved it, but Corinne certainly does not. No, I would hate myself forever if I did anything like that to her. How could I get out of fighting her without making it seem odd? In the past, I had always jumped at the chance to spar with her. Any excuse to be close to her, or to touch her. I never tried to win when I fought her, I was always content to sit back and spew nonsense about her beauty at her. I decide to say nothing to about fighting her right now. Maybe she will forget. That’s a fool’s hope though.

“So, where the hell did you even go?” My heart sinks. Literally sinks. So, she doesn’t know. Do you seriously think she would be standing here if she did? You are so stupid. An idiot. You don’t deserve compassion. I think fleetingly about not telling her, about making up some excuse that I was training in the woods with bears, but I’m not a lair. I never was. At least my disorder cant take that from me. “I was at a mental hospital.” I say flatly, suddenly turning my eyes up to stare at her through a curtain of white hair, gauging her reaction. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a schizo.” I cringe at how bitter I sound. “I’m crazy and if you stand too close, you might just catch my craziness.” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting. Waiting for her to stammer out some excuse and leave me in the dust. You are alone. No one wants you.

She definitely wants something from you. Why else would she not freak out about your craziness? She is using you. No one would want you for you. You are stupid, a waste of space. You don’t deserve to live. Corinne’s words don’t comfort me as I follow her outside. She is wrong when she says my disorder doesn’t make me a good sparring partner. For some reason, she doesn’t see how over the line I was when I fought him. I kicked him in the fucking face, after I kneed him in the face. That is not what sparring is about. Sparing is…well sparring. Not brawling, which is what I was doing. No, my schizophrenia did not make me a good sparring partner; it made me a crazy ass brawler.

“Let’s just say that I know what it’s like to have people hate you for something beyond your control”

I cock my head at her, and send her a questioning look. She knows from experience? I know people don’t like her, and that she has always kept to herself, and I had always thought that that was just her personality. But she is making it seem like it's something much more than that. I don’t remember her ever acting abnormally…What could be wrong with her? I give her a quick smile. “I don’t think I am God’s gift to women, I know I am.” It’s weird talking like that again; I haven’t had the chance to be playful in awhile. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Before, cute little lines like that came naturally, now I have to think about it.

I follow her to a picnic table and sit down across from her. I eye her as she digs around in her bag for her lunch. I don’t bother going through mine, I know there is nothing there for me to eat. My family has learned not to give me any food, and I didn’t make my own lunch this morning. My stomach grumbles plaintively, but I ignore it. I am used to not eating. People want to poison you; they are out to get you. They want you dead. You are being watched, don’t turn around. They will see. They are going to get you. I stiffen as she tosses cookies on the table and initiates our old game. My standard response was always ‘how ‘bout a kiss’ or ‘I’ll let you touch my abs’ but I can’t say anything like that. It wouldn’t be as effortless as before, it would be forced, so it would be awkward. Like I was trying too hard or something.

I guess it doesn’t matter because she just gave them to me without a trade. I gulp and eye the cookies nervously. She poisoned them. She wants you dead. Why else would she give you them without anything in return? She doesn’t care because they will kill you. I don’t touch the cookies, I don’t even look at them. Instead, I look at my hands, clenched in front of me on the table. I look up when she mentions the Games though. “I’m trying to volunteer too, Co-” I hesitate, and switch at the last minute. “Brightman. That would be interesting, huh?” No, that would be terrible. But I have to get in the Games so the Capital can fix my schizophrenia. “Just think of all the flirting I can get done in there. Maybe I won’t look so bad when you realize that I could be your last chance at making out with a hottie.” Gah, I really can’t do it anymore. I can’t be my flirty, uppity self. I lost it. It’s gone. That sounded so tense and awkward compared to my former days. What am I even doing here? I came to train. I should be back inside weightlifting, not out here trying to reconnect with my past.

