Lahat ng Kabanata ng Head Over Shoulders : Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

Archer did. You didn't kill Angie...Archer did. I'm numb. Physically and otherwise. I stare at my hand in Archer's. I should remove them. I should run away from him because he's the sick bastard that made me suffer, but I don't move. I watch him beat up Ander. Probably to kill him the way he killed Angie. But why would he kill his own sister? I'm trying to make it make sense. "Stop throwing a tantrum," my mouth says before my brain can decide if that is a bad idea or not. "Talk to me Archer. What the hell is Ander saying?"But he doesn't talk to me. He's in the position of straddling his brother and staring at his blood covered knuckles. "Talk to me," I repeat. Frustrating growing in my voice. "I said you should talk to me Archer. Fucking speak to me! Explain what he said."This is not the time to have a panic attack, even though it feels like that. I breathe, out of every hole in my body, to stabilize myself. "Archibald." I call him and he flinches. I hit him the first time, th

I'm there again, the black void that consumed me for years, that haunted me. I can hear Angie. Her laughter. She always told me jokes I only appreciated because no one else was going to. Normally, every time I was here, she was crying. She screamed and yelled at me for putting her in this place. Owen told me it's not real. It was the guilt making me see things. I know that's the truth, but we as humans love lying to ourselves. "Angie?" I call out once her laughter morphs into tears. "Where are you Angie? Speak to me."Her figure forms, and it feels like I release a breath I've been holding for years. All the other times I was here, Angie was covered in blood. Sometimes missing limbs, other times missing hair. She always looked like she came straight out of a horror movie. But now, she's wearing her favourite dress, it's a ladybug design. She loved it because Ander bought it for her on her birthday. She looks at me. No guilt, no contempt, no hatred. And the corners of her lips twitc

I would've stayed asleep longer, but the growling coming from stomach or the gnawing of my intestines steal the sleep from my eyes. I roll around a couple times, and search on the nightstand for anything edible I might've left on it. There's nothing there. Few days ago, I googled why I didn't have an appetite. It was concluded — by website links that had already turned purple — to be anorexia. The only problem with believing that, is that I'm not actually anorexic, or I don't think I am. I would say I don't have a distorted body image, but I don't think i have an image at all. I've sort of been living in this bubble for a while now. A bubble where I exist and don't at the same time. A therapist would have answers to all this shit, I just need to get one first. I drag myself up, and to the bathroom. While on the toilet seat, I stare at the mirror staring at me. I'm speechless. That isn't me, is what I would've said if I didn't know it was me. Sunken cheekbones, hollow eyes, scars ev

It's yet again the same routine. Wake up, lie in bed till my intestines threaten to rip into pieces then go downstairs. Archer has been feeding me, yes. But sometimes I just can't keep the food in. Last night was one of those times. I puked so much, it took my lungs a whooping 45 minutes to recover. And I tried taking a little whiskey to help with the nausea, but the ass wouldn't let me touch anything. I don't know why he bothers or why it bothers me. I always ask myself questions. Does he care? But I know he doesn't. It's so I'll keep his secret. Today's meal is the leftover pizza from last night. There's 3 slices on a plate, a fruit bowl and yoghurt waiting for my consumption. "There's no need. This isn't a very wise bribe." Archer doesn't answer me, but continues staring at the pizza in the microwave. I shrug and eat. My stomach twists, surprised by the intruders, but I force it down my throat. I felt like I was going to die last night. And honestly, I really don't like that fe

If anybody were to call me a crazy person, I wouldn't fight them. Instead, I'd give them a trophy for telling the truth. I am a crazy person, and this realization is driving me even crazier. Why am I crazy? I'm crazy because I'm parked in the driveway of my girlfriend's house. Evana was the 3rd year film student I spilled my drink on when I was drunk off my ass at a party. Unlike the expected reaction, she apologized to me instead and sat with me till I sobered up. She's funny and interesting but I never liked her romantically. I still don't, but somehow it feels like there's this pressure on my shoulders to be perfect. I see Ander with his mood swings and tantrums — things that make him the dysfunctional person he is. But I can't be like that. I'm to be the better son. And the better son likes women. Evana comes out of the house in her usual clothing. A cottage skirt, shirt just a size smaller than hers and loafers. She's modest yet incredibly sexy and I should feel something for