So I've been told by my new therapist, or as he wants me to call him, my "adviser" to write down my thoughts and feelings about the "incident" that occurred about a month ago that gave me mental problems or "post traumatic stress disorder". Okay, well, first things first, I'm not writing down my feelings to some smiley-face covered lined notebook, and especially not if this is kind of like, well admitting that it actually happened. But, looking back, I guess that kind of is writing down my feelings, but I don't care enough to erase or go back, and whoever reads this isn't going to believe me anyway. I don't even know why I even bothered coming to this therapist, the last one I had was the source of all my problems anyway. Fine, I'll open up, let my feelings out, "channel" it all out, I really do miss Salid. Alright, I give up, I'll crack open, examine me doctor.
It all started when Salid said he was hungry at 1 AM and had a craving for McDonald's. In fact, you could blame that craving for his untimely death; they did say McDonald's could kill you. So to sate Salid's enormous diet we both climbed into my Jeep Wrangler, me driving and him as the passenger, and started driving on our way to the closest McDonald's, which was roughly 10 miles away. As we were driving through the swampy landscape of lower Virginia, Salid turned on FM 9.84 to listen to some "loud but good for the crowd" pop music. He poked his head out the roof and belted out the lyrics to "Can't Hold Us". I muttered along, since I didn't really know the words. We finally reached the barely illuminated McDonald's and went through the drive-through. Salid ordered a Big Mac and I got a small lemonade. He chomped heartily into his burger while we sat in the car in the parking lot.
He finished, threw the wrapper into the trash, and I pulled out of the parkway and got back onto the highway. As we were driving we sat in silence, just thinking over our 24 year old lives. As we approached the crossroads towards our shared house, we saw a stopped car with the lights on parked in the middle of the road. I was planning to just drive by, the typical not-my-life, not-my-problem course of action when Salid grabbed the steering wheel out of my hands and jerked the car over in the direction of the stopped car. Grudgingly I took over and brought the car to a crawl next to the stopped car. Salid called out, "Is everything alright?"
"Uh... just a little engine problem. Any chance you got some jumper cables? I just need a boost," said a low, guttural voice bent over the propped open hood.
"Yeah, give me a sec," Salid said as he got out of the car and started searching through the trunk. "Here you go," he said as he gave the other end of the connected jumper cables to the man. The man connected the cables and I revved the car, after 10 seconds his car sprang to life.
"Thank you so much, I owe you both one," said the man as he gave back the cables. "My name's Damien. Damien Small, I'm a psychotherapist working just over at Miller Road. You can get some free consultation if you pop over anytime, we're open and we'll talk about your problems... or mine." He smiled, revealing a pair of glistening white chompers, standing out in the relative dark.
Salid, as he was getting back into the car, called out, "Thanks for the offer, maybe we will." As I backed up out to go back to our turn in the crossroads, I took a closer look at the man. He wore dark clothes, so it was hard to distinguish anything he was wearing, he was tall, roughly 6'1", and had a standard, plain looking face and short cropped hair. But the thing that really sent shivers down my spine was his eyes, he had no white in his eyes, just a dark brown, almost black, color that was like forest, without any light without any moonlight, where the lights bash together to make a distorting appearance which is difficult to describe. I got only a couple seconds to look, but in those few seconds goosebumps erupted down my arms like raindrops, a few at first and then all at once. I shivered the feeling off and continued driving back into our shared apartment. We quickly jumped into bed and we both fell into a deep slumber.
We woke up the next morning deeply rested. We both did our morning activities like showering, cleaning, etc. I then went to the fridge to see if I could scramble together a half-decent breakfast. Something about it bothered me, and if I trusted my gut feeling there's a chance none of this would have happened. Before we had left for McDonald's the night before, I had checked the fridge to see if there was anything Salid could eat but of course he insisted on McDonald's.