I remember my bloody nose. I look down at my shirt, sticky with blood. I sigh and tug it over my head, exposing my chest. I bundle up the shirt and use it to mop the blood from my face. I tilt my head back, remembering that is apparently what you are supposed to do when you have a nose bleed. I stare up at the sky, thinking about when I had had to do this exact same thing a few years ago. Corinne had sucker punched my right in the nose for giving her an invention into my pants. We had to have been thirteen or fourteen at the time, and she had not been happy at all. I had to sit with my head titled back for a while before the bleeding stopped. I'm pretty sure she had broken my nose. I smile at the memory. I had done stupid things like that daily. I never worried about how stupid I looked, and I certainly never thought about how Corinne felt about it. I frown, and drop my head to look at her. "Cor- Brightman? Did you hate me back then? I mean...from before. When I always hit on you?" I know the answer already. She hated me. I was too blind to notice before, but it's quite obvious to me now. What was I thinking? I am such an asshole.

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I try not to feel too disappointed. She hates you. What did I expect? A confession that she had always loved me and my advances toward her were a dream come true? She hates you.I knew she wasn’t that girl. I knew she didn’t – and probably never would – return my feelings. She hates you. “You irritated the shit out of me, that much is clear. But I didn't hate you." That’s what she says, but that’s not was I hear, or believe. She hates you. She was probably just saying that to soften the blow. She hates you. I remember how she used to beat me up. I lift my hand to touch my distorted collar bone, proof of her hatred. She hates you. I grind my teeth and clench my fists, trying to block out the voice in my head. I’ve gotten good at ignoring it, but I’m having difficulty right now. She hates you. Everyone hates you. I don’t listen. She hates you. She said she didn’t hate me, she said I just irritated her. That’s different. She lied. She hates you. Shut up. She hates you. Stop it. She hates you.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I finally snarl through clenched teeth. I cover my ears to block out the voice even though I know it’s coming from within me. She hates you. She is using you. She doesn’t want you. You are useless. You are a freak. You are unwanted. My fingers dig into my scalp and I screw my eyes shut, a low moan emitting from my throat. Useless. Unwanted. Alone. Freak. Hated. Hated. Hated. I growl and yank on my hair, shaking my head from side to side, trying to silence the voice. The Capitol is watching. They are disappointed. You are failing them. They have no use for you anymore. They will not cure you, even if you win. You will never be rid of me. You are a failure. I waste of space. “SHUT UP!” I yell again, slamming my head on the table.

"That is not a very productive way of dealing with your illness." I jump straight up and look next to me to see a guy in his mid-twenties sitting where a guy in his mid-twenties had not been before. A shiver rolls down my spine and I flinch away from him. "Zenith." I hiss. The guy smiles that smile of his. The one that clubs, that beats, that kills. "Y-you're not real. Dr. Mills said you aren't real." Zenith makes a tsking noise and his grin widens. "That hurts, Gosser. After all we've been through?" His hand reaches out and pats the side of my face. "After all I have taught you?" I scramble away from his touch, falling off the side of the bench in my haste. I ignore the pain that jackknife's up my spine when my ass hits the ground, and shoot to my feet, Zenith raising with me. "Is that who I think it is? Corinne was it?" he asks, nodding his head toward Corinne. I tense. "Leave her out of it." I say flatly, my protectiveness for Corinne overriding my fear of Zenith.

Zenith just snickers and walks around to her side of the table and stands behind her. "Get away from her." I snarl, but I don't move to stop him. "Why so uptight Gosser?" Zenith says, bending over to breathe in Corinne's scent. "You heard her. She hates you. But you still like her don't you? I remember how obsessed you were before you went to that mental hospital." I growl and clench my fists. "She didn't say that. Leave her alone!" Zenith looks up at me, the look on his face effectively washing away my new-found courage. "You know, you could just take what you want." My heart stops and all the blood drains from my face. "What? What are you saying?" Memories of the days before being locked in the mental hospital flood my mind. Memories of Zenith making me do things. Assaults, muggings, shoplifting, all accumulating to the attempted murder of some jerk that had called me out. I chickened out at the last minute, thankfully. But then I went home and shoved my face full of pills and alcohol. I got lucky again, though. My mom caught me and took me to get my stomach pumped and then had me carted off to the mental hospital. All of that was because of Zenith. He had some sort of power over me. It's like he can get me to do anything.