Everything since I had checked it had been rearranged; the milk was on the left compartment instead of the right, ham was in the cheese compartment, lettuce was in the chocolate and other snacks cabinet. However, I just assumed that in the middle of the night Salid had gotten up and searched for food, found nothing, and gone back to bed. I grabbed the eggs which thankfully were still in the egg compartment and made some scrambled eggs. After Salid and I both ate I went to go grab my clothes for my interning job at Reuters Thomson, I even had to work weekends while getting paid almost nothing, however I was determined to make a name for myself and was persistent.
Salid got to take the weekends off because he had an actual job at the Jeffrey Hospital, where he worked as a nurse. As I went to grab my suit I realized something was off again, all my suits were messed up. Once again I just assumed it was Salid. I was so stupid. I got dressed which took me a while to find all my clothes. When I tried to find my keys for my car and I couldn't find them I once again blamed Salid. I asked him where he put it, but he said he didn't take it. I looked everywhere, and it took me about an hour to find the keys hidden behind a fridge magnet. I asked Salid if he thought that joke was funny because I was late for work because of him and he just responded that he didn't do it. I really thought it was him...
When I got to work, I was in a bad mood, and more of the same thing kept happening. One thing missing or mixed up, and another, and another, and another and another. I went home in a horrible mood, thinking Salid was just trying to play a big joke on me. I yelled at him and asked him if he thought this was a good joke and I thought he had a good, innocent face... If only I had believed him. This went on for days, then weeks, and finally after a month of annoying mishaps I lost it. I went berserk and started throwing everything. After I calmed down and realized I needed help, and I thought of Damien Smith, the psychotherapist.
The night after my tantrum, as we both had to work during the day, Salid and I drove over to Miller Road and found "Damian Smith's Consulting and Therapy." A large, plain, painted white, metal sign with a large, wooden door to enter. There was a path leading to the door with three rows of six planted roses on either side of the path. It was a two-story building with no windows on the second floor and one window visible from the front on the first floor. We parked and walked in.
His secretary who had the name tag "Ms. Rosemary" asked us if we had an appointment, but we told her we knew Damien personally and came to see him. She told us to take a seat in the small but comfy seating area. We waited for about five minutes, in which time I went into the small bathroom on the first floor. Soon after Damien Smith came down the long staircase leading to the second floor, helping a customer out the door. He was wearing a black sweater black corduroys and wore a pair of dark sunglasses, even though he was inside. He turned around with a look of surprise.
"I was wondering when I would see you again!" he exclaimed, "Come, come on right up." He led us up the staircase. After we took our seats he asked, "Now what brings you here? Just to chat, do you need something? Money?" He laughed. "Or is there actually a problem?" All the while smiling from ear to ear.
"Well," I explained. "I've recently had some issues with arranging things, well I guess I'm developing OCD."
"Well then... What do you think led to this?"
"I guess about a month ago, about the time after we helped you with your car issues. Everything seemed to fall in disarray." A storm seemed to fall about him. He lost his smile and it turned into a frown, his eyebrows became like a valley, and his posture changed from easygoing and happy to defensive and hostile.
"That's... strange."
I felt uncomfortable as he looked me deep into my eyes, and it felt as if... as if he was looking into my soul. He continued to stare and I felt as if my very existence was being questioned. Salid didn't seem to recognize the exchange, and was just wondering why nobody was talking. Awkwardly I shuffled out of the room, mumbling about using the restroom. I quickly ran in and shut the door, locking it. I had never felt so weird in my life. I ran some water through the faucet and washed my face. I sat on the toilet, trying to calm myself. I heard some muffled moving upstairs, but I just thought it was Salid or Damien moving around. I waited for about three minutes, just inhaling and exhaling. As I was about to unlock the door I felt a drop on my hand.
I smeared it aside, not bothering to look, I just assumed there was leakage from the second floor when there was a second drop on my head, and then one on my shoulder. I looked at the smeared part of my hand to find a stain of red. I looked all around my hand for cuts to find none, and then a fourth and fifth drop hit me. I realized it was coming from the ceiling. I looked up to see a pool of blood covering the ceiling. Horrified, I unlocked the door and peered out of the wooden bathroom door. There sat Ms. Rosemary at her desk, bent over her computer, the only person left besides me. I creeped over carefully, but she didn't seem to know that I was there, or didn't bother to acknowledge me.