"You know what I mean." His grin is wide and malicious. He licks his lips. "You want her. Take her. You can subdue her, and you know it. And look where we are. All you would have to do is drag her further into the alley..." I go cold and I back up. "Nononononono." I stammer, shaking my head vehemently. "You know you want it. You want her. Just take her. No one is here to stop you. Go on. It's been awhile. Might as well get on the horse again - or girl, as the case may be - with someone you like, right?" I continue my retreat but my back hits cold brick. I have gone as far as I can go. "Stop it! You're not real! Stopstopstop!" I place my hands over my ears and close my eyes. "I'm not that guy anymore. I'm not. I don't need to listen to you anymore. I don't need you." I look up at Zenith, my face determined. Zenith glowers at me, slowly straightening. He makes his way toward me, and even though I know I can't go any further I push myself against the wall harder. "I'm just trying to help." He purrs, standing toe to toe with me. "You're talking about rape" Disgust colors my voice. "You. Are. Not. Real." Zenith's face twitches into something ugly and the fear raises in me so fast that I think I might throw up. His face literally transforms into something serpentine, fingers of flames shooting out his nostrils and mouth as he talks. "Is this real enough?" He hisses, and his head lunges forward and bites into my shoulder. I scream and scream and scream, liquid fire burning through my veins and frying my insides.

I'm not being bitten by a human-snake, and Zenith is no where to be seen. It's just me and Corinne in the alley. The blood curdling scream cuts off abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in it's place. I'm soaked in sweat, and my entire body is shaking. I'm still pressed against the wall. I slowly slide myself down, the bricks scraping up my bare back quite nicely, but I'm too freaked out to notice. I curl into the fetal position, clutching my head between my arms and pressing my face into my knees. I try to calm my breathing and stop my shaking, but all I can think about is Zenith's fangs digging into my shoulder. Not to mention what the fuck Corinne must think of me right now. Oh holy fuck. What a fucking lunatic I must be to her now. I was fucking talking to myself like she wasn't even there.

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I hear Corrine’s voice from far away, garbled, like I’m under water. I can’t understand her. All I can see is this rushing blackness in front of my eyes, and a snarling voice in my ear. She is disgusted by you. You let Zenith down because of that little tramp. What were you thinking. I take a shuddering breath and shake my pounding head slowly. “No…Stop.” I plead; I can’t stand this voice any longer. You are a piece of worthless shit, not fit to even live. When she looks at you that is all she sees. A steaming pile of dog shit. You are nothing. Nothing!

I lift my head away from my hands and look up at the sky, my body sagging with fatigue. What is going on? Yesterday, I was completely fine. The voice was mercifully silent, and I didn’t have one hallucination all day. Yet today...Shit is flying at me from left and right. My head is spinning, and the sky tilts on an axis. The pure, vibrant blue is slowly polluted by murky black tendrils, colliding and intertwining. I squint at the sky, trying to make sense of the intricate patterns being made by the sinister objects. I watch them, entranced by their slow, deliberate movements. Two collide head on, and they are pushed downward, toward earth. I watch with horrified awe as they grow bigger and nearer. It isn’t until it’s too late, that I realized they are going to plunge right into Corinne. Before I can even formulate words, the tentacles plummet the last couple of feet in seconds, slamming right into Corinne’s skull. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, and paint my face with more blood. I jump, and my hands go out instinctively, wanting to turn back time and push her out of the way.

I tilt my head, looking at Corinne in a detached sort of way. The bundle of tentacles speared her through her head and then went straight into the earth in a spray of asphalt. It all happened so fast that it kind of locked her in place; she was still kneeling in front of me. Slowly I reach out my hand, and brush her cheek with the back of my hand. The skin that I touched rapidly starts to decay. The decay spreads, crumbling her face inward. I flinch and jerk my hand back.

And it all turns back to normal.

I shudder and look back up at the sky. Slowly, I move away from the wall, wincing when I feel a thousand different cuts sing in pain over my flexing muscles. I rise to my feet and nearly fall down again, but I catch myself. My head is poundpoundpounding, and my heart is a frenzied bird, beating against a cage to be set free. I can’t look at Corrine. I don’t look at her. I gulp and run a shaking hand through my bleached hair. It’s sopping wet from sweat, and stays slicked back. I still don’t look at Corrine. I zero in on my duffel bag laying next to the table. I stagger over to it and fall to my knees. I hurriedly paw through my bag and pull out the blue container that holds my medicine. I stare down out it, working my jaw, debating whether to pop the pills. Haloperidol. Side effects include seizures, drowsiness, headaches, tremors, fever, uncontrollable muscle movements, and increased sexual desires but decreased sexual ability in men – the list goes on. I bounce the pills on my palms, thinking. Crazy ass hallucinations or…just general suck? It’s a lose-lose situation. There is no right choice. I sigh and toss the pills back in my bag.

Warily I glace back up at the sky. The black tendrils are doing their dance again. I sigh and look back at the pavement. “It never stops.” I whisper. I cut my eyes over to Corinne, trying not to actually see her; I don’t want to see her look of disgust. “Uh…I’m sorry. I’ll just get the rest of my things from inside and leave.” I point feebly at the training center, and shuffle away, dragging my duffel bag behind me.

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“I need to get my evaluation done.” That stops me in my tracks. I slowly turn to face her, my face the epitome of indignation. “You need to get your evaluation done?” I repeat; my flat, cold tone surprises me. “We excuse me. I wasn’t aware that I should put my needs after yours!” She has always used you Gosser. She doesn’t care about you. She hates you. She uses you. You are nothing to her but a toy, a plaything. She has just strung you along this entire time. My face screws up in disgust, and I turn away from her. “Fucking spar with someone else. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m not ready for this.”

A cold hand encircles my wrist, holding me back. Once again, Corinne has me frozen. She has never, never, touched me outside of sparring. I’ve always been the one hanging on to her. She has never dared…I turn my head back to look at her, curious. But her words do nothing but throw fuel on the fire. I yank my wrist from her grip and bring it up as if to smack her, which is what I want to do. Instead, I just point an accusatory finger at her. “It’s not a thing.” My voice lashes out like a whip. “It’s schizophrenia.” There’s that bitterness again. She has me riled up now, my is pulse jumping in my veins and I’m seeing everything through a red haze. “You just saw what I went through, and you still want me to spar with you? What are you?” She hates you. See how she doesn’t care at all for you? This is your first day back and you can’t even keep your shit together. You are a loser. You know it. I know it. She knows it. You are nothing. You will be alone forever.

I flinch away from her when I realize that I’m practically standing right on top of her, my face just inches from her. I back off, shaking my head. “We’re still the same?” I repeat, my voice edging into higher octaves, ringing with my insanity. “What were we before?” I bark out a harsh laugh. “Sparring buddies? That’s all you want, isn’t it? You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You know, my friends, when I had them, they never understood why I tried to be nice to you. They just passed you off as some cold hearted bitch. In fact, that’s what they referred to you as: ‘The cold hearted bitch.’ I didn’t listen to them, I thought I could lure the real you out. Turns out you’ve been showing your true colors this entire time, and I was just too stupid to see, or perhaps I was just an optimist. Well guess what? I’ve finally seen the heartless, selfish bitch you truly are. Hey, delusions are part of my fucked-up brain, thinking you were a good person was probably just one of them. I was so fucking dumb to let myself fall for someone like you.”

A blaring silence fills the alley, only my ragged breathing disturbing the quiet. I want to take back everything I just said, but what was the point? What does it even matter anymore? The walls around me are leaking blood, and the ground is sloshing around like it is alive. I’m sick. I’m really sick. I should not be here. You really shouldn’t. They can get you if you walk out and about like this. They are always watching you, but if you leave your house they can get you. They can snatch you up and muck around in your brain. I fell invisible eyes on me, millions of them. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I cast fearful eyes about, looking for something, anything. I don’t see anything. It’s her fault. She brought them here. She is doing this to you on purpose! I grit my teeth, and through my bag away from me. I assume a fighting stance, slowly raising my fists into position. “You want a fight?” I snarl. “Fine.”