"I... Uh... I... think there's a problems with the bathroom," I managed to stutter, trying to gain her attention. She didn't look up. I coughed, again, to still no avail. Finally, I tapped her on the shoulder. Slowly, she raised her head. "As I said before, there's-" And that was when I noticed her eyes, the same blackish muddled color as Damian's had been when we drove away almost a month ago. I started to back away.
"Damian would like you back up to resume consultation," she growled in a slow, animalistic, snarl. I turned around and sprinted up the stairs, looking for Salid to help calm myself. I thought I really was going crazy. As I took one last glance at Ms. Rosemary's opaque and cloudy eyes, I heard a slow snarl and a very soft, painful, plea for help. Frantically I whipped my head around to see what the cause of the noise was. What I met was a horrific sight.
Damien was crouched over the bloody mess of a body that used to be Salid, holding a small knife. My crotch was wet with urine and I was crying, unable to comprehend the scene in front of me. It took me a full 10 seconds to comprehend what was going on, and even now I don't know why he didn't kill me in that time. As I started hobbling backwards, I looked at the red, bloody mess of what used to be Salid. I didn't know why I didn't ever feel an urge to attack the man, or thing, that had just killed my best friend, but it was as if my... my soul was repulsed as to even being near that thing. As I looked upward, I took one last look at Damien before I turned away from the terrible display and sprinted downstairs, banging into the staircase. My only desire in life at that point was to get away. I ran past Ms. Rosemary and slammed into the wooden door.
I bolted into my Jeep, not bothering to put my seatbelt on or lock the doors and just drove away. I brought the speed of the car up to 80 mph, I was driving fast, trying to keep my mind from thinking of the recent events, I did not have a destination in mind, just away. Finally, after a half hour of driving, I pulled over in a forested path and brought the car to a standstill. The only things I could think of were: Salid is dead, and he was killed by my therapist. Another thing that sent goosebumps through my arms was the last thing I saw. As I looked up from Salid's body, I looked into Damien Smith's eyes. They were the same, dark, muddled, opaque, color.
It took me a while to process the events, but eventually I pulled out of the outlet and got back onto the road, the road to the nearest gun shop. Somehow I got into my head that I had to kill that thing to get revenge for Salid, and to make sure he didn't kill anyone. I paid $300 for a common home defense shotgun, I drove quickly, but not above the speed limit, back to Miller Road. I decided that I wanted to go in stealthily, because if I just drove up they would expect me. I parked around the bend of the road and had a good pace to the therapist, shotgun in hand. But, something was wrong, the therapist's was not where it originally was. I walked all along the street, seeing if I had made a mistake where I thought it was.
All along the street was just boring, suburban houses and one or two bakeries. I walked back to my car and checked to see if I really was on Miller Road. The sign did say Miller Road. I realized that maybe I really did have problems that I needed someone else to solve, so I pulled out my iPhone 5 and dialed 911. The police arrived, saw my shotgun, and after I told my story they arrested me. I sat in jail for two days before they came in and told me that I was free to go because they had found no evidence proving I killed Salid. I put two and two together and assumed that they thought I was crazy and had come up with a false, crazy story to cover up for Salid's murder.
I went home, and did the usual things needed for Salid's family and funeral. I moved to a different place and got a new car. I wanted a fresh start. I did not attend Salid's funeral. It took me a while, but I finally did realize I had mental problems. I found the therapist in which I'm writing in the book now for online, and made sure he had a perfect history. No one I've met is going to believe my story, and so I might as well post it to whatever internet sights I can, for, I don't know why, just for relief I guess. Somehow knowing someone out there believes me brings me a bit of comfort at night. There's one thing though, last night after I posted my story, I was brushing my teeth in front of a mirror, when I swore my eyes turned all black. But it's probably nothing, right? Right